Unofficial Portkey Archive

What followed was very probably the strangest dinner he'd ever attended, not so much for the food, but for the behaviour of the company. Ron looked like he was constantly withholding laughter (his cheeks were very red), and Lavender had an unmistakable twinkle in her blue eyes. Hermione was the most business-like and quiet he'd ever seen her. She finished her dinner very quickly and it was testament to her embarrassment that she rushed through, of all things, one of Mrs. Weasley's home-cooked meals. Before Harry could say a word to her over the table, she jumped to her feet and rushed off to her room, and Harry felt disappointment flood him. It seemed obvious to him that Ron and Lavender had some idea of what went on in Hermione's room not fifteen minutes ago. How they knew... well, Lavender had said to Harry a long time back that she considered herself quite the gifted Seer (though he'd never believed her), so perhaps she was better than he'd originally given her credit for.

He was tempted to pop by Hermione's room on the way to his, but he knew that his report on the day's events simply couldn't wait any longer and he'd already gotten in trouble twice that year for turning in his reports late. After the boring and embarrassing task of describing exactly what happened to him that day, ( "-at which point the stairs collapsed completely and I fell into the cellar-"), he tumbled into bed, fully aware of the ridiculously late hour.

The house was strangely deserted the next day when he got up, and for one awful moment he thought he'd slept in. This apparently wasn't the case, as there was a message for him on the white board on the fridge.

Dear Harry,

Ron has gone to early practice and I've gone to do some research in the Ministry archives before they get crowded. Will be busy all day - see you tonight.

Love from,

Hermione.

He was about to open the fridge, but he spotted a PS.

PS - That Snitch is still a bother.

He felt his cheeks burn in a blush. He had to wonder if either Ron or Lav would get that reference, but he didn't dare ask for fear of incriminating himself and Hermione. He shoved all thought of it out of his mind as he made his breakfast.

After a small meal, he Apparated to work. He went straight to his office, and for the next three hours, worked on his report. As his mind was wrapped up in his work, his heart sighed, and that part of him wished he could have seen Hermione that morning before leaving for work. He immediately felt foolish for that, and convinced himself it was a matter of routine, that he always saw Hermione before work so that's why he missed it.

This didn't account for the half empty feeling in his chest, or the fact that not even his work left him fully satisfied that week. When his lunch hour came, he had to get out of the Ministry building. On a whim, he Apparated to Chudley Stadium (subtitled Walkin's Windslip Broom Wax Stadium) where he was warmly received by Ron and his rowdy team mates. Sometimes they liked to goad Harry into having a fly on one of their brooms, and Harry needed no great encouragement as they were the finest brooms Harry had ever seen - racing brooms of impeccable quality and precision. They loved to watch him catch the Snitch, and the team Seeker had quite the case of hero worship in regards to Harry. Today the team was very busy preparing for a charity game against the Appleby Arrows, so they did not stop to greet him for long. They were back to training fairly quickly. Ron hung back, however, as his reserve trained in his stead, while they both had some lunch. Harry munched on a ham and salad sandwich and sipped at coffee in a foam cup. Ron had a self-sealing, self-heated plate of his mother's cooking, which Harry dared to nick bits of, as beef casserole was far more palatable to him than the wholemeal healthy sandwich in his hands.

"Oi! What's wrong with your sandwich?" Amusement flittered onto Ron's heavily freckled face. "Didn't Hermione make it?"

"Only cause she was making some for herself at the same time," said Harry, sounding far more defensive than he intended. "It's just that she doesn't like me not eating."

"Not eating?"

He blushed. "Sometimes I forget to leave the building for lunch. She - made me these so I had something to eat if I stayed in." Ron smirked. "What's that look for?"

"Nothing." He shook his head and stuffed a hunk of beef between his teeth.

"Bull."

Ron lifted his brows and tried to look innocent, which he failed to do entirely. Harry just took a bite of his sandwich, which he irrationally resented for being made by Hermione.

"So... uhm..."

Harry stared ahead at the orange-clad players zooming about the pitch, at the sun beating down on the healthy thick green grass, not wanting to think on why Ron sounded suddenly smug.

"What's going on with you and Hermione, then, eh?"

Harry's eyes snapped to Ron and he glared at him.

"What makes you think-"

"You can't fool your old buddy-"

"Has Lavender been telling you things?" Harry said after gulping down a big mouthful of ham sandwich. "She read my mood, that sneak!"

Harry realised as he said this that it might anger Ron, a man always fiercely protective of his romantic interests. He was ready for him to redden around the ears and tell him never to speak ill of his girl again, but this didn't happen. Ron just burst into hearty laughter.

"Mate, mate..." He dropped a hand onto Harry's shoulder. "You did not have to be gifted with the sight to hear what we heard last night."

After a moment of frozen terror, the molten heat of embarrassment surged through Harry, and he wrapped his head in his arms, moaning pitifully. He remembered clearly every moan, every grunt, ever blessed cry that the both of them made, and died again and again as he recalled each sound.

"We forgot 'silencio'..." he whimpered.

"You're both Muggle-raised," Ron said in an understanding tone, "It's all right. Anyway - hearing Hermione make all those noises kinda got Lavender in a right mood. Though..." Ron winced. "I'd be happy if I never heard you moan again."

Harry whimpered again, never feeling so mortified in his life.

"Harry, calm down, it's me here!"

"I know!" he wailed.

"Well at least it wasn't someone like Tonks, or Lupin, or Neville or worse - me Mum!"

Harry sat up, pulled his head from his arms, his hair rumpled and an utter mess (more so than usual). He looked very serious. "You're right."

"Right," nodded Ron.

No, it was too much. The thought of it all flooded him and he broke down into a fit of the whimpers again, burying his head in his arms once more.

"I have never been so embarrassed in all my LIFE!" he said pitifully, all muffled.

"Even more embarrassed than that time Fred and George sent you the pretend fan mail with the singing knickers in it?"

Harry sat up, glaring flatly at Ron. Even Snape would have been hard pressed to match his withering look.

"No, Ron, I would think this is worse."

"All right, no need to get snippy!" Ron sighed, his good nature seemingly unstoppable. "So what was it like, then?" He smirked. "Did you - I mean, I know you must have-"

"No, I didn't, and I'd rather not talk about it."

Harry felt hot all over, humiliation and discomfort making him want to get away. Yet, some part of him made him sit right where he was. Damned needy self, he thought darkly.

"Harry," said Ron suddenly, "I'm your best friend. You can talk to me about these things, remember?"

Harry grit his teeth, wondering why everyone was so damned interested in his love life all of a sudden. He was sure he'd be perfectly happy if he never heard the words 'You can talk to me' ever, ever again. With a sigh of defeat, he squished the plastic wrap Hermione had put around his sandwiches in his fist.

"We didn't do - well... it, if that's what you're thinking."

Ron lifted his brows, an open-mouthed leer on his face. He stayed silent, obviously waiting for more details. Harry grudgingly continued.

"Hermione and I, we uhm..." He made vague 'v' shaped motions with his hands, indicating a pair of legs, then stuck his tongue out hesitantly and, very stiffly, bent forward in the most robotic mime of cunnilingus ever performed. He quickly stopped, looking away and blushing fiercely.

Ron's eyes flew wide open in shock, and he gave such a whoop that it echoed around the stadium. Harry hissed, begging him to be quiet. His best friend had collapsed into hearty laughter.

"Harry," sniggered Ron, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "You are an ANIMAL, mate! With the noises she was making, Lav and I thought you must have been going at it like rabbits-"

"-Ron-"

"But just with your mouth, man!? That's amazing!"

He felt his embarrassment flee him, and all at once a heavy disappointment swamped him. He growled.

"Obviously not good enough. She avoided me this morning and outside of our bedrooms, it's business as usual."

"Yeah, well, that's Hermione for you, isn't it?" he said. "She's always been funny about her love life with us. It's probably killing her that she's having these feelings for you."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot again, but this time in frustration and pain. "Or it could be that she doesn't feel anything much at all and is just experimenting..."

Ron began to laugh again, and Harry drifted to silence. He didn't need to ask Ron, "What?" because the po-faced expression he wore said it quite eloquently.

"I'm sorry, Harry, it's just the very idea of Hermione NOT having feelings for you is preposterous."

Harry frowned slowly. "Uhm... do they put vodka in the team orange juice or did you get hit in the head with a bludger a couple of times this morning?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! You know what I'm talking about."

"No," said Harry, stubbornly, "I don't."

"Okay," said Ron, his tone playfully condescending. "Let's see... What are the three things that Hermione's life as revolved around for the past eleven years?" He looked up into the air in feigned thought, tapping his fingers as he went. "Well, it's work, family and friends, and - you."

"Me?"

Ron met his expression without faltering. For once in the last four years of his life, he was being entirely serious.

"Listen, Harry. For as long as I've known that girl, it's been about you." Harry was about to interrupt but Ron saw this and shut him up with a glare. "I mean it. She's done so much for you and it's just a part of who she is. To be honest, I don't think she'd know what to do without you in her life. I reckon she'd go nuts."

Harry gave him a doubting look. "Oh come off it, Ron. She went out with you in sixth year, and when we left school, that guy from the Auror Academy. She was quite happy being with other people then."

Ron was shaking his head.

"No, mate. You know what Hermione and I talked about most often, not only in our very brief relationship but in the whole time we've been friends?"

Harry shook his head.

"You. What things you'd like. How you're coping with your classes. How you're doing on your own on the holidays. How good you're getting at whatever new curse you're working on at the time. You name it. You have always been her favourite topic of conversation and it's always been one of the few things I can talk to her about without her getting bored or stroppy with me." He paused, shrugging a shoulder. "And even then I manage to get her narky, but that's usually if I happen to suggest that at one of these Quidditch parties you should go have some fun with one of the pretty birds that hang around, you know - one that won't stick around and give you the shits."

Harry blinked at that suggestion. "I what..?"

"You know, just cause you deserve it, mate, a nice time, I mean, without the complications."

Rubbing his eyelids with his fingers, Harry growled quietly.

"This is exactly my problem, Ron. I don't want some random woman, I don't want five minute kinky interludes-" He whimpered, "As enjoyable as they are. I tell you what I DO want. I want complications. I want all the things that go with being in love with someone." He folded his arms, jutting his lips out sulkily. "And I bloody well want Hermione."

His best friend wrung a delighted grin from his face, seemingly trying to look as serious as he could manage, and he put his hand on Harry's shoulder again. When Harry looked at him, his expression softened.

"Listen, Harry, you know Hermione. She's a strong-minded woman with big ideas, but when you let her know how you're feeling, she comes back down to earth again. You just have to tell her what's bothering you, all right?"

Harry snorted. "She'll get angry at me for moving too fast or - or not respecting her need to 'process' or whatever."

"You can't let her bugger you around!" said Ron firmly. "If she knew this was hurting you, she'd stop, I know it."

"But - I think I don't want her to - I mean - what if this is all she'll give me?" He closed his eyes and saw fluttering gold and silver and light skin, terror at the thought of all it stood for being gone from his life forever.

"If you let her know what you're feeling, and she tells you to sod off..." He shook his head. "I'll shave her kneazle-cat and charm it green." Ron's momentary spell of wisdom seemed to have passed, and Harry could only chuckle sadly. "But I have a feeling it won't come to that," finished Ron.

He was glad Ron had such confidence, because he certainly didn't. Ron soon rejoined his team mates, slapping Harry on the back fondly. Harry watched the team play for a little while before going back to work. The sweeping, flitting play wrapped his mind up in thoughts of sport and not of his confusing love life, and he was perfectly happy watching the game, completely distracted from his problems.

At least until Chudley's Seeker grabbed the Snitch, swooping down to the ground, rolling deftly then skipping to his feet, doing a little skip of joy and waving the golden winged ball at the Captain.

Harry's fingers itched, and with a heavy sigh, he left for work.

~~*~~

The rest of the day positively dragged by for Harry and he was very glad to get home to the relative peace and tranquility of his flat. He had an early dinner of Muggle oven fried food, left a note on the fridge for Ron and Hermione, saying that he'd eaten and would be working in his room all night. This afforded him all the time alone he could want or need, and he buried himself in his work for some hours, immersed in briefs and dossiers and fat reports authored by H.J. Granger, the very tone of which he found utterly tormenting. It took him back to long days at Hogwarts where Hermione took it on herself to lecture him and Ron about what they'd missed in class, and he didn't want to think about her at that moment.

He was halfway through a report on the link between a unicorn poaching racket and increases in Dark attacks at certain apothecaries in the country when the door of his room opened and closed. He knew who it was without looking. He could smell her Muggle shampoo and the lightest of perfumes from his desk by the door. He did not look up. Her very presence made his heart beat painfully, confusion bubbling up in him, and desire - such desire.

He struggled with the indignant anger that had been simmering inside of him all day. He was so very glad to finally see her that it dissipated, slipping away like water through one's fingers.

He looked up to her and smiled. Joy bubbled up in his heart as a similarly naughty smirk drifted across her lips. He could see that she changed out of her work clothes. She wore a pair of blood red crushed velvet pants, the strangest article of clothing that she owned (which were incredibly comfortable according to Hermione) and she often wore them about the flat. Other than that, she wore a fluffy pair of pink socks and a low-cut grey singlet. She was not a fashion sensation but she did look very comfortable. Her hair was out and tumbling about her shoulders, her fringe framing her face just so, and Harry was sure she was the loveliest woman he'd ever set eyes on. His staring seemed to make her blush. He put down his quill, heart bouncing within him, and he tried his very best to look laid back. It never occurred to him that Hermione would know better.

"Hey."

Her brown eyes twinkled in the lamplight.

"Hello," she said. She pursed her lips, looking like a naughty imp that had been caught teasing the cat. "I'm sorry about being scarce this morning, and... well last night too, I suppose."

She said sorry, she said sorry. He tried not to grin. He twisted his lips thoughtfully in his fingers, or at least an affectation of thoughtfulness. In reality, he was contemplating her bosom.

"I didn't upset you, did I?"

"No, no," he said lightly, valiantly trying not to smirk. "I was just languishing in the belief that I'd become your wanton sex pup."

He struggled to keep the serious look on his face, which began to crumble as Hermione gasped and broke into a chuckle.

"Harry!"

He shrugged, smiling bashfully. Hermione looked similarly embarrassed and, stepping forward, she sat on the edge of his desk. Her smile faded.

"I've been thinking about this... A lot, actually. In fact..." She gave a sad laugh. "I've barely been able to think about anything else. And I decided-"

That she's going to break it all off. She doesn't want me like that. She's going to stop touching me. His mind filled in the blanks frantically as his heart thumped painfully.

"That this whole thing has been sort of unfair on you."

Aaaand she wants to stop. His breath was shallow, his cheeks burned, and he barely dared to meet her eyes. His heart leapt in shock as her hand covered one of his.

"Harry, I've been afraid... of so many things."

"Of me?" he found himself saying, voice small and full of uncertainty.

"Oh heavens, no!" she gasped. "Never you, Harry! Actually I... I was scared that... you really will laugh!"

He lifted his brows expectantly, wishing she'd just say it and put him out of his misery.

"I... I was scared that the only reason you wanted to uhm... to do things with me was because of the Snitch..."

His brows darted down and his mouth wagged. He'd been so very terrified that she wanted to stop things between them, and then she said this... Something like relief but mostly confusion whirled about in his head and he spoke, barely aware of what he was saying.

"Hermione," he croaked. "You're everything to me."

She blinked, eyes gleaming. "R-really?"

He nodded, unable to control much of what he said for the sudden flush of something warm and delicious roaring about inside of him. "Yes! You - you can't fall in love with someone just because of a tattoo."

She seemed to shrink a touch, her hand shooting to her mouth. It lowered and she gulped.

"You... you're in-"

He wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. But it was too late now, all too late and he just didn't care anymore. She started it, and he'd let her face it.

"Completely and utterly," he said, heart thumping madly. "It's been very distracting."

"Well I'm sorry that I'm such a bloody inconvenience!" she gasped, looking happy but sounding breathless.

"I'm not sorry at all."

The mirth on her face faded, and all that remained was the open, vulnerable emotion that he first consciously glimpsed in the ladies toilet of the Leaky Cauldron, that he'd seen flickers of over the years and gained comfort from, even though he never stopped to examine what it was that was happening between them. After all the years of slowly drifting together, of their lives interweaving and becoming so very intermingled that their being apart was rare, he realised he didn't want to wait anymore, to see if they would stumble their way into an outcome or fall apart because of unspoken tensions. He stood, his hand still under Hermione's, his eyes telling her exactly what he was feeling. Her own darling brown eyes gleamed and she seemed stunned, as if the man slowly leaning closer to her was some movie star of infinite fame and charm and not Harry who went to school with her and got stroppy with her for reminding him to do his homework and encouraged her to break perfectly reasonable school rules. As his lips touched hers, he saw her tremble all over, and he felt himself swoon a little at that, revelling in the fact that it was he that made her move so. The kiss was slow, firm, a thing that had them still and in awe, for a moment unmoving and just feeling their lips pursed together, for more than fleeting affection or attraction, but blossoming and lasting love. He felt as though it were the first kiss all over again. Finally, he pulled away and tentatively, he stroked the delicate line of her jaw. It was so smooth...

"Harry..." she breathed.

He lifted his brows.

"You're a bloody good kisser," she sighed, looking a little drunk, and Harry chuckled.

"Ohhh, and I haven't even properly kissed you yet."

She took her bottom lip in her teeth, a hopeful look about her. "Well, would you like to give me a demonstration?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes and looking down to the pile of parchments on his table. "Ah, I don't know... I do have an awful lot of work to do-"

His last few words were punctuated with his own laughter as Hermione gripped his arm and tugged it with an affronted yet playful gasp.

"Harry!"

He laughed freely, grinning at her expression. "You should see your face!"

"Very funny, I'm sure, you awful tease," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Me a tease?!" he cried, "Dear God! I'm not the one giving on-the-fly handjobs!"

She blushed ferociously but said, "You didn't seem to mind at the time."

"No, I didn't." He leant in again, soft smile on his face, trying the back of his knuckles over the round of her chin. "In fact, I rather enjoyed it."

Her eyelids fluttered at the caress and her lips curled into a smile. "That's good, because I intend on doing it again some time in the future."

"Glad to hear it," he murmured, nuzzling her cheek experimentally. The warmth coming from her skin was so very delightful, and her breath tickled his cheek and ear. With a dreamy smile, he continued, drifting his lips over her skin, pressing gentle tiny kisses up the line of her cheek bone, into her hair, and finding her earlobe, he kissed that too. He could hear her sigh and her hands clutched his shoulders.

"You smell good," he mumbled. "Always."

"Th- oh my!" She gasped as he took her earlobe in his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he breathed into her ear, and he could feel her tremble again.

"Harry," she said, squirming in her spot.

"Hmm?"

He was too busy discovering the joys of Hermione's earlobe to see why she was wriggling.

"My bottom is sore, I think I'm sitting on something..."

He pulled her towards him by the small of her waist and stepped back. As she lifted her bottom they saw the quill on the table, rumpled, and the pointy metal lid of his ink pot where she had perched herself. Hermione gasped and patted her bottom.

"Oh no!" she gasped. "Have I got ink on my bum?"

Harry chuckled as he turned her about and checked. He was afforded a lovely view of her bottom, and he was quite tempted to place a hand on it just in the affectation of checking, but he knew she wasn't in the mood for that. On her left bottom cheek was a lovely great black splotch, soaked into the fabric of her pants.

"Oh dear."

"Ohhh what? Do I?"

He stepped back, folding his arms, stroking his jaw and looking like the seasoned art critic. "I could do a Rorschach test with your bottom."

"Ohh bugger!"

"I see a tiger."

She whimpered, too upset to properly laugh. "Ginny gave me these pants!"

"You can clean them, can't you?" he said. "Just soak them."

"No, I bought you that ink," she said, twisting about and tugging at her pants. "It's wizard ink! Charmed to be fade resistant and waterproof and stuff like that."

"Oh."

She sighed, rubbing her eyelids. "I can only hope Mrs. Weasley knows a good charm to get rid of it."

He held out his hand, walking into his bathroom.

"I'm sure she does. Here, take those pants off and we'll soak them anyway, to see if it does any good."

He heard Hermione sigh as she walked into the bathroom behind him, and when he glanced at her he saw a smirk on her face.

"Oh, very smooth."

"Are you going to try it or not?"

"Ah, why not?" she muttered.

She wriggled her hips in an all too delectable way, pushing the elastic waist band down quiet effortlessly. Doffing the pants, she revealed a pair of white girl jocks with hot pink trim and a picture of a stylised white kitten on the centre panel, which looked absolutely gorgeous on her and made Harry's heart melt entirely. She spotted the delighted little purse of his lips and toed the floor anxiously.

"They were the most sensible knickers in the store at the time." She stood tall. "They're very comfy."

Harry smirked, his very look saying "I'll bet they are."

With a playful huff, she stomped to his sink and turned the tap on hard. He felt an evil prickle of glee dance across his heart as his eyes looked at her backside, and he did his best not to laugh.

"They are also stained with ink."

Hermione's hurried fretting movements at the sink stilled, and she turned off the water. Slowly, very slowly, she turned about. The steady gaze she hit him with was fire, and he felt hot trickles all over his body.

"Well," she said, sounding a tad breathless. "I'm just going to have to take these off to soak too, aren't I?"

"Uh- huhh- khem!" He cleared his throat, nodding, feeling gleeful trembles break out in his limbs and face. "I think that's a very sensible measure."

There was a glint in Hermione's eyes and he could tell she was very happy to have his rapt attention.

"And heaven knows I am a sensible woman," she said, stepping forward, holding his eyes, hooking her thumb in the waist band of her knickers.

"Always."

He tried to keep his eyes on hers, and he found his voice was suddenly husky without his control. Something inside him leapt with shock and delight as the tip of her tongue emerged from her mouth, pressing the middle of her top lip, a little wrinkle of concentration between her brows as she angled her hips from side to side. She wriggled (her eyes still on his), and very possibly kicked (He wasn't looking at her legs to be sure). Harry was vaguely aware of a pink and white shape sailing through the air and out of the bathroom door.

"I thought we were meant to be soaking those," he murmured, inching closer to her, watching her lips.

She shrugged a shoulder. "They were cheap knickers anyway."

At that she hopped forward, her arms wrapping around his neck and her lips on his. He felt a chuckle in his throat at her eagerness, though it didn't surprise him entirely as Hermione was never one to go at things half-arsed. He couldn't help but groan as one of her blessedly naked legs hooked about his hip, and in catching it, he got a handful of silky thigh. There was very little he was aware of other than her. He didn't even realise she'd been steering him till they both collided into the sideboard of the bathroom, and the mirror and sink shook in objection.

"Oh shit!" he chuckled.

"Whoops!"

They laughed for only a moment, Harry leaning in and capturing her lips, stealing between them hungrily. He kissed her deeply, hotly, the way he'd wanted to for days (or was it years?) and she offered no resistance, opening herself to him; her lips, her legs. Her hands seized his and pulled them down to her hips and thighs, and Harry understood entirely.

Don't be such a bloody gentleman!

An evil little spark ignited inside of him and without warning he dragged his lips down her body, taking a mouthful of her stomach when he reached it and suckling firmly.

"Harry..."

Her fingers were in his hair and he decided that he liked that very much indeed. He nuzzled her, licking the Snitch, kissing it, then burrowing his nose lower.

"Harry!"

He'd only had the briefest taste of her when she leapt up and ran to his desk. His eyes were locked on her hips and as she escaped him, joy of joy, rapture of rapture, he was given quite the show as he watched her bolt across the room, the lower half of her entirely naked. The sight of her dainty bottom in bouncing motion would be burnt into his memory forever. Those were the things that the mysterious smiles of old men were made of.

He stepped into the bedroom, watching her pick about his desk.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

She looked over her shoulder. "Your wand!"

Harry pursed his lips, squashing any temptation to make a dirty joke out of that.

"In the pocket of my coat hanging off the chair."

As Hermione then bent over, her delicious behind pointing right at him, Harry knew that there was, indeed, a God.

"Oh my..."

He hadn't even realised he'd said anything till she looked over her shoulder with confusion.

"I love your bottom Hermione," he said. He gave a short, boyish smile, the sort he used to give if she'd done a spell particularly well at school. "And the bits that go with it."

She ducked her head away a moment, and with what could only be deliberation, her bottom lifted higher and she angled her pelvis up to him. His mouth went dry as blood surged downstairs, and it was all he could do not to walk right over there, press himself into her from behind and rub for dear life. He didn't because she was now trying to cast a charm.

Standing, she waved the wand at the door in a slow, big, circle.

"Silencio!"

The air about the door shimmered and, turning around, he saw her tapping her own belly. She abandoned the wand then, carefully clearing a space on his desk with a slow, deliberate swipe of her arm. Satisfied that she had a place to sit, she turned about, proud as she pleased, and parked her naked bottom on top of it, opening her legs and putting her feet on the arms of his comfy work chair, planting her hands in front of her private parts - more to tease Harry than to bid herself modesty (he guessed).

"Harry."

He opened his mouth, dragging his eyes back to hers and with a lot of concentration that had to be redirected from lower down, he managed to make a sound.

"Uh - buh-"

"Take your pants off."

"What?"

Her eyes dropped down to his crotch.

"Your pants, Harry. Take them off."

She looked amused. Slowly, he realised that he was still in the tracksuit pants and t-shirt that he often wore about the house after a long day at work.

"A-All of my-"

She just ticked a brow with a cheeky smile and he nodded.

"All off..." He drifted off, looking down and hooking his thumbs into his pants.

From the corner of his eye he saw her hands move and as his pants dropped around his ankles, she changed her posture. The coy, shy curl of her body had gone, her legs were parted but her hands were now on her knees, her thumbs twitching, and she was peering at his crotch with rapt attention. He shuffled, blushing as he noticed he was very firm and that his penis was quite happy for the sudden lack of restraint.

"Now we're both half-naked." He looked down. "In a strange, strange way."

"Yes..." Hermione took her bottom lip in her teeth, a blush coming up in her cheeks. "My turn, eh?"

He lifted his brows, wondering what she meant.

She gathered the hem of her singlet in her fingers and, with a delightful arc of her body, pulled it up over her head. Her breasts stretched with her, then shuddered as she brought her arms down, and he felt his mouth watering. There she was, naked, on his desk, legs open, arms tucked at her side with a flushed, hungry look about her. He was pretty sure this was heaven. His penis agreed with him.

"Now you..."

She sounded impatient. He realised that he still had his t-shirt on, a body-hugging sort of thing (but not in the Colin Creevey goes to fanciful nightclubs sort of way) that was very comfortable, and he pulled it up over his head with shaking hands. Hermione's eyes seemed to grow wider as he threw the shirt over his shoulder, and he frowned, looking at his chest.

"What?"

A flicker of the shy, uncertain girl danced across her features.

"Well... you have an awfully nice chest, don't you?"

He glanced down at himself and then back to her. "You really think so?"

A coy but appreciative smile touched her lips and he blushed, edging towards her.

"Well... I like yours too. Very much."

She giggled quietly, leaning back as he rolled his chair away and took its place, daring to put his hands on her thighs. He looked down, watching them slide over the smooth light-brown skin, and the shudder that went through her as he did so. Her mouth dropped open a touch and a breath rasped from her. His hands were so large and clumsy on her gentle curves, he barely felt worthy to touch her. He slid them up her body, blood roaring as he caressed her hips, and he settled them in the lilt of her waist. She scooted forward on the desk, her eyes meeting his.

There was something in them that echoed the swirling emotions within him. Always it had been that way, and now, in this precious moment, it was just what he'd always wanted, what he'd always needed. He cradled her jaw, tenderly, stroking it as he felt something pass between them and something new begin.

"Hermione..."

She cut him off with a shadow of a bright smile, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose with hers. He needed no further prompting. Her eyes said everything he needed to know. He kissed her, a strange tingling heat between the small space between their bodies, and he slid his arms tightly around her, bundling her to him and lifting her off the table. He heard her gasp, and he mumbled low in her ear.

"Don't want you getting ink on your bum again, do we?"

She chuckled and let him pull her against him, her legs wrapping around his hips, and oh, blessing of blessings, her warm sex pressed against his stomach. She was light in his arms and he barely noticed the steps he took as he kissed her again, nuzzling and adoring her with his lips, stealing between her teeth and swirling his tongue against hers. It was such a relief to finally kiss her so, kiss her with passion and lust and love and all those things he'd been wrapping up deeply inside him for what felt like forever. Her sighs and tiny huffs were delicious to hear, and it all completely bewitched him, pushing the mundane normality of life far, far away and the maddening reality of the moment rushed in and drowned him. It was the best thing he'd ever felt, and he'd only just started making love to her.

His stomach jumped in his chest as they tumbled onto the bed, and Hermione let out a little gasp of shock.

"Sorry..."

She shook her head and kissed him again, seemingly happy to concentrate on Harry instead of clinging to him and worrying about them falling over (though she didn't pull her arms and legs from around him). Nimble fingers caressed his ears and everything went a little blurry as she plucked his glasses from his face. She smiled warmly.

"Don't need those for the moment, do we?"

He only shook his head. His heart began to pound as he realised that the warm round things brushing his chest were her naked breasts, and with a wriggle backwards, he bent down and tentatively cupped one in his hand. Hermione took her bottom lip in her teeth, arching her back towards him, a look of enjoyment fluttering across her features. He was thrilled to feel her nipples become firm under his palm, and he carefully squeezed the flesh in his hand. Hermione sighed happily.

He was barely aware of her hands stroking his shoulders and arms as he watching his own hands play with her breasts, and he bent his head, taking a nipple into his mouth, exploring it with his tongue.

Hermione gasped suddenly, her legs folding towards her belly and her back arcing suddenly.

"Did I hurt-"

"Uhn-nn" She shook her head vigourously and pulled him back down to her. "Don't stop."

He grinned at her and put his mouth back on her, and he could hear her sigh again. He loved breasts. He was reminded of this fact most vividly as he stroked and caressed Hermione's, licking the sweet curve and playfully biting the nub at its centre. A funny sort of wibbling noise came from Hermione's throat then, and her legs fell open.

"Ohhh bloody hell," she managed to mutter after a moment of incoherence.

Love flushed in his heart, and with another smile he shifted back up, looking into her eyes and kissing her softly. His fingertips drifted down between her breasts, tracing light, airy circles about them (she shuddered, stroking his side with her foot), and then down over the rise and fall of her small stomach, and then he traced the spot where the Snitch was flying madly. He pursed his lips on hers for a long moment, then opened them, dipping his fingers down past her curls.

She seemed to skip a breath as he found her sensitive flesh, and her chest rose and fell faster as he began long, lazy strokes over her.

Turning her head, she sighed, and Harry pressed his mouth over her neck, suckling it gently, tickling the sweet spot under her jaw that he knew he most certainly had. She squirmed, and he grinned internally. He loved knowing her so well.

Her hands roamed his form as he kissed and worked her, and he gave an odd squeak as her fingers found his nipples and tweaked them. He could only gasp after that, despite the deep, naughty chuckling in the back of Hermione's throat.

He stroked her firmer down there in retaliation and her legs fell open again, but she did not surrender his nipples, which he couldn't help but be glad of, as it was building on the warm tingling that was slowly consuming him.

One of the hands left his chest, and he felt a sensation that had haunted him relentlessly for the past few days - her fingers curling around his erection. Blood roared in his skin as she began to stroke him, and he stroked her in return, his hand becoming rather slippery.

He was surprised to feel her push him down onto the bed, and her body was against his, skin drifting against skin, as she scooted down. He frowned at her, curiosity in his gaze. She smiled shyly, shrugging as if it should all be obvious.

"Can't go in unprepared," she breathed. "And don't make me go get the lube."

His mouth wagged and he shook his head. To his utter shock and delight, Hermione, eyes locked to the head of his penis, took him partway into her mouth. His head dropped back and his eyes closed as a brand new wash of emotion and sensation bombarded him. He could feel her tongue trace and tickle him, her lips pursing hard about him, her hands caressing and stroking all that wasn't in her mouth. His disbelief mounted as he felt himself go deeper, and he looked up in alarm when it felt like she wasn't going to stop.

"Duh- oh God.... Gag reflex!!" he bleated, "Don't choke-"

He could feel her laughing about him, and it was an awesome sensation. He gripped the sheets and groaned as she shook around him, and with a wet long lick, she pulled away. He was now slick from her saliva, which he realised was her intention in the first place. It was a damned dirty way to prepare him, and he could only shake his head as she crawled up the bed and laid on top of him (avoiding his willy for now).

"Didn't mean to scare you," she breathed, eyeing his lips, cradling his face tenderly.

"You- I mean-" He stared at her in awe. "When did you-"

"Best not to ask that," she said with a smirk.

"No, I suppose..." He gulped. "You're just so-"

She lifted her brows at him and he sighed with a disbelieving smile.

"-bloody dominant!"

She laughed at that and she wriggled her body on top of his in a deliberately teasing way. "Well, would you rather I roll over like a good little bitch and play dead?"

He blinked, and something in him snapped. He grinned, and a growl took him as he grabbed her and rolled them both over, his mouth closing on her neck. She squealed and giggled, and after a moment of suckling her neck, he met her eyes again.

"Do you know, I think I love it when you talk dirty," he murmured with a grin.

She grinned back at him, wrapping her arms about his neck. "Hmm, well, that's very interesting." She closed her eyes as he kissed her neck again, and she continued. "I suppose you want me to spank you as well?"

He giggled against her neck and mumbled about her flesh. "Not tonight."

"Good," she said, running her fingers through his hair dotingly. "I prefer kisses."

Her affection pulled him from her neck and he nuzzled her with a besotted smile.

"Me too."

He kissed her again, her fingers in his hair, her legs parting and wrapping about his narrow hips. He could feel her coaxing him, and her kisses were growing more open, her tongue dipping deeper within him. She didn't have to say anything, he knew she wanted more, and so did he.

He settled between her legs, a hand caressing her breast and another resting in her hair (how he loved to touch it), letting the tip of his penis slowly stroke her lips. He felt her tremble, her fingers digging into his arms, her heels digging into his bottom. Her vocal sighs filled his ears and he responded with a gentle moan of his own, which he felt shudder in their lips pressed hard together.

It was only a moment that he took to ready himself, as her plaintive gasps were demands in themselves for him to stop dilly-dallying. He wriggled in one final attempt at positioning and kissing her, he slowly pushed himself in.

His mind turned inside-out. He felt it peel away from his skull and flip, and the strange sensation of falling into hot water took him at the same time. His very spirit gloried in the contact and demanded to know why, why, why he hadn't done this with the precious woman in his arms before now? He couldn't think on it - he couldn't think of anything. All he could do was kiss her, bury his fingers in her hair, breath with her, feel with her. He could feel her arms and legs fold about him, and he loved how she clung to him so, loved how she was so damned hot about him... He angled his hips, slowly, carefully, feeling for the new space he wanted to get to know (oh so very) intimately. Again he sank within her, again sheets of delight broke out across his skin, tingling his every nerve, and Hermione let out a helpless moan.

His hips began a slow rolling and he stopped thinking in words, stopped thinking in logic. All he knew was Hermione; her hair, her smell, the taste of her skin, the feeling of her surrounding him entirely. Her breathing began to match his pace and he listened to her intently, listened to her pleased little sounds, her gasping which was growing to moaning.

Something indescribable mounted in his body. With every stroke it grew, with every kiss. He was now utterly at home inside her, and he began to push, began to quicken, eager to take her to the extremes she'd pushed him with a single blessed hand. She clutched him with her hands, her legs, her inner muscles, a rough groan lifting from the back of her throat. He kissed her, adoring her with his tongue as he did the rest of himself, little shudders growing in her body around him. It made him lose his sanity, made him lose touch of the tiny shred of shyness or propriety he had left within him. He groaned, thrusting dedicatedly into her now, his own passion making him a little crazy.

Hermione, Hermione... my Hermione...

His mind sang this little song as he moved within her.

How I love my Hermione...

Her lips broke away from his and she began to gasp heavily, cries leaving her throat.

"Ohhh... Oh my-" She gulped, her eyes flickering open, her fingertips stroking his jaw. "Yes, oh-" She bit her lip, but he didn't want her to hold a thing in.

"Just say it," he said on a ragged breath, his eyes gazing right onto her.

She tightened about him as he met her eyes, and a great cry left her.

"Oh... oh HARRY!"

His name leaving her lips in such a rough, impassioned cry sent him hurtling past his limits, his body clenching and shuddering within her and without her. He wondered what all the noise was and he suddenly realised that it was him, he was moaning and growling like some wild animal, and it was him making Hermione whimper and gasp. He cradled her face as he made his final strokes within her, the waves of his release slowing gently.

With a sigh he kissed her, a warm, binding kiss that he felt all over. He breathed her name, and some part of him wanted to tell her that he loved her... but he'd read somewhere (or was it heard from Lavender) that one was never supposed to say that after sex. It was tacky, or some such. He let his eyes say it instead, and he spoke it in the music of her name.

"Hermione..."

She tilted her head, running her fingertips through his now sweaty fringe. A stunned, blissful smile drifted across her face, and he was sure he'd never seen her look so beautiful. He had to kiss her again, so he did. With a sigh he lay on the bed, and half on Hermione (unwittingly), trying to gather his wits but only managing to gather bliss.

He felt her little hands push him off her slowly, and he was worried until she snuggled to his side. It only then occurred to him that he was probably much heavier than her and was squashing her.

"... Hermione..."

"Hmm?"

He licked his lips, looking about them and feeling very silly.

"We're on the bed sideways."

"I know."

He moved to sit up, but she pushed him down again.

"Relax," she said, settling onto his chest happily. "There's no rule saying you have to lie on the bed in a certain way."

He squirmed. "Yes, but I feel sticky."

"So do I," she said. "I want to snuggle for five minutes."

A feeling of embarrassment flushed through him then.

"Yeah but... I might fall asleep."

She sighed, a frown making a dent in her brow. She sat up, affecting great bother, and she eyed him over her shoulder. "What are you saying, Harry?"

He nodded once and put his hand on hers. "I really need a shower now."

She considered this. "Well, so do I!"

Without another word, she got up, strolling into his bathroom. He watched her disappear into it. For a long moment, he wondered what she was doing. He just said he wanted to use the shower and she was stealing his turn from him under his nose...

She stuck her head out the door, a look of amusement on her face.

"Are you going to come have a shower or not?"

A dawning feeling came over him and he nearly slapped himself. He didn't because he was too busy running into the bathroom after a squealing Hermione.

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