Written for the delicious 'Harmony Shag-A-Thon 2020', organised by the wonderful Harmony & Co facebook group.

11th April 2003

There were few days in the life of Hermione Granger that saw her exhausted and defeated, as she preferred to keep her wits about her and roll with the punches. Today however kicked her derriere. Not only was the assignment she took in the Ministry archives absolutely doing her head in, she also missed a rebound curse while dealing with an ominous protection field, and it singed the side of her ponytail. And just as she thought her day couldn't get worse, she ended up stuck in a hot, sweaty lift in between floors of the Ministry as it broke down. It was now nearing eight o'clock, she hadn't eaten anything in 12 hours, and she felt utterly drained.

Setting the kettle to boil, she grabbed the waste bin and assessed her ponytail. She couldn't remember the last time she went for a haircut, the mass of curls allowed to grow into a wild mane that nearly reached her waist. She could smell burnt hair and her nose wrinkled when she saw the melted strands. With a decisive flick of her wand and a well aimed severing charm, the burnt mass fell into the bin, leaving her enough length to reach her shoulder-blades. It wasn't perfect but the cut was fairly even and her head felt much lighter, it would do for now. She cast another look at the clock on the wall, frowning at the Harry's arm hovering below 'Mortal peril'. Unless he was at home, the clock remained hovering over the same heading since he joined the specialised Hit Wizard unit of the Auror department. It wasn't surprising that he wasn't yet at home, she recalled him saying something about an undercover mission in Russia. Drained from her day, she was just contemplating having toast and eggs when a familiar panther patronus leaped into the room.

The large glowing feline sat down in front of her and opened its mouth, Robards' clear voice delivering the message she dreaded above all. 'St. Mungo's, room 247. He's alive.'

Message delivered, the patronus dissipated and the room fell silent.

It took her body a moment to catch up with her brain before she sprung into action, forgetting all about tea as she grabbed her jumper and handbag and apparated on the spot outside St Mungo's. She didn't event stop by at the reception and walked straight up to the Intensive Care Unit, looking for the room he was supposed to be in. She needn't have worried about spotting it, as the two men standing guard down the hall were a dead giveaway.

They noticed her approaching and one of them stepped forward. "You don't want to go in there, Granger," Malfoy warned, hoping to dissuade her, but she merely dodged his outstretched arm and reached for the door.

"Don't even try," she flipped over her shoulder as she pushed in and paused in the doorway.

It was eerily silent, the room still and not a word said between the healer and two large medical assistants. Harry was also very still, lying on the sole bed in the room. What frightened her however was the stillness of his chest and lack of any indication of life.

One of the assistants turned towards her and motioned for her to leave. She however stood her ground stubbornly and shook her head, so he just motioned for her to stay where she was and remain silent.

Two minutes passed but they felt like an eternity, and she was becoming impatient with this silent 'treatment'. What the hell were they waiting for? Was Harry in a coma? Under statis? Were they trialing some new remedy? Just as she was about to speak up, Harry jolted up in the bed with a pained gasp, raspily gulping great lungfuls of air in a panic.

"Calm down Mr Potter, you don't need to breathe so much. You need to stop trying to breathe and focus on calming down," the healer said in a firm voice, her wand raised protectively.

What the hell did she mean? Of course he needed to breathe! Were they out of their minds just standing around while he struggled? She was itching to rush to him but froze in her step when his usually beautiful emerald gaze turned a deep burgundy and he began clawing at his skin, groaning in agony. No, it can't be…

"What is..happening…to me?" he choked out, grasping at the blanket, the mattress, the frame of the bed, anything to support him as his back arched in pain.

"Your body is transitioning from its previous state and adjusting to the vampire venom in your veins," the healer continued on practically, casting charms and looking over diagnostic charts. "Your heart has ceased its beating, your lungs are adjusting to processing air without the need to move it through the body, and the itching along your skin is the healing of wounds, old and new. Please try to remain as calm as possible, it will end soon," she promised, her face focused and fingers dancing along the chart, noting down development and observation points.

Hermione didn't realise the tight grip she had on the strap of her handbag across her chest, until her hand began protesting and waking up with pins and needles from the numbness. A vampire….Harry has been bitten and was now a vampire.

"Oh Harry…" she whispered, the words slipping from her lips without thought.

It was as if the atmosphere in the room snapped, returning to absolute silence for a second as his gaze snapped to her.

"Hermione…" he managed to growl in a way Hermione never thought she would hear him speak, before his body arched like a bow a final time and he fell back onto the bed. His writhing ceased until he lay just as still and unmoving as a few moments ago.

The healer nodded to the two assistants and magical restraints were placed on his wrists and ankles, shackling him to the bed.

"Is that really necessary?" Hermione protested as she finally moved closer to the bed, the healer frowning at her.

"Absolutely. Newly turned vampires require at least two days until their bodies fully adjust to the hunger and being around humans without being a threat to them, Miss Granger," she acknowledged her and wrote something into Harry's chart and heading for the door. "You may stay with him if you wish, but notify our staff immediately when he wakes up, and do not under any circumstances get close enough for him to reach you," she instructed before the medical staff cleared out, leaving her alone with the unconscious man.

She took careful steps closer and dropped into a nearby chair, unable to take her eyes off the pale, still form of her best friend. She knew there were serious risks associated with being Hit Wizard, but by Merlin she didn't consider being turned into any magical creature a serious possibility. How naive she had been… As she sat beside him, looking at his pale form, a sudden realisation hit her. Harry, whose greatest fear was to be left alone and watch all of his loved ones die, would live for a very long time, watching all of his closest friends die one by one.

"Did he not suffer enough already?" she whispered into the silent room, praying that the challenge ahead of them would not break their friendship. A familiar feeling that she hadn't felt for five years was creeping back inside her chest.

After the war, their time didn't feel like their own. There was always some sort of clean up schedule at the castle, a funeral schedule for all those who were taken from them, and then of course, the time ticked away in the background, reminding them that they had important decisions to make about their careers and 'bright futures' as the Ministry propaganda liked to promise them. Unsurprisingly, nothing ever became of the heated kiss they shared with Ron during the final battle. He decided to help George in the shop to get through their grief over Fred's passing together, and Hermione instead wanted to travel, see her parents, and take her N.E.W.T.s. They parted amicably, taking time away from each other to seek their own healing.

She travelled to Australia to see if she could recover her parents' memories, only to discover they were killed by a drunk driver a few months prior. Returning home was painful but she channelled her despondent energy into studying for N.E.W.T.s and decided to take them privately at the Ministry without attending an eight year at Hogwarts. She wondered whether McGonnagal understood why she couldn't return between those walls, amongst children and quiet days. She was already restless enough at the Burrow and couldn't figure out for the life of her what it was that she wanted. N.E.W.T.s all passed with Outstanding and the loss of her parents catching up with her, Hermione retreated into herself.

Only when she did so did she also notice the thick shell around Harry, who seemed to be equally removed from almost everyone, taking his own time to process the fact that he died, came back to life, and actually did survive. That was the biggest pain, the fact that he lived and so many other didn't. No matter how much Hermione tried to be there for him, both of them struggled to keep it together for themselves, not to mention for each other.

It was during this time that Fleur Weasley became their unlikely friend. Seeing their grief and restlessness, Fleur invited them both to stay with Bill and herself at the Shell Cottage again for a couple of weeks, before the weather inevitably started turning in September. Daily walks on the beach, and the company of the young couple away from the grief of the Burrow did them a world of good. Bill was taking loosing Fred hard, as the eldest son he helped his mum where he could with his siblings, the twins always a favourite between him and Charlie. As much as Harry occasionally withdrew from them, more often then not Hermione found his silent company comforting, and Fleur's determination to see them all process the grief had them playing board games, arguing over runes and arithmetic projections, or baking while Bill and Harry flew along the coast. Before she knew it, her chest didn't feel so tight with pain, her eyes didn't water at the barest thought of her parents, and she was realising that they were alive. Truly alive. Not running from destiny or evil, no longer weighed down by any obligations or expectations. Perhaps it was time she decided what it was that she wanted to do and achieve. And the clarity in Harry's eyes told her that he was ready to join her on the next adventure. They were far from alright, and would take a long while for the nightmares and bouts of depression to lessen.

They decided to take a couple of months and see what the new year brought. With no family and nowhere else to go, Hermione moved into Grimmauld place with Harry. It was dusty and dilapidated after the war so they got down to it and had the place cleared out and renovated by Christmas. Those were the good times, before Harry joined Auror training and she commuted to Hungary for her Curse-breaking apprenticeship and mastery. Months turned into years and they've been living together ever since that September in '98, both for the convenience and the company.

This felt like her world was pulled out from under her feet and she was losing her footing just like during those months after the war. Would Harry's body adapt? Will he have to quit his job? Will that make him more depressed? What will they do for blood? Would he want her to move out of the house so he could find a mate?

She got up and paced the length of the room quietly to not disturb him as she pondered the last one. Of course, they both dated here and there, well, Hermione more so than Harry who had it a bit more difficult with his fame. Being a vampire however meant that the creature within would crave a mate, someone to share eternity with. What if it's someone they knew? What if it's someone Harry can't stand or arrested? There were too many variables and her brain was struggling to focus on little sleep and no food. Suddenly the day caught up with her and she sat back down in the chair, transfiguring it into a soft armchair as she settled in and watched Harry's still form until her eyes closed on her.

She woke to the feeling of being watched. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she blinked a few times until his intense gaze came into focus. "Harry…" she greeted, and despite the advice of the healers, she reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, feeling his hand tighten in answer to hers. As if she would ever shy away from him.

"Hermione….I'm…it's hurting…" he manager, the emerald in his eyes flicking to a deep burgundy.

"I'll call for someone, they will get you what you need," she promised and tried to get up but his hold on her only tightened. She looked at him searchingly, noticing the way his jaw tightened and his neck arched to crane closer to her.

"I need….I need…." he tried to put into words what his body was burning and hungering for.

But Hermione could see it clearly and gently put her other hand over his wrist and rubbed the slightly cool skin gently. "You need me to get someone to bring you something to eat….and maybe a pain potion?" she asked, gently loosening his grip on her hand until she should withdraw it.

Harry blinked once their connection was broken, looking a bit confused. "Hermione, I…"

She shook her head. "Don't worry, it's alright. I'll be right back, I'll just flag someone down," she promised and exited the room, in search of someone she could notify for some the blood he clearly needed.

She spotted Robards heading her way and her spine stiffened, her frown deepening. "What happened?" she asked, not caring to be told some bullshit about protocol and clearance. She was one of the key curse breakers and often worked with the department. She had enough security clearance as far as they should both be concerned.

Robards lifted his hands in a soothing gesture. "I only just got the reports in myself," he motioned for her to be patient before raising a privacy bubble around them to not be overheard. "From what I understand the team was moving in to capture the subject, a well-protected Russian oligarch selling a magical drug to muggles who are dying from using it. They observed him for a few days but didn't spot the fact that the man's right hand and bodyguard was on loan from the northern vampire lord," he explained.

Contrary to popular belief, it very much mattered who it was that bit you if you were turned into a creature, especially for intelligent beings such as vampires, werewolves and even merefolk. Just like in the case of Remus who was naturally smart but bitten young by Greyback. Everyone assumed the man was just a savage who enjoyed torturing others and inflicting pain. A true beast. What they actually discovered after the war was that he was truly quite intelligent, kept a record of potential pack members and areas for a pack to settle down once the war was over, even kept a vault at Gringotts with many possessions, books, potions, loot and coin. It was no wonder then that Remus was so intelligent even in his werewolf state. Who bit Harry could similarly impact his abilities in the future.

"Do we know more about him?" she asked, anxious to understand what Harry was facing.

Robards nodded and pulled out a folded parchment and showed her. "Here is the full profile. It appears he's quite old, estimated 9th century Old Slavic warrior, his name is Ratimir. Records are very patchy since he's that old but from what we know, he's always been a fierce warrior, led a few clans and owned land throughout the medieval period. As Russians have an aversion to the upper classes, he has now settled as part of the oligarch's envoy in St Petersburg. If what we know is correct, Harry is about to get more deadly than he's ever been," he summarised.

Hermione's enraged glare lifted to his stony features. "He is NOT a weapon, and will not be used as one," he positively growled in his face.

Robards raised a hand to calm her down. "That's not what I meant, Granger. Look, he has a lot of changes to come to grips with, and once he stabilises, he will have a choice to make. He is undead, he has many years ahead of him and is practically indestructible. If he decides he wants to come back into field, there will be some tests to pass but I have no doubt he would be back to his team and rise to be their leader. If he doesn't though, there will be nothing I can do for him, but you will have to bear in mind just who turned him because he will be have to channel that energy somewhere," he pointed out.

Hermione's anger left her and her face fell into his hands for a silent, despondent moment. "You're right, I'm sorry. I know you have his best interest at heart," she apologised and flagged down a nurse who went to take a look at the patient while they talked. "Thanks for the patronus by the way."

Robards nodded. "You are his only emergency contact listed, and you have power of attorney, so I was just doing my job," he explained, but inclined his head amicably. "Though to be honest, I don't think anyone else could settle him like you do," he acknowledged.

"Thanks, I guess?" Hermione raised a brow at his words, but a small smile tugged on the corner of her lips despite the sombre situation. Robards was a particular flavour of odd, all British stiff upper lip at first glance but his sense of humour was wicked and he did tend to grow on people. "I don't recommend you go see him right now," she sighed as the nurse hurried out and then back in with a blood bag.

Robards nodded. "Just take care of him and keep me posted," he asked and with a parting nod headed off.

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed through the door to the room, ready to face whatever may come.

"Harry?" she called, making her way down the stairs carefully as she wrapped her heavy wet locks in a towel.

The rummaging suddenly stopped and he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Hermione…sorry for waking you up, I was just looking for something," he explained without actually saying what it was that he was looking for.

He didn't have to though, as his emerald gaze was slowly turning burgundy with hunger and need. They've been at home for a few days now and his need to feed was levelling out, only needing two small cups a day now, as long as he also ate some proper food. Contrary to some popular muggle fiction, vampires didn't burn in the sun, didn't fear garlic or crosses, and most certainly didn't only sustain on human blood. As long as they had enough blood in the system, the body worked fairly normal. Tonight though they came in late after a quidditch game and run through the forest to assess his reflexes. They've just taken turns in the shower and she was planning to make him a steak, but it appeared he was too hungry to wait.

"Well how about you let me get through and I'll put something on," she suggested, waiting for him to step out of her way. He remained still, unmoving but taut, as if he was to suddenly move or pounce any moment. She could see the firm set of his gritted jaw and the conflict in his eyes. "Harry… it's alright, I need to get into the kitchen please," she tried to coax but the sound of her voice seemed to snap him into action and he advanced towards her.

Despite the instinct to back away from the threat, she stood her ground. She was not prey, she was not challenging him, she just stood still and let him advance. He reached for her, eyes darkening at the prospect of feeding, but yelped a moment later when his fingers were zapped with magical current at the contact with her skin.

He looked at her confused for a moment before snarling. "You cast-"

"Tactus repeller, yes," she nodded, leaning against the wall. "I'm unavailable for snacks, but there is something special for you in the freezer after dinner," she tried to lighten the mood, making her way past him into the kitchen.

Harry bounded up the stairs, hopefully to finish cleaning up and actually put on a t-shirt, her traitorous brain supplied unhelpfully as she prepared the skillet and the meat. Turning into a vampire carried with it some minor physical changes, and in Harry's case, it meant all of his good features were only enhanced.

She was neither blind, nor stupid. Her best friend was a very handsome wizard, but they've been friends for so long and he never showed any interest in her, Hermione was quite sure they would always remain good friends. She could still remember the thin, exhausted young man that came out of the war. He never quite had a growth spurt and remained somewhere around five foot eight, but she always thought it only enhanced his seeker build and stealth in the field. Merlin was she correct, he was the perfect predator. Silent, fast, still lean but packed with sinewy muscles that moved beneath cool golden skin. His wild mop of frizzy hair settled into thick waves atop his head, fading into short crop on the sides, perpetually looking messy in the most delicious way.

Hermione stopped her thought process right there and focused on getting that steak nice and seared but blue in the middle. She checked the freezer for her little experiment and smiled. Who knew, maybe one day if Harry was so inclined, it could be their own tradition. She could have her pineapple juice ice pop as dessert, and he could have his blood one. She wasn't sure whether it made any difference if it was frozen A positive or O negative, but she hoped he would find it fun to try.

She needn't have worried. Once Harry devoured the human food, she showed him the surprise as they got seated in the living room for coffee and dessert. The blood ice pop went down a treat, the amusement in Harry's eyes at her experimentation clear, the earlier incident all but forgotten. Or so it seemed. As Hermione got up to clear away the dishes and tidy the kitchen, his gaze followed her and ears picked up on every step she made on the squeaky wooden floor on her way around the kitchen. He could hear her puttering around and humming to herself with such clarity she could have been humming right in his ear.

He got up, or at least intended to get up, but rather found himself propelled a good ten steps ahead by the door to the hallway. His fist clenched in irritation but he tried to stem the swell of emotion in his chest. It has been a mammoth task to keep his emotions contained ever since his change but he thanked Merlin they were actually taught how to occlude and disassociate themselves from emotions during their training, otherwise he would be flying off the handle every moment. It was like his instincts were the primary driving force behind his actions, not his head, and he didn't like this power ratio.

Hermione being her wonderful bookworm self of course scoured the whole Black library for anything and everything about vampires before he was even allowed to leave the hospital, and he came home to a slightly altered Grimmauld place. Heavy and more secure black-out drapes for when he was tired or the sun irritated him a bit during adjustment period, an extended work-out floor with adjusted magical barriers to accommodate his vampiric strength, a fridge stocked with blood that only opened to Hermione's magical signature to keep his hunger regulated, and the list just went on. He was furious at the sting of the tactus repeller at first, the beast inside his chest hungry, demanding, wanting, and yet he was ever so glad for her precaution as he would be utterly devastated if he were to hurt her in any way. Truth be told, he couldn't imagine going through this without her by his side, he would have likely fallen down the self-destruction route or asked Robards to send him somewhere with minimal chance of survival.

He could feel the supernatural strength in his body, every muscle, every stretch, every squeeze, everything he broke felt soft and malleable and easy to damage. The mediwitch reassured him he wouldn't feel all of this in another week or so, once he got used to his new strength, the pace of his body and thoughts, and the hunger always tickling at the back of his throat. He sure hoped she was right.

Robards' owl also bore some positive news, suggesting he would be happy to meet and discuss his future plans once he settled into his new 'lifestyle'. Hermione had rolled her eyes at that one before muttering something about the 'cheeky bastard' already recruiting him back into the fold. That did pose a question though, did he want to? And more importantly, would he be able to? What if someone on his team got injured, or someone he was tracking? What if he couldn't resist his base nature and attacked them for their blood? Could he be a part of his old team, or would he rather work solo? And if he couldn't go back, what would he actually do? He was only ever good at two things, defence and flying, and if neither was an option, how would be survive over the next…however long he would be alive.

Oh Merlin, he would watch them die, he would watch all of them get married, and have kids, and then start getting old, and he will still look the same, the awkward, unwelcome guest at the Burrow family gatherings, and then they will all die, and he will be alone, and-

"Harry," Hermione called gently, squatting down to his height level.

He blinked, confused as to how he ended up on the floor, clutching his knees to his chest.

"It's alright, you're safe," she reassured him, guessing he just got overwhelmed with everything and needed a break. "How about a game of Cluedo? It's detective work, you should win," she grinned, trying to see if they could go back to a more playful teasing mood.

"As if I could beat that brilliant brain of yours," he snorted and followed her into the kitchen to play at the old weathered table there, pushing the sense of despair deeper beneath the surface. For her. As he watched her set the game up and poured them some whiskey, he was grateful that he would be able to keep at least some of his human vices despite the monster inside him….

As the weeks progressed, she was happy to see Harry settle into his new form and life much better. Once he was done with all the legal adjustments, bank visits and formalities, the news finally broke into the media that the lord of two prominent and ancient houses in Britain was a vampire. The public revolted, gossiped, and the backlash against him keeping his seats in the Wizengamot and working with the Ministry was enormous. The public's hero was now a 'dangerous dark creature' and they couldn't handle it.

It became a running joke in their household, 'the dark side finally managed to get to the Boy-Who-Lived', while Hermione provided support to Kingsley as the current Minister for Magic to soothe the public hysteria and push for some new creature laws that ensure the rights for Harry and many of his kind for years to come. Harry's condition was also wreaking a bit of a havoc on her personal life, as everyone knew she lived with him. Some previous colleagues became a bit weary around her, and she caught a few of the Ministry workers in the Atrium looking at her neck, as if they were expecting her to be devoured by the 'monster' she lived with. Even more insidious were the Romilda Wanes of their society that yearned to be the living blood bag for their 'dark prince'. That one made her gag over her morning coffee…

Even her current boyfriend Timothy has become a bit weary. Not that she was about to disrupt the privacy of their home at Grimmauld by inviting him over, but the first night they spent together was a bit awkward. She had been very much looking forward to spending some time away from home now that Harry was more settled in, and just relaxing with her boyfriend, maybe releasing some pent up energy. Instead she caught him checking over her body in the middle of making out to see if she hadn't been bitten. Has everyone gone bloody mad?

At least she could see Harry once again enjoying his life as he did before. Under Robards' stern guidance, he was undertaking some tests and further training to become perfectly in tune with his nature and instincts and to use them to his best ability. If he passed and felt up for it, he would be accepted into the top ranks of the undercover Hit Wizard team once again. She could see hope in his eyes for the future ahead, something that's been sparse in the past few weeks, and she was very much glad for it. And his bloodlust was finally subsiding, down to one cup of blood a day, and no longer looking at her with such hunger.

With the perks however came the downside. Now once again comfortable in his own skin and much more often at home, Harry took to walking around in various states of dress, or rather undress. And since he was now more nocturnal and required little sleep, they were spending even more time together now that he would join her for reading in the library by the fire, or her midnight hot chocolate in the kitchen. At the very best, it was something she would get used to, as this was Harry and she loved him unconditionally. At worst, it made her question why she was even with Timothy anymore, when the thought of Harry's touch and the press of his cool body against hers made all the hairs on her body raise in a delicious shiver. Maybe she should end things with Timothy but he was such a lovely guy, and despite their chemistry not being quite what she hoped, she liked him very much. Which is why he doesn't deserve you thinking of another man when alone in bed at night… her mind whispered vengefully. And no matter how much she tried beat the voice into submission, it never quieted down….

19th July 2003

A small gasp escaped her lips, the sound getting lost in the deep darkness of the night. The tense crease between her brows deepened into a frown as she concentrated, her breath puffing with exertion as her fingers slipped over the throbbing, hooded bundle that was driving her crazy today. Gods she was soaking, so bloody ready to come, just needing that tiny bit more to tip over.

Her finger slipped again and she hissed, her clit momentarily exposed and stimulated harshly with her firm touch. Her back arched and she took a moment, letting her body come down from the painful edge before she gently pulled the petalled flesh beside it over the pulsing clit, picking up her pace again. It took her years to get this right, her body always changing, sometimes more ready, other times needing a longer time to be coaxed into pleasure. Tonight she was so frustrated it took her only a few short minutes to get to this edge.

She could feel her muscles clenching hungrily, yearning to be filled, but she was too impatient and wound up now. She reached up under the edge of her bunched up top and pinched her pebbled nipple, adding that little twist to see if it would tip her over. No such luck, the momentary pleasure barely registering.

Her frown deepened, teeth digging into her bottom lip as her fingers worked harder over her pulsing clit, building up a harder rhythm. She pinched her nipple much harder, twisting it slightly as she imagined hot, chapped lips teasing her breast, nipping around the bumpy patches around her hardened peaks. She could practically taste the edge now, her hips rising to rub against her touch as sharp emerald eyes peeked up at her over her rising chest-

"Fuck…" she gasped, her back arching like a bow as she finally felt the rush of pleasure, coming with a powerful pulse that reverberated through all of her tensed muscles. Her fingers faltered but didn't stop altogether, pushing her body until it became too sensitive, small gasps escaping her as the pulsing and shuddering subsided.

La petite mort, the small death. Such a simple term to encompass that soundless moment of floating in a white fog, the time when the body is clenched at the peak of pleasure before reality comes crashing down with the heat, the salty sweat and the wetness between her thighs beginning to cool uncomfortably.

She stretched languidly as her breathing evened out, and cast a small cleaning charm to get the worst of her arousal off. She listened carefully but couldn't hear anything from the landing or the surrounding rooms, so decided to get up and head for a quick pee.

A quick look at the clock beside her bed revealed it was one in the morning and she frowned, completely annoyed with herself. She only wished she had been awake at one o'clock in the very early morning on a Saturday for a much more pleasurable reason. Sadly the eyes of the lover provided by her vivid imagination weren't the dark brown of her boyfriend Timothy. Ex-boyfriend, she corrected herself, her mood souring quickly at the thought of yesterday's break up. No, Timothy used to make bland, unsatisfactory love to her before she apparated home frustrated beyond belief. Perhaps she could find someone actually competent at finding her g-spot this time… Not wanting to analyse just whose eyes her mind did choose to supply in an unguarded moment, she got up and pulled on a pair of shorts over her naked bum, grimacing when she felt her clenching muscles gush with more wetness. She needed to get into that bathroom and clean up properly.

She opened the door carefully and took a moment to listen again, but there are no signs of life in the corridor and the master bedroom where Harry slept and rested seemed to be dark and quiet. Relieved that she was alone, she gently padded over the landing on bare feet to the bathroom, as her fingers worked to wrestle her hair into a plait and get the few stray sweaty tendrils away from her forehead. If she hadn't been so busy with her hair, she would have noticed the light on in the bathroom before the door opened soundlessly. Hermione frowned when she realised she was suddenly facing a chest. A very bare, tan, male chest. Her eyes lifted to look at its owner and she froze, fighting her instinct to flee.

It wasn't the fact that they were bumping into each other in the middle of the night, that was not in itself an unusual occurrence these days. Bumping into him not two minutes after coming was a whole new kind of trouble though. Only dressed in a thin tank top and shorts, her body still rosy from the exertion and pleasure, nipples still very much alert and pressing against her top, she must be a bloody sight. She only hoped that he wouldn't notice, but as she looked into his eyes, she saw his gaze narrow suspiciously. Oh Merlin, no, don't let him-

He inhaled deeply and his emerald gaze suddenly grew wider with understanding of what he was smelling on her skin. Hermione watched with dread as his gaze began to darken, the deep black of his pupils aglow with burgundy. Fuck.

"Are you done in the-" she gasped as her tentative question was interrupted by his arm wrapping around her waist to press her into his cool body.

"No, I'm nowhere near done with you," Harry positively growled as he leaned down, delighting in the fact that her guard was lowered enough and she wasn't wearing her tactus repeller charm. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, and it has been too long since he allowed himself the simple pleasure of doing so. He breathed in the smell of musky sex on her neck and growled in delight.

"You should let me go," she pressed her hands against his chest, biting her lip as her sensitive nipples rubbed against his chest and the barely-there cotton of her top. Her body still sensitive, the sensation bordered on pleasantly painful.

"Is that what you really want me to do..Hermione?" he hummed, his face so close his nose nudged hers.

Hermione hesitated. Despite her earlier orgasm, her greedy body demanded his touch with a fervour that made her cheeks flush, glad for his cool presence. But could she? If they did this they would be crossing a line as friends that they could likely never draw again. What if it was disastrous and ruined everything?

Harry on the other hand did not hesitate, nor did he intend to let this opportunity pass as he finally connected their lips in a firm but questing kiss. How ever he cursed the instincts ruling him these days, they showed him a very obvious truth, one that he has been in denial about for too long. Without her, he was nothing. And he couldn't stand to not know how she felt and tasted in his arms.

Once his lips pressed against hers, she was lost. His kisses were firm but taking their time to learn her, her taste, her own need driving her to press closer to him. Cool wood under her bare thighs made a surprised noise interrupt their kiss, until she realised he carried her the two steps to the nearest cabinet, his hips pressing in between hers to close any space between them. She could feel the steel of his length straining against the thin fabric between them, making her hum in need. Those eyes, beautiful emerald eyes bleeding with ruby, were so much more vivid than her imagination ever managed to recreate, and she pushed aside any doubts and questions her logical brain tried to supply as she allowed herself to just feel, to give in to her desires.

Harry's lips left her shoulder and his cool lips pressed against the shell of her ear. "I can smell you….do you touch yourself often?" he hummed, watching her back arch closer to him, reading the need in her body and delighting in the fact that he was able to elicit this from her. "Have you ever thought of me when you touched yourself? I know I thought of you last night…" he whispered, pulling back to look at her. He wasn't sure where these words were coming from, but for some reason he felt very sure that this is what they both wanted.

Her sharp inhale at those delicious words was quite a tell, the need in her eyes only stoking his fire further. He pulled her bum closer to the edge of the table and pushed the thin cotton of her shorts aside until he felt the soft damp curls and just how wet she was. He had no doubt some of it was from her earlier activities, but as his thumb circled her clit and his finger smoothly slid inside her quivering heat, he felt the hungry embrace of the slick walls and even more of her moisture slick his cool skin.

His cool touch made her body tingle in ways she had never felt before, and her hips shamelessly ground against his touch, wanting, nay, demanding he see to her desire as their lips once again sought each other out hungrily. It wasn't long before he added another finger inside her, curling to find that elusive spongy spot that he hoped would get some more delicious sounds from her. Once he found it, he curled the tips of his fingers firmly in and dragged them down and back in smoothly, mindful of his strength but wanting her to feel his every caressed.

"Ha-Har-fuck! Right there…uhn…." she tugged on his messy hair as her hand scrambled for purchase.

"You feel so good… I want to see your come around me…" he nipped her bottom lips and teased her shuddering body for a moment longer before withdrawing.

Her gaze snapped up to him in confusion before he guided her to get off the cabinet, aiming to pick her up and carry her back to her bedroom. With surprising agility, Hermione tugged his trousers off until they pooled around his ankles and caressed his length, squeezing it firmly in her small hand, wanting to feel the one part of him that didn't feel as cool to the touch as the rest. He hissed, sensitive unlike he could ever remember, his hips involuntarily thrusting into her hold.

"Careful-" he warned, not wanting to end this so soon, but she impatiently pushed her own shorts down and pulled him closer as she backed up against the cabinet.

"I want to feel you," she turned around, her curvy cheeks rubbing against his sensitive flesh as she brace herself against the sturdy edge of the cabinet.

The sight of her arched back and the curve of her hips presented against him so delightfully were too much even for a saint, not to mention the beast within telling him to fuck, to own, to take, to bite… No, not to bite, she needed her in so many other ways, he wasn't going to hurt her. He stilled her hips with a firm grip and aligned their bodies before pressing forward smoothly, until the patch of short dark curls above his length pressed neatly against her cheeks. Her grip on the cabinet was so tight her knuckles turned white as her body welcomed him hungrily, her muscles clenching around him to keep him inside. He filled her in a way that bordered on too deep, but she liked the way he pulled back and nudged a deeper spot within her that felt just as good as her front g-spot.

She didn't need to tell him she was ready, he felt her relax a fraction around him and gently pulled out all the way back before thrusting back to the hilt once again, mesmerised by the feel of her. If this was what sex felt like from now on, he was in trouble because it felt too fucking good. Caution flying out of the window, his fingers curled around her hipbones for a more secure grip and his hips picked up pace, thrusting harder and deeper than he initially thought she could take. Forever surprising him, Hermione pushed back against the onslaught, garbled noises of pleasure and whimpers leaving her lips as her body was taken in a manner she had never experienced before.

She reached back to grip his ass and push him closer, deeper, encouraging him to take her as her pleasure began to build quickly. She tried, really tried to tell him she was getting close, but his hips shifted angle and he was pressing right against that deep spot inside, and her legs were about to give out, and she could feel her muscles locking into place and-

His hand landed on her asscheek with a sharp sting just as her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Her body trembled with pleasure, walls clenching so tight Harry swore loudly as he was pushed out of her trembling body and a trickle of her release dripped down onto the carpet. His fingers slipped through the thick moisture to her clit and he rubbed it in sharp spikes to prolong her pleasure until he couldn't take it anymore and instead took himself in hand, tugging on his painfully hard erection until he felt his own rush of pleasure, painting those blushing cheeks with his release. He was grateful for her body interrupting his focus, he felt the hunger swell inside him, instinct dictating that he bites her, but his sudden exit from her body helped clear his mind and he was able to focus on their pleasure instead. One day he would taste her, but today was not the day, and the beast inside him was strangely contented with that promise.

Hermione slumped against the cabinet, managing to hold herself up on her forearms as she tried to stay in place, her knees shaking from the pleasure and with the exertion. Harry's arm wrapped around her waist supportively as she caught her breath and he carried her gently into his bedroom, cleaning them up with a quick charm before they were tucked under his soft blankets. She felt sated and sleepy, reaching up to press her hand against his cool chest appreciatively.

"We should probably talk," she broached after a moment, breathing in his smell that was familiar and new alike, like coming in from the wind, the musky scent of sex and something that was unique to Harry that she could never quite place. She realised quite suddenly that it was the third scent she could never identify before in her Amortentia…

Harry shrugged. "Or we could take one thing at a time and see how we do? You're still my best friend, and I love you," he said with simple honesty, completely disarming her argument.

She looked into his once again peaceful green eyes, wondering whether he knew how much the words meant to her. "I love you too. Think we can do this?" she asked, her worries about this being the result of temporary insanity slowly dissipating.

Harry's lips quirked into a warm half-smile. "We only have about forever or so to figure it out," he offered and pulled her into another kiss, determined to never fell that blasted tactus repeller again.

Fin.