Homespun by dentedsky
Rated NC-17, Molly/Hermione
Summary: About the depressed housewife, who falls for her youngest son's best friend.
Arthur will talk to Hermione privately (covertly)
by the pig pen and explain things and then she will run away and through the
door and scream. And you will cry, and fall to the floor and sit and stick your
head between your (fat) thighs.
Until then you don't have much. Rather, you believe you have nothing except for
your boys. You definitely don't have the weight you lost two years previously,
and that is something you miss, because at least then you had an excuse to stand
bare-foot in the kitchen and make sandwiches and not do much else except annoy
the men about the lack of food they eat and (FUCK) try desperately not to swear
and scream them to silence.
And you are (the most sexless person you have ever met) quite lonely.
Graduation is held outside next to the lake. The students throw their hats up in
the air and yell and jump and hug each other, then duck when the pointed hats
come back down again. You and Arthur take (not so little) Ron and Ginny and
Harry and Hermione back to the Burrow.
Thank you for letting me stay here, Molly. Yes, I miss my parents, but it's
better they're safe. Smile.
You ask Hermione to join you in the kitchen and command Ginny to do the same.
Ginny has bleached her hair blonde and covers her face with make-up. Her black
eye-liner and eye-shadow is put on so thick you think she looks like a sick
panda. You tell her she looks revolting. You miss your little girl. Hermione
looks beautiful and fresh.
I'll knead the dough for the dumplings, then, shall I? Fingers long and
soft, splotched with flour, dig into the dough, rub, pinch, flip, deep breath,
rip, roll between two palms.
Hermione's thick brown hair (looks so soft) is tied back. She smiles, you smile.
Ginny leaves the kitchen. You serve.
There now, Harry, you eat that all up. I dare say you look frightfully skinny.
Ginny, get your elbows off the table. There Arthur, no lumps, just how you like
it.
He barely looks in your direction. You haven't spoken since this morning. He
gets into bed, rolls over and snores. You get into bed, lie down and think. Your
toes are cold and you wish you were sexy and young. You wish you were like
Hermione, with her skin soft and her friends true and her hair long. (And her
eyes brown and her eyelashes long and her lips plump and slightly parted. And
her skin flushed and her skirt swaying in the wind.)
Arthur sometimes wears knee-high white socks but never have they looked sexy
like the ones Hermione wears; on hairless skinny legs and your eyes progressing
to the skirt and under.
The next day Hermione wears a light purple blouse and jeans. Harry, Ginny and
the boys go outside and play Quidditch. Never much liked Quidditch.
Nervous laugh, hands clasped behind her back. Do you need any help, around
the house, or anything? I'd love to help.
You lead her to your special room.
It's your room because none of your boys would want to go near it. They have
named it the Sewing Room and you are not oblivious to the way the name sounds:
old, stuffy and (sexless, so sexless) motherly. But it really is a beautiful
room, with hundreds of different fabrics draped on the tables, chairs, floor and
walls. All different colours, textures and sizes. There is so much material here
that you could swim through it (naked, the velvet against your breasts and satin
pulled between your clenched thighs). Hermione opens her wet mouth wide and
takes a deep breath.
She clasps her hands together and grins. Let's make some clothes, anything.
All right, dear, how about for you? (Oh Merlin, wishing for her figure, wear
anything and it would look so good.) You show her how to work the one sewing
machine, and she goes through the bags of bags of things and she gasps with joy.
Arthur has been at work all day. You and Hermione make dinner once more and this
time you do not make Ginny help.
The days continue as follows: you and Hermione take to the Sewing Room in the
cold afternoons. It's in the mornings and mid-day that Hermione leaves you for
her friends to go to the creek nearby the house. It's then you wear your apron
and sit and read. Your age is racing high and your children aren't children
anymore and your husband barely notices you and your weight loss has made you
saggy in places on your body.
Hermione comments on your body late one day in the privacy of the Sewing Room.
Was it hard? Because I think you look very beautiful now. Oh, I mean, well….
I like the way you look.
And why don't you try some of these on? She holds up the colourful things
you both have made. I bet you'll fit in them fine.
You put them on and she tries things too; fabric of green and black and beige
hanging off her thin frame. She strips pieces of blue cotton and ties your hair
up into little sections and you laugh with her and you feel young again. Like
Ginny, only much, much happier (because Ginny is always miserable).
You (grow down too slow) tie the ribbons on the homemade corset, and as your
fingers brush her hot skin you think (girls grow up too fast) about kissing her.
There are two rooms. One of them has Ginny in it, and she is awake but you only
find this out later. In another is a big bed with your husband in it.
In the Sewing Room, you and Hermione are kissing. You have slid your hand across
her bare, flat belly.
She is (wet, and smells so good) moaning and your pleasure is pulsing hot and
tight, licking her here and there, shoulder, neck, breast - nip, suck, lick. She
is straddling you, her legs spread apart before you and you feel (so young) the
heat spread through your stomach and thighs and pool in your groin. Your fingers
are in her warm (tight, slick) entrance and you curl your fingers.
She puts her mouth to yours and pushes her wet tongue inside and it dances with
yours. With a thumb you make quick circles around her clitoris and she shudders
and sobs.
It happens again the next day, with Hermione wearing a dress you made for her
and her mouth is on your left breast. Your hand is under this dress and she
comes quickly and moans….
(It's all a mistake. Tastes like butter, as small as a girl's, far from love,
husband in next room. Small and soft and fingers barely fit so tight want more
hate it.)
Tongue on your clit and swirling. There's tears mixed with your juices. You bend
her over the table push as much of your hand in as you can and you (loathe this
life) wish for release. There is red felt weaved into her braid and some tied
around her ancle. Her breasts are raw and red where you've squeezed and sucked
them. Both holes are stretched and wet from when you entered her so many times
on hot afternoons and sleepless nights.
(More.)
I love you.
(Again.)
I need it.
(Harder.)
Be there.
Let it (never end) be over. If you get caught Ron will hate you both.
Arthur talks to Hermione privately (covertly) by the pig pen and explains things
and then she runs away and through the door and screams. And you cry, and fall
to the floor and sit and stick your head between your (fat) thighs.
It's Ginny who hates you the most. It's Ginny who lies to Arthur in the end.
Hermione is banging on your door. I promise I didn't, I didn't do it she's
lying I love you please open up Molly I would never do that to you please!
She's a liar you must believe me. I never did anything with her I only want to
be with you.
End.