**A/N: In which I make my triumphant fanfic return! I know it's been a while, and I know that if you've read my other stories involving Ginny and Hermione, then you think I'm yet another author who abandons stories for new ones willy-nilly. Which, in fairness, I am. But this one works on similar self-love themes in a more mature way, I think, and is actually faithful to the HP plot! I hope to write a second chapter involving Ginny and Luna, but you know how it is. Enjoy and please review!**
As they started up, like clockwork, in the chilly early hours of their eighth day in the tent, Hermione could remember the first time she heard the pleasant squishing, squelching sounds that Ron Weasley made whilst wanking.
Sometimes it was snappy — like when Hermione assumed a little air bubble had nestled its way below his foreskin — sometimes it was sloppy and wet, after a shower or with the sweat of summer heat, but Hermione knew that sound and had known it well since her first night staying over in The Burrow, during the summer before fifth year.
She wasn't quite sure at first, not having grown up with brothers, how to identify the rhythmic, quickening squelching that had begun piercing the thin wall that separated Ron's room from the one she and Ginny had shared that summer. Eventually, though, the up-tempo banging of Ron's four-poster against the wall and the stifled grunts that began then multiplied before stopping all at once had made clear what was going on.
Hermione had always assumed that Ron wanked, she guessed. All boys wank by that point. Even she wanked — and had, pretty much every evening, for the better part of three years at that point. Which wasn't to say most girls didn't, but more to clarify how odd it was that she'd felt the need to ask Ginny the following morning.
"Was Ron having a wank last night?" she'd asked.
"Yeah," Ginny had replied, laughing. "Get used to it every night, though, and the mornings too. He loves it. I'm honestly surprised his cock hasn't fallen off yet."
The redhead had poured milk into her bowl of cornflakes before returning its glass bottle to the icebox.
"Don't get me wrong, I'd be at it every night, too, if you weren't here," she'd said nonchalantly, sitting down at the table in her pink-and-white checkered cotton bathrobe. "Must run in the family."
Hermione had joined Ginny with a jam-slathered piece of toast, a little flabbergasted by the ease with which Ginny discussed the masturbation habits of her brothers as well as her own. Ginny had chomped a spoonful of cornflakes before speaking up again.
"The Weasleys love a good wank," she'd said, smiling, with her mouth full.
They certainly did, Hermione recalled as she crossed her arms in her grey knit sleep sweater and sat up on the edge of the lumpy but passable camp bed, refocusing on the rhythmic snapping emanating from Ron's curtained-off chamber across from her own.
She considered indulging in a morning wank herself, as memories flooded back from that same summer when, after a few days of mild coaxing, Ginny had convinced her that it was entirely pointless for two young women accustomed to nightly relief to resign themselves to furtive, fast-fingered, decidedly unsatisfying orgasms snuck in the shower or whilst changing.
That night, the best friends had begun a summer's worth of exploration that started with quiet, awkward simultaneous masturbation in the pitch-dark room and ended with a Hermione as comfortable discussing her orgasms as, say, the history of magic. (It had ended with a few experimental forays into cunnilingus as well, but Hermione didn't think she'd be able to put off wanking if she thought about those deeply pleasurable evenings much further.)
The boys would be wanting breakfast soon as it was, once Ron finished himself off — and Hermione knew that wouldn't be too long a wait — so she wouldn't have had time for anything more than a quickie anyhow. And while that quick-and-loveless tug-of-the-clit had fulfilled its curtains-drawn role admirably during adolescent afternoons in the Hogwarts four-poster when her hormonal aches had become too much to bear without an inter-class wank, Hermione had sworn off it after her summer with Ginny.
An orgasm, she'd realized as her vulva throbbed and Ginny sopped its final juices with her expert tongue, shouldn't be a chore: it should be at the very least fun and at its most earth-shattering a rapturous experience of white-hot pleasure and sweet, sweet release.
It was always too frantic in those quick sessions, she recalled from the tent. And, over the months that followed, she realized that sometimes waiting hours through class while her clitoris ached, her vagina leaked and fantastical visions of steamy sex played through her mind only amplified the sensations when she finally could give herself over to her able fingers, or, in the Room of Requirement, Ginny's.
She'd realized that the orgasms she envisioned when she started off for a quickie were never the one she got from it, which helped her work through times like these, safe in the knowledge that something good lay ahead, eventually.
Boys, or at the very least Ron, had no such qualms, apparently. It was morning, she supposed, and he was hard, as she knew boys to get, so why not have a wank. The quickest way to softness was through a few snappy tugs, with an orgasm by the way.
It was easier for boys, she had heard, and certainly quicker. And to hear Ginny tell it, their orgasms, while pleasurable, were more average. She was glad to be a woman, Hermione thought, if Ginny was right that women's orgasms lasted three times as long, even if it meant fewer quickies and more careful wanking. The lack of a mess wasn't bad either.
It was hard for guys not to have a quickie, with how rapidly they could get themselves off. Ginny had told her as much in recounting how, despite her kneeling assurances of the potential pleasure should she suck Dean to the brink of orgasm a few times then edge him off, he pulled his aching shaft away from her, pumped it aggressively twice and splattered her face anyhow.
In fairness, Hermione contemplated, there was the biological imperative.
Not where wanking was concerned, but if the human race needed Ron's cum to continue its existence, it's no wonder evolution made it easy. Hermione only needed to cum to continue her own existence, or at least sanity, another day, but there would be no time for that until the night, aching in her core as well as from the day's travels, as she cast a silencing charm and rubbed herself to orgasm and sleep.
She supposed Harry used a silencing charm like she did, and Ron probably ought to have too. Growing up in a house full of adolescent wizards — and one insatiable witch — who were all unable to use their wands as anything but dildoes through the long, sticky summer months had made him immune to shame regarding the noise of his wanking and deaf to that of others. He'd also learned to cum quietly from the Burrow years, something Hermione could do if she had to, as in the summer, but preferred to avoid by employing a charm at school and in the tent to mask her moans and screams. (That was another Ginny lesson: Don't worry about the noise, the face, the anything; give yourself over to the orgasm and thank your lucky stars for that three-times-as-long fact.)
Hermione didn't really mind the squelching snaps and grunts twice a day, and Harry must have been used to it for all the time they spent in one room at the Burrow. But a charm, she reckoned, would have been the polite thing to do.
The grunts started — it wouldn't be long.
But before she could slide off the bed and into her jeans for the day — hanging, magically washed, dried and folded on the metal tube footboard of the camp bed — she heard an angry grunt, the quick pulling back of curtains, the unzipping of the tent opening and the unmistakable crunch of stomping in the snow.
Harry. Oh no.
She followed him out, holding the oversized knit grey sweater she slept in as low past her knickers as she could in the cold morning air, her feet screaming out as the snow drenched through her threadbare grey sleep socks.
He stopped beside a dried-up streambed, pockmarked with a few frozen-over puddles. He picked up a rock and threw it at one, shattering the layer of ice that had formed atop it and causing the grey chilly water to burble up and form a new layer of ice in the cracks.
Hermione stood behind him and cast a warming spell around them, announcing her position. He didn't turn around.
"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked quietly.
"He never stops doing that," Harry said angrily. "Every day…"
"Twice a day," Hermione added.
"Wanking," Harry finished.
"I'm sorry you're upset, Harry, but you shouldn't be surprised," Hermione responded. "Surely you've spent enough nights with him in Gryffindor Tower or the Burrow to know how much he loves to wank."
Harry blushed a bit and paused.
"In the Burrow, that's his room, I figure he can take the lead and do what he wants," Harry said, still yet to make eye contact with Hermione. "And at Hogwarts, that's different. We were teenagers. We were all at it behind the curtains. It wasn't a wank — it was camaraderie. You know how it is in the dormitories."
She smiled behind him. She did know. She had often heard Lavender Brown fill herself with her most prized possession — a mail-order magicked dildo that, per Lavender, felt exactly like the real thing — from across the girls' dormitory. And even if the residents weren't quite as comfortable discussing and sharing wanking as the boys clearly were, there was a certain camaraderie, Hermione supposed, of listening to exhibitionist Lavender whilst rubbing herself silly behind a silencing charm, guessing that Parvati was most likely doing the same behind one of her own. Lavender must've known how loud she was moaning, so Hermione doubted she'd minded.
Harry continued, presumably reveling in his own Gryffindor memories and searching for the words to continue.
"Here, it's…" he trailed off
"It's what, Harry?" she said.
"I dunno, it's different, Hermione," he said, angry still and finally turning to face her, eyes wide and on the verge of tears.
Hermione leant forward and hugged him, her arms encircling his neck and resting on his back and the back of his head. She brought his head onto her shoulder and patted. With her left leg, she could feel his erection.
"How can he do…that…when we're out here, fighting for our lives, fighting for our friends," Harry said, beginning to cry. "We could die at any minute and he spends every chance he can get with his hand on his cock bloody wanking. It's selfish."
"It's not all the time, Harry," she said, stroking his black hair. "And it's not selfish. The routine helps us. It reminds us that we are still people, and this battle can't take that away."
Harry paused and leaned back from Hermione, looking her in the face questioningly without breaking the hug.
"We?" he asked. "You too?"
"Yes, Harry," she answered. "Horcruxes or no horcruxes, I have needs, and taking care of them reminds me of a special part of who I am. Ron has needs, too, and he takes care of them like he always does. The difference is I use a silencing charm."
Harry was speechless. He seemed betrayed but aroused. Hermione pressed her luck, and her leg against his penis.
"I think you have needs, too, Harry," she said. "And you don't need to feel bad or selfish about relieving them."
Harry blushed again and turned away from Hermione. She removed her hands from around him and placed them on his shoulders, resting her chin to the left of his head.
"I can't, Hermione," he said dismissively. "Not while you-know-who's out there. I couldn't forgive myself for being distracted. How can I have pleasure when he's out there killing and hurting?"
"Even you, Harry, wouldn't be much of a match against you-know-who if all you can think about is an ache in your pants," she said. "Listen to yourself: A month ago Ron wanking was something happening across a dark room at night, while you worked one out as well. Now you're in a rage at your best friend for no reason — just because it's been eight days since you've had an orgasm —"
Harry breathed in at the word. He paused, eyes closed, head down, resolve failing.
"Longer," he said quietly.
"How —" she began to ask.
"Not since Dumbledore died, and not for a few days before that," he answered.
She paused. This was deeper than the tent or the quest or not wanting Ron or her to hear him. He had been alone at Privet Drive the better part of the summer, and hadn't wanked. He'd been with Ron in one room, the redhead wanking away, at the Burrow, and hadn't wanked, which after Quidditch might as well have been the house pastime. He'd seen Ginny, who had desperately planned to give herself to him before his seventh year, who had flirted with him throughout the preparation for Bill and Fleur's wedding, who had dressed up as much for him as for herself, and he hadn't wanked.
Hermione hadn't gone a week without wanking since she'd discovered it. And here Harry was rounding three months.
"Harry, you need to. It's natural, it's healthy, it's important" she said, bringing her arms down around his waist. She paused, took a long blink, and steeled her resolve. "Harry, can I help?"
He paused. He nodded, eyes closed. He loosened.
She nodded, leaned in closer at his back, and lowered her hands. With her left she pulled the string of his pyjama pants to loosen them. With her right she reached down into them and his boxers, grasping his warm, hard shaft and bringing it up and out of the pants.
Her left hand lowered his pyjama pants further, under his scrotum while her right hands ran briefly through his neat curls of jet black pubic hair and up under his shaft. With her index and middle finger she grasped the underside of his shaft near the tip through his foreskin. With her thumb she rubbed the head of his penis through his foreskin, tugging it back slightly to reveal his head, purple with need and oozing clear, slippery liquid. She got to business on the technique Ginny had explained, shuttling the foreskin up and down, revealing and covering the head, her two fingers stimulating the area of his frenulum with each upstroke. With her left hand, she moved down to cup his scrotum, gently fondling his balls with no particular method or goal.
Ginny's lessons had focused on edging and the frenulum and the prostate and everything else that would make men explode in ways most of them were never patient enough to achieve whilst wanking. They'd even "borrowed" Lavender's dildo. But, Hermione reckoned, Harry needed a plain and simple wank for now. After three months, just about anything would make him explode as it was. Ginny could show him the other, better things in her room once the war was over.
Harry didn't grunt like Ron did, he more inhaled forcefully — it wouldn't be long. After no more than thirty seconds of shuttling his foreskin back and forth, the head darkened and Hermione could feel his scrotum tightening in her left hand. The muscles along the back of his shaft hardened that much more, and she adjusted her technique, ceasing her fingers' voyages to the very tip of his penis and instead focusing on short, quick strokes of his frenulum with her index finger, no longer bringing his foreskin up over his head and using the rest of her fingers to tickle his shaft.
She felt the first contraction, then another, in his shaft and scrotum. She adjusted her technique again, as Ginny had advised. When she wanked, Hermione's clitoris usually became too sensitive to touch as she reached orgasm, so she always laid off it, touching at most her brown-hair covered outer lips. Ginny had noticed this, and had offered that she experienced a similar hyper-sensitivity that she dealt with by applying heavy pressure to her entire vulva with her palm. Men, she advised weren't exactly the same. They needed some help to ride out their orgasms, lest they be "ruined" by a lack of touch.
Hermione switched from a light, thumb-and-forefinger grip to a tight fist, and pulled back his foreskin completely, pumping in short, sharp blasts in time with the contractions on his shaft, the inside crook of her index finger just hitting the point where his foreskin and frenulum met.
On the second contraction, a thick rope of semen shot from the tip of his penis and onto the snow, melting a few flakes with its intense heat before itself beginning to crystallize. Hermione pumped out shot after shot until after five or so, Harry's contractions began to subside and the semen began to burble out in small liquid beads that gathered at his opening and began to drip down along his frenulum onto the back of her index and middle fingers.
A few more contractions and they subsided altogether, his eyes closed and his breathing slowing down, the orgasmic redness draining slowly from his face.
Hermione pinched her forefinger toward her thumb as she pulled his foreskin back up and over the head of his softening penis, pushing out the last drops of semen and shaking his shaft slightly to send it as another droplet to the ground.
She released her right hand and magicked the rest off of her hand and his penis before using her left hand to return him to his pyjama pants and boxers.
He exhaled and opened his eyes.
He turned around and looked down at her waist, seeming to notice for the first time that below the belt, she wore only panties.
They were wet.
Hermione hadn't thought of her own arousal through this, but she had gotten herself going with the earlier thoughts of Ron and Ginny and wanking, and actually wanking off Harry, her first time doing anything with a man, had aroused her.
He reached for her, placing his left hand on the small of her back and reaching his right down between her legs. He traced his middle finger up her visible crease from near the bottom, where the wet spot began, up to where she felt it stroke her clitoris, standing out from her inner lips with arousal.
She shuddered.
He slid his right hand into her knickers from the side, angling through a thick patch of chocolate brown pubic hair toward her cleft. His index finger made contact with her clitoral hood and he pulled back on it, stimulating her most sensitive spot. He began to rub at it with a scratching motion, pulling her hood back and forth over her hardened clitoris.
Hermione wasn't sure if Harry had done this before, but he had wasted no time finding the place it had taken her months to when she'd learned to wank.
She was sure he would be able to make her orgasm, and she was sure it wouldn't take long after all that excitement. But also she knew that now wasn't the time.
She appreciated that he wanted to return the favor, which was polite, but this was about Harry. Later tonight, when she wanked, she could get her release. This was about helping him rediscover his in hopes that when she was wanking later, he would be, too. Plus, she loved Ginny, and knew that if he was wanking off a witch, it ought to be the redheaded firebrand who wanked herself off in Gryffindor tower every night thinking of him. She wasn't sure how, when all this was over, she could relate that he was something of an expert at the clitoral arts, but would attempt to.
She reached her hand down to his wrist and held it.
"Did I not find it?" he asked, as if, she thought, he assumed she was guiding him to her sensitive spot.
"No you found it," she said, raising her eyebrows with a laugh to herself. "First try."
"Then —" he said, sounding almost disappointed.
"You don't need to," she said. His fingers stilled.
"But I —" he countered.
"Not today," she said. She loosened her grip on his wrist. He removed his hand from her knickers. "This was for you."
He nodded and looked up at her.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "You seemed pretty…excited."
It was her turn to blush. She could feel her clitoris aching, and she could feel the warm wetness dripping out of her.
"I am," she said, smiling.
She wished she could run back close her tent curtains and squeeze in a wank before breakfast, but Ron would have finished and be up-and-about by then, and they'd all be hungry. Jilting Harry here only to seclude herself and wank off alone wouldn't have been the most polite gesture anyway — and she'd given up on quickies, she reminded herself. No, she'd have to wait.
"But it's okay," she said. "I'm glad I could help you, and I'll take care of myself later."
He hugged her deeply. She smiled.
"I hope you will, too."
# # #
**A/N Hope you liked it. I'll try to write Part 2, but no promises and this could stand alone.**
