Breakfast of Champions by fenriswolf

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 04/09/2004
Last Updated: 04/09/2004
Status: Completed

or The Plot Bunny That Wouldn't Die. What happened between Harry and Hermione in the library
before breakfast? Prequel to 'Extra Credit'; PWP, lots of smutty goodness...




1. The Power of Cheerios
------------------------

Breakfast of Champions

by FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER: The usual business, it’s all JK Rowling’s, not mine…

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – The positive reaction I received to the little plot bunny ‘Extra Credit’ got me
to thinking about what actually happened in the library, and just why Hermione had come up with
that charm. This is the result…

~~~~~~

Harry jogged silently down the deserted corridor, stifling a yawn in the early morning light as
he made his way towards the Library. It was at moments like these that he felt a twinge of
annoyance at having a certifiably mental workaholic for a girlfriend, but it was just a twinge, and
one that was always quickly quashed by all the items that immediately popped up on the plus side of
the ledger. She was sensitive and caring, absolutely brilliant, and knew him far better than he
knew himself. She made him think beyond the stress and the occasional horrors of his current life
to a hopeful future of peace and happiness, and inspired him to believe that the boy who grew up in
a cupboard under the stairs might someday have a home and family of his own.

And it didn’t hurt that under those enveloping robes was a body that could stop a clock…

With that last thought inspiring a grin of epic proportions, Harry came to a halt before the
doors of the Library. This early in the morning it was still closed to the general school
population, but there were a few perks to being Head Boy that Harry wasn’t going to quibble about,
and the freedom to move around the castle without getting detention was one of them. Especially
when he knew that the Head Girl was waiting for him inside.

One of the unfortunate side effects of Harry and his friends’ continuing efforts to follow in
the Marauders’ footsteps was a decision by Madam Pince to start locking the doors of the Library
after hours. Their sixth year had seen one too many late-night forays into the restricted section,
and she had demanded from Professor Dumbledore the right to secure her sanctum from the trespasses
of those who were trespassing against her. The headmaster had affably agreed, and then turned
around and given the Head Girl permission to select a password so that her late night research
marathons wouldn’t be adversely affected, a stipulation to which Madam Pince grudgingly
acquiesced.

That this arrangement meant that the worst of the transgressors would still have access to the
sacred precincts of her temple did not escape her, but something was better than nothing. After the
librarian left the office, Dumbledore had gently suggested that in the future Hermione should take
extra care to erase the evidence of the unauthorized nature of some of her prowlings before Madam
Pince returned to her domain, to which she blushingly agreed.

Of course, all that meant as far as Harry was concerned was that he and Hermione had a place all
their own to snog, one where they wouldn’t have to worry about being interrupted by other couples
in search of a bit of privacy. That there would be other benefits to the arrangement was something
he’d only discovered later on.

Placing his hand on the latch, he whispered the peculiar password Hermione had insisted on
using. “Dewey Decimal,” he intoned, and listened as the locks Professor Flitwick had installed at
Madam Pince’s request disengaged. Pulling the door open, Harry slipped inside and pushed the door
closed, listening to the tumblers shifting as the doors re-locked behind him.

A jaunty spring to his step, Harry sauntered across the large area where the majority of
students usually sat and read under Pince’s watchful eye. Once past the arrangement of tables and
chairs he worked his way through stacks towards the study nook that Hermione had staked out as her
own turf their first year, and woe betide any student foolish enough to dispute her claim. Centered
in the middle of the most advanced (and thus to Harry, the most boring) research tomes in the open
section of the library, the table’s surface was hardly ever completely free of some portion of
Hermione’s work. Stacks of books with slips of parchment marking relevant places in the text, rolls
of parchment absolutely covered in her precise, neat hand, bottles of colored inks for use in
annotating footnotes and the like, the tools of her trade were never far from her. Research for
Hermione was like Quidditch was for Harry; the Library was her Pitch, and knowledge was the
Snitch.

This year, however, something new had been added, something Harry had only seen brief glimpses
of before. He knew he shouldn’t have been so surprised by one more change among so many others, but
he was still adjusting to the life-altering changes that had occurred over the summer, when the
spark that had been smoldering for six years finally burst into flame.

It had taken a bludger to the head during a pick-up game at the Burrow to do it, but Harry
wasn’t about to complain, not after regaining consciousness to a tearful Hermione covering his face
in kisses. At that moment his Seeker’s reflexes had combined with his Marauder’s instincts, and
before either of them realized what was happening they were locked in a passionate kiss that as far
as Harry was concerned had involved not nearly enough tongue, but it *had* been hot enough to
earn whoops of approval from Fred and George and a couple of awkward days with Ron. In the end,
though, Ron accepted that Harry and Hermione had officially moved beyond being Best Friends to
Something More, though he’d made it very clear, with a blush red enough to match his hair, that
he’d just as soon not see (or hear) any more mutual tonsil Quodpot.

Harry’s mental reverie was brought to a crashing halt as he rounded the last corner sheltering
Hermione’s study nook and caught sight of his girlfriend’s mane of bushy hair. Merlin, how he loved
that hair, especially when it was wild and tousled and damp with the sweat of their passion…
“Morning, love,” he said softly, smiling as she squeaked in startlement.

“Harry! Don’t *do* that!” she said in mock protest, her hand dramatically clutching her
throat as their morning dance commenced. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?” she asked, her hand
trailing down along the unbuttoned potion of her blouse, drawing his gaze to the creamy flesh of
her throat. Harry took a deep breath to steady his suddenly pounding heart, inhaling the unique
atmosphere of the library that his hindbrain had come to associate with Hermione.

His thoughts flickered briefly to their fourth year, to Christmas morning and to Ron’s
ill-considered gift of perfume. At the time he hadn’t really thought much about it, but later on
Harry had realized that he’d never noticed Hermione wearing scent of any kind whatsoever. If any
fragrance beyond the clean smell of her soap or shampoo clung to her, it was the smell of her
beloved books and the chamber that housed them, and now that he’d come to know her more intimately,
he knew why.

Who would have ever thought that the scent of musty books and parchment could be an
aphrodisiac?

The Hermione of the stacks was radically different from the one he knew in the outer world.
Outside those doors she was prim and proper, focused on her schoolwork and her duties, and inclined
on occasion to be more than a little bit prissy. Oh, she could be persuaded to let down her hair
every so often, but it was a stretch, and one with which she was never entirely comfortable. But
inside the library, Merlin, watch out! There was an intensity and fire to her that only appeared
when she was surrounded by her books; he couldn’t count the times he’d found her sitting hunched
over her table, her eyes hooded as she bit her lip in concentration while her quill scratched away
at the scroll before her. What no one ever saw was that, while one hand was busy recording her
thoughts, her other hand was busy dealing with the state of mild arousal that always struck her the
moment she entered the library. She was a bibliophile in the truest sense of the word, a passion
that Harry was rapidly coming to share.

Sitting down next to her, Harry leaned over and captured her soft lips in a quick kiss before
looking around at the curiously empty table. “So, how is that research of yours going?” he asked,
referring to the project that had been occupying her spare time for several weeks now. She’d been
rather secretive about it, merely smiling slyly in a manner that caused a certain portion of his
anatomy to stiffen whenever he asked about it.

“I finished it last night,” she replied happily, confirming the suspicion the empty table had
aroused. “At least I think it’s finished; I won’t be sure until I have a chance to run a practical
test of the results.”

“So, there isn’t anything I can help you with this morning?” he asked in mock disappointment.
“Darn, I hate to think I got out of my warm bed two hours early for nothing…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was for nothing, Mister Potter,” she breathed, leaning towards him as one
of her hands slipped under his robes and trailed along his inner thigh. A smile quirked the corners
of her mouth and her eyes began to smoulder as her fingertips brushed the bulge that was already
straining his trousers. “No, that’s definitely not nothing…”

Harry growled and pulled his minx into his arms, hungrily covering her mouth with his. As their
tongues intertwined he once again tasted the flavors that were delightfully, uniquely Hermione’s;
the tartness of strawberries that flavored her lip gloss, the crispness of mint that flavored the
toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommended, and under it all, the faintly acidic touch
of gall ink from the quills she suckled on when she was nervous.

It was this last that had exploded in his mind the first time he really kissed her, that made
his hindbrain realize that the girl/woman he was kissing was *Hermione,* and that his best
friend was now and forever going to be something far more. Now, whenever that combination of
flavors struck his tongue, his libido kicked into overdrive as his brain shut down and all the
blood in his body rushed to points south.

Stifling a groan he lifted her from her chair and laid her across the table, grateful that for
once there were no piles of books or stacks or parchment to push out of the way. More than once
he’d been forced to rely on the ability of their black robes to hide the telltale splotches of
spilled ink from overturned bottles. Hermione giggled against his mouth, sending little shivers up
and down his spine as her fingers tousled his already wild hair to new levels of messiness. “Mmmph,
Harry, this table’s…ohhhh…awfully hard….” she murmured, wiggling a little in an effort to get
comfortable. Ever the gentleman, Harry drew his wand and cast a quick cushioning charm, eliciting a
pleased sigh from his girlfriend as he resumed his explorations.

There was the usual brief moment of awkwardness as the mechanics of divesting themselves of
their robes interrupted the spontaneity of their snogging, but the muffled fwump of the heavy
material striking the floor reminded them of their goal. Harry’s hands sought out the tails of
Hermione’s blouse, tugging them free of the waistband of her skirt. Fingers made nimble by
Quidditch practice made short work of her blouse’s buttons, the small nubbins of pearl providing
good practice for the other nubbins that awaited him.

The white fabric drifted open, exposing the pale, creamy flesh of her taut stomach. Hermione
moaned as his lips traveled down her neck, along the valley separating her small, pert breasts
where they still nestled within the shelter of her brassiere, and across her abdomen to the little
button that was her navel.

Harry loved that Hermione had an ‘outie’; suckling and nibbling at it drove her almost as crazy
as his attentions to the button that hid between the folds further down. When his ministrations had
her arching her back and shivering, he moved back up to the metal clasp at the front of the white
cotton bra that she wore for propriety’s sake. Her small breasts, high and proud with pert, pink
nipples that hardened at his touch, certainly didn’t need the support. They nestled in the palms of
his hands, warm globes of creamy flesh that throbbed slightly to the beat of her racing heart.

She gasped as he leaned forward and sucked a puckered nipple into his mouth, the tip of his
tongue trailing maddeningly over the pebbly arousal of her aureole. “Oh, Circe,” she sighed as he
worshipped at her teat, laving the heated flesh with his tongue. Back and forth, right, and then
left, and then right again, he gave their perfection their due while her nails clawed at his back
through the thin material of his shirt. Allowing one hand to support his weight, the other slid up
the underside of her thigh, waiting until the arching of her back gave him the chance to slip
forward under her skirt to cup and squeeze a firm, white cheek.

With a snarl Hermione suddenly pushed him back and tore at his shirt, scattering buttons across
the floor in her need to reach his skin. “Too many clothes,” she growled, yanking the fabric free
of his pants, leaving his torso naked under her burning gaze. She ran her fingers over the lean,
flat muscles of his stomach, trailing them lightly through the scattering of hair in the center of
his chest. Her hands snaked up around his neck, her fingers interlocking so she could draw him
towards her. As he lowered his mouth towards hers she suddenly shifted; a yelp escaped Harry’s lips
as her even, white teeth tugged at his nipple, sending a jolt of arousal to his core. He groaned as
she repaid his earlier treatment with interest, adding pressure bordering on the edge of pain to
her exploration of those little nonfunctional buttons of flesh. Satisfied at last, she worked her
way downward, darting her tongue deep into his navel before following the snail trail downward.

Harry felt a tug at his waistband drawing his consciousness back to his surroundings. Hermione
leaned back, her hands holding the end of his partially unbuckled belt. “These. Off. Now,” she
commanded, her eyes locked imperiously with his. Smiling, he slid off the table, coming to his feet
long enough to reach down and slip off his trainers and socks. Hermione hungry gaze never left his
waist as he slowly unbuckled his belt and let his pants drop to the floor, leaving him clad only in
the black silk boxers she’d given him for Christmas, their fabric tented by his straining
erection.

Hermione leaned backwards, biting her lip as Harry teasingly slid his hands along her calves to
her feet. Moving with tortuous slowness, he slipped off first one shiny black Mary Jane, and then
the other. He ran a thumb along the underside of the arch of each foot, grinning at the shiver this
pressure produced. Then his hands glided back up her calves to her knees and down again, taking
with them the white cotton socks of her uniform.

Naked except for his boxers Harry moved back onto the table and between Hermione’s legs, the
only thing still protecting her modesty her pleated, grey wool skirt and the knickers beneath.
Harry measured his length against her, supporting most of his weight on his arms as he allowed his
chest to press against hers, the intensity of their kisses magnified by the sensations emanating
from where their hardened nipples brushed against each other’s.

Finally, when oxygen was becoming an issue, Harry broke the kiss and began moving southward, his
hands trailing along her sides as his lips worked down the taut column of her slender neck,
nuzzling at the sensitive hollow where it joined her shoulders. His clever fingers sought out and
released the catch that secured her skirt’s zipper, and the distinctive sound as it slid open sent
shivers of fire along his nerves. At his urging she lifted her hips just enough for him to tug the
fabric down, unconsciously moving out of the way as she wriggled her legs fee of the
encumbrance.

With Heaven finally within his grasp, Harry’s eyes left Hermione’s face to travel downwards and
discover the first of several surprises. The white cotton knickers he’d come to expect were nowhere
in sight; in their place was a skimpy pair of cherry red knickers, complete with a small appliqué
of the suggestive fruit on the front panel. Amused, Harry glanced up at his girlfriend’s face,
unsurprised to see a wicked gleam in her eyes. “A bit late for that, isn’t it?” he teased
slyly.

Hermione just smiled mischievously. “You’d be surprised just how many ‘firsts’ we still have to
experience, Harry,” was all she said. “Besides, these are much nicer than my old knickers, don’t
you think?”

Harry couldn’t argue with her there as he returned his attention to the scrap of fabric that was
concealing paradise. It was gossamer thin, clinging to her flesh like a second skin. He smiled at
the way every cleft and valley of her nether lips showed clearly through the dampening fabric, and
then gasped as realization struck him. “Hermione, you shaved!” he said, amazed and pleased that
she’d tried his suggestion.

“Mmmm, I noticed you did, too,” she replied, caressing his chin. Harry had made a brief attempt
at growing a goatee in the current Muggle fashion, but after one encounter with the harsh, scratchy
bristles, Hermione informed him briskly that while she was willing to put up with a lot of things
for his love, stubble burn on her inner thighs was not one of them. It had taken Harry all of about
three seconds to decide that, after all, relationships were really all about compromise, weren’t
they, and had shaved the damned thing off.

Now, faced with the prospect of a return to this particular slice of Heaven, he was quite glad
he had, especially since he could already see the tantalizing dampness of Hermione’s arousal
soaking through the thin fabric of the cherry-coloured knickers. Settling in for a long,
experimental lick, he received his second surprise of the morning, as he tasted, “Cherries?!
Hermione, what…?”

Hermione, who had squirmed deliciously at the first touch of his tongue, laughed seductively.
“Go ahead, Harry; I promise you’re not imagining things. My knickers are made of a very special
material now, one I created with you alone in mind.” Suddenly she began to sing, very softly:

*“Take a trip, Come with me,*

*To a World of Pure Imagination…”*

Needing no more urging, Harry returned to lavishing his attentions on the transfigured material
of her knickers, swirling and lapping his tongue into the fabric that hugged her sex. At each
stroke the taste of cherries grew stronger, yet it never masked the underlying flavor that was
Hermione herself. Rather the two merged into fabulous ambrosia of which Harry found he could not
get enough.

Carefully gripping the fabric with his teeth so as not to pinch the sensitive flesh underneath,
he started to tug the knickers aside, only to have a long strip peel away like the licorice whips
of his youth. Experimentally he sucked the piece into his mouth and chewed, delightedly discovering
the true nature of Hermione’s marvelous, edible underwear. “Mmmm, Breakfast of Champions,” he
murmured, and fell to with a will as Hermione giggled and squirmed.

In short order all that was left was the narrow elastic band that stretched like a decorative
belt around Hermione’s waist. The sugary taste of the knickers combining with the flavor of his
girlfriend’s arousal drove straight to his hindbrain and made Harry’s erection harder than it had
ever been in his life. Sliding up Hermione’s flushed skin, he covered her mouth with his, allowing
her to savor the mingled flavors for herself. She moaned at the taste, writhing against his body.
“Time for the main course,” she gasped as she shifted their positions, rolling out from under him
and forcing him onto his back.

Harry’s breathing hitched in anticipation as with a savage tug Hermione stripped his boxers
away, freeing his cock at last. This was his wicked witch of the stacks at her finest. The Hermione
he knew by the lake, or in the Astronomy Tower, or even in the private rooms that were granted them
as Head Boy and Girl, was one woman, caring and sensitive, the Hermione that was unleashed by the
library was another. Here she was dominant, empowered and demanding, insisting on seizing the
initiative as her due. Harry loved this side of her, loved feeling her passion joining and merging
with his own as he relinquished control.

Hermione’s hand stroked his shaft to even greater attention, eliciting a groan from Harry as she
rubbed his crown along her moist folds, pressing the eye and its weeping bead of precum against her
swollen clit. “What do you want, Harry?” she demanded fiercely. “You have to tell me what you want
from me…”

“Please, Hermione,” he begged, knowing it was part of the ritual. “I want, I *need* to be
inside you…”

“Is this what you want?” she whispered, allowing just the crown of his straining cock to slip
into her heat, restraining him as he instinctively tried to buck up into her. “Is this where you
need to go?”

“Ohhh, Merlin, yesss,” he hissed as he felt her tight, moist heat begin to surround him.
“Please, Hermione, I can’t wait to feel you…”

“I can’t either, love,” she purred, and suddenly slid downwards, impaling herself on his manhood
with a cry of completion. For just a moment she stayed perfectly still as she accustomed herself to
the feel of him stretching her, and then slowly she began to ride him, rising up until he was
almost free of her and then sliding down again, using one of her own hands to guide him and make
sure he didn’t slip free. Harry felt her slip into the rhythm they had achieved after much
practice, the one that would build their climaxes together to incredible heights. His hand slipped
along her outer thighs to her hips, steadying her as she arched her back, her ribcage becoming
clearly visible under her taut flesh as she achieved the stimulation she sought so passionately.
One hand rested behind her, joining with her knees to create a stable tripod supporting the center
where their universes merged.

As her movements became more frenzied Harry began thrusting upwards, slamming his pelvis into
hers with every downward stroke of her sex. He felt the fingers of her free hand join his cock in
plundering her slit, adding to the tremors already radiating outward from the swollen pearl
quivering at her apex. Suddenly Harry felt it start, the tremors of her vaginal walls signaling her
impending orgasm. At the last instant he took control, using his grasp of her hips to accelerate
their frenzied pace, pulling her down as pounded into her. Then her muscles clenched, locking him
in tight as the little death took her, dragging him over the edge with her as he felt his seed
pumping into her depths.

~~~~~~

When his vision cleared, Harry found the smiling, sweat-streaked face of his lover next to his,
her hand gently playing with his own perspiration drenched hair. “I think I just died,” he joked,
and she chuckled.

“That’s all right, I raised you up again…no, not like that, you perv!” she laughed as she felt
his spent member twitch against her.

“I’m a perv?” Harry asked in mock astonishment. “Excuse me, which of us spent weeks of
extracurricular study time creating edible underwear? And how the heck did you come up with that
idea, anyway?” he asked, truly curious.

“I don’t recall any complaints at the time,” Hermione pointed out cheekily. “As for the idea,
well, Muggles have had something like that, but from what I can tell they aren’t very practical.
Mine are charmed to remain just knickers unless very specific conditions are met.” At Harry’s
lifted eyebrow she continued primly, “They only become edible when they come in contact with a
certain green-eyed seeker’s… ummm… saliva. That’s the catalyst for the transfiguration.”

“Fascinating,” Harry said dryly. “So, are you going to turn in the scrolls to Flitwick or
McGonagall?”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped in surprise, her face bright red as she slapped his chest.

“Ow! What, I just thought that with all that work, you should get some extra credit from it as
well.” He paused as if thinking about it seriously. “Now Flitwick would be impressed by the charms,
but he might not survive reading it, and one ghost professor is quite enough. McGonagall isn’t
going to drop dead, but I can do without the thought of her wearing a pair for Dumbledore’s
amusement. What do you think?”

Once she got past the initial shock, Hermione found herself fighting to bring her giggles at the
images Harry was conjuring under control. When she trusted her voice she said firmly, “I think you
need to get yourself off to the Great Hall before breakfast is over, that’s what I think.” She slid
off the table and, recovering her wand from her robes, casting a quick cleaning charm on herself
and Harry. “I’ll tidy up a bit and then follow you.”

“Sure you don’t want to go together?” he teased, knowing how easily flustered she could be once
Library Hermione’s appetites were sated for a while.

Sure enough, he saw the beginnings of a blush creeping over her ears as she pulled a fresh pair
of safely cotton knickers out of her bag. “No thanks, just make sure you and Ron save me some
breakfast; I’m famished!”

Harry frowned for a second before casting a quick *Reparo* on his torn shirt, and then
smiled as the missing buttons reassembled themselves from their scattered locations around the
room. After all, it wouldn’t do for Madam Pince to find one of the incriminating bits of clothing
lying about. That done, he picked up the thread of Hermione’s words and continued the conversation
as he struggled into his clothes. “Well, I’ll meet you there, Hermione, but I seriously doubt I’ll
be eating much breakfast. For some reason, I have the oddest feeling, like I’m stuffed…”

~~~~~~

*~Fin~*



