A/N: This is the most significant chapter of the fic so far, and was the trickiest to write. It's also the first written from Hermione's point of view. Writing her character has proved tricky, but hopefully I've done it justice. Also, warning: smut ahead! I don't really care for smut, much, but my internal Muse lead me there and I think it lends emotional weight to the chapter in the right ways. As always please read and review! I hope you enjoy!
Monday, 11/22/1998
Hermione clutched the strap of her beaded bag as she headed back up to Gryffindor tower from Arithmancy. Today's discussion of arithmetic geometry in warding was interesting, but she was still rather unsatisfied with the lack of definitive conclusions in the area. Her own readings suggested that Langlands' theory of automorphic forms ought to shed some light on the persistent stability issues one faced when attempting to cast wards over a large radius all at once.
Professor Vector was intrigued by the proposed connection, but cautioned that the Langlands' conjectures were still in a speculative stage and it was unclear if they would pan out. Which, Hermione conceded, was true, but all evidence so far pointed to their correctness. The recent proof of Fermat's Last Theorem, for example. Besides, arithmantic research had always balanced theoretical speculation with practical experimentation. There was nothing stopping people from testing a fully automorphic warding formula, or, at the very least, applying some Galois theory to traditional polynomial schemes. So really, how was it that nobody had gotten around to it yet? To that, Professor Vector had only smiled and said that Hermione should hurry up and graduate already.
Reviewing some of the proofs in her head, Hermione absently gave the Fat Lady the password and stepped into Gryffindor Common Room. It was always crowded at this hour, with most students lazing away the free time between classes' end and dinner.
"Hermione!"
Hmm?
She looked up to see Harry marching rapidly towards her, arms swinging and eyes full of purpose. "Harry!" she replied brightly, wondering what the rush was.
Then he reached her at the front of the Common Room, got down on one knee, and her heart skipped several steps before coming to a screeching halt.
What? No, this can't be real, am I dreaming? Is he really about to propose?! Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm...What is he doing? You're not seriously going to propose like this, out of the blue? You idiot, that's a terrible story to tell people. Is this a joke? It is NOT funny!
Before she had a chance to ask Harry what the hell was going on, he stuck out a bouquet fragrant white roses to her, and shot her a dazzling smile. He was beaming at her as though she had just handed him the House Cup, the Quidditch Cup, and a million Galleons at once. She could feel her cheeks burning from her blush, and her heartbeat came back with a vengeance, thumping madly against her ribcage. She could scarcely breathe as she held his gaze.
The cacophony of voices in the Common Room instantly fell to a low rumble, and then to an oppressive silence. She could not hold the intensity of Harry's gaze and breathe at the same time, so Hermione flicked her eyes up, side to side, to note that the entirety of Gryffindor House was watching them. Some were subtly trying to observe out of the corners of their eyes, while others just gawked outright. Several of the younger girls glared daggers at Hermione, as though she had personally drowned their pets.
Her eyes came back to Harry, who was still beaming at her. This was like no expression he had made before. He was grinning so widely, looking up at her with such adoration, she could not help but doubt the reality of the situation. She had never seen him smile so widely in her life. Not when he had won his first Quidditch match, or rescued Sirius, or even when he had defeated Voldemort. Was this actually Harry? Was he drugged? Imperiused? Was this a Polyjuiced impostor?
What on Earth was he smiling about like that? Did she have something to do with it? She couldn't think of anything, but then why else was he looking at her and handing her these flowers? She badly wanted to know the key to unlocking this dazzling smile. Whatever it was, she would repeat it every day, she would make it the central task of her life, if it meant this smile never went away.
But - if it was Hermione - what had she done, exactly?
"Harry?" she breathed, feeling light headed. She wanted to ask her hundred questions, but she could barely manage a single word.
"I got you flowers, Hermione. Do you like them?"
...What? Like them?! Do I LIKE them?! Does he know what he's doing, just marching up to me in the Common Room and dropping to one knee like that?
This irregular and rapid heartbeat was definitely not good for her health. Hermione wanted to berate him for giving her a minor heart attack. She wanted to snog him senseless for being so stupidly sweet. She wanted to do both and neither. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do. But she didn't want this moment to end and for things to go back to normal. Whatever prank or trick this was, she would figure it out and punish the appropriate parties. Just give me 10 minutes.
She would indulge it for 10 minutes, and then come to her senses. 10 minutes, and then she would figure out what was really going on, whether it was Imperius or Polyjuice or she was just dreaming.
Hermione's stomach was doing backflips and her knees were threatening to give out as she reached out to clutch the roses in both hands, mustering a weak smile and nodding dumbly that she liked them.
Still beaming, Harry placed the flowers securely in her arms, got up, and pulled her towards him. She wrapped her limp arms around his back, and he crushed his lips into hers.
Forgoing his usual gentle prelude, Harry roughly forced his tongue into her mouth, and she could only grip his hair with her free hand as she granted him entrance. He was pushing, insistent, as though he was trying to steal all the air from her lungs. She was only too happy to comply. His arms held her firmly at the waist, and she gasped into his mouth when he yanked her up off the ground, pulling her into him and deepening their kiss.
There was no way this was real. He had never kissed her like this. Nobody had ever kissed her like this.
Harry tasted like fresh grass, and spearmint, and pure electricity. She needed more of it. Her tongue struggled against his, pushing for purchase as he redoubled his efforts to win their little duel. Her heart was throbbing so hard that he probably thought she was having a stroke. Pressed together as they were, she knew he could feel every beat.
Hermione felt lightheaded, and knew she would need air soon, but could not bring herself to tear them apart. If she passed out, Harry would take care of her, right? He always did. Maybe that's how this dream would end. She would pass out right here in the Common Room, only to wake up in her bed, covered in sweat and buzzing with his electricity. But then shouldn't she come up for air, to extend the dream? That would be the smart thing to do. But Hermione simply could let go of him. It was an impossibility.
A lifetime later, they broke apart, both gasping for air. The Common Room erupted in cheers and wolf-whistles. Hermione dimly registered that their very public snog would surely become the Hogwarts gossip of the week. Her toes grazed the floor, and she realized she had come completely off the ground, crushed against Harry's chest as his strong hands gripping her firmly at the waist. Praying her knees would not buckle, she slid down to solid ground and looked up at him, still keeping her arms around his back.
He looked adorably ruffled, with his messy hair and swollen lips. He was still giving her that look of pure adoration, as though she had just upended the earth for him. All that for a snog?
Is this what Harry did with girls? Claim them in the middle of the Common Room like some sort of caveman, marking his female for all the other males to see? It was what he had done with Ginny, but then again she had just won him the Quidditch Cup. What exactly had Hermione for him recently?
Besides, Harry's kiss with Ginny had seemed like more of a "thank-you for leading the team, I like you very much so let's stop dancing around this" kind of snog. This was...she didn't know what this was. All she knew is that Harry seemed deliriously happy, and that huge grin would not leave his face.
"Vita Pulcherrima."
"Huh?"
Harry grinned and swooped in to kiss her forehead.
"The name of the flower. There's no good translation for it, but it essentially means 'Most beautiful thing in life.' That's you. My vita pulcherrima."
And then her body completely betrayed her and she let out a small whimper. She whimpered, like some silly schoolgirl. This better be a dream, otherwise that would be really embarrassing...
Were her 10 minutes up? The situation seemed safe enough right now. 10 more minutes can't hurt. Hermione was eager to dissect the causal mechanisms behind that kiss, and hoping she could recreate the conditions very, very soon.
She was still in a daze as he took her hand and led her to their usual couch near the fire. Hermione's housemates seemed to have lost interest in the two of them, but she did see Ginny grin and flash her a thumbs up as they passed.
He plopped them both onto the couch, then turned to her and took her free hand in both of his.
"Have you heard of Helen of Troy?"
"Huh?"
That's three words so far, two of which here 'Huh.' Brilliant job, Hermione.
"She's a figure in Greek mythology, said to have been the most beautiful woman in the world. In the myth, Helen had suitors from all across the world. The king who eventually won her over gave her these flowers, which he harvested from the peak of the highest mountain in Sparta. He called them vita pulcherrima, because he said even though he had won so many kingdoms and glories, she would be the most beautiful thing in his life."
Hermione was speechless again. Where was Harry getting all of this from? She had indeed heard the myth of Helen of Troy, the so-called Beauty that Launched a Thousand Ships. But where had Harry heard all of this? And if this was some prank, then why was the Harry-impersonator saying these ridiculous things?
No, Hermione had to be dreaming. The data simply did not fit the other hypotheses. But then, why had she already experienced a full day before things got so...dreamy? Most dreams lasted a couple of hours, at most. Yet she could definitely recall the details of her entire day - all of her meals, classes, and conversations. And this dream seemed particularly sharp and detailed. There were no fuzzy edges or incongruities with reality.
Then, it struck her - she was not just dreaming, but lucid dreaming. Hermione had read about this once - it fit perfectly with the details of her situation. In a lucid dream, the subject was aware that they were in a dream, yet they did not wake up. Further, their perception tended to be sharper and more realistic, since the brain was in a different state of activity than a typical dream. People rarely lucid dreamed, but when they did they reported miraculous events, like flying unassisted or speaking to the dead.
My, what a wonderful gift. She had the rest of the day with this dream version of Harry to do whatever she wanted. Her brain had already supplied an amazing, unbelievable start to their evening together, and now she was fully aware of her dream and still going strong.
She sighed and relaxed into him, praying she would not wake up too soon. He was saying such wonderfully sweet things now, things that only her own addled mind was capable of conjuring up. I mean honestly, comparing myself Helen of Troy? I didn't think I had it in me. I guess my subconscious mind really is vain. Oh well, might as well embrace it…
Unaware of her internal debate, Harry pressed onwards. "The flowers signify physical beauty, which fits, because you are the most beautiful woman in the world. But they also signify beauty in other ways, like kindness and generosity, because Menelaus wanted to show Helen he would treasure her for more than her looks. So I got you these because you're both the most beautiful woman in the world, and also the most beautiful person. Does that make sense?"
Dream-Harry was still beaming at her, and his face was all nervous and cute now. Giggling, Hermione reached back to cup his face with her free hand and nodded. "Very good, Harry. Keep going."
"Uh...well, the flowers typically grow in Mediterranean climates, although it's not clear if they actually grew in Sparta or if that's just the myth. Helen of Troy was Greek and yet the only name for the flower is in Latin, so it doesn't make much sense. But it's possible there was a Greek name for the flowers in antiquity, and we just lost it over time. And, uh...well, like I said, Helen of Troy was the most beautiful woman of her time and you're the most beautiful woman of our time, so it fits. So...you like them, then?"
Giggling again, Hermione leaned back into him on the couch. His arms encircled her as they stared at the fire.
Talking to herself now, she sighed wistfully. "You know, Harry really should do this flowers thing again. The whole thing was so sweet, the getting on one knee, the little speech, the kiss...wouldn't that be nice? Every Monday, a new set of flowers and a little speech with a kiss."
Chuckling, dream-Harry dropped a kiss on her temple. "Harry plans on it."
They sat like that for a bit, cuddled together as Hermione assembled a mental list of all the things she'd like dream-Harry to do.
I probably have a few hours before I wake up, so I shouldn't push my luck too much. More snogging for sure, and cuddling...maybe dancing? But real-Harry would take me dancing anyways, if there was a Ball, so that's not so special. Maybe dream-Harry is really good at it, though. But really, I only care about the slow songs, and real-Harry could get through those without trouble.
He could take me flying. Would that still be scary in the dream? I guess we couldn't get hurt, so it's more of a mental thing...
Well, I guess my favorite part was his little speech. Maybe he could just say that again.
"Hermione, do you want to head down to dinner now?"
"Noooo!" she whined. They didn't have time for that. She had too many plans.
"Okay, so...later, then?"
"No dinner. Just cuddling for now. And then later, I'll see what else."
She could feel him shrug behind her.
"Okay."
After a few minutes, they were the only people left in the Common Room. It appeared the entirety of Gryffindor House had left for dinner in a haste, rushing to share the juicy Harry-gossip with the castle.
Perking up suddenly, Hermione spun around to face dream-Harry.
"Ooh! I want a back massage now."
His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he gulped audibly.
"You want...a massage? From me?"
Oh, he's so adorable when he's shy like that.
"Yes, from you. Come on now, we don't have much time!"
She climbed up from the couch, disentangling them. Hermione quickly tossed off her Gryffindor jumper and undid her tie, popping her collar button and plopping back down to lay on her stomach.
Dream-Harry came to his knees on the floor, tentatively resting his hands on her shoulders. Mumbling into the couch, Hermione urged him on. "Come on Harry, be firm and go from top to bottom. Hurry up, I have a lot of plans."
After some more coaching and urging, he settled into a slow rhythm. Dream-Harry worked his palms into her back and shoulders, gently massaging the stress from her back. She let out a low groan, melting into the soft fabric of the couch.
"Harry, could you say the thing again? You know, the...mmmmmmmm, don't stop….the flowers?"
"What do you mean?"
"The, mmmmmm...the vita something…"
"Oh, sure. The name of the flower is vita pulcherrima, which means 'most beautiful thing in life.' It's grown in-"
"No, no, no! The mmmmm….the Helen of Troy thing."
"Well, the legend goes that Menelaus got Helen of Troy the flowers from the highest mountain on Sparta. He said the flowers held a timeless, unmatched beauty like Helen's. But he also said her beauty came from her kindness and generosity. So I thought the flowers suited you, because you're kind, generous, and beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world."
"Mmmmmm...more beautiful than Parvati? And Cho, and Ginny?"
His hands suddenly left her, and his eyes became level with hers as she lay prone on the couch. Dream-Harry's face flashed with hurt and concern.
"How could you think that?"
She smiled dreamily, still tingling from his ministrations. "Mmmm, I suppose you're right, even in my dreams I can't be that pretty. Come on then, more massaging."
To her dismay, he did not resume his massage. Harry scooped her upright, settling them both onto the couch as he turned to face her directly. He grabbed her right hand in both of his, still looking wounded.
"No, I mean...you said you're not beautiful. Why? Don't you believe me?"
"Harry…." she sighed, wondering how to get out of this predicament and back to her list of dream items. "The flowers were very sweet, but you don't need to do all that."
"Do all of what? Do you think I'm lying?"
"No, Harry, but come on, Helen of Troy? Like I said it was very sweet of you, every girl likes to hear those things, but honestly I'm more mature than that. I know I'm just plain."
"Plain? Have you forgotten the Yule Ball? You were the most beautiful girl there, hands down, and everybody knew it. I thought you knew. How could you forget that?"
"Harry, I…"
"You were going with Viktor Krum, and he was lucky to go with you. He knew it, I knew it, everyone knew it. Anyone would have been lucky."
He jumped up from the couch and started pacing in front of her. Dream-Harry was trembling now, visibly upset.
"Look, I...I'm not with you for only your looks, Hermione. I love you. I love you as a person, first and foremost. But if you weren't like you, if you were like Lavender or Parvati, and you talked about nothing but makeup and Divination, I still might want to be with you. Because you are that beautiful. You are the prettiest girl I've ever met in my life. Scratch that, you are the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life. Prettier than every girl I've ever seen on the street, in the paper, on the telly, definitely every girl in this bloody castle. How could you compare yourself to Cho, or Ginny, or anyone else? It's mad. It makes no sense."
Where was this coming from? Dream-Harry was not supposed to be carving her chest up with these wonderful-sounding lies. He was supposed to give her a back massage and then cuddle with her. Why was this happening? Hermione didn't have it in her to argue, to explain that she could never be the beauty he deserved. He was not supposed to love Plain Hermione, he was supposed to find some stunning beauty who would marry the Boy-Who-Lived and smile for all the cameras and give him the beautiful family he deserved.
"Except I can see that you don't believe me! You think I'm just being nice, or polite, or something. I'm not. I'm not. You just won't believe me. Maybe I should get Ron in here, so he can explain to you. Or, or, or, write Krum, I know he still fancies you. Or McLaggen. Or Zacharias Smith, he stares at you all the time and it makes me want to murder him. Someone. Anyone. Just, please, believe me."
Hermione could not help the tears that welled up from her eyes. Dream-Harry was cutting to her core now, dragging out insecurities she had stubbornly buried years ago. Why was he putting her through this? Dream-Harry, imaginary as he was, was making her heart flare and soar in a way that was decidedly real. She wanted the real Harry all the more. But it didn't make any sense, because this was a dream and so these were not Harry's words, they were coming from some corner of her mind. Except where did these ideas get into her? Hermione had honestly never thought such things, never been as vain as this. The prettiest girl in the castle? Helen of Troy?
She supposed that try as she might, some part of her still wanted to hear this. She wanted to believe Harry, believe that she was actually beautiful. Or at least, that Harry believed that she was beautiful.
But this was just a dream.
He abruptly broke off at the sight of her crying, rushing to her side and wiping her tears away.
"Oh Merlin, I ruined it again. I'm so sorry Hermione, I didn't mean to yell, I made you cry again, I hate when you cry-"
"Happy tears," she choked out, shaking her head. Not wanting to talk any more, she pulled his face towards hers.
This kiss was gentler. Harry was tender with her, letting her set the pace and depth of their union. It was unhurried, languid and relaxed as though they had all the time in the world. Harry's hands brushed her face, her neck, her hair, over and over again in a reassuring pattern that tried to relitigate his case for her beauty. Okay, Harry, I'll say I believe you, just don't stop this…
But even in her dream, as he poured his heart into their kiss, she could not honestly accept his words. Bushy-haired, buck-toothed, skinny-ankled, bookworm Hermione Granger could not be beautiful. Not really. When she was dolled up for the Yule Ball she might have turned a few heads in shock, but that wasn't the real her. The real her was nothing special. Dream-Harry thought she was, but only because he was a figment of her imagination, because she was the one supplying the dialogue to her own fantasy.
It was so nice to pretend, though.
Dream-Harry stayed like that with her, tugging her soul through her slips as the minutes ticked by. She was going to wake up soon, but at least she got Item 1 on the list. She would never forget this kiss.
Abruptly, a shrill whistle startled them both apart, ending the perfect moment. They had somehow gotten entwined on the couch, laying side-by-side with their feet towards the fire. Ginny towered over them in her Quidditch jersey, hands at her hips. They sheepishly scrambled upright as she looked at them, bearing a scary resemblance to Molly Weasley.
"Lovebirds! Can we have your attention for a moment? We were hoping Harry could join us for Quidditch practice today, but it looks like he's all booked up! Hermione, could we borrow him please?"
What is it with Weasleys? Can I not even have my dreams to myself?
Hermione pretended to consider this for a moment, tapping her chin. "Um...no. He's all booked. Sorry, Ginny."
The redhead raised a single eyebrow, turning to dream-Harry in question. He shrugged. "If Hermione wants me to stay, I stay."
Ginny slowly turned to Hermione again, as if to appraise her for the first time. "Well…" she lingered on the word, lips tugging up into a smirk, "I had better be a bridesmaid at the wedding."
Still smirking, she turned and sauntered away.
Oh, if only this dream went so long, Ginny.
She turned back to dream-Harry, who was blushing red as a tomato. "Now, where were we?"
And she was back to pretending, running her hands through his hair as she replayed his words in her head over and over again. He loves me. He loves me. Dream-Harry actually loves me and thinks I'm actually beautiful, he actually got me flowers to prove it, he loves me…
Another thought hit her, and she pulled them apart, gasping for air.
"Wait, wait! Harry, get your Quidditch jersey."
"You want me to go to practice now?"
"No, no, no, we're not going anywhere. Just summon it here."
Shrugging, he held out his right hand and wandlessly Accio'd his red-and-gold Seeker jersey from his dorm.
The shirt's vertical gold lines were tattered with age, but the name "POTTER" was still clearly printed on the back. Hermione yanked it from dream-Harry's hands, fisting the jersey and inhaling deeply. It smelled of spearmint, grass, and Harry. Snog, cuddle, and Harry's Quidditch jersey. That's three items on the list.
She moved to pull her shirt over her head but Harry grabbed her elbows, stopping her. "Hermione?" he squeaked, his voice up an octave.
Oh, right. There are people here now.
"Let's go to my room," she ordered, grabbing his hand.
"The girls' dorms?" he squeaked.
"I mean my Head Girl quarters. Come on," she insisted, tugging on his arm while still clutching his jersey and the vita pulcherrima in her other. While she usually did not sleep in it, the Head Suite in Gryffindor tower was all hers, as the Head Boy for their year was in Ravenclaw. It would have been so nice for Harry to be Head Boy with her, but he had turned down McGonagall's offer, citing a desire to visit his godson Teddy on the weekends. Stupid, noble, selfless prat...
Dream-Harry wasted no time in complying, bouncing up the steps after her as they stepped into the small common area of the Suite. The space consisted of two small bedrooms separated by a shared bathroom, and a narrow living room with a fireplace and loveseat.
Hermione conjured a vase for the flowers and placed it on the center of the small circular dining table. Unbuttoning her shirt efficiently, she draped it over a chair and turned to face him, snatching up the jersey. "This is mine, now, okay?"
He did not reply. Dream-Harry's pupils were dilated wider than she had ever seen them, eyes unfocused as he stared at her white bra.
She giggled at his gawking and slipped the jersey on. Merlin, I really am turning into a silly schoolgirl.
Oh, but this was so worth the antics. The smell of Harry enveloped her as she draped the jersey on, fresh like springtime. She sighed in contentment as the shirt spilled over her, too wide at the shoulders and coming down to her mid-thigh.
She glanced up at dream-Harry again, whose mouth was now hanging open. His eyes were shamelessly flickering to every corner of her body. His pupils were glinted in the soft moonlight spilling through the window, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He looked...hungry.
Suddenly bashful, Hermione tucked one foot behind the other, crossed her hands behind her back, and ducked her head. "What do you think?" She glanced back up at him for a reaction, biting her lip.
Harry closed and opened his mouth a few times, making no sound. His hands clenched and unclenched uselessly at his sides. He let out a soft grunt, took three long strides to her and crushed his lips to hers.
This was the kiss from before, in the Common Room, in front of everyone. He pulled her flush to him, grabbing the back of her head and angling it to grant himself better access. She brought both hands to tangle in his hair, pawing and pulling and groaning into his tongue.
Harry was a caveman again, demanding and rough. Except now there were no flowers, and no audience, and she wanted nothing more than to see how much of a brute dream-Harry could be. She pulled apart from him, gasping for air as she took a firm hold of his tie. Taking shaky staps backwards, she fell back onto the loveseat as Harry climbed on top of her.
His hands tangled in her hair as he brought his face to hers, but instead of her lips he dipped lower and latched onto her neck, nibbling at the soft flesh. Hermione gasped, rolling her hips into him and wrapping her arms around him. He suckled hard at her neck, making sure to leave a love bite, before moving to her collarbone.
"H-Harry," she bit out, "I want you to touch me."
He released his suction on her collarbone, gently biting it and breathing into her skin. "Where?"
"Everywhere."
Harry slipped his right hand under her shirt, fumbling with her bra clasp. She arched her back to give him access, reaching to help him, but he simply grunted in frustration and jerked his left hand in a slicing motion. The clasp and straps of her bra snapped apart from his wandless magic, and dream-Harry roughly yanked out her ruined garment from under the Quidditch jersey. Then his lips crashed back onto hers, and his hands were roaming her chest uninhibited.
Hermione was panting for breath in between kisses now, squirming at the liquid heat pooling in her core. She had to release this tension. It was slowly driving her mad. Harry's hips were grinding slowly into hers, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and he made no effort to hide the hardness of his length as it grazed her through his trousers. Her skirt had ridden up, leaving only a single layer of fabric between their legs.
"Harry," she gasped out, tugging at his tie. He understood immediately, tearing off his tie and shirt. In the dim moonlight from the window she could see his toned muscles and broad shoulders. He looked like a man, which made sense, as he was definitely touching her like one.
Hermione pulled up her jersey and he dove to her stomach, trailing kisses along her navel before latching onto one breast. She shut her eyes tight, feeling a rush of wetness in her knickers. His tongue swirled slowly around her bud, coiling the heat tighter in her before he bit lightly, causing her to moan loudly as the pain mingled with a sharp pleasure.
She needed release. Her core was painfully tight now, and every rational thought fled her mind as it screamed at her to take what she needed from dream-Harry, to give herself this reprieve.
Throwing caution to the wind, she caught one of dream-Harry's hands in hers and guided it down past her waistband, to her soaked knickers. He looked up at her, eyes wide in question.
"Are you sure?"
"Harry, please…" she begged.
He held her gaze for a long moment. Then, he firmly kissed her forehead and cupped her face with his free hand. He pulled her lips into a gentle kiss, and tugged her knickers to the side.
It started slow. Unbearably slow. Harry's fingers ghosted across her entrance, testing and teasing her. The heat inside her doubled. It was literally painful now, and she whimpered softly.
Pushing Harry's face away, she begged him again. "Please, Harry. Faster…"
He said nothing, but brought his lips to her neck again, beginning a new love bite on the unmarked side. His fingers tensed against her entrance before he slowly slid a digit into her.
She gasped at the intrusion, toes curling in pleasure as she grabbed tufts of Harry's hair, yanking hard. He worked the length of his finger in and out of her, slowly picking up his pace as he lovingly suckled at her neck.
"Yes, Harry, don't stop, please…"
He slipped his finger up to the knuckle, reaching deeper into her as he sawed it back and forth. Sinking it all the way back, he paused as he grazed his thumb along her clitoris.
Stars exploded in the back of her eyes. Hermione let out a long, low keen as Harry resumed his pace, raking his finger along her walls as his thumb gently massaged her nub. Her legs quivered beneath Harry's weight as she took gasping, irregular breaths. She meant to tell him to keep going, but could only manage a low whimper as Harry's lips moved to hers again.
It was complete sensory overload. Harry's tongue plundered her mouth as his hand worked her walls, and she clutched at any part of him she could hold on to. He was slick with perspiration, slippery as she gripped his arms and raked her fingers through his hair. She could hear their hearts, both beating wildly as he worked her closer and closer to her release. Hermione was coming apart at the seams now, forgetting who she was, where she was, forgetting everything except the feeling of his hands and tongue and breath against her face. And then -
Her core exploded in pleasure as her eyes rolled back into her head. Hermione screamed into Harry's mouth, as liquid fire lit up every cell in her body. Waves of pleasure crashed through her, and she could feel her veins sticking out from her skin as her blood coursed painfully through her. Harry released her lips as she gasped, panting as though she had run a marathon.
Slowly, the pleasure drained from her body. The aftershocks throbbed deliciously and her legs were quivering like mad. Hermione was a puddle of nerves and warmth, completely boneless as she lay under Harry. He touched his forehead to hers and she could feel his heartbeat through it, wild and stampeding like hers.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. The words washed over her like a second orgasm, pure heat and electricity. She was too addled, too in awe of his worship to logically deny this. She just accepted it.
Reaching for his length suddenly, she whispered back. "Harry, you didn't…"
"I'm almost there."
He resumed his grinding against her, capturing her lips in a slower kiss as his thumb worked her nub again. She was ten times more sensitive now, and her nerves tingled and pricked at the familiar buildup of heat in her core.
She let her arms go limp against his bare back as he set the rhythm, grinding his length against her side as he worked them both towards a shared release. He was careful and controlled, cradling her like glass.
Pulling her lips away an inch, she breathed against his nose. "Let go, Harry. It's okay…"
That was all he needed. His thrusts became more frantic, bumping roughly against her thighs as he worked her clitoris. She bit back another moan as his breaths became short. It took only seconds this time. He grabbed her back and arched her toward him, pulling their hips flush together as he ground against her once more. Hermione could only manage a ragged moan, clutching at him limply as they exploded together.
His breathing against her neck slowed as they basked in their shared bliss. Deftly flipping her over, he laid back on the couch as she sprawled on top of him. Hermione could not move a finger now, just flop onto him as she tingled and smarted in the aftershocks.
Sleep was claiming her now. She could not keep her eyes open, and knew her dream time was coming to an end.
"Blanket," she mumbled into his chest.
Wordlessly, Harry reached out and summoned the comforter from Hermione's unused bedroom, covering them both. Vanishing their liquids, he pulled her closer against his chest and ghosted a kiss against her forehead.
Her eyelids were too heavy. She struggled to keep tiredness at bay. Not yet, not yet, don't let it end...
She exhaled gently against Harry as he held her tightly. She felt completely safe in the darkness of her dream, cradled against him and wrapped in his jersey. She knew there would be no war nightmares tonight.
I just want to hear it one more time…
"Harry?"
"Mmm?"
"Could you say it again?"
"Helen of Troy?"
"No, could you...do you love me?"
Harry went silent for a moment. She could count every beat of his heart, strong and steady, inches from her head.
"I love you, Hermione Granger. I love you more than anyone and anything in the world. It's impossible for me to not love you. You are the most beautiful thing in my life, my vita pulcherrima. I love everything about you. I love your laugh, your eyes, your nose, your voice, your hair, your smile..."
Hermione finally drifted off to sleep.