Head Girl Hermione Granger dozed in her private dorm room on a Saturday morning, reflecting on how her seventh year at Hogwarts was going, and was satisfied.
The light of dawn was barely creeping through the window, and she was still in that pleasant in-between of sleep and wakefulness. Her head rested on her boyfriend's chest, one of his arms reassuringly cradling her. Smiling, she remembered the nights adventures, only tempered slightly by his impending departure.
Though she had sworn up and down that the wards on the Head Girls room, and indeed any of the dorms, could not be fooled, Harry had as usual managed to apparently do the impossible. As far as she and Hogwarts: A History were concerned, his invisibility cloak shouldn't have been able to fool the wards. And yet, here he was.
Obviously, she was delighted that it had (though sneaking out to rendezvous somewhere else in the castle still held a thrill) but it was difficult for her to accept that Hogwarts: A History was finally wrong about something. She suspected she would never hear the end of it.
Harry was, predictably, less bothered about the mechanics of why – his only contribution had been to idly suggest that perhaps his cloak was different somehow, though that seemed unlikely to Hermione. The cloak was already rare enough, without his somehow being even more special.
Soon, he would need to go back to his own dorm, before the other boys woke and discovered him missing. It wouldn't do for the Head Girl to be caught with a man in her room. She and Harry had been quietly stealing private time together for weeks now, sometimes to kiss, always to talk. Sometimes, like last night, to do interesting and vigorous activities.
So far, no one appeared to have noticed. Or, if anyone had, they had been too polite to mention it. It had been, by far, the best weeks of Hermione's life to date. It was everything she had loved about being best friends with Harry and more besides.
Apparently awake too, he bent down slightly to kiss her atop the head, one hand slowly tracing delicate lines across her back.
"Hey," he said, softly, "how are you?"
She sighed, a contented sigh, "Good," shyly looking up at him, "very good."
Considering the circumstances under which they had gotten together, Hermione would forgive anyone who would be surprised to learn last night had been their first time together, in a manner of speaking. It would be, to her mind, difficult to deny that they had been having sex for weeks but until last night it had all been fingers, hands, and mouths.
In her mind, she could see herself riding Harry, her arms raised behind her head as she arced her body and his thumb worked between her legs. He had reached up to take one firm nipple into his mouth, tongue first and then teeth. The application of judicious pressure, a slight bite, a slight pull, was more than enough make her react, arching her back and pressing her breast into him. She had bent down, so that he would not have to strain to maintain the contact, and from there she had been acting on pure instinct. Both his hands had moved to her back, lightly drawing his nails across her skin to elicit her eager verbal response, to make her shiver pleasingly, but not enough to really scratch.
Intuitively, she had rolled her hips repeatedly against his, rejoicing in the soft groans he made underneath her. It came as a surprise to her when her orgasm had crept up on her, her clit having been grinding into Harry for an indeterminate time. Not because it wasn't good (because, Merlin, it had been good) but because she had, based on all the giggling from the girls in her dorm, been expecting Harry to get there first. Upon reflection it made a sense to her considering she had enthusiastically thrown herself, casting aside inhibitions, into giving herself fully to Harry, and after all the things they had done together recently he was hardly inexperienced anymore.
Shuddering and moaning, she had whispered dirty things into his ear as she came, having discovered she thoroughly enjoyed privately subverting her perfect reputation with Harry. He seemed to be ever astonished, delighted, and aroused whenever she would tease him this way, and she loved to amaze him. He never treated her differently afterward, never brought it up unless she did, but he seemed enthralled in the face of Hermione Granger when she unleashed her wild side on him.
Afterward she had collapsed on top of him, though when she recovered her breath and her stamina in his arms she barely had to entice him into going again. This time, they had finished together, with him behind her, and her with a hand between her thighs. They had spent the rest of night in each other's arms, talking about everything and nothing until they had fallen asleep.
Delighting in the recollection, she was about to open her mouth, halfway between deciding whether to tease him or whether to tell him truthfully how much she had enjoyed last night when their peaceful glow was broken.
There was a frantic knocking at the door, it was unmistakably Ginny Weasley, "Hermione! Quick, Harry's missing!"
The pair of them froze – besides the rules they were breaking, they had yet to tell anyone about their relationship. Hermione had been blissfully enjoying having this secret with him, stolen time that belonged all to her, and she lamely justified to herself that there had never really been a good time to tell people.
"Hang on," she said loudly, panicked, "Give me a second."
Heat rate elevated, she got out of bed and quickly grabbed a long nightshirt and Harry's cloak. She kicked the rest of his clothes under her bed and threw the cloak over him, hissing at him to keep quiet. Once he was safely invisible, she opened the door to find her friend looking worried.
"Ron says Harry is missing. He says his drapes were closed when he went to bed last night, but when he got up early because he wasn't feeling well, he went to tell Harry he wasn't going to make Quidditch practice later, and he wasn't there. He says the cloak is gone, but his broomstick is still there. He could have been gone all night."
Mind racing, she could see a pathway to everyone coming out of this without having their relationship so publicly and embarrassingly discovered and said "Okay, get some of the Gryffindor boys together, anyone you trust. Maybe get a message to Luna if you can. We'll split up to check the obvious places he might be … I don't want to, but if we can't find him after that I'll have to take this to Professor McGonagall. Thank goodness it's a weekend, otherwise we wouldn't have time before class."
She wasn't quite sure how she lied so smoothly, not even a hint of embarrassment betrayed her. Ginny nodded and rushed off to round up some of the others. Hermione closed the door behind her, rested her back against it and sighed a massive sigh of relief.
Harry's head appeared over the cloak, "Thank Merlin Dumbledore gave me this," he said.
She laughed, and smiled, "I don't think this was what he had in mind when he passed on that priceless family heirloom, Harry."
"Okay, so, what's the plan? I get dressed, go somewhere random in the castle and wait for you lot to find me? I guess I could go -"
Though nodding her assent to his general comprehension of the plan, she quickly interrupted him "Don't tell me where you're going. That way I can have plausible deniability when we find you – I should be as surprised as they are."
She pulled out freshly laundered clothes, including muggle jeans and a high-necked winter jumper. Briefly, she fantasised about getting to wear one of his Quidditch jerseys, the kind with his name across the back. She would usually think that a bit silly, if anything she felt she should want a jersey with her name on it, but she was getting used to relaxing and not judging herself. At least when it came to Harry.
Normally, she would want to have a shower before leaving the tower, but if she wanted to participate in this charade she would need to make it seem like she had a similar level of urgency as everyone else.
Harry likewise pulled his clothes on; she noted her disappointment. She had, very early on, worried that the excitement of being near to him might fade over time, or that they might discover their connection had only been physical all along, but if anything, she found being near him turned all her experiences up to the maximum. Kissing, reading, talking, eating, classes, going for a walk, anything and everything, became such a joy if she could experience it in his company.
She allowed herself the confidence to think that he was smiling more too. Laughing more.
That was why it was such a sucker punch when, as he finished pulling on one of those Weasley jumpers, he quietly asked, "Are you ashamed of being with me, Hermione?"
She stood, astonished. Speechless. How could he think that?
When she didn't answer him immediately, he said "It's just, we're still hiding this. And, it's not that I haven't enjoyed being your secret and all, don't get me wrong, because I absolutely have. Hell, you were talking to Neville at breakfast on Thursday when you caught my eye and winked, and I was glad were sat at the dinner table, because thinking how oblivious they all were that we'd had our heads between each other's legs the night before really, well, you get it ... and I don't want me to be caught sneaking out of your room this morning any more than you do …"
"But on top of all of that," he forged on "more than all of that, I'm proud of being with you. I care about you, and I want people to know it. I want to hold your hand in the corridor, and …"
There came more knocking at the door, "We're all ready Hermione, come on! What's the hold up?"
He sighed, quietly, and threw the cloak over himself. A part of her was glad, because she didn't have to look at his self-conscious, doubtful expression any longer. His words and that glum look squeezed at her heart in the worst way. "Sorry, forget I said anything, this was a bad moment. Let's just, avoid this crisis first, right?"
Although she was ready to set the record straight right away, the knocking continued, and Hermione was torn between her need to keep up appearances and her need to show him how colossally, stupidly wrong he was.
He took matters out of her hands by starting to open the door, which meant she quickly had to take over before he accidentally gave the game away. Ginny was waiting outside, already in her winter coat, tapping her foot impatiently. Hermione tried to subtly give Harry a moment to escape before she closed the door behind her.
Coming down the stairs, she had to stop, struck as so many people turned to look at her. All of the seventh year, the sixth year and what looked like most of the fifth year Gryffindors, boys and girls, were all stood, ready and waiting.
She was touched, and after the emotional shock of Harry's worries, found she had to choke back a tear. Harry was popular, especially after all his Quidditch wins and all the tuition he had handed out in Defence over the last few years, but she hadn't realised how many people cared about him. That, at short notice and for no reward, all these people were willing to give up a Saturday morning for him. None of them even looked upset about it.
Ginny had to nudge her, clearly expecting her to address them all.
"Ah, yes, sorry," she cleared her throat, and raised her voice, "Harry is … not here. And we need to find him. So, sort yourselves into groups, no less than two to a group and we'll get going. When you're in a group come see me and I'll let you know where you're looking. We all meet back here no later than an hour and … we'll see where we stand."
She deliberated for a moment, "Obviously, I wish Harry was here because then we wouldn't have to go looking for him," some in the crowd chuckled, "but more than that, I wish he was here to see so many of you supporting him. He would be deeply touched, so on his behalf, thank you, everyone, truly." Beyond being flattered she was also, and knew he would be too, feeling very guilty that they were troubling these people, all because she and Harry didn't have the willpower to stay apart overnight.
The next few minutes were a blur, handing out locations for people to look in, ensuring no one doubled up and that each group had enough students in it. Ideally sensible ones too. She didn't want to have to organise a second search party later this morning if one of the groups went AWOL. Some of them told her that they were only too glad to try and help Harry, after everything that had happened in his second year with the basilisk and his third year with the dementors. Some of them even told her that Harry had stood up for them when some of the Slytherins had bullied them. Harry, it seemed, was notorious for standing up to bullies.
Even Ron, who was looking pale and uncomfortable from whatever had caused him to be ill in the night, had turned out. She tried to send him back to bed, because he was clearly not in any condition to searching a draughty castle, but he said if she could just give him the hospital wing to search he'd be much obliged, and he could get two birds with one stone.
As the locations were assigned and they were all willingly dispatched through the portrait door, Hermione was left alone with Ginny, who told her she had asked Luna to meet them. The blonde sixth year had gravitated into their extended orbit in the last few years, after Harry had gone on a little crusade to try and stop some of the 'Claws from bullying her. Apparently, it had only been somewhat successful, but it had gained them a firm friend in the esoteric girl.
Hermione had given the outdoor locations to most of the seventh years, but nowhere in the Forbidden Forest, and had reserved the highest towers in the castle for herself. Her guilt made her reckon that, at the very least, a suitable punishment for deceiving them all would be to have to climb all those stairs herself, instead of passing on such a draining job.
Luna met them outside Gryffindor Tower, and they began the first of several long climbs to check the upper towers of the castle. They were mostly silent, Hermione dwelling on his parting question to her.
How did he not know? How … how had she not have made him understand? How could he have so thoroughly misunderstood?
That, beyond that they found something sexy in their clandestine encounters (which, though fun, she instantly would admit paled in importance compared to how deliriously happy he made her, and how she wanted to make him feel the same), she had kept up the secret because she wanted to be with him. Not to have to share him, with anyone and everyone in the common room who would want to hang out or ask him for something. So that he didn't have to share her, with anyone and everyone in the common room who needed help with their homework.
Something of her inner thoughts must have shown on her face, because Luna dreamily said, "Don't worry, we'll find him." It would have been reassuring, if of course, Harry had actually been missing and if Luna hadn't been 'searching' inside a random suit of armour at the time, peering through the uplifted metal visor.
They largely walked and climbed in silence, until with only one more tower left to go and against all probability (considering how large the castle was, and how many groups she had dispatched) they found him.
He was stood at the top of a wide, straight staircase, with one foot stuck in the trick stair.
"Hello Harry," Luna said, "how funny to run into you here, we were just talking about you."
"What she means," Ginny said, "is we've been looking for you everywhere. And here you are, stuck in the trick stair even first years know to avoid."
It was one of the first foibles of the castle the younger years were taught to avoid, some of the staircases moved, and some of them liked to trap you and hold you there until someone helped you free. Under normal circumstances, it would be quite embarrassing to get caught in one, but even Hermione had to appreciate the brilliance of his choice of hiding spot. It gave a reason why he hadn't made it back to his dorm last night and was probably sufficiently amusing enough that people wouldn't ask too many difficult questions.
"Ah, yeah," he ruffles the hair on the back of his head, "think you can help me out? And, uh, maybe not mention this to anyone?"
"Too late, everyone is out looking. They're gonna' want to know where you've been."
He groans, and she's not sure if the embarrassment is real or not, "Do you think you could at least lie and tell them I was doing something more heroic?"
The three girls laugh, and look at each other in mischief, and simultaneously chorus "No!"
Ginny moves to go and help him free, when Hermione puts her hand on her shoulder, and says, "Wait, give me a minute with him. Stay here with Luna, 'kay?"
The two girls looked at each, before shrugging. Hermione turns and strides up the stairs to Harry, stopping a few stairs down to look up at him.
"Harry," she says, quietly, so that the other girls can't overhear, "I am not ashamed of you."
A second passes, and she reaches up to wipe a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, before she takes a big breath in, "I love you, you big idiot. I don't need anyone else to know that but you, but now I understand properly that it means something to you…"
She closes the gap between them and tightly grabs the front of his robes with her hands, which seem so small against his chest. Though she can see a momentary flash of panic on his face the trick stair holds him in place.
She has to stand on her tip toes to reach, but she gently tilts her head up and carefully presses her lips to his. His shock only lasts a moment, as he brings his arms up to hold her gently. It's sweet, and soft, and Hermione could stay here forever.
Even Ginny's wolf whistle and Luna's cheering couldn't put her off.
Too soon, Harry breaks it off, leaning his forehead against hers, as he says "Thank you. I love you too, Hermione. This wasn't quite how I wanted to tell you, but I'm so glad now I've said it."
Feeling like she could float away, she takes his hand, and says "It's okay. You'll have plenty of opportunity to tell me in the future."
--
A/N: A scene from the cutting room floor, which was originally written as the last in the series of smutty vignettes I challenged myself to write, which didn't get included because there wasn't enough of the already very thin narrative to wrap around it. For those of you who like a fic to end with fluff, the epilogue above is the end of the tale. For those of you who are interested in more rather explicit content, read on…
Tags: Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex
--
Another benefit of being Head Girl was the private bathroom. It was nothing, in luxury terms, in comparison to the Prefect's bathroom but having it to herself more than made up for the lack of opulence.
Especially when, laid naked on her bed (Gryffindor house coloured sheets beneath her) she could watch the door open to reveal a freshly showered Harry. Steam poured from the room behind him, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, unruly hair already (and unfairly, she thought, considering her own problems on this front) practically dry.
Grinning at him devilishly, "Hello, love," she says, sensuously lifting one knee, the bottom of her foot trailing across the sheets. She could tell she had his attention through the way he had stopped painfully still, as if he thought she was some woodland creature he might spook if he moved too quickly. On the contrary, right now, she felt like she was the hunter.
His tongue subtly moved to whet his lips and her hand gracefully described the curve of her breast. She gave him time to drink her in, revelling in being at the centre of his attention, the centre of his universe, before gracefully spreading her legs wide to him. His eyes grew wide, and his hand instantly moved to drop the towel. She giggled, watching his cock shoot to attention.
Practically leaping onto the bed, he grabbed her hips and drew her to him. Hermione had been planning this the entire time he had been showering, and so she was more than ready for his mouth. She moaned, arched her back, as his now very experienced tongue made short work of whatever self-control she possessed.
Lifting and spreading her legs wider, she delighted in the lewd shape their bodies made. He, on his knees with his head bent to lick her hot, wet pussy, and her, with her legs up in the air, spread for him. She angled her hips up to give him the best access, to persuade him to explore her further. To entice him with her tight little arsehole.
He reached out to the nightstand for his wand, his head still firmly buried between her thighs, as he conjured just a little lube onto his thumb. She shivered in anticipation, inexplicably enjoying her slight embarrassment at what he was about to do, even after all these months.
Part of the reason she loved to be in this position so much, despite by this point their now extensive repertoire (in all aspects of her life, Hermione was very fond of research and confirming data with first-hand experiments), was because of how much it reminded her of the first time they had touched each other. The other part was the unspoken game that had emerged between them. There were no rules, but the aim of the game was to drive the other crazy with desire, until one of them finally admitted their interest in something…scandalous. Yes, his thumb was hot but by now they were both eager for something more…
Otherwise, everything else was fair game – they have been dancing around it for some time, both clearly interested, but anticipation can be sweet and so they had savoured teasing each other until it had developed into this unspoken contest – who could get the other to break first? It had started innocuously, where she would 'accidentally' sit on his hand when no one was looking, bite her lip and wiggle suggestively, and in return, when they were alone, and she bent over to pick something up, he would rub himself through their jeans against her ass.
Over time, it had developed to be more overt – during sex she would silently offer up her arsehole to him every chance she could, seemingly daring him with her eyes to take things further, and he would use everything he had learned about her body to tempt her into asking him. Asking him for the thing they were both, by now, desperate for.
She moaned and writhed, enjoying his efforts as she always did, and grabbed her wand to float the large mirror to the foot of the bed. She loved seeing him pleasure her from every possible angle, seeing his thick, hard cock bounce between his legs as he played with her clit. She could see her own flushed face in the mirror.
Her own face which inexplicably winked at her.
Mirror Hermione reached down to pull her Harry up towards her, kissing him eagerly, before whispering something she could not hear into his ear. Hermione watched Harry's strong back, saw her counterpart bite and nibble his ear as he reached for his wand, and did some magic she couldn't see.
Meanwhile, her Harry still had his head bent low. The mirror was clearly no longer showing their reflection. Though she was intrigued, Harry chose this moment to use his other thumb to brush up against her clit, making her gasp.
Of course, not nearly as much as she gasped and groaned a second later when his tongue abandoned her cunt, and instead gently but firmly licked her ass in one long, slow stroke. Her legs shook, moaning, "Oh fuck, Harry." He had never done this before, it was so different to his thumb, so … obscene, and she was loving every moment. "Don't stop, Merlin, don't stop!"
Mirror Hermione seemed to look at her, blushing deeper, and apparently would not be outdone. She turned over to her hands and knees, her body angled so that Hermione could still her blushing face pushed into the mattress, her ass raised in the air.
Mirror!Harry moved and, much to Hermione's displeasure, blocked her view of her doppelgangers rear. She could only stare in awe, and in envy, as mirror!Hermione's face grew, somehow, even redder. Her face screwed up for a moment with a strange look, one that Hermione thought was a mix of concentration, trepidation, and pleasure. Despite Mirror!Harry's toned body blocking her view of the action, it was clear he had slid his beautiful cock into her double's waiting arse.
The real Hermione moaned, put her hands on her Harry's head to pull him firmly against her, and begged him to keep touching her, keep licking her, keep turning her into the utter mess she was, her eyes glued to the scene playing out for her in the mirror.
She watched from behind as Harry grabbed her double's hips (her hips, she thought, biting her lip) and began to make long, slow strokes. The other Hermione moaned in silent pleasure, looking back over her shoulder at her thrusting partner.
Hermione was transfixed, she was practically on fire under Harry's deft tongue and from weeks, months of torturous waiting and teasing. Her double's face was a visage of intense pleasure, her eyes were half shut in desire, her silent mouth repeatedly demanding more.
The fake Harry was only too happy to oblige, and the real Hermione was only too willing to watch him pound that incredible cock into her. Her only complaint was she couldn't see where his flesh met hers, though somehow leaving it to her imagination was even hotter. Hermione could see her counterparts hand appear between her legs, eagerly rubbing her clit. She barely lasted a minute, before her soundless orgasm hit her, legs shaking slightly, her face pushed into the mattress.
Still, Harry fucked her. She watched, amazed, as her clone endured, adored, glorified, in continuing to accommodate his cock. Lasting not much longer, he suddenly tensed and, though Hermione could not lip read, it was obvious to her what she was saying. She knew precisely because it was what she would be saying. Demanding. Even begging if she needed to. 'Come for me, Harry. Come in my ass.'
There was no way to hear his response, but she could certainly imagine it. He threw his head back, and his wild thrusts slowed, another silent moan evident on her lips as he pulled from her and moved to sit on the bed. She could see her replica fully now, unobstructed, her wet thighs and wet pussy, and most of all she could see her arsehole thick with her lovers cum. As the other her began to catch her breath, it slowly ran down the curve of her buttock, onto her inner thigh.
And then the mirror was back to showing Harry between her legs, she experimentally turned his head slightly, moaning as his tongue changed from long, slow motions to these maddening quicker, lighter ones. She looked down to find him looking at her intently, and she somehow managed to ask between her gasps and moans, "How did you do that, Harry? I know that must have been you."
He barely stops long enough to say, "Don't know what you mean," but the look in his eyes says otherwise. She hisses 'please' at him, and since he isn't sure whether she's talking about his tongue or an explanation he replies, "A magician never reveals his tricks." He lifts his head up and grins, and she groans in disappointment, but she is relieved when his hand, at least, continues its motions.
"Fine! You win, you win! But only if this magician will, because it turns out the only thing this witch finds more attractive than your physical performance is your academic one, and I have no idea how you did that."
"I think we're both about to be winners then, but I want to hear you say it first."
"Fuck, Harry, I want you to fuck my ass," she growled, hot with anticipation but also desperate to understand, "now tell me, how did you do it?"
"I basically turned your mirror into a pensive, only instead of putting a memory in there, I used a fantasy. I got a bit lucky that we just happened to be doing the same thing I started the fantasy with, but it was a good guess considering it's a bit of a favourite of ours. Obviously, I couldn't figure out how to do sound too, but I thought that might be for the best. Didn't want it going off accidentally and causing you any embarrassment."
"But, how?" She spluttered and thought about it, which was incredibly hard with his hand still teasing and touching her, "you must have engraved runes on the back? But you don't do ancient runes."
He nodded, "No, but I could get an O in Defence with my eyes closed, so what do you think I've been working on in that class for months?"
She laughed, delighted at this studious side of Harry she had uncovered (apparently when sufficiently motivated), and had a sudden thought, "You've made a mistake here Harry. Once I learn exactly how to do that, you'll look at every mirror you ever own with suspicion from now on."
There was a moment of silence, apart from her heavy breathing and quelled moans, where they did nothing but look into each other's eyes.
Hermione picked up the closest wand, Harry's as it turned out, and kissed him on the forehead. An incantation later, and both his digits and hers were slick with lube. He gently rubbed it between his fingers, warming it slightly, before he reached down to touch her.
She groaned, he appeared to be in no hurry and was content to draw out her anticipation. He had teased her so thoroughly that she was so relaxed his thumb slipped inside her smoothly. Like every time before, she felt so tight and so full around him and she nearly lost her mind as he began to pull in and out slightly.
"Oh no, do too much of that and I'll be winning, while you'll be left out" she groaned, "come here," he let her go and straightened up, on his knees between her legs, and her hand went to his hard cock. Now it was his turn to groan, jerking in her hands, as she liberally rubbed the lube up and down his shaft. She briefly considered gripping him tighter and moving until he orgasmed, subverting the payoff in revenge for him being so brilliantly devious (and deviant) and subverting the game. She thought seriously, discovering the idea of letting him come over her cunt, her stomach, her breasts …
Though ultimately the idea was weirdly attractive all on its own, her own pleasures won out. She had waited, anticipated, and now she was going to have this. Guiding him with her hand, she felt the tip of him against her. Her body burned, her breathing was ragged, and he wasn't faring any better.
She propped herself up on one arm, reached up to kiss him, his tongue and hers dancing and teasing. He pushed forward and she felt herself resist him for a moment, reminding herself to relax. She was safe with Harry and she wanted this.
Slowly he slid inside her, he groaned deeply in her mouth. She tensed, her breath hitching, as she stretched around him. He felt huge, smoothly sliding deeper inside her. She felt so full, yet he kept going – how was there this much of him? She whimpered and moaned as his hips pressed into her, finally fully inside of her. He was touching places inside her she wasn't aware existed, places that felt incredible. Yes, it was sort of uncomfortable, but almost somehow in a good way. And certainly in a way that didn't matter when she compared it to what it felt when he moved like that.
He rested there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, looking at her with concern. She groaned, her mouth making an 'o' shape, "Fuck Harry, I can't believe…" she tried to look down, to see where he met her, but couldn't. Even propped up on her elbows, all she could see was the top of her wet cunt.
His eyes were dark, biting his bottom lip, his gaze turned down to follow hers and thinking of their late-night confessions she asked him, "What you see?"
With barely constrained passion, he gently ground his hips into her, clearly eager for more, but unwilling to move until she told him to, "God, Hermione, I see you undeath me … your beautiful eyes, the curve of your breasts, your stomach I want to rest my hand against, your wet cunt begging for my attention, and below it … fuck, I see you stretched around the base of my cock."
His thumb came to rest against her clit, gently rubbing it, and she drew in a breath, "Fuck me Harry, god, I want you to fuck me."
He did not need telling twice, her head fell limp as he pulled backwards leaving her so distressingly empty. She was not disappointed for long, as he glid back, repeatedly filling her. She was overwhelmed by the sensation, every nerve ending she owned seemed to be on fire, she pushed her hips into him with each thrust. She had expected this to be difficult, but she was already desperately aroused and had been thinking, waiting for this for so long that, apart from the sheer intensity of feeling, it was no trouble at all.
Her arms stretched across the bedding, grabbing big handfuls of the sheets. As always, the closer she came to orgasm the wilder her utterings became, whispering dirty things to him between deep breaths and groans, things she would never have considered or been too scared to vocalise before they had discovered each other. It became second nature to her, in these moments, to tell him all her desires, to lay them plainly out in front of him, to describe exactly how incredible, how utterly bind-blowing, he made her feel.
Harry had his eyes closed, grunting with each thrust that came quicker and quicker. His free hand went to roughly grasp her hip, his other hand restlessly brushing her clit, as his entire body began to lock up. Between his cock and his thumb, she felt close too, her heart beating faster than it ever had before. Knowing that he was just on the cusp she demanded "Look at me Harry."
She stared hungrily into his eyes and it was too much for him. With a groan he came, thrusting erratically, as she wrapped her legs around him. The eye contact was electric, she delighted in watching him orgasm until she was also swept away by her own, every movement sending incredibly intense sensations through her entire body.
She collapsed on the bed, completely spent. Her chest heaved up and down with exertion, and every little touch of her skin on the sheets, or against his skin, was so overly sensitive. She moaned a final time as he left her to collapse by her side, his hands making light brushing motions on her exposed skin.
They stayed like that for some time, recovering, her nestled against him and him whispering how much he loved her.