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Hermione Granger strode through the airport with a level of stealth no other woman would dare approach.
Her pace was aggressive and masculine. Boyish clothes obscured her figure. A newsboy cap was charmed to contain hair that would not stay cropped no matter how she tried. Dark glasses covered her shining eyes. She had even mastered the art of cosmetics to hide her lips as much as she could.
Further, she kept her mouth closed, signing her way through the security check, the shop by the gate, and letting the airline attendant know that she ‘needed special assistance’ to get on the plane. She had had to wait several minutes for a female airline worker to come to the desk: she dared not stand that close to a man for as long as the always stumbling conversation would take. Even one exasperated sigh could undo all her hard work.
It had done twice before, and the commotion it caused had been nearly unbearable. So much so, that she had considered making her pilgrimage on a broom.
However, she dared not show herself in the Wizarding world. This was better. Despite everything, all this was easier.
Settling herself into her seat at the back of the plane, away from the toilets, Hermione pulled a hospital mask over her mouth. She had explained that she had taken ill, and while not too contagious, she should not be disturbed. Hermione sat where the fewest people would encounter her and looked out through the little oval window of the plane. She was headed from her home in Greenland to Greece, and then further, to an unmarked island four ferry rides away from Sicily.
She was trying to break a curse. Either that, or find a nice set of jagged cliffs from which to throw herself.
Out of habit, she reached for her necklace, which held the engagement ring Ron had given her. She missed him so much. Poor, delicate Ron.
She hated this ritual of hers, how every trek back to the beckoning blue waters made her think of him. He had proposed, and she had said yes (of course!). Then, as they were house-sitting at Shell Cottage, they had made love by the crashing tides under the warm sun.
It was her first time. Ron had been amazing. He was enthusiastic and attentive. He had even studied, for a change. They had taken their time and every time he had brought her to ecstasy, she had felt transformed.
Transformed.
Hermione scowled out the window, and shoved a tear from her cheek.
She hadn’t known what she was doing. She hadn’t known that the moment he turned to leave her, to go to the bloody market and come back, that she would seize him, shrieking with a rage that would literally tear his delicate, little heart to pieces.
That was how Fleur and Bill had found them: Hermione weeping over Ron as he lay dead in her arms.
Hermione had been a mess, but when she first heard Bill’s voice, it was as though she had been reborn for him. When she looked up and saw him and whispered his name, it was as though they were the only two people on the planet.
Too bad his bitch wife had been there.
Hermione shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Hermione loved Fleur, and she was so thankful that the witch’s Veela nature had shown through that day to fight Hermione and protect Bill. If it had not, Bill would likely have met the same fate as Ron.
If Fleur had not been there, it would have taken much longer for Hermione to understand what had happened.
Sliding the window shade down with a little more force than necessary, Hermione scowled at the seat in front of her. She didn’t care about the air captain’s words. She could barely hear them over her own thoughts.
Her period had come early, which wasn’t uncommon in her mother’s family, and the next day she had blown up a whole bookshelf with her first magical emission. Then, she had gone off to school, thinking that she had finally found her place, only to find a war looming. She had fought, won, and what was her prize? Only her heritage rearing its ugly head once more.
The next step of Hermione’s sexual evolution was mythic – or mythical. Upon losing her virginity, she inherited her next creature trait. She had become a Siren.
She ruefully wondered what would happen if she dared have a child. Would nuclear fallout come after the baby was born, or would the bombs go off upon conception?
It didn’t matter at the moment. The plane was taking off, and part of Hermione was ecstatic to be going back to the beautiful sea. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, finally letting herself be excited for the journey.
Unbeknownst to Hermione, Charlie Weasley sat in first class, anxious for this trip to begin as well. He was on sabbatical from dragon-keeping. He had gone home to see his family, whom he hadn’t seen since Ron’s accident.
He hadn’t had the time when he had come out for Ron’s funeral to get much information on what had happened. He had noticed Hermione wasn’t there, and that no one was talking about her. It had seemed very peculiar at the time, but he was in no position to demand answers. His parents had needed him, and so he did what he could while he was there.
It was only upon arriving back to the Burrow a few weeks ago that Charlie had gotten to sit down with Bill and Fleur late one night with a bottle of firewhisky. They had told him of what had happened at Shell Cottage, how Hermione had come into her ‘inheritance’, and the whole story.
Seeing Bill’s wistful remembrance and obvious lingering attraction to Hermione upon her transformation surprised Charlie. It also made Fleur obviously quite jealous. Watching the two recount the events, it was clear to Charlie that Hermione was in over her head. He couldn’t imagine how such a rational woman would come to understand her new nature. Also, he knew how much she had loved their brother, and the family, and how she would never forgive herself for something that everyone else obviously knew was an accident.
If only Fleur had been in the house before Ron had tried to leave. She would have known, would have been able to quarantine Hermione and Ron, perhaps with enough resources for them to figure things out and make a plan. The Ministry had a special fund for situations like Hermione’s where a witch or wizard was functionally incapacitated by their new magical powers.
It all could have been so different.
Instead, Ron was gone, and Hermione had fled.
Luckily, Charlie knew a few tales about Sirens. There had been plenty of long nights at the dragon reserve, up late drinking and talking. Between what Charlie had heard, what his family knew, and what the Ministry had on record, he had plenty of information to work with. Not to mention a certain old spell on the heirloom ring Hermione still kept with her, it seemed.
Charlie knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he’d bring Hermione home with him if it was the last thing he did. Compared to an angry dragon protecting her nest, what could one Siren do?
The problem was that, as Hermione neared her destination, female attendants were harder to come by. The men who drove the ferries to and fro kept costs down with limited crews of sea-worn men. They smelt of the ocean, and of sweat, and Hermione could not get enough of the briny smells coming off of them.
The only thing that saved her, and them, was how spectacularly superstitious they could be. Sea captains believed in things that were completely illogical: they thought that if they did not stroke the prow in this or that way or if they left at the wrong hour, they would run aground and die among the rocks.
All she had to show them was her little statue, a woman with bird’s legs, and purse her lips, and they kept their distance. They took the page with the coordinates to the island and a stack of bills, and that was the last she saw of them until the boat docked and they scurried below the deck until she was gone.
Hermione was happy to be off the boat with her things. Being here, moving from island to island across the water, and being surrounded by men – all these things made her soft cotton dress chafe and she longed to untie it from her body.
She was stripped within her first few steps in the sand, and she left her bags there as well. Behind her she could hear the men fleeing as fast as they could, and one shouting not to look, not to turn around at all. Hermione walked away, the sun coming down on her skin. She walked, nude, with only her wand, and waited as long as she could before testing her voice. She hoped the men had fully employed the motor of the boat, and that they were far, far away.
At last, Hermione found herself standing at the highest crest of the little island, naked but for her necklace between her breasts, with her arms open to Apollo. Her hair breezed about her shoulders and curling tendrils swept across her arse, and she let the first note ring out.
It was clear and perfect, and she felt her body come to life, even as a bit of her cried.
***
She didn’t know how long she sang for, but when she was done, Hermione felt a relief that she couldn’t describe.
She never used her voice if she could help it, and if she couldn’t, she never spoke above a whisper. It was just too dangerous to use her voice. Her neighbours thought her reluctance to speak around men had religious motives, and she let them think that. They were kind people, happy to leave her to her business. Surely, she was not the only person in all of Greenland with secrets to keep.
Hermione’s voice had been sweet before. She loved to sing, not that she got much chance to apart from around her room or humming softly. Now, even she fell under its hypnotic waves. It was so full of longing and loneliness it made her heart break. She could remember Ron when she sang, and the beautiful time she’d had with him before he left.
Before she killed him.
Hatred for herself roiled under her skin.
In her mind, and in her heart as well, Hermione knew she didn’t believe that a woman should be so tied to a man. It made her so angry to need a man, that her magic demanded it. Love was one thing, but this was…
Well, it was criminal. She could never risk talking to a man because it would end his life. Maybe not that second, maybe not that day, but he would eventually have to do something drastic, like go to work and then it would all be over.
Frowning, Hermione gave a scowling glance back at the sun – at Apollo – and walked down to where her things were. She looked down at her naked breasts, bouncing with every step and scowled. She didn’t even believe in Apollo! This whole affair was ridiculous.
Digging into one of her bags, she pulled out a pair of leather sandals, a belt, and an Egyptian cotton dress. She had brought one bra, but she knew it was hopeless to try to wear it until after the equinox, when she could leave. Knickers were also out of the question. What a bother. Sometimes a woman just wants to wear knickers!
From the other bag, Hermione pulled out a book and a ball point pen. She had carefully assembled this book so that she could study and take notes from the same volume. Her classical Greek was beyond reproach at this point, and finding some shade in the sand, she went to work at the ancient text yet again.
The next morning, Charlie hunted down the crew that had taken Hermione wherever she’d gone. He would have Apparated once he learned her location, but he thought it was best to give her some warning. Also, he was curious about how she was accomplishing so much so fast.
Not that Hermione didn’t know how to get things done, but he needed everything to be in line if this was going to work out, and she was definitely an unknown and a volatile one at that.
Not surprisingly, the crew were terrified to go back out there. It seemed she had paid a handsome sum of money for them to take her to the island, leave her, and not come back. That they were terrified of what she might be did not help him.
However, as in all things, money was the final solution, and Charlie slid three slim gold bars, one for each of them, across the table.
They’d earn it. Charlie had no sea legs whatsoever, and was bent over the back rail of the boat from the moment the ship moved to the moment it landed. The shipmen took no pity on him, and chuckled softly when he stepped off the first ferry and onto the next. It was the same each time, but it was a small price to pay.
When he landed on Hermione’s island, he waved the boat away. They hadn’t really needed the encouragement, but it seemed like the thing to do to be rid of them. Then he pulled a blanket from his bag and sat down. Once his stomach was settled, he tucked into a hearty breakfast of fruits, nuts, dried meats, bread, and cheese. He ate until he was full and then some. Who knew when he would get to eat again? He had plenty more in his bag, but he knew from experience that angry breeding females operated on their own timeline.
With his own needs taken care of, Charlie pulled off his boots and denims, switching into loose linen trousers and Muggle toe shoes. He debated whether to wear a shirt or not, ultimately deciding to bring one, although he tucked it into the leather utility belt once it was around his waist. Then, he pushed a pair of earplugs George had designed into his ears, and with his wand firmly in hand, he followed the path up to the highest point of the island.
It was after midday when he was left on the island, and Charlie just hoped that he could get to Hermione before the evening song. George’s earplugs were a test product, proven against Mandrakes and Banshees, but never a Siren. Designed to stifle magical noises, they also attempted to amplify any sounds in the Wizarding audio range.
Charlie didn’t realise he was swaying to a beautiful tune as he climbed the hill until it was too late. He came around a sharp curve in the trail. There she was. Her back was turned to him. Her shapely arse was bare and her hair was floating softly in the wind. The teasing glimpses of her waist spurred him forward.
Without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. The song stuttered, but Charlie hardly noticed. He just wanted his skin touching hers. She gasped and turned. Her eyes looked sad for a moment. Then she was pressing her mouth against his, and they were devouring each other.
Her breasts rubbed against his chest, and she used her hands on his shoulders to pull his body closer. Her fervour nearly knocked him over, but he braced himself. Charlie grabbed the release on his belt, and pushed everything down his legs. When her legs were wrapped around him, he grabbed her arse and pulled her body against him.
“Easy, girl,” he muttered and looked around for a moment for some place away from the rocky cliff. There was a bit of grass nearby, and he carried her over to it.
“Charlie. Oh, Charlie!” She grabbed his hair as he knelt down. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Her voice tinkled in his ears, and he could feel her words on his skin like a song. When Charlie had her on her back, she grabbed his cock, pulling it between her wide open legs. She was licking her lips, and her eyes were pleading. He pushed into her, and her ecstatic cry rippled through him. He thrust his hips with enthusiasm, but it was nothing compared to how she fucked him. He watched her breasts shake as she lifted her hips harder and harder. Like a moth to flame, he was drawn to them. His lips were almost on them when she jerked his head up and kissed him.
Using that moment of distraction, Charlie soon found himself on his back, looking up at Hermione as she fucked and fucked him. Her body was obstructing the sun, and she was haloed in its light. He watched her mouth as the words of her song melted into chants and moans.
When her hands slapped down on her chest, her eyes opened and locked with his. Her nails dug into his body, and his orgasm was ripped out of him. Her look of victorious delight sent a shiver down his spine, but Charlie couldn’t stop looking at her, her body slowly bouncing on his deflating cock.
“Charlie, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have – you can never leave, now.”
“Hermione,” Charlie whispered, his voice cracking and ragged. He tried to lift himself on his elbows, but her look of joy turned to anger, and she shoved him down. His head hit the hard earth under the grass.
“You can never leave me!” she shrieked.
Around him, the world burst into light, and Charlie was overtaken by her magic.
Hermione fussed around her treetop house, waiting and watching over Charlie, wishing that he’d wake up.
Apollo in the sky, she thought she’d killed him. Turning her body away from him, she shook her ring on its chain. She was in her Grecian dress, feeling better than she had since… well, since before Ron died. The soft fabric felt delicious on her skin, but not in the sensual way it might sometimes. She felt a like a girl in her favourite outfit. That was all. She was so excited for it.
She was not excited about being Charlie’s captor, nor about being chained to him. Hermione had worked bloody hard to avoid this exact situation. Of course, Greenland was lovely, and all, but she was lonely. It was solitary, if not precisely confinement. She would have thought that returning their letters unopened would have given them the hint that she…
Coughing from the bed seized her attention, and she bolted to it. She opened her mouth to speak, but remembered herself. She shut her mouth and scowled down at him. It infuriated Hermione that she couldn’t even ask if he was okay.
“I know sign language. We use it around the dragons so we don’t spook them.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, still feeling petulant. It wouldn’t even be an issue if he hadn’t followed her here. She took a deep breath and raised her hands: How are you feeling?
Charlie looked up and smirked. “Like a million Galleons.” He coughed, though, and winced a bit. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve had worse. I’m so glad I found you, Hermione.”
She pursed her lips. Did you stop to think that maybe I didn’t want to be found? Hermione grabbed her hair and turned away from him to pace the room.
“Don’t turn– How am I supposed to see what you’re saying if you don’t face me?”
Her reply was the two-fingered salute. She threw her arms up and shook her fists. Feeling the pain in her shoulders that always came when she was upset, Hermione stopped to take a few deep breaths. When she had herself back together, she turned back to him. His eyes had closed, so she snapped her fingers. You are dead. Dead, Charlie. Just like…
Feeling her eyes fill with tears, Hermione grabbed her ring and walked out of the room. She marched down to the water’s edge and looked up. Artemis was not in the sky tonight, and Hermione kicked the water, endlessly frustrated with the way her brain worked when she was in Greece.
“It was an accident, Hermione!” Charlie shouted as he lumbered towards her. She had hurt his back while they…
Hermione blushed, remembering how amazing he had felt inside of her.
“We know you would never hurt Ron. We want you home with us.”
Thinking of home, Hermione shook her head. No. Absolutely no way was she going back. It didn’t matter how much she wanted it. She remembered her time with Bill, how… charged it had been. She would have killed Fleur. She didn’t want that. Who would be next? Would she kill Ginny to get to Harry?
No. She would not go back.
Before she could catch herself, she sighed. It was long, and her voice sounded softly at the end. Then she gasped, turning to look at Charlie, who was almost to her now. As much as she wanted another romp, she didn’t want to hurt Charlie any further.
Somehow, he seemed unaffected. Hermione lifted her hands, puzzled. How?
“George. He’s been working on something with you in mind. Be quiet for just a second, and I’ll show you?”
She nodded, excited to see what he had. Hermione watched as Charlie lifted his wand and pulled a plug from his ear. At first, it looked like taffy as it came out, but when he was finished, it was more like two colanders stuck end to end, about a thumb’s breadth wide.
Charlie lifted his finger to his lips and put it back in. “He’s been working on it since you left. This one is certified for most common Shriekers and Hogwarts is going to start using them instead of ear muffs now.”
Hermione smiled. It was nice to hear about George.
“He said he’d cut off his other ear if that’s what it took to bring you home. We love you, Hermione.”
It was too good to be true. Hermione turned back to the ocean.
Soon, Charlie was beside her, standing close. “It doesn’t work against your song. I… I didn’t mean for us to meet like that. I’m not complaining, mind you, but I had thought we could do this in something like the reverse order of how it’s going–”
He was babbling like a nervous teen-ager. Hermione touched his shoulder and waved her hand. I’m sorry. I should not have… Hermione felt her cheeks flame again.
“Oh, no. You most definitely should!” Charlie turned his body, and she felt his hands around her waist again, this time pressing the cool, soft fabric of her dress against her skin. It didn’t stay cool for long. “You are a stunning woman, Hermione. Siren or no, I will never–”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but pressed his lips against hers again. Her mouth opened in surprise. He lifted his hands to her cheeks, stroking his thumbs under her eyes as he tried to lure her out. Hermione responded, but she was shaking in front of him. She couldn’t stop herself.
Charlie lifted one hand and stroked her hair. His fingers were firm and sure on her.
Hermione was fast growing breathless, and as she pulled away, her belly brushed against a hardness. Without thinking, she stepped back to see what it was.
“See. It doesn’t take much when I’m around you, and you’ve barely made a sound. It’s just you, Hermione.”
His voice lapped over her. It was familiar but also new, and it thrilled her.
“Would you like to… Again?” Charlie took her hand in his, his fingers rough against her skin. He tugged her close. “You don’t have to say a word, just whatever comes to mind.”
Hermione looked up at him, and then pulled her fingers from his. She touched his hip by his linen trousers. Charlie gasped, and his eyes shone in the night. He nodded, and she slid her fingers beneath.
His cock hit her hand before she expected it to, and Hermione was startled. Charlie gave an encouraging sound, though, so she stroked it with her fingertips a moment before pulling away. He groaned, and Hermione waved her hands. What if I make a noise?
“Please do. I want to hear you moan for me.”
Hermione shook her head, but he stepped forward, pushing his trousers down as he moved. Hermione stared at his body. He was hard and muscular, and his hair dusted his shoulders.
“If you don’t want to, that’s one thing, but don’t hide behind what you are.”
Never one to turn from a challenge, Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Not out here. Then she turned and walked back to the light of her little house.
She needed the time to get her head around all this. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with Ron’s brother! Yet, it seemed so right. The red hair, the freckles – these were the things of her fantasies. Besides, Charlie wasn’t so much like his brother. The Weasley men were each pillars of their own virtue. Ron had been loyal and brave. Percy a bastion of order in the chaos. Bill a defender, but not so pure as to shy away from danger. George… well, George and Fred, she supposed, were the court jesters, bringing shining insight shrouded in gaiety and chaos.
Charlie was wild, but with that sort of intrinsic knowledge Hermione had always craved. Wasn’t that why she made these pilgrimages? Wasn’t that what she wanted for herself?
Stepping through the doorway and into the light, Hermione felt herself pulled back against a hard chest, scattering her thoughts. Charlie’s hips thrust against her arse, and she pushed back. Charlie reached up and pulled the fabric of her dress from her shoulders.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered. His hands pressed up to her breasts. He found her nipples and strummed his fingers across them.
Hermione felt like a cat leaning into a petting. Her back slid across Charlie’s chest.
“Like this?” Charlie whispered. His mouth was by her ear, veiled by her silken brown curls.
Hermione nodded; she was still terrified of her voice. She didn’t want this to end by voicing her excitement too early.
Charlie bent his knees and swivelled his hips. Hermione was shocked when the tip of his cock pressed against her core. Then his hands were bundling her hair and tossing it over her shoulder. One hand slid behind her neck, and before she could react, Hermione found herself bent at the hips, her fingers reaching to catch her on the floor.
Then, he was deep inside of her, and she forgot her surprise. It felt so good to be filled. It felt so good to be handled. This wasn’t like her time with Ron. This was new and primal.
Hermione hummed. It came from the back of her throat, and sounded suspiciously like a purr in her ears.
“That’s a good witch. Let me hear you.” Charlie pulled away from her before pushing back hard and fast. He fucked her, one hand sliding down her back to hold her hip.
Hermione felt a tingle going up her spine and across her back. She assumed it was the exertion of her position, and she was disappointed that she’d have to have Charlie stop his magic so soon.
Using her strength, Hermione pushed herself to stand up, thankful for her bit of yoga practice. It didn’t do a thing for her magic, but it kept her body in useable condition. She whined when Charlie’s cock fell from her, but as she came to stand, Charlie dropped to his knees, pulling her pussy over his mouth.
He was devouring her, his tongue lapping between her folds and his lips sucking her juices. Hermione swayed on her feet as he worked at her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open as her head began to fall back. Her jaw was slack, and her quiet whimpers quickly became moans. Her lips felt hot, and her throat, and she was caught up in the gentle ascension of her voice.
As Charlie fucked her with his tongue, her moans hit melodic notes. Part of her feared this, and it made her heart race faster. The tingling in her spine seemed to react with the heat in her voice.
“Oh! Yes!” Charlie’s hand rose from her hip for a moment and came down hard on the outside of her thigh. He’d crawled between her legs at some point, and he was staring up at her with absolute desire and ache. “Use me. Please, do anything!”
Hermione lifted one knee and pushed him to the floor of the doorway with her foot. Her pussy felt empty, dripping, aching. Her toes felt like talons, and when her hands came to Charlie’s shoulders, she couldn’t help but hold him beneath her as she moved closer to his cock. Her right hand stroked up his neck and under his jaw. The sharp nail of her thumb punctured the skin just as the thick head of his cock was at her entrance.
Hermione watched the blood pool a moment, sliding her hips, taking him in as deep as possible. When she turned to look at his face, she was thrilled to see his ecstatic expression. “Mine.”
His hips thrust up and into her, and Hermione smiled. Her hands came away from his shoulders, and her fingers coiled in his hair. Against her skin, it looked like silken fire. “What do you want?”
“Say my name?” Charlie whispered.
He looked glorious beneath her, and Hermione smiled down at him. “Char-lie,” she sang. He groaned, and his fist pounded on the floor. “Char-lie!”
He looked up at her, his eyes begging forgiveness as he hit his ecstasy. Then, his eyes rolled back and his spine arched below her. His final thrust into her stroked something inside of her, and Hermione arched back and then forward, the hot tingling that had been building all night erupting from her shoulder blades.
It was not a good feeling. It was not a bad feeling. It was just… sensation. As if she’d sat too long reading and remembered that she did, indeed, have a pair of legs. But it wasn’t her legs she was feeling, but two freshly formed wings.
Before Hermione could even think about it, Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. The smell of him sedated her, and she fell asleep like that, cradled against his chest.
Charlie woke up in the heat of the day hours later. The scent of smoke was in the air. He was confused at first. Was he in Romania? Had it been a dream?
He stretched, and the soft cotton sheets on his skin soothed his worries. He had found Hermione. He barely remembered any of it after first getting to the island. To him it was a blur of song and passion. Part of him felt drained, while another part felt like he’d found a missing link in his life.
Rubbing his eyes, he turned toward the light streaming in through the window. Something was blocking it, though. No, not something – someone. Hermione!
She was not the little girl he remembered. She had womanly curves, which were curtained at the moment by swirls of clove smoke. She also had wings. Feathers dusted across her shoulders, but two tawny wings protruded from her delicate shoulder blades.
He must have made a sound because she turned to look at him. She looked quite peeved.
She stubbed out her cigarette and levelled him with a glare. After a quiet snap of her fingers, she was signing to him.
You’re awake, then? How nice.
“Hermione, what happened?”
She threw her hands out. You! You happened, Charlie!
Then, the song from his dream, the beautiful sound of his name in a song drifted between his ears.
She stood, completely nude, and prowled toward him. What am I supposed to do with these stupid wings on my back, Charlie?
Charlie shook his head. What was he supposed to get her to do? Come home? He muttered the words.
Come home? Are you fucking mad? I can’t go anywhere like this! I’m trapped here now, thanks to you!
Her hands were flying fast, and Charlie was having a hard time keeping up. “But… you’re beautiful.”
I’m a damned bird, Charlie!
“Hermione.” Charlie smiled, trying not to chuckle. This was always true of her. “Are you not a bloody witch? Have you not seen and done things beyond your imagination? You just have to stop a moment and relax.”
Her response was only to put her hands on her hips and frown at him. Charlie didn’t care. She wasn’t snorting smoke and ash, at least.
“I’ll help. You seem to think that I did this to you, so let me show you how well I can fix it.”
Charlie looked around for his backpack, remembering it for the first time. He found it in the corner by the door. Perfect. He crawled out of the bed. He straightened the sheets and fluffed the pillows. Then, he reached over and patted the centre. “Come on, then. Sit down, relax.”
Slowly, Hermione dropped her arms to her sides and crawled into bed. She rolled her eyes. It was obvious she felt like this was a waste of time.
As much as he hated to pull his eyes from her, Charlie moved to get his bag. He pulled out all of the food he had, and some fresh spring water he’d taken from home. He found his hunting knife, and some leather straps he used to tie his hair back. He considered the silk scarf he had brought as a blindfold, deciding after a moment that there were plenty of ways he could put it to use.
When he turned back around, Hermione had already tucked into some of the nuts and cheese he’d left on the bed. She was chewing and looking rather forlorn.
Charlie unsheathed the knife. “Unless you’re attached to it,” he pause to snort at his words, “I’d like to cut your hair.”
That earned him a bit of a smile, and she wished him luck.
Charlie moved around her and knelt to braid her hair. With leather ties at the top and the bottom of the braid, he cut it from her head. His knife was sharp, and while it wasn’t styled, of course, the cropped curls bounced away. They looked almost happy to be freed.
The first great obstacle was out of the way. Hermione must really trust him to let him get so close. She must also be out of her mind with distraction if she had forgotten every story that started out with someone taking someone else’s hair.
It didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was push his fingers into the remaining curls, so he did. As he began to massage her scalp, she sighed with relief, even as she continued to chew.
“Now, love, I think you’ll find you quite like having wings when you get the hang of them. You just have to learn how to relax.”
Hermione hummed, and Charlie felt like he could take his massage lower. His thumbs worked behind her ears and down her neck. She was like wax melting in his hands. Once, his arm brushed her new wing, and she whimpered. It was nothing a little cooing couldn’t console.
It took little encouragement to have her lay down on her belly, and Charlie moved to work up from her arse. It was a lovely arse, quite distracting, really, but he knew this was no time to lose track of himself. Already, Hermione’s wings were folded tight against her back, and her eyes were half closed.
Charlie wondered when the last time she’d even really slept was. With a gentle grip on her knees, he pulled her legs apart. Kneeling between them, he smoothed his hands over her back. He hummed softly and stroked her until the wings all but disappeared. They looked like nothing more than a tattoo by the time he was finished.
“There’s a girl.” Charlie smiled and pushed his hands up her back and down her arms one final time. Then, he propped himself up on his hands and knees. “Feel good? Relaxed?”
She hummed, and slid her cheek on her pillow. Her bright brown eyes stared out dreamily under half-closed lids.
Charlie raised one hand and swept some hair from her cheek. “I’m not quite so relaxed, Hermione.”
Her smile broadened, and she wriggled below him. Then, she pulled her thighs up under her just so, and that beautiful arse was presented to him. Hermione lifted one hand, signalling with her finger to get on with it.
Charlie felt a spark of incredulity. He wanted to slap her arse, or tickle her, or …laugh! Yet, he did not. He had soothed the beast. Now was not time to tease or torment her. Instead, he set his cock at her opening. He watched her face as he pushed in, and her jaw fell slack as he went, her lips trembling when he was fully sheathed inside her.
“So good.” Charlie pulled back and pushed back in.
Hermione nodded.
Her pussy was wet and tight; her arse was firm against his hips. Charlie pushed forward, as far as he could, filling her. She squeaked, and Charlie pulled her hips against his. Then he pushed his hands down her back. One stopped on her ribs and the other on the back of her neck.
She was so delicate. Her skin was hot and smooth. Charlie thrust his hips a touch and then pulled back. He loved looking at her body. He watched his cock disappear into her.
He pushed in and out of her a few times before reaching around her and pulling on her shoulders until her back rested against his chest. Charlie kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “We need to review a bit.”
Hermione leaned her head back, trying to push her hips down against it. “Wha–?”
“You’ve been very sporting. You ate my food without any encouragement. I’ve got possession of your Siren’s braid. Some boys in Romania told me about that one. Now, I’ve soothed your wings away. There’s just one more thing, a symbolic thing.”
Charlie reached between her breasts and grabbed the ring. A hard pull, and the chain snapped, sliding from the ring onto the bed.
Hermione reached for it, whispering, “My ring!”
“Our ring. This ring has been in the family for ages. Put it on and come home, Hermione.” Charlie turned the ring so he could look through it. “You don’t have to give anything up, and we’ll take care of you.”
“B-but…”
“It was an accident. Come on, now.”
Bracing herself with one hand on his arm, Hermione lifted her other hand to the ring. She touched it with her finger.
“Go on.”
Hermione slid her middle finger through the little golden ring.
“Well done,” Charlie said and kissed her ear. “Should we really have a tumble now?”
Tilting her head to the side, Hermione replied, “If we must.”
That earned her a tweak on her nipple, and Charlie lost himself to kissing her neck.