Chapter 4: Watching the Boy Who Jizzed
Hermione didn't appear at breakfast on Saturday morning. Lavender told Harry and Ron that she was in the dorms, sick. What she was sick with, she apparently hadn't told the other girls, but Lavender seemed to know something Harry didn't.
"Should we bring Hermione some food, then?" asked Ron.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess."
Ron shifted awkwardly. "Say, Harry…"
"Say what?" said Harry grumpily.
Ron peered at him. "You wouldn't happen to have seen… a magazine I had, it was in my trunk, right at the top, and now it's gone."
Harry stared at Ron. "What?" was all he could think to say.
"Yeah, well…" Ron scratched his head. "I wasn't going to ever bring it up… but I know you came in when I was… looking at it. And if you did happen to pick it up, I just wondered if I could have it back when you were… done."
Harry dropped Ron's gaze and stared at his toast. The magazine had been driven completely from his mind. He had been more preoccupied with the fact that he had seen Hermione naked than Ron's dirty magazine.
He wouldn't have minded admitting to Ron he had seen it, and borrowed it. Ron would understand. He might be embarrassed, too, but he would understand. But to tell Ron this was to admit he had carelessly left it in the Common Room. And to say that would be to explain that something had happened—something so shocking that he had dropped the magazine on the floor and forgotten to go back for it.
And now the only person who could possibly have it was Hermione. Or perhaps the house-elves. Harry entertained himself for a second imagining Dobby or Winky's scandalized faces if one of them had picked it up on their night-time cleaning route.
But no—it was definitely Hermione. He had to ask her if she had picked up the magazine, and if she had, to return it to him so he could return it to Ron, in a way that would make Ron think he had just misplaced it.
But asking Hermione about it would mean acknowledging that last night had actually happened, which was completely against the pact they had made to never speak of it.
So Harry was left with only option: to tell barefaced lies. "I don't know, Ron," he said flatly. "I don't know what magazine you're talking about."
Ron looked at Harry strangely, awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure how far he should push. "Oh. I just thought—I mean, you came right in when I was—well, never mind then. It must be one of the other boys."
Harry shrugged. "Guess so. Why don't you go up and check the dorm, now? Bring Hermione some food while you're at it?"
"Good idea," said Ron, finishing off his sausages and gulping down pumpkin juice. "See you at the Quidditch pitch later, yeah?"
Ron seemed very keen to get away from Harry, and Harry wasn't too mad about hanging out with him today, either.
Today, he felt so filthy that not even a dip in the Prefect's bath with all the soap would cleanse him properly. Having masturbated to completion last night with images of a naked, sweaty Hermione dancing through his mind was the worst thing he had ever done. No question about it.
Vaguely, he wondered if any of the other boys did that. Not particularly with Hermione, but with any of the other Gryffindor girls. He supposed that was what the magazine was for—to focus on these supermodels, these ridiculously attractive women that were modeled specifically to appeal to boys like Harry and Ron, instead of people that they actually knew.
But thinking about it now, the feeling of looking at the girls in the magazine was nothing—nothing, compared to how it had been seeing Hermione there—present and real and moaning, right there on the couch in front of him. When her disillusionment charm had dropped, and he had continued to stroke himself when she appeared, he had very nearly combusted on the spot. Even thinking about it now…
Harry swore. This was not the time or place. He stood up swiftly, catching his drink as he very nearly spilt it all over his half-eaten toast. A walk in the grounds, that was what he needed. A visit to Hagrid, maybe. All thoughts of a naked Hermione would be driven from his mind there, he was certain.
But Harry could not stay at Hagrid's all weekend. After having lunch with the gamekeeper he made his way to the Quidditch Pitch, where he changed into his practice robes and got ready with the team.
Walking out of the changing rooms, he encountered Katie Bell, fastening her robes securely around herself, arching her back to make sure they were tight enough so they wouldn't hinder her movement. As she did this, her prominent breasts pressed against the fabric towards Harry, and he fumbled with his Firebolt as he caught himself staring at them.
Katie looked up, saw him, and blinked. "Harry," she said. "How are you?"
"Good!" he almost shouted, looking some way above Katie's hair. "Fantastic. You?"
A smirk played around Katie's lips. "Not bad. Come on, let's go."
They met Ginny outside, and Harry stopped at a safe distance. Ginny appeared not to be wearing robes to practice today at all. Instead, she was wearing a pair of rather short shorts, and a tight Gryffindor T-shirt. The outfit left not much to the imagination, but Harry's managed to work wonders.
"Need a new pair," she explained glumly. "As a joke, Fred and George put itching powder in mine. Problem is, they can't seem to remove it."
Harry nodded, swallowing, tearing his eyes away from Ginny's tan, shapely legs. He looked away to see Ron right beside him, wearing his Keeper's hat, staring at Harry with protective suspicion.
It was as if a switch had been flicked in Harry's brain. He could no longer encounter almost anybody without straight away picturing them naked and comparing them to Hermione. Each of the Quidditch girls in turn appeared to him, fully clothed on the pitch, but completely nude in his head. Ginny had to clap her hands in front of his face and ask if Malfoy had cast a Confundus charm on him in an attempt to sabotage the team before Harry shook himself out of it and took to the skies. On his broomstick, at least, it was easier to put the randy thoughts away. By the end of practice, Harry had managed to stop being a complete creep.
But Hermione, apparently, could not stay upstairs all day—she finally made an appearance at dinner, meek and reserved and with several giant books that she hid behind as she ate. Harry was grateful; this meant he didn't see much of her besides her bushy hair.
Ron gave up any attempts at conversation and Harry didn't make any, so the trio ate in silence.
He knew it couldn't go on like this. It was better to get the awkwardness over sooner than later. He sat in the Common Room that night in the corner, near Hermione, glancing at her every so often, waiting for her to look up from her books.
But when she did, and when she met Harry's eyes, the deepest blush came over her, and she looked right back down at the Transfiguration textbook.
She went to bed not long after that. Harry watched her go, noticing the slight sway of her hips, and the way her jumper had ridden up above her waist, revealing her bottom, which was particularly attractive from this lower angle as she walked up the steps. That was the only part of her that Harry had not really seen, last night… he had gotten mostly the front view. But now, he could see that Hermione was rather more shapely than he might ever have thought. If only she had turned around last night to maybe pick up some robes, maybe bent over in the process…
Quite violently, Harry hit himself in the head with his Potions essay, smudging the ink. He had to stop with this. And it would. It was just a passing thing… a second wave of puberty… the longer he went without thinking of last night, the better off he'd be.
But over the next week, Harry become even more desperately horny, and as such he was in a state of complete misery. Despite Hogwarts being a school of magic and mystery, there was very little time and very few places one could be absolutely sure of being alone, safely alone enough to jerk themselves off for a few minutes. Students kept odd hours, people liked the quiet of the Common Room past midnight, either for studying, reading, writing letters, or practicing spells.
Of course, Harry had the Cloak, but to venture outside the Common Room was to endure the cold of the drafty stone castle, and risk bumping into teachers or ghosts. Peeves, he knew for a fact, roamed every inch of the castle all night, through walls and doors. Nowhere was safe from him.
And even though no one would be able to see Harry under the Cloak, trying to get himself off under it was extremely uncomfortable and impractical, and more often than not killed the mood.
What Harry really needed was a place where he could just disappear into, without anyone seeing him. So he could really, comfortably, satisfy the thing between his legs that seemed more eager to rise than Hermione on a morning with an Arithmancy class.
Somewhere like…
Hermione was miserable. Harry wasn't talking to her, wasn't even looking at her. This made it very easy for her to look at him, and what she saw was someone who was just as embarrassed as she was, and obviously overthinking the whole thing.
But the problem with overthinking was that once you start trying to stop doing it, you overthink how to do that. You try to justify that it isn't really a big deal when really it is.
She had also lost Harry's copy of Busty Witches. When she had checked back at her bedside table Saturday evening, it was nowhere to be seen. This complicated things greatly. She had planned to sneak up to the boy's dorms and slip it into Harry's trunk, so she would never actually have to talk to him about that fateful night, but now it seemed she would have to apologize for losing it, and maybe even offer to buy him another one.
Add the fact that Ginny kept trying to talk to her about the finer details of lesbianism, and Hermione was rapidly becoming short and frustrated with just about anyone, retreating for hours at a time into the library away from the chaos which Hogwarts so often threatened to overwhelm her with. With the frustration came an eagerness, too. She started reading certain books on human anatomy and reproduction, purely for education. Each section she read, however, her mind flashed back to Harry, penis in hand. She wondered why she had become so fixated on him, but quickly realised that anyone who had seen one of their closest friend like that would do the same. It wasn't like she liked Harry... but something had changed, there was no doubt about it. An innocence had been lost, and now all Hermione could do when she saw him was wonder when he was going to jerk off next, and what he would look like when he did.
It was a good thing, at least, that Hermione seemed not to be alone in her desperate horniness. The entire school seemed to be overtaken. Several couples were caught near-or mid-coitus over the week by outraged teachers or amused ghosts. Hermione walked in on several girls in bathrooms and in the dorms that frantically covered themselves and made excuses for why they were 'down there'.
Hermione herself was being more careful about when and where she paddled the pink canoe. The Common Room was now strictly a no-go zone. The only safe space was her own bed late at night, with privacy charms cast on the drapes. But several times in the library, in her favourite spot in the back corner, while reading a particularly riveting passage of a romance novel, she felt an unquenchable urge to chance a quick round under her robes.
She decided that something had to change, come what may. It was during their next Sex Education class, which replaced the sixth years' free period on Friday, that Hermione decided firmly that she would talk to Harry.
He had seemed a complete mess all day. He had performed his transfigurations that morning even worse than Neville, somehow turning a mice into a mishappen lump with what looked like a nipple on top of it. This gave Lavender and Parvati an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.
In Sex Ed, Lupin seemed to be distinctly less awkward about the whole thing. This time, he explained more in depth what exactly it meant to consent to sexual activity with someone else, warning everybody of the moral and legal implications if someone were to pursue or engage in a sexual act with an unwilling person.
Hermione was willing to bet that Harry was thinking the same thing she was. They had both been unwilling witnesses to each other performing a sexual act, last Friday night. But that hadn't been something that either of them had done wrong, that had been an accident… That didn't stop her ears from burning though, as she pictured the scene in her head for the thousandth time that week.
Harry hightailed it out of class as soon as Lupin dismissed them, bag slung over one shoulder. Hermione followed him through the busy hallways, leaving Ron, as he was talking to Dean and Seamus, laughing about something quite unfunny.
Harry seemed to be on a mission. He walked up several staircases and through two tapestries before Hermione managed to get close.
She slowed down, keeping him in view, thinking about what she was going to say to him. Everybody else was going downstairs for lunch in the Great Hall, but Harry seemed to be heading for the seventh floor.
They reached the top of the castle and Hermione realized where Harry wanted to go. He stopped in front of a blank stretch of stone wall opposite a long painting. Not quite knowing why, Hermione ducked behind a suit of armor, just as Harry glanced around to check that no one was watching.
Harry walked by the blank wall three times, muttering something under his breath. A door appeared and he looked left and right, then went through it. The door disappeared as soon as he closed it.
Hermione stepped out from behind the suit of armor and hovered in front of the wall. She supposed Harry had come here to be alone. But why hadn't he told her or Ron? Was there something else going on? Something bad? Had his scar hurt, perhaps? Had he had a vision of some sort? What if he needed her help, but was too stubborn or embarrassed to ask?
She walked three times past the wall, just as Harry had done. I need to see Harry, please let me in. I need to see Harry, please let me in. I need to see Harry, please let me in…
A door appeared. Hesitantly, Hermione opened it, and stepped into the Room of Requirement.
Inside, the Room was like Hermione had never seen it. Every inch of every wall was covered in moving pictures of naked women, and even some men. Each figure was performing unspeakable sexual acts on another. The room was dim, lit by one candelabra. Shadows of flames danced across the pictures, not quite reaching the corners of the room.
And on a giant bed in the middle of the room, was Harry, his robes spread and his trousers pulled down, his erect penis exposed, the head glistening eagerly. He was staring at the ceiling as he masturbated with a steady rhythm. The sound of his skin rubbing against himself, a slightly wet squishy sound with each stroke, and his heavy breathing were the only noises in the room.
Hermione dragged her gaze away from his hand and his cock and up to the ceiling. And she gasped.
There, larger than any of the other pictures on the walls, was a painting of Hermione, naked as the day she was born, pleasuring herself with reckless abandon, shoving almost her entire hand into herself and using her other hand to fondle her own breasts.
Harry was breathing hard. He hadn't seemed to heard Hermione gasp. He hadn't seen her. She could leave now, and he would never know she had been here.
But she didn't leave. Instead she watched him, in some sort of trance. She felt herself grow flushed, heated, and felt a mad urge to rip her robes off.
Harry was increasing his speed, cupping his testicles with his free hand, coaxing them with a circular counterrhythm. His right hand went up and down the shaft, which was rapidly becoming slick with some sort of shiny liquid that seemed to be coming from the head. Whenever Harry's knuckles brushed this part of his penis, the part that looked red and sensitive, he gave a loud gasp and arched his back slightly. Even now, terrified of Harry looking around and seeing her, Hermione filed this observation away for future reference.
Harry was thrusting up into his hand now, meeting his strokes with rapid precision. The bedframe shook and the candles danced wildly. Up on the ceiling, picture-Hermione smiled salaciously down at him, swaying her hips as she matched his pace with her fingers.
"Oh," groaned Harry, "oh… ah… oh, god…"
With one last pump of his hand, Harry gave a great moan, his cock twitched violently, and spurted out a thick gob of white liquid onto his school shirt. Another spurt as his cock twitched again, and again, and again. The semen pooled in a crease on the shirt and Harry moaned again, letting his hand fall away. He closed his eyes, seemingly exhausted.
His cock, now spent of its cum, started to fall from attention. It became steadily limp, and drooped down onto his belly.
Hermione backed away, slowly and quietly. She felt for the door handle behind her but kept her eyes fixed on Harry in case he sat up properly. The door swung open and Hermione stepped through backwards.
She closed the door, still watching Harry. Unbelievably, he still hadn't noticed her. The door clicked shut quietly and Hermione stood there, trembling from head to foot.
She turned to go, and found herself face to face with Pansy Parkinson.
"Granger," said Pansy, sickly sweet. "What could you possibly be doing in there?"
Hermione's blood went cold.
"Fixing yourself your own exam, I imagine," said Pansy. "Or crying to yourself about what a complete loser you are."
Hermione didn't know what to say. Her fear turned to horror as Pansy looked at the door handle that Hermione was still holding.
"What's in there, anyway?" said Pansy. "I've walked past here a hundred times and never seen that door." She made to open it but Hermione blocked her way, still holding the door handle.
It was bad enough Hermione had seen Harry there, doing what he had been doing. If Pansy Parkinson found out, then Draco Malfoy and all the Slytherins would know within the hour, and Harry would be the laughing stock of the school.
"Nothing you'd find interesting," said Hermione quickly. "Loads of old books."
But for the first time since Hermione had known her, Pansy's eyes narrowed in curious suspicion, clocking on to Hermione's nervousness.
"Move, Granger," she said, "I want to see for myself."
"No," said Hermione.
"Move, I said! Or I'll hex you!"
Hermione plunged her hand into her robes, pulled out her wand, pointed it at Pansy and cried, "Flipendo!"
Pansy went skidding backwards, stumbling, and Hermione yanked the door open, just wide enough to step through, and disappeared inside.
Back in the Room, she locked the door securely and listened hard. But if Pansy was still trying to get in, the Room was doing a good job shutting her out, because Hermione couldn't hear anything.
The same couldn't be said for Harry. For the second time that week, Hermione started as she heard him exclaim, in a mixture of shock and guilt, "Hermione?!"
Hermione spun around to see Harry twisting around in the bed, his penis on the pillow and his hand held out—wet and sticky from his orgasm.
"Harry!"
"Hermione!"
"Harry!"
"Shit." It was rare to hear Harry swear. Not even when facing dragons or Dementors had he uttered an expletive. But here, having been caught by Hermione again, she could see why it was necessary.
Harry struggled to pull up his pants and cover himself up, sliding himself off the bed. The semen on his school shirt slid down, spreading to the very ends, staining the shirt a dark grey.
Hermione looked away as he sorted himself out, but she could still see him in the corner of her vision.
"Hermione, it's—it's not what it looks like," he stammered, zipping up his fly and pulling his robes across himself. "I swear, I don't know why the Room gave me that painting up there—it must be, I don't know, maybe reading something else of what I needed, like—I have that Potions essay. It must know that I needed your help for that, and part of that essay is on love potions, and the painting of you, I guess, maybe is demonstrating the side effects of strong love potions, that is, you know, Snape even said that they can make people completely—completely randy, you know, and I guess that's what happened. I didn't even realize, honest! I just came in here to—to, well…"
"To masturbate," Hermione finished, looking back at him. He was sitting back on the bed, wiping his hand on the sheets.
"Well… I mean… obviously, I guess." Harry looked panicked, terrified even, and Hermione felt a warm rush of sympathy towards him.
She swallowed, walked over, and sat on the bed beside him. He practically jumped away from her.
"Harry," she said, trying desperately not to look at any of the pictures on the wall or ceiling. Instead her gaze landed on a stray drop of semen on the bed. "It's okay," she said.
He blinked. "In what world is any of this possibly okay?"
"Look," she said, trying to keep a level head, "I'd be a fool to think that you'd never masturbated before. And you'd be one too if you thought the same of me. Just because we've never talked about it and never seen each other in a compromising position doesn't mean it doesn't happen. We've just been… unlucky."
Harry scoffed. "I'll say."
"I guess… something about finally learning about these things properly, and everyone talking about it, even bragging about what they've done like it's some kind of competition… it's… triggered something. I know we've been through puberty already, so it's not quite that, it's just... we're repressed, aren't we?"
"What?"
"Well, I don't know about you, but I've never, I mean—" Hermione cut herself off, embarrassed, then remembered that she had just caught Harry masturbating again, to a picture of her, no less, and realized that she had nothing to be ashamed of. "I've never… had a sexual experience. A proper one. With someone else."
Harry looked at her as if in wonder. "But Krum—"
Hermione let out a very undignified bark of laughter much like Sirius might have. Harry jumped, startled.
"Sorry," she said, "but Harry, that was hilarious."
He looked completely bewildered. "Why?"
"Harry, Viktor was eighteen when he took me to the Yule Ball. I was fifteen. Do you really think anything actually happened between us?"
Harry shrugged. "I dunno, I figured… I never wanted to ask."
Hermione smoothed down the blanket beside her. "If anything had happened, Viktor could have been arrested. I was a minor, he was an adult."
Harry eyed her shrewdly. "But you wanted something to happen."
"No," said Hermione firmly. "No, I didn't."
Harry nodded, mulling this over. Then—"But now you're seventeen. You're an adult, too. And you still haven't—"
"Where do you think I'd have the opportunity to?" said Hermione. Then, realizing this made her sound a bit desperate, she added, "And why do you think I'd even want to?"
Harry stared at her as if she had just revealed herself as the reincarnation of Voldemort. "You—you don't want to?"
"No," said Hermione, although sitting on the soft bed with Harry, in this dimly lit room surrounded by naked paintings pleasuring themselves, she found that this was a complete lie. She tried to rationalize herself. "We're still in school, Harry," she said. "It's against the rules. Besides, it wouldn't feel right."
She wished he would stop looking at her so intently. It made her feel oddly elated, when all she wanted to do was be rational, logical, cool-headed. But at least he was looking at her now. And not the picture of her on the ceiling. At least they were talking again, with only a modicum of awkwardness. But then… was Harry telling the truth? Had the Room of Requirement really conjured up Hermione for him because it thought he needed help with Potions? It was possible, she supposed… the room did have a mind of its own.
"So, you're not okay with having sex, but you're okay with—with—" Harry faltered.
"You're allowed to use the words, Harry," she told him.
"With, you know, getting yourself off?"
"Well, yes," said Hermione. "It's a natural part of our private lives. Which, granted, has become a bit, er, a bit less private recently. Sorry."
Harry smiled slightly at that. "I'm sorry, too."
"Well, what about you?" Hermione asked.
"What about me?" asked Harry.
"You and Cho, you never…?"
"No," said Harry. "Never felt right. Never even got a stiffy when we snogged."
Hermione choked back another snort of laughter. "Oh!"
"Guess you're right," Harry admitted. "Guess we are just a pair of sexually repressed teens who are somehow turned on by Lupin talking about Figures A and B."
They grinned at each other.
Hermione felt an immense wave of relief wash over her. Harry wasn't mad that she had barged in on him. Wasn't embarrassed anymore. Things might finally be back to normal between them.
Except they weren't, quite. For one thing, Hermione hadn't told him that she had watched him masturbate to completion without averting her eyes or leaving the room. For another—under the pretense of getting a knot out of her hair, she glanced up at the ceiling—the picture of Hermione was still there, still naked. And a picture of Harry had joined her, also nude. The Harry and Hermione were embracing, kissing as though their lives depended on it. As Hermione watched, the picture-Harry's penis stiffened, poking into picture-Hermione's stomach.
Suddenly feeling very hot again, Hermione let her hair fall over her eyes and looked down, right at Harry, who was examining her curiously, almost clinically.
"What?" she asked him.
"Hermione," he said slowly, "have you ever thought…"
"Thought what?" she asked, her heart beating quite fast.
"Well, because, I mean, we haven't… done stuff yet… and this is going to sound crazy, completely terribly inappropriate, and you can hit me if you want, but what if—"
But Hermione was no longer listening; she had caught sight of Harry's watch.
"Oh, no!" she gasped.
Harry nodded quickly, his gaze dropping. "Right. Never mind then."
Hermione jumped off the bed. "We're late for Charms, Harry! Ten minutes late!"
Harry, too, jumped up. "Damn it! Let's go!"
They rushed out of the room, slamming the door closed behind them, then hurtled down the corridor for Flitwick's classroom.
Inside the Room of Requirement, on the ceiling, the picture versions of Harry and Hermione were engaged in sweaty, frantic, animalistic sex. Harry thrusted into Hermione from head to hilt and Hermione pulled him against her, her arms around his neck, her tongue tracing circles around his mouth as he pounded her senseless.
Then, as Harry gave one last thrust, emptying himself into Hermione, and as she pulled him out of her, knelt, and licked him clean, grinning happily, the pictures faded, the walls became blank, and the room went dark.
Hey everyone! Please let me know what you think of the fic so far :) Thanks for reading!
