Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I was so unsatisfied with my first draft that I scrapped it and started again. Anyway, um, yes. Go ahead:

– Chapter 3: Too Close for Comfort –

"Geez, Granger!" spluttered Oliver upon resurfacing. "I kinda' suspected that you might have intended to get even, but ambushing people while they're in the buff?"

"I didn't INTEND to get anything! Besides, no one's keeping score around here," snapped Hermione, who kept her gaze focused squarely above the man's shoulders. "Are you even authorized to be in this room?"

Oliver reclined, in a more comfortable position, folding his arms behind his head. "Well, it's not like I've got any complaints yet."

Hermione was incredulous as she raised her hands to the air as if to insinuate, 'Um, HELLO? What about me!' She was totally exasperated at that nerve of his.

"Join me."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, seeing that it's already set up and all, it'd be a shame to enjoy this luxury all by myself," explained Oliver coyly, gesturing to the lavishly equipped spa facility.

Hermione donned an expression not unlike that of a deer caught in the headlights as she was forced to mull over what to say next. She momentarily pictured herself in her lilac undergarments, simmering in a Jacuzzi with one of England's own celebrity athlete. If it gave her pleasant shudders even when he merely looked at her, the girl might possibly black out if he got close enough to touch her.

Meanwhile, Oliver was having fun teasing the worry-wart Head Girl. He didn't actually mean what he said; after all, she was a student. But as she wrung her hands with her eyes cast to the side, Oliver took in the girl's thin build and delicate features. In all the frenzy, the top buttons of her blouse had come undone, revealing tanned olive skin and the telltale hint of her cleavage. So the girl was busy over the summer. Oliver had to increase the amount of bubbles in the tub, fearing that the situation could get a little bit more awkward. For the record, the twenty-two year old hadn't gotten laid for almost two weeks now – in a man's mind that was the equivalent of an eternity.

"'Mione, is that you? Oh, hey Oliver!" Harry Potter's head popped in through the door that had been left ajar. Hermione uttered a sigh of relief; her knight in broken spectacles had saved her from the provocative villain in the nude.

"Oi, Potter. Come join us, we were about to have a bubble bath."

"No thanks," Harry replied cheerfully. "We've got classes tomorrow. And don't you have to instruct?"

Oliver waved his hand dismissively, a bit surprised at the boy's good nature despite the fact that another man had just fraternized with his girlfriend. Good ol' Potter.

Harry led a speechless Hermione out of the room after wishing his former teammate goodnight, and the two commenced their winding trek back to the Gryffindor Tower.

"Gosh, it seems like I haven't seen you for ages," remarked Harry, still keeping a tight hold on her hand.

"Yeah... I guess we've just been so busy with our lives," said Hermione, wincing at the generic quality of her comment.

Suddenly Harry stopped walking. He turned to her, gazing meaningfully into her eyes. Hermione was so startled by the seriousness of his crystalline blue eyes and the sudden intimacy between them that she attempted to back away from their awkward propinquity. However, her spine collided into the wooden banister of the staircase, and Harry proceeded to press even closer.

"Hermione, I care so much about you."

"I-I care about you too," she replied, her words more stilted than his. There seemed to be no escape – though why she was looking for one she didn't know.

His face deviated towards hers as he whispered, "I'd die for you, you know that."

"Harry, don't say things like tha--"

He dove into a kiss, his lips crushing into hers longingly. His body language screamed of teenage hormones as he ran his hands down the sides of her arms, resting at her hips.

"No, stop!" Hermione pushed away from his, gasping for air.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

Truthfully, she had to ponder on how to answer his question. Ever since the two had hooked up a month ago at the Burrow, they had upheld a cute and fluffy relationship – holding hands, buying matching scarves, etcetera. Nothing at all serious, and nothing even close to being impassioned. Maybe they were kidding themselves, Hermione realized just then. There was no real spark – at least not for her. It broke her heart to think of their future as two parts to a one-sided relationship, with Harry obliviously intoxicated by their togetherness, and Hermione sinking into a hole of despondence. Stop being such an extremist and deal with it! screeched her conscience suddenly, breaking Hermione from her lapse of silence.

"'Mione?"

"Harry, I'm sorry. You deserve better," she blurted out, running away before he could see her tears. She left Harry on the darkened staircase, alone, confused, and shattered.

–

Oliver tossed and turned in his large four-poster bed, unable to sleep. He had left the Room of Requirement not long after the departure of the two seventh-years. Spas were admittedly not as enjoyable when alone. After getting hopelessly lost in Hogwarts' complex professor's wing for more than an hour, the man finally found his way to his private dorm room.

It was in the dead of the night now, and Oliver still wasn't in the least bit drowsy, despite having had to endure the frantic day that had been thrust upon him. Maybe it was because he kept picturing one such sassy young woman, with her untamable hair and persona, and her frustrating immunity to his charms. Oliver wasn't used to being the chaser (ha-ha, mind the pun). He'd usually just have to walk past a girl to garner her interest. Now Hermione, on the other hand, was a challenge. She...was definitely...formidable...

A soft light gradually illuminated the room, partnered with the intrusion of a stimulating aroma... lilac? Oliver wondered what was going on until he saw the outline of a slender figure at the threshold of his room.

How did she get in..?

"Professor Wood," lilted a sensual voice. It was Hermione. She edged towards his bed, clad in a translucent gossamer slip that ended just below her hips. "Professor, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

His breath became bated as she drew close, her slender fingers caressing his dark hair. He was too mesmerized to talk.

"Touch me."

But not mesmerized enough to act. The young man lashed out like a hungry lion, pulling her into his bed as they initiated a savage lust-filled battle. Her lips locked boldly with his as he ran his hands up and down her body, moaning with urgency. Hermione pulled away after the moment of raw physical exertion, smiling secretively. After their torrential tryst, she came out completely flawless and immaculate, whereas he felt like a panting, sweaty beast. He wanted to lunge onto her again, wanted to release all his pent-up sexual tension, but she made her move first.

Hermione slithered like a snake above his body, gently pushing him back onto the bed. Oliver lay down abidingly, aware of this new-found sense of defenselessness, as she doled feathery kisses along his jaw line, making her way down to his neck.

"Oh God," he breathed, his body tensing up when she hit a sensitive spot. His hardening erection brushed against Hermione's inner thigh, and had to restrain himself from finishing the business. The patience was torturous, but rushing the matter would wholly ruin the experience.

Hermione gripped his sturdy pectoral muscles, her eyes lighting up with recognition. Oliver silently thanked his coach for all those back-breaking physical workouts that had effectively developed his physique. Even the women on his team were superhumanly buff – in fact, any one of them could probably beat him in an arm wrestling match if the occasion arose. He was proud to be able to say he knew his Amazonian teammates. They were just like the "guys", drinking beer, getting sweaty, and doing everything that a male could do and more.

But this woman instilled awe in Oliver's mind. He was slightly intimidated by her spiritual presence, the way she moved, the way she made his body ache for her. Oliver groaned audibly as she flicked her tongue against his nipples. He arched his back, trying to be in with touch more of her, but again the maverick pulled away.

Hermione kissed icy trails down below his bellybutton, hovering over the waistline of his boxers. Oliver held his breath in utter anticipation. He wanted her now. He needed her so badly and he suspected that she knew it.

The Head Girl slid his boxers down slowly, gasping at the sight of his erect package.

"Granger," he growled her name, frustrated that she wouldn't go faster. He was embarrassed to hear a choking sound come out of his throat as she gripped his shaft with her hand, slowly sliding up and down. God, he loved sex, he thought as her movements quickened.

Just as he was about to go over the edge, she stopped. Why the fuck did she stop? he demanded inwardly, pounding the wall with vexation.

"Shall I oblige?"

Before Oliver could comprehend what she was saying, her lips had already covered the tip of his penis. He convulsed in gratitude, his mind feeling as if he were going to fly to the moon with pleasure. By instinct he gripped her hair and held on for the ride.

Hermione was some kind of goddess. She maneuvered her tongue the right way, getting him to react with wanton abandon. Her head slip up and down his pulsating package, causing him to gradually climax until he came into her mouth; she swallowed almost graciously.

"Dirty girl," he managed to mutter breathlessly after he had caught his breath.

Hermione grinned, hopping off the bed. "Just wait 'til I get my whip. Be back in a flash!"

"What!"

Oliver awoke, sitting up so fast that he garnered a painful head rush. "It was all a dream. All fucking fabricated," he groaned, disappointed in a way.

However, the pleasure felt real – the Keeper's bed sheets continued to form a sort of tent (if you know what I mean). He fell back onto his pillows, perspiration beading on every part of his body.

It felt real.

– end –

Okay, that's all for now. Hope you liked it. Oh my gosh, I am so addicted to reviews. I know it's sad, but many times I'd catch myself siting around with the 'Stats' page on, refreshing every 30 seconds to see if a new review popped up.

YES, YOU MUST FEED THE STARVING WRITER. If I could hypnotize you I would.

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