Chapter 2: Shaking Hands With the Milkman
Safely under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry carefully tiptoed down the staircase, magazine in hand, heart racing. He didn't know where Ron had got this, but all he wanted to do was look inside it, to gain a glimpse at what a real naked girl looked like, to somehow catch up with the rest of the school in their sexual adventures. And he knew he couldn't do that up there in the boys room with Neville snoring his lungs out and Ron mumbling about shepherd's pie in his sleep.
Finding himself alone in the deserted common room, the fire burning low and the light dim, Harry went over to the armchair in the very back corner of the room.
There was a noise—so soft that Harry might not have noticed it had he not paused to think about how to do this—and he peered around the room. But there was no one there. Not a house-elf nor a ginger cat was to be seen.
Shrugging, he returned to his business. He tied the ends of the cloak to the lamppost and draped the rest of it over the armchair's back and armrest. Then he sat himself down in the chair, shielded from the rest of the common room by the cloak, which formed a perfect wall.
Harry picked up the magazine, adjusted his glasses, and opened it up.
On the inside cover was a naked woman, smirking seductively up at him. She swayed her hips back and forth and tweaked one of her breasts. Harry stared at her, taking in every inch of her body. She winked salaciously at him as his eyes scanned her long, slender legs, her round but firm breasts, her prominent collarbone, her blonde curly hair. One of her hands reached down her belly, tracing a line all the way down to what Harry knew was her vagina. Or, what had Malfoy called it? Her pussy?
She fingered herself there, throwing her head back as she did, her fingers sliding in and out of the fleshy folds between her legs.
Harry stared at her for he didn't know how long. But he was now aware of what was between his legs, and rising higher.
He shifted in his seat, and turned the page.
The next girl was riding a horse, cracking a whip, and also completely nude. As the horse galloped across the landscape, the girl's bottom and breasts jiggled up and down. She was biting her lip.
Harry's jeans were straining heavily now.
The girl on the next page was having a bubble bath. Her legs were kicked up in the air and she was inserting something inside herself—something long and rubbery.
The girl on the next page was posing with a broomstick. A Firebolt, no less. She carried a wand, which she was biting the end of. One leg was curved in front of the broomstick, and the smooth wood was in contact with her glistening member, parting the folds slightly. She had rather wild auburn hair. As Harry watched her, she slid up and down the broomstick, apparently moaning with delight through the wand she was biting down on.
Harry sighed. He had reached the point of no return. It was time to—as Fred and George called it—shake hands with the milkman.
Holding the magazine in one hand, he pulled his jeans and briefs down with the other. His penis freed itself, swaying back and forth in the warm common room, glistening and demanding attention.
Harry looked up, checked that the Invisibility Cloak was still covering him, then looked back at the girl in the magazine and placed his hand around his cock.
He exhaled deeply as he made the first stroke, his eyes on the girl and the broomstick. He stroked again, and the girl in the picture closed her eyes as she slid down the broomstick.
Timing his strokes to the girl's movements, Harry masturbated, quietly and slowly, letting out soft sighs and grunts of enjoyment. The picture in the magazine seemed to know that it was being used to pleasure someone. The girl started moving up and down the broomstick faster, started throwing her hair back and moaning with more enthusiasm.
Harry let out a groan of pleasure, and the girl bit her lip. Harry could almost hear the whimper of pleasure she made. It was odd, he thought feverishly, when she did that, especially with the hair, she kind of looked like—
—with a too-enthusiastic stroke, Harry's hand brushed the Invisibility Cloak, and it fell from its precarious position, exposing him to the empty Common Room.
He jerked guiltily, before remembering that it was 2 in the morning, and no one was around. He returned to his business; he was close to finishing, and the girl in the picture was watching him expectantly.
He put his hand back around his penis and stroked. The girl was whimpering again, apparently biting on her lip to stop herself from screaming. Now she was fingering herself as well. The broom and her fingers were slick with her juices.
This magazine was truly something else. It was so realistic Harry could have sworn he actually heard her moaning.
No, someone really was moaning. And it wasn't coming from the magazine. It was coming from the couch in front of the fireplace. An empty couch.
Was it someone else, invisible? Was it a ghost? No, that was ridiculous, ghost's weren't tangible, they couldn't pleasure themselves.
For that was almost certainly what the hidden person on the couch was doing. And as Harry watched closely, he saw a shimmering outline of someone, rapidly becoming clearer, like a Disillusionment Charm that was wearing off.
He saw the person's slender body form, revealing pale skin and limbs that squirmed as the person moaned. Next came a head full of bushy brown hair. They were lying back, their head resting on the armrest of the couch closest to Harry. They were holding a wand down to their vagina, rubbing the end of it inside themselves while inserting two fingers at the same time.
The now-visible and very-naked girl let out a great cry of pleasure and threw her head back over the armrest.
"Hermione?!"
Hermione Granger's eyes fluttered open, and she looked back at Harry, her head upside down, hair falling down to form a bushy curtain, the tendon's in her neck straining over the armrest, her small pointed breasts facing the ceiling, her fingers and wand still inside her pussy.
Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth opened like she wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Then her eyes flickered down to Harry's lap, where the magazine didn't quite conceal his hard, upright member, which he was still stroking, his hand moving up and down its length as though it had a mind of its own. He stopped as he stared back at Hermione.
The common room might well have suddenly become a sauna. Both Harry and Hemione were frozen like does in headlights, in fight-flight-or-freeze mode. Harry felt his collar itching on his neck, felt his face flush and his palms grow sweaty.
At length, Hermione regained control of her body. She sat up so fast her hair whipped towards the ceiling, grabbed her robes and covered herself up.
Harry had much more difficulty covering himself up. He let the magazine fall to the floor, and tried to pull his jeans up, but they were rather tight and refused to close over his erect penis. Instead, he grabbed the Cloak from the ground and pulled it over his lap.
There was a dead silence. Harry's eyes were on the floor, Hermione's were darting all around.
Harry had never felt so much like he was melting away into nothing. Not any of the times he had been close to death, or embarrassed, or afraid. No, it was here, having been caught masturbating and having caught Hermione masturbating, that he very much felt like this was the end of Harry Potter as he knew himself.
There was only one thing for it. He jumped up, pulled the Invisibility Cloak more securely around himself like a towel and ran for the door.
"Harry, wait!"
He stopped at the door to the boy's dorms, and turned slowly. Hermione was getting up, pulling her robes onto her naked body.
"Oh," he said, his heart beating very fast, "hello, Hermione, didn't see you there… it's late, I'd better get up to bed—"
"Harry!" Hermione was bright pink; her hair was bushier than ever; Harry could still see her sweaty neck and collarbones between the sides of her robes, and the outline of her breasts against the thin fabric, which he now could picture completely, he could picture all of Hermione, now…
"Harry!"
His eyes snapped up. "What!"
But now Hermione seemed at a loss for words. The two of them stood there, both awkwardly covered, both still in a state of arousal. For Harry's penis would not calm down. It was jumping, even now, against the Cloak, straining to be freed.
"Let's—um," he said, "never speak of this?"
Hermione nodded eagerly, her flushed face shining. "That would probably be best."
"Alright," he said, nodding too, the pact made. "Goodnight!"
He turned and ran up the stairs, the Cloak flying out behind him.
He slipped into the dorm, and closed the door quietly, breathing hard.
Everybody was still asleep. Good thing too, because Harry was standing at the door with the Cloak at his feet, his dick sticking out of his fly, now finally falling to rest.
Harry picked up the Cloak and jumped into bed, closing the hangings around himself. He pulled his pants up properly and tucked himself into bed.
Just go to sleep, he told himself, go to sleep and escape, forget this ever happened, and in the morning, it really won't have happened, you wouldn't have seen Hermione there, naked and sweaty and heard her moaning as she…
His pants were straining again.
No! No no no! he cried to himself in his head.
But his other head was saying yes yes yes!
Trying to wait it out, Harry lay there, trying to sleep, counting sheep. But for some reason, all the sheep floating through his head had taken on the shape of a bushy haired girl, naked, pleasuring herself with her wand.
Slowly, reluctantly, like a man headed to the gallows, Harry unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.
Slowly again, but more eagerly now than reluctantly, as he pictured Hermione throwing her head back on the couch—saw her breasts pointing tantalizingly at the ceiling, saw her fingering herself—Harry resumed his stroking.