If Surrey was in the middle of a heat wave, the mercury inching ever higher up the thermometer, then the south of France was a sweltering haven of disgruntled locals and somewhat pink tourists. Everyone had returned home to homes and campsites by now though, left to spend sleepless nights in the oppressive heat. The villa that the Grangers had rented, as they rented every other summer, was right down by the coast, a secluded, sprawling home hidden by greenery. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had already retreated to their side of the villa, leaving Hermione alone in her large bedroom, only a reading lamp and a moonlight offering any illumination.

She was, as most people probably were right now, completely naked. Unlike Harry, shy and withdrawn, Hermione had long since grown comfortable in her own skin. Ever since the celebrity seeker Krum had found her attractive, she took great pride in her developing, curvy body. Only after a week of French sun, her skin was already going a light shade of brown, though the tan lines were unescapable. Hermione had been open to the idea of tanning au naturel, but her parents had put their foot down and so the modest bikini stayed on.

She lounged on her bed, the curtains and windows open, trying to find a night breeze. On her stomach, the moonlight danced across her pale bottom and everyone would have been surprised to learn that the reserved, intelligent Miss Granger was somewhat excited at the idea that someone could look into her window and see her in this state of undress. It wasn't exactly from a sense of naughtiness. Rather, she felt free and liberated, away from her buttoned-up school image and free to explore and display her maturing bodies. Hermione considered it merely just another element of being smart: being aware of the sensual pleasures of life.

Lying on the bed, she reached for a photo underneath her pillow. Most of the time, there was nothing strange about it. It was of a French beach, empty and peaceful. It looked like someone should have been standing in it, and indeed Hermione should have been. However, this photo was charmed to share its subject with another, the one Hermione had sent to Harry that morning. Grinning at the thought, she wished she could have seen Harry's face when he opened the letter and saw the photograph. Her mother had no idea she had taken the picture destined for it to be sent to a boy, but that was Hermione's plan all along.

Over the last few months, every time she sat with her best friend, she experienced butterflies in her stomach. It was terribly awkward to fall in love with Harry, the noble Harry, the dorky Harry, the gorgeous Harry. Hermione wasn't one to beat around the bush though, to pine and wonder if it was to be. She was going to ask Harry the next time she saw him. Either he shared those feelings for her, or he did not, and she could move on. It was a scary thought to imagine that conversation though and so she devised the plan. If Harry truly found her attractive, thought of her as more than a friend, then the photograph she'd sent him would confirm it.

Confirmation came five minutes later in the form of a very pleased and very naked Hermione walking back into the frame of her photo. She almost pranced across the sand and the real Hermione felt a slight blush at the realization of what this meant. Harry had seen her naked.

"So, uh, he wanted to see you like this?" Hermione asked the photo, feeling very stupid to be having a conversation with it. The naked girl nodded. "What did he do?" At this point, the Hermione in the photo proceeded to mime stroking a very large penis while throwing her head back to moan. Her hips started to buck. The real Hermione blushed redder. Perhaps she had slightly overestimated how playful she should have felt when the photograph was taken.

"I get the picture," Hermione said. A heat was moving down from her stomach to between her thighs. She pictured Harry lying there, stroking himself as he stared at her naked body. She gently pressed herself against the bedding, searching for friction. "Okay, you can go now." The Hermione in the photo pranced back to Harry's copy.

Alone in her bedroom, a dampness growing between her legs, Hermione stood up and crossed the room to her suitcase. She bent at the waist, another thrill for her imaginary voyeur at the window as she wiggled her bare bottom, and pulled out a photograph of her own. It was one of her most cherished. Standing in the snow outside the Shrieking Shack, Ron, Harry and herself beamed back at her. It had been taken by Colin Creevey and he had given each of the trio a copy of their own. They all looked so happy, no wars or threats to worry about. She took the photo back to her bed, dropping down onto it.

"Uh, sorry, Ron, but could you disappear for a while," she asked politely, staring at the photo. The redhead looked insulted and gestured at himself as if to say, 'who me?'. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Ron, if you don't get out of this photograph this instant, I'm blasting you from it."

Ron left soon after that.

"Now look," Hermione said, looking down at herself and Harry still smiling, now alone in the photo. "I'm hopelessly inexperience with this sort of stuff and I want to really blow Harry's socks off. So, uh, show me, stuff." She finished lamely, her face burning now and going bright red.

The photograph didn't care about her shame. Not that she expected them to. You couldn't make a person in a picture do something they didn't want to do in real life. However, Hermione had just proven that both were lovesick for each other. No sooner had she finished her sentence did the Hermione in the photo reach down and unzip Harry's pants with an unexpected deftness. He didn't stop her from tugging them and his underwear down, revealing his stiffening member. Both Hermiones' eyes went wide.

The Hermione in the photo reached down and wrapped her hand around Harry's cock, gliding it along the shaft, up and down. The real Hermione watched, enthralled, leaning closer to the picture. She tried to memorize the technique, the way her fingers gently teased the tip with each upward stroke. Whatever Photo Hermione was doing, Harry seemed to enjoy, his eyes closed, his teeth digging into his lower lip. Without thinking, the girl on the bed let her own hand dip down to between her legs, finding her soaked netherlips, teasing them gently with featherlight touches.

"Oh my," Hermione squeaked. She watched herself drop to her knees in the snow and lean forward, her lips parted. Harry's cock slid effortlessly into her mouth. She stared, panting, breasts heaving, as she watched herself suck on Harry's shaft, taking him deeper between her lips. Even with the burning pleasure between her thighs, Hermione was Hermione and she tried to study the technique. She put to memory the way her cheeks caved in as she sucked, the way her fingers gently teased Harry's testicles as her lips moved down the length of his cock.

Finally, Hermione's fingers found her clit. One touch, one brush, and her hips bucked and she clamped her eyes shut in pleasure. It was too good. Lying on her bed, curtain and windows still open for her imaginary voyeur, who by now had scruffy black hair and a lightening shape scar, she touched herself. Her fingers circled the nub between her netherlips, gently teasing it. Back arching, Hermione chewed down on her lip, trying to swallow back her moan, not wanting to wake her parents. It was no good. As she teased herself closer to orgasm, her ass off the bed as she thrust against her own fingers, breathless pants and moans escaped her mouth.

Opening her eyes, Hermione glanced at the photo and felt her body shiver. The photographic version of herself had shoved Harry onto a tree stump, his pants around his ankles. While she had been touching herself, eyes closed, Photo Hermione had ditched her panties, her skirt pushed up above her hips. She was sitting on Harry's lap, bouncing up and down as they kissed passionately, and Hermione could see her best friend's cock driving into her wetness. The cheeks of her round backside jiggled with each bounce.

"Harry!" she moaned into the night air as her own orgasm overtook her. Her legs began to shake and she fell back onto the bed with a thud, her whole-body convulsing. For the first time in her life, Hermione's brain stopped working. There was only the pleasure.

Not bothering to get out of bed, to put any sleepwear on, Hermione drifted off, completely content. She couldn't wait for her vacation to be over, to see Harry again. The photograph had fallen to the floor during the throes of her orgasm. Unaware to her, Harry had just bent her over the fence of the Shrieking Shack and began to take her from behind.