Chapter 6: Saving the Hot Water

There really is no going back, once you have seen someone in their most intimate moments. Harry continued to have dreams about Hermione, sometimes ending in him waking to find his boxers sticky and a hot, thick liquid pooling in his belly.

He had not forgotten what he had almost blurted out last week in the Room of Requirement, either, before Hermione had realized they were late to class and rushed them out. He felt like a fool every time he thought about it, because what reason had he had to say it? Why, in any world, would his best friend agree to 'experiment' with him just because he was desperately horny?

But there was the fact that both of them had seen the other naked and in varying states of sexual activity. There was the fact that they had spent the night together—and that Hermione had hinted at wanting to do it again, purely from a want to talk late at night when everyone else was asleep. There was also the fact that if there was anyone who Harry was ever going to do such things with—it would be Hermione, no question.

Meanwhile, Ron had been quietly suspicious of Harry recently, and Harry feigned ignorance, but he knew it was because the magazine was still missing. For the moment, however, Ron didn't seem bold enough to nag Harry about it.

Something did happen that Friday during Potions, just before Sex Ed, that very nearly drove all of these troublesome thoughts from Harry's mind.

It was a commonly gruelling class that Harry sat through, and yet another hour where he couldn't decide whether he hated Malfoy or Snape more. Today, though, he was leaning towards Snape.

Malfoy had been rather silent all day. Not once did he taunt or insult Harry or even Neville or Ron or Hermione. He just sat there glumly, staring listlessly at Snape as the Potions Master scrawled instructions on the blackboard. Harry found he much preferred this version of Malfoy, even if it was unnervingly unusual.

Midway through the lesson, Malfoy went to the bathroom—as usual, he didn't ask permission, just looked at Snape and left the room.

Harry, who had been forced by Snape to chop up Malfoy's shrivel figs as punishment for not taking notes, looked sideways at Malfoy's workbench. Malfoy had used a small piece of dark paper to mark the page in his Potions book. The paper had an odd sheen to it; it looked rather official.

Harry bit his lip. Nobody was watching. Snape was examining Blaise Zabini's cauldron. Hermione was trying to help Ron with his Thickening Solution.

Quickly, Harry pulled Malfoy's book towards him and removed the black paper. It had elegant silver writing on it: Prefect's Bath, Midnight.

Harry quickly replaced the note and shut the book, just as Malfoy came back into the class. He sat back down, as glumly as he had left, and cast a glance at Harry.

"Still not done, Potter?" he spat.

Harry shook his head, and resumed chopping, his mind racing.

Lupin was gravely serious as he began his class.

His eyes swept darkly over the Gryffindor sixth-years.

"Apparently," he said, "students are still not taking seriously the lessons we are giving. I have been told—I mean asked, by Professor McGonagall to emphasise the seriousness of the consequences you will face if you are caught in any compromising sexual situation while within the school.

"We are teaching this subject to prevent unwise sexual encounters, and while I acknowledge that some of you are of age, and most of you are nearly adults, you are still students, and are here to learn. Even just joking about it—yes, Seamus—it is nothing to joke about, especially within earshot of younger students! Remember that we have children as young as eleven here, who don't know anything about what we—you, are learning. The very last thing I need is first years coming up to me to ask what a—well, what things are."

But Seamus was feeling rebellious, apparently. "But sir, it's not like you didn't joke about this when you were at school! You never compared the size of the jugs on the girls in your year?"

Lupin's mouth twisted oddly in a way that looked quite painful. "That is none of your business, Mr Finnegan. Let us proceed with the class."

Seamus looked disgruntled, apparently having lost some of his favour for Professor Lupin.

But Harry felt bad for Lupin; he had a feeling he didn't want to be here. His lessons in Defence, usually so exciting and educational, were a distant memory as he went through law after law, diagram after diagram, reprimand after reprimand, never once smiling, wincing whenever a question was asked…

After Lupin dismissed them, sighing and once again leaving the classroom as quickly as he possibly could, Harry leapt to his feet and left Ron to discuss the finer arts of motorboating with Seamus and Dean. Hermione, however, followed him.

"Harry? Harry, where are you going?" she asked, catching up to him.

"Nowhere," lied Harry.

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've got that look on your face—the 'I'm Harry Potter and I'm the Hogwarts Detective, off to solve the newest mystery' look."

Harry stopped and looked at Hermione. "And what does that look like? Hey!"

Hermione had reached up and snatched his glasses away. She put them on and assumed a harrowed, glazed expression, raising her eyebrows slightly and parting her lips like she was about to ask a question.

Harry took his glasses back. "I do not look like that."

"Yes, you do," said Ginny, who smirked as she passed them. "Hermione, you actually look really good with glasses."

Hermione flashed Ginny an almost shy smile. "Er, thanks, Ginny, I guess."

Ginny winked at her and continued on her way.

Harry frowned. Had he missed something?

"So, out with it, Detective Potter," urged Hermione. "What is it today? Basilisk in the pipes? Convicted murderer hiding in McGonagall's robes? Professor Lupin's evil twin after the Philosopher's Stones' lesser known brother, the Physicist's Stool?"

Harry continued frowning at her. "When did you become so…"

"Funny?" Hermione grinned.

Harry studied her for a moment more. She was leaning towards him eagerly, grinning ear to ear, seeming more carefree than he could ever remember seeing her. Or maybe not carefree. Sociable? Confident? Self-assured? Whatever it was…

He shrugged. "I like it." And he kept walking.

Hermione caught up with him back near the dungeons, just as he was pulling the Invisibility Cloak from his bag—at Dumbledore's request, he had started carrying it around with him at all times.

"Harry…"

"I'm just checking something," said Harry. "I'll meet you at dinner."

"No," said Hermione. "Haven't I always helped you, with whatever endeavour, no matter how scandalous? Wouldn't it be a shame to break that tradition now?"

"Alright, alright," said Harry, whose mind had unfortunately conjured up scandalous endeavours for him and Hermione to embark on. "Don't get excited, I'm just following Malfoy."

Hermione stared at him as he slipped the Cloak over them. "So this is what you like to do on a Friday night."

"Har, har," said Harry. "No, I think he's getting instructions from someone outside the castle. I saw this message in his book that said 'Prefect's Bath, tonight.'"

"But—"

"Shh!"

Malfoy slipped out of a classroom to their left, followed by Blaise Zabini.

"So, you up for a few Butterbeers and some cards tonight, Draco?" Blaise was saying.

"No, Blaise," said Malfoy. "I won't be… I can't."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "Another midnight 'meeting'?"

"None of your business." Malfoy looked nervous, his eyes darting from side to side.

"Whatever it is," said Blaise, "I hope it's worth the trouble." And he left Malfoy standing there, heading upstairs to the Great Hall.

Malfoy turned around and slowly walked towards the Slytherin dorms, where he slipped into a hidden passageway and out of sight.

Harry took the Cloak off. "That wasn't suspicious at all."

"What do you think?"

"Honestly?" said Harry. "It sounds like it's the Death Eaters."

"Are you serious? You think the Death Eaters are meeting Malfoy in the Prefect's Bath, tonight? What, to give him a mission to destroy the plumbing?"

"Well, why else would he be looking so worried?" Harry argued. "Did you see—he's even paler than normal, he kept looking around like someone would hear—he's terrified!"

"Alright," Hermione relented. "So, we go to the Prefect's Bath tonight, under the Cloak. See what it's all about. You may be onto something…"

"Thank you," said Harry, relieved he wasn't alone in his suspicions.

"I didn't say what you were onto. But I'm not letting you do this alone."

"Thank you," said Harry again, sighing.

At midnight, Harry and Hermione waited under the Invisibility Cloak in the dark Prefect's Bath, watching the pale light reflect off the silver of the ornate bath and the coloured stained glass windows.

The door clicked open, and then shut. They saw Malfoy lock it carefully, then cautiously walk further into the room. He scanned the space, wand lit and raised before him. Finally, apparently satisfied he was alone, he lowered it.

"I know you're here," he said loudly.

Harry tensed, hand in his pocket on his wand.

But from the shadows of the Prefect's bathroom came—not a Death Eater or Lord Voldemort, not Snape, not even a Slytherin crony—it was Ginny Weasley.

"Took you long enough," she said irritably. "You seemed eager enough earlier today; what happened? Realized your family might disown you if they knew who you were coming to fuck tonight?"

"No," snarled Malfoy, closing the distance between them, "just giving you time to think about what you're getting into."

Ginny tugged him closer so that they were pressed against each other.

Malfoy slipped his fingers under the hem of Ginny's skirt, playing with the material.

They kissed—not a passionate kiss, or one borne of love, but one of urgent lust.

Harry glanced sideways, horrified, at Hermione, who looked equally shocked.

Malfoy's tongue darted into Ginny's mouth and she caught it with her own as she reached down between his legs. In return, Malfoy groped her breast savagely, as Ginny bit his lip, causing him to moan in anticipation.

"You ready?" said Malfoy in a husky kind of voice.

Ginny drew something out from her pocket and spun it around one finger—a pair of red knickers.

Malfoy reached down and pulled Ginny's short skirt up, exposing her bare bottom and pussy.

"We should go," Harry tried to say, but it was in a voice so quiet that it didn't even come out as a whisper.

Malfoy reached out and tore Ginny's blouse open with one hand, exposing her full breasts to the pale light of the bathhouse. In return, Ginny whipped his robes off and reached down to unbuckle his trousers.

Angrily, he shoved her hand aside, apparently eager to do it himself.

Even Harry gasped as Malfoy pulled his trousers down swiftly. His cock was standing to attention, red and angry and twitching. It was long, but quite thin, almost spindly looking.

"Come on, then, Slytherin," said Ginny brashly, hitching one leg up around Malfoy's waist as he spun her around and pushed her against the wall. "Show me what you've got—you've waited long enough, haven't you?"

Malfoy wasted no time, didn't even reach down to line himself up properly, just thrust into Ginny with pure ferocity, burying himself up to the hilt.

Ginny cried out and clutched him close as he pounded into her. He leaned into the crook of her neck, his tongue and mouth sliding over her earlobe.

Harry wanted to look away, wanted to leave, wanted to run and wash his eyes out with soap, but he couldn't. For one thing, Hermione seemed rooted to the spot with shock. For another, Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of his archenemy fucking his best friend's sister.

As they watched, hot and uncomfortable under the warm Cloak, Harry followed Hermione's gaze, which was directed not at Malfoy, but at Ginny, at her shapely legs, her pert behind and her plentiful breasts. Hermione's breath was coming in short little gasps and her fingers were fidgeting with the fabric of the Cloak.

Harry held a finger to his lips and Hermione looked at him, clamping her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

It was lucky, perhaps, that Malfoy seemed to be all brag and no substance. It was barely a minute before he gave a great cry and spasmed, clamping a pale hand over Ginny's left buttock as he climaxed.

Ginny moaned lightly, a hand on Malfoy's chest. She bit her lip—was that disappointment?—and carefully drew back from the panting Slytherin.

Malfoy smirked—apparently convinced that he had pulled off some sort of record-breaking performance—and sat back against the wall, his penis slowly falling back between his thighs, slick with shiny juices.

"Told you," he said cockily, "you needed a Slytherin to fill you up. Couldn't get that kind of workout from Potter, could you?"

Ginny raised a doubtful eyebrow as she buttoned her blouse carefully. "Funny you mention Harry, Malfoy," she said, amused. "For someone who hates the Boy Who Lived and everything he stands for, you sure try a lot to be like him."

Malfoy's lips twisted unpleasantly. "What did you say?"

Ginny retrieved her underwear and pulled them up beneath her skirt. The elastic clapped around her waist with a slap that echoed around the bath. "You heard me. And now I see why you make a big deal out of yourself. You overcompensate, Malfoy. And you want to be quick at catching the Snitch, not at that thing you just did that you call sex."

Malfoy stood, re-robing himself, glaring at Ginny venomously. "Is that why you wanted to fuck me?" he spat. "Because you can't get any from Potter? I don't blame him; I'd have better sex from a Third Year."

Ginny sat back down and crossed her legs. "Really? Better not let anyone hear you say that. I'm sure the Ministry would be interested to hear that Draco Malfoy is an incompetent child molester."

Malfoy shook with rage. Apparently deciding that there was nothing more to say, he turned and stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

Ginny sat up, peering at the door, checking that he was gone, before relaxing with a sigh. "Asshole," she muttered.

Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She apparently hadn't got what she wanted at all; though, having just watched her have rushed, secreted sex with none other than Draco Malfoy, he had no idea what it was that she wanted—but then again maybe neither did she. She sat glumly, playing with her hair, her eyes downcast. For a second she looked close to tears.

She stood, but to Harry's discomfort, she didn't leave. She started to undress properly, removing first her blouse, then her skirt and underwear, finally stepping out of her shoes and into the bath. She turned on each tap carefully and the giant tub started to fill with steaming, bubbly water. Now she was fully undressed, Harry could clearly see just how slick her pussy was, glistening with her own juices as well as the pale white remnants of Malfoy's seed.

Next to Harry, Hermione was fidgeting, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Harry wanted to tell her to stop, but he didn't think he could with Ginny there, less than three feet away.

Ginny, apparently left wanting by Malfoy's short-lived performance, was now fingering herself, leaning her head back with her eyes closed. As the tub filled, rising above her ankles, then her calves, knees, thighs and mid-section, her moans became louder and more intense.

Harry tugged at Hermione's hand, trying to get her to move away from the bath—any noise they made was sure to be covered by the rush of water and Ginny's high-pitched moans. It was the perfect time to make an invisible exit.

But Hermione, apparently misunderstanding, gripped his hand tightly and didn't let go.

The soapy suds reached Ginny's breasts as she reached her climax, gasping in a high-pitched throaty voice and shuddering with the intensity of it.

In the aftermath, Ginny fell limp for a long moment. She looked back at the door triumphantly. "Not that hard, is it, you prick?"

Ginny got out of the tub and shut the water off.

She didn't get dressed, didn't hang around. She just collected her clothes and set off out of the bathhouse, completely naked and dripping wet.

The door shut heavily behind her.

Harry hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out now, but otherwise, he didn't move. Hermione, on the other hand, sank to her knees.

Harry took the Cloak off them both and looked down at her. Neither knew what to say.

Harry was shell-shocked. It felt like nothing was secret, nothing was sacred anymore. He felt as though he wouldn't have been surprised to walk out the door and find Professor Sprout there, sucking off Hagrid.

But Ginny and Malfoy? Draco Malfoy, who despised the Weasleys and all they stood for?

Had Hogwarts gone completely mad? Was everyone so driven to the edge by the thought of sex, brought about by their laughably terrible lessons on the matter, that they were willing to go at it with the closest person?

Hermione got to her feet unsteadily, rather red in the face. She broke the dead silence—no, dead was an understatement, the silence had been mutilated, tortured, maimed, completely decimated and then finally put to sordid rest—and said, "Well. I guess I was right. He wasn't here for the Death Eaters."

Harry stared at her. "We should—we should never speak of this. To anyone. Ever."

Hermione bit her lip. "We seem to be saying that a lot lately. But you're right. For Ginny's sake." She was looking over at the bath, where there was a section of water without bubbles, where Ginny had got out.

Harry shifted uncertainly. "Guess we should… be getting back."

But Hermione didn't step back under the Cloak. Instead she went to the bath.

"Hermione, come on."

She spun back to face him, her face conflicted.

"Harry, don't you feel dirty?"

Harry's mouth fell open.

Hermione spread her arms, shaking them. "Like there's something you need to wash off? After everything, isn't what we need a hot bath to wash all the unpleasantness off? I mean, it's right there—and let's face it, neither of us bathe as often as we should, and it'd be a waste to just let this water sit here all night until a poor house elf comes in to clean up."

Harry wasn't quite sure what Hermione was getting at. She wanted a bath? Now? "Er… okay. Shall I leave you to it, then?"

Hermione seemed to be teetering on the edge of a precipice, still shifting her weight from one side to another. "No," she finally said. "I mean, not if you don't want to. To stay, I mean. That is, why not?"

Harry could do nothing but stare. She couldn't mean…?

She rolled her eyes, growing impatient. "I don't mean that, Harry! Just a bath. That's all."

"Right," said Harry hoarsely. "Er, okay, how do you want to…?"

But Hermione wasted no more time. She turned her back on Harry and pulled her sweater over her head. She folded it neatly and lay it on the bench by the bath. Next came her shirt, unbuttoned swiftly and folding in vertical halves with the natural crease lines.

Harry almost laughed at the clinical manner with which she undressed, but there was still something wrong with his throat. Uncertain if Hermione wanted him to look away, he pivoted awkwardly, now facing a stained-glass image of a mermaid beckoning seductively.

He heard Hermione unclasping her bra, then unzipping her trousers. They were laid upon the bench, and then he heard the pitter-patter of her bare feet on the stone, and the gentle slosh of water as she stepped into the giant bath tub.

He looked back around and caught a glimpse of Hermione's tantalizing figure before she let herself fall into the water, floating for a second, breasts pointed to the ceiling. She sank beneath the bubbles, with only her face sticking out, her voluminous hair billowing out amongst the coloured foam.

She kicked backwards, propelling herself back towards the taps, sitting right where Ginny had. She positioned herself so that she was properly submerged, the foam collecting around her shoulders and neckline, then she grinned nervously at Harry. "What are you waiting for? It's still hot."

Harry let the Invisibility Cloak fall to the ground. He reached up for his shirt buttons but fumbled and missed. Hermione was still looking at him. Still sitting there. Knowing she was naked under all those bubbles, with a view of her pleasing neck, collarbone and shoulders, and just a peak at a bit of cleavage…

Harry's shirt flew off, hit the ground. The next part was a bit tricky.

After all he had seen—Malfoy thrusting into Ginny, Ginny pleasuring herself in the very bath that Hermione now sat in, grinning at him—Harry's trousers were straining under a none-too-light pressure.

"Er, Hermione?" he called. "You wouldn't be able to, like, look away, would you?"

Hermione blushed, but did so. "Sorry. But… I have seen it all before, you know."

"I know," said Harry, now very hot in the face. "I know."

He kicked his shoes off, dropped his pants and boxers and pulled off his socks. As quickly as he could, he stepped over the ledge into the bath and sank beneath the water.

Hermione had been right. This was just what he needed. The hot water soothed his muscles, brought life to his tendons and joints. The foam bubbled around his face and chest as he made his way over to the other side, his engorged penis swinging from side to side below the surface. He was enormously glad of the ridiculous amount of bubbles.

He hovered in the middle of the bath, unsure where to go. But Hermione, now looking back at him, frowned and beckoned him over to her.

Harry obeyed, surging through the water towards her.

He sat at a safe distance of a foot, settling his back against the warm stone wall.

"This is nice," he finally said.

"Yes," said Hermione, a slight strain to her voice. "It's nice."

They sat in silence, enjoying the relieving hot water.

But Harry's mind was still working in overdrive. He could not sit here without thinking of who had been here before them, and what they had been doing.

But Harry had long ago swore to himself that he would never ever think of Ginny in the way he was doing now. He knew Ron would never, could never know, he wasn't a mind reader, but all the same, it was the principle of it all. He shuddered to think what would happen if Ron ever found out what Malfoy had done here tonight, and worse still, that Harry and Hermione had watched him do it without intervening.

In an effort to pull his thoughts away from Malfoy and Ginny, however, Harry's mind turned to the person who sat at arm's length beside him. The person who now gave a contented sigh and slouched down in the tub.

His cock was still maddeningly hard. If anything, the hot water had encouraged it further, giving it more heat, more life. It longed to be touched. Floating there in the water, unsupported, it felt wrong. It needed…

He glanced sideways at Hermione. Her eyes were closed; her head tilted back up to face the ceiling; her shoulders rising and falling with her relaxed breathing.

He looked down. He could make out nothing below the bubbly surface. Nothing at all.

She would never know…

Slowly, minimizing any disturbance of the heavenly water, Harry wrapped his hand around himself and started to stroke.

Hermione chanced a sideways glance at Harry. He was apparently observing a wall on the other side of the bathhouse.

Tiny waves rippled outwards from him as he sat there. Bubbles rose and fell as the water swelled, almost imperceptibly.

Hermione looked away and leaned back further into the water. She could feel the heat all over her body, but most of all between her legs. The hot water was sublime, it was like a giant hug that she longed to sink deeper into, and have sink deeper into her. The heat at her lips' entrance was searing; it felt like something was about to enter, but just holding back, right there on the edge.

She had felt herself become wet sometime between Ginny's blouse coming open and the twirling of the underwear. Hermione had seen Ginny's body a few times over the years, more by chance than anything—that was what happened when you shared a room at the Weasley's—but this was the first time she had really looked at it. And to see her taken there like that… no matter that it was Malfoy… it was rough, animalistic sex, put simply. And she had never seen anything of the sort. Never even known that Ginny had been active in that regard.

And the moans Ginny had let out as she pleasured herself in the very spot Hermione now sat in…

Hermione clamped her eyes shut in an effort to remember the image more vividly. She could hear Harry breathing deeply beside her, apparently in a state of bliss induced by the bath: one of Hermione's more genius ideas, if she did say so herself.

Because there was absolutely nothing wrong with this. It was just two friends, sitting a foot apart in a hot tub, completely naked, enjoying a much-needed bath after a mildly traumatising shared experience. They had to save water, after all, it could hardly go to waste. Who knew how much Hogwarts paid for their water supply? She had to do this, to preserve it, to save hours of elf-labour, nay, to save the planet.

And because it was the perfect opportunity to spend time with Harry in the state she was quickly realizing she wanted to be in with him more and more: naked and aroused.

Hermione was far past the age where she buried herself in denial. She couldn't dispute her body, her mind, her thoughts. She knew what she wanted. The problem now was whether Harry—or anybody else in the castle—would want that too. But oh, she would much prefer that it was Harry…

Without even realizing it, she had slipped a finger against the lips of her vagina. Just a quick clean, she thought, in the interests of hygiene.

Another finger slipped inside. Oops. And another.

Oh, look at that, one found the clitoris. Oh, well.

She slowly ran two fingers up and down her slit, while the other rubbed gently against the little nub.

She glanced carefully back at Harry, who had now shut his eyes. He was breathing a little heavier now, but in a manner that suggested he was trying to be quiet.

Hermione decided, then ,to be a little daring.

"Harry?" she said, and nearly combusted on the spot—her voice had come out higher than she had expected, almost as a moan.

Harry's eyes snapped open and water splashed somewhere to his right as his hand apparently came flying up. "What?"

Hermione continued to finger herself. "We should… why haven't we done this before?"

Harry looked at her wildly, his cheeks rosy red, his hair adorably unmaintained, half wet and flattened and half dry and standing on end. "Maybe—maybe because we're not allowed?"

Hermione giggled. "Right." Again, her voice came out more breathily than she meant.

After a while, she felt the water currents move beside her as Harry shifted.

She was feeling rushes of ecstasy now—she had never done this in a bath before, but she was quickly realizing there was no other way to do it; it had never felt this good before. Add to that the thrill of doing it right there next to Harry—this time actually knowing he was right there, also naked and—yes, it seemed—yes! He was holding his breath now, his eyes fluttering behind his glasses. The foam above his lap was rising and falling more noticeably now, and now that the bubbles had subsided somewhat she could see his right shoulder flexing.

She stared, fixated, as he masturbated, imagining what it must look like beneath the water, trying to remember what she had seen in the Room of Requirement. She felt her orgasm approaching quickly now, held off for too long while she had been stifled under the Cloak, then as she had undressed and then waited for Harry to enter the bath with her… she was throbbing, ready for release…

Harry looked right over, met her eyes, and he gave a short little gasp. The water, disturbed, sloshed towards Hermione, washing over her neck, and just for a second, in the aftermath of a larger wave, exposing part of her breasts to the cold bathhouse air.

Harry was still looking at Hermione, his right shoulder still flexing and pumping, his eyes flickering down to her chest with desire. And that was it.

She came, feeling waves of pleasure rolling outwards from her centre, watching Harry as he drew a new breath in, looking uncertainly at her as she tried not to writhe too much.

But she let out a breath which turned into a moan, and she couldn't stop it.

Her orgasm subsided, and her body relaxed, falling limp much like Ginny's had.

She couldn't take her eyes off Harry, and he, apparently couldn't take his eyes off her. He wasn't repulsed as he looked at her. He was looking at her with pure lust.

The foam had thinned significantly now, and Hermione's chest was slowly becoming exposed again. But she didn't sink beneath the water in an attempt at modesty.

Very deliberately, Hermione drew her fingers out of herself, raised them above the water, and licked them.

Harry let out a shaky breath, his shoulder gave one last motion and then his body tremored, sending out more waves through the bath to Hermione.

They sat there in the wake, looking at each other, having no words to say, not that they could say any.

Hermione took her fingers from her mouth, raised her hand, and waved at him.

Harry looked at her a moment more.

Then, slowly, he raised his own hand from beneath the foam, waved back, and smiled.

A longer chapter today, to make up for the long time I didn't post!

Apologies if GinnyxDraco is not your cup of tea—but they're not together, they're more enemies with benefits. I did say in the description that everyone was horny...

Thanks for reading!