Harry Potter and the Torrid Affair
Chapter 2: Flying Towards the Setting Sun
As Harry walked into the bedroom he heard the telltale signs of Ron snoring. Harry paused to listen to his best friend, whom he loved with all his heart, and he realized that he really was a bloke. Ron was blind to his influence over that night's unexpected events, and as he snored away, Harry realized that he would perhaps never truly understand how strongly Hermione felt for him. Ron suddenly snorted loudly, which made Harry step back. Then, he realized how exhausted he was, so he went to his four-poster, drew the curtains, changed into his nightwear, placed his glasses on the nightstand, and tucked himself in.
It took him a long time to fall asleep; though he was beyond tired, his thoughts were wide awake and racing through his mind. Unbidden, his thinking returned again and again to Hermione.
He started to form conversations with her in his mind, conversations in which she confessed her passions for him and threw herself into his waiting arms.
He pictured the two of them, alone, kissing by the warmth of the Common Room fireplace, or under the bleachers of the Quidditch Pitch, or beneath a shady tree near the lake while the giant squid flailed his long tentacles.
He pictured her lying in his bed, arms stretched over her head, gazing at him with a heart-melting stare. He saw her slowly, deliberately, reaching for the folds of her robes, only to reveal her soft white skin beneath.
Harry's eyes shot open, and he noticed his armpits were growing moist with sweat. He had only had those kinds of thoughts about one other person: Ginny. He had never even fantasized that way about Cho. But, there it was, five fleeting minutes of kissing and he was undressing his best friend in his own filthy, perverted mind.
Something was definitely coming over him, more intrusive than Snape's barrages into Harry's memories last year, almost as probing as Voldemort's own mental manipulations. That white-hot monster, which had burned so long for Ginny, was beginning to burn with a new flame, one that Harry had never expected before tonight.
As soon as he realized this, Harry tried to lock those thoughts in a prison in the back of his mind. In no way did he want to risk contaminating his friendship with such sinful passions—not only his friendship with Hermione, but the one with Ron as well. Lavender aside, if Ron ever found out how Harry felt, Harry was sure that he would lose his best friend. He had suspected before that Ron had felt strongly for Hermione, but had been too afraid to act on those feelings.
But the more he attempted to repress his feelings, the stronger those feelings became. Soon he was not only undressing Hermione, he was imagining how it would feel to make love to her. The two of them, sprawled on the bed, feeling their bodies pressed close—it was almost more than he could stand.
He did not know when those thoughts turned to dreams, but all of a sudden he was alone in his four-poster bed, which rested in the center of a small, circular room with stone walls. Though he wasn't wearing glasses, Harry could see perfectly. The room was lit by candles adorning the walls, and there was heavenly incense in the air, not unlike the one he had smelled in Professor Slughorn's class the day he had been introduced to Amortentia.
He took a moment to smell it more carefully, and he could make out three distinct scents. The first two were instantly recognizable as treacle tart and his Firebolt, but the third one was almost foreign to him. The only other time he remembered smelling it was earlier that night…
Almost as if on cue, he saw a figure walk towards him. When the figure came close to the candlelight, the light revealed Hermione's head and bare legs. All else was rendered invisible, and Harry realized she was wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He tried to ask her where she had gotten the Cloak, but her dark brown eyes seemed to make him lose all control of his vocal cords, so he let out a soft groan instead.
Hermione smiled lasciviously and asked him, with complete control over her own vocal cords, "What do you think I am wearing under this Cloak?" She walked slowly towards him while she waited for a reply.
Harry was flustered, and no sound could come out of his mouth even if he tried.
"So," she asked, "you say nothing? Well, Harry Potter, you are correct. You pass with distinction." Harry had to laugh; only Hermione would bring up grades at a time like this.
"Now," she whispered, as she was close enough to Harry to do so, "I would ask you what you are wearing, but I see you are quite incapable of speech. So, I'll just have to find out for myself." With that, she threw off the scarlet blanket Harry was under, and Harry was as surprised as she was at what was revealed.
"I guess you were right again, Harry. Now, I'm having a bit of trouble freeing myself from your Cloak. You might have to help me out of it." It felt odd for Harry to feel for the fold of an invisible fabric, especially because it was wrapped so tightly around Hermione that he couldn't help but notice her curves. He finally grasped onto a fold and pulled at it, and the entire Cloak came off of Hermione with ease.
"Oh," she said, "I guess it wasn't as tightly wrapped as I thought. Well, I can see you're excited to see me, so what are we waiting for?" Hermione swung her leg over Harry and lay on top of him, kissing him with fervor. The foreign smell now filled his nostrils, and he recognized that it was the scent of her hair.
Harry was jarred awake, breathing heavily, because Ron had uttered a humongous snort. He thought he heard Neville mutter something angrily. If Neville had been having the same dream as Harry, he would have been furious.
...
As Hermione walked up the stairway to her dormitory, her heart was pounding and her thoughts were a blur. When she walked into her room, she saw Lavender reading a textbook by wandlight. Hermione ignored her, as she was accustomed now, but she did not feel that familiar pang of jealousy when she saw her. Hermione knew why, but was alarmed at how immediate the change had come.
As she prepared for bed, she wondered if she had suddenly gotten over her affection for Ron. At the thought of him, she soon realized that she hadn't, but did note that the affection had lost a lot of its intensity. She still hoped to be with him; she was not, however, aching to see him and awaiting their next encounter. Again, Hermione knew the cause of this change, but was amazed at the immediacy of it.
When her head hit the pillow, the cloud of thought became more focused, and she found her mind was racing with questions. How did she really feel about Ron? About Harry? What had compelled her to kiss Harry? Why did she kiss him three times, not just once? Was she falling in love with Harry? Could she love two people at once? How would Ron feel if he found out? How would she feel being around both of them tomorrow morning? Being the academic that she was, she tried to slow down the questions and reason through the problem logically.
This morning, she was madly in love with Ron Weasley. She had shivered when her hand brushed against his as he passed her some toast.
This evening, she had kissed Harry Potter. That still came as a shock.
Now, her feelings for Ron were diluted with those she had for Harry. This was the part that confused her. Coming from a traditional family, she had thought that one man—just one—could satisfy a woman's every need, and that was the man Hermione would marry. Now, she realized that she wanted a deep companionship from Ron, but felt a physical longing for Harry.
But then Hermione began to remember things which she had apparently repressed. She saw Harry playing Quidditch, legs straddling his broomstick, his body leaning forward, his arms flexed. That's when she realized that her longing for Harry wasn't new; it had just never been recognized.
Well, she certainly recognized it now, and it explained tonight's boldness and the incredible emotion she felt with her lips pressed against Harry's. Just recalling that now seemed to make her quiver with raw energy.
When she had first met Harry, he was a scrawny kid wearing clothes that were too large for him. Now, after years of Quidditch, he was a lean young man with a strong jaw and a friendly charm in his emerald green eyes. Hermione had seen Harry grow up, and the result was stunning.
But then all sorts of new questions formed in her mind. Was she good enough for him? Was he physically attracted to her? Why did he kiss her so strongly? Was she worthy of The Chosen One? Liking Ron had made sense; he was far plainer than Harry, and thus she felt equal to him in terms of physical appearance. She had been furious when Ron had chosen to date that pretty little whore Lavender Brown. Now, when she compared her appearance to Harry's, she felt woefully insecure and confused.
Her own self-image was, alas, a false one. As much as she had noticed Harry's growth, she had failed to notice her own. In her mind, she was still that buck-toothed, bushy-haired, chipmunk of a girl that she had been when she was eleven. Now, her hair was far tamer, her teeth were far straighter, and her bodice was far more curvaceous. Ron had noticed that when he had seen her at the Yule Ball, but Hermione failed to recall the way she had looked then.
If she knew what Harry was thinking now, she wouldn't have doubted her own physical attractiveness. As it was, however, she could not read Harry's mind, and so she still thought negatively of her body. This led to the question: Why had Harry kissed her so strongly?
She could think of no other answer, so she consigned herself to the fact that somehow, Harry found her attractive. Either that, or he had raging hormones and would have felt the same if he were kissing Pansy Parkinson.
As sleep began to take her, the questions began to fade, and Hermione allowed her mind to wander freely. It quickly wandered to the raw excitement of holding Harry close, and soon those thoughts blossomed into a wonderful dream.
She was lying in a field full of blooming flowers of all sorts, beneath a clear blue sky. As Hermione gazed above, she saw a figure approach from the sky, looming ever closer. Soon, she recognized Harry flying on his Firebolt, and when he landed smoothly next to her, her stomach fluttered.
Harry offered her a hand, and she gladly took it and let him help her stand. When she was standing, he wrapped his hand around her back and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Hermione's arms wrapped around his neck, and she could feel her heart beat with excitement. When they finally broke away from each other, Harry asked, "Do you want a ride?"
Hermione nodded, and suddenly she was on the broomstick behind Harry. Harry kicked up, and the broomstick launched skyward as if it had a mind of its own. Frightened, Hermione clenched her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around Harry's stomach. When Harry had the broomstick flying steady, Hermione opened her eyes and looked below. She was flying above the clearest lake, the water sparkling beneath the bright sunlight. She gasped in wonder, and when she looked back at Harry, she saw his face returning the gaze, smiling the same boyish smile he always seemed to have. Hermione's heart leaped with a thrill and her face lit up with the brightest smile.
Her last memory from the dream was of the two of them flying towards the setting sun.