Strangers in the Night by Nox

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 07/06/2005
Last Updated: 08/06/2005
Status: Completed

PWP. Post-Hogwarts by a year or two. Harry, the perpetually-on-the-road Quidditch star, returns
to the London flat shared with his best friends for a much-needed post-season break. An evening
encounter brings unexpected, if heady, results.




1. Prologue and Homecoming
--------------------------

Strangers in the Night by Nox

--- * --- * ---

**Rating:** NC-17 for later scenes.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and other related trademarks and copyrighted materials are
property of their respective owners. Use of such properties is for entertainment purposes only and
does not constitute a claim on such properties.

**Chapter Notes:** This chapter went a bit longer than I expected to set up the next chapter.
But Harry and Ron kept talking and I didn't have the heart to stop them.

--- * --- * ---

**Prologue**

Puddlemere United's Seeker stood under the shower letting the heated water flow over him.
The sounds of his teammates shuffling around the locker room, talking and making fun of one another
after the game went unregistered.

'C'mon, mate, it wasn't that bad. We made it to the national finals at least,
yeah?' Oliver Wood, his once and again Keeper, slapped him on the shoulder. 'Buck up,
we'll get 'em next year. You played great! We all did. The cards just weren't with us
this time.'

Harry Potter, their newest and most famous player, just nodded, mumbling something vaguely
affirmative. It was enough to get Oliver to move off. The Boy-Who-Didn't-Catch-The-Snitch let
the water start to run cold before he finally took a deep breath, shut the shower off and started
to dry off and get dressed. Mostly he was disappointed with himself for letting the team down, but
despite their loss, the players seemed generally upbeat for defying the bookmakers by getting a
star Seeker and making it to the National Finals for the first time in many decades.

As he swung his duffle bag with the entire contents of his locker — the season was over — he
looked back at the now-empty locker room.

*Next year. Next year*, he silently promised to the lockers. Then, thinking on what Oliver
said, hurried out after the others. 'Hey, wait for me!'

'Beer's on you, Potter!' cried one of the Chasers, with a laugh.

--- * --- * ---

**Homecoming**

The next day, after much drinking and reminiscing over their breakout season (and a handy
anti-hangover potion he had picked up on the road), Harry was bouncing around on the Knight Bus on
his way to Diagon Alley. Hanging onto a pillar for dear life had him grateful that he had enough
presence of mind to send Hedwig ahead with a note to Ron and Hermione about his arrival. He also
instructed Hedwig to wait for him there. *Just as well*, he thought, *or else Hedwig would
be another splat on the windo—*

Whack!

The Knight Bus took a hairpin turn before slamming the brakes with such ferocity that even
Harry's hold on the pillar wasn't enough to keep him from smacking right into Stan, the bus
conductor.

'Diagon Alley, London!' called Stan over the moans and dark mutterings of the
passengers. Making a beeline for Harry's duffle bag, Stan tugged it outside, gesturing Harry to
exit the bus; this was a courtesy he extended to no other passengers. Whenever Harry was on board,
Harry was the only person as far as Stan was concerned.

''Ere we are, 'arry. You take care now. I really thought Puddlemere should'a
won! Bye!' Stan's voice got louder as Harry quickly moved into the Leaky Cauldron to escape
the star-struck conductor. Harry waved over his shoulder to spare an answer.

'I really need to ask Tonks about getting a disguise for myself,' he muttered to
himself.

A scene similar to his first-ever time in The Leaky Cauldron took place as a few late
breakfasters who recognized the young celebrity made a fuss over his appearance and tried to shake
his hand. With much-practiced feigned politeness, Harry just kept moving through until he got to
the magical brick wall in the back alley yard leading to Diagon Alley proper.

It was early morning on the weekend, so most of the shops in Diagon Alley were still shut and
few people were out and about. This worked out well for Harry, as he took long strides past the
familiar shops and into one of the alleyways with tall, if slightly askew, houses where witches and
wizards lived.

Fishing for a key in his pockets, he approached one of the doors, unlocked it and stepped
inside. *They're probably having a lie-in,* thought Harry with a smile. Dropping his heavy
duffle bag and kicking off his shoes, Harry called out.

'Is anyone home? It's me, Harry! Wake up, you lot!'

A few moments later, Ron stumbled out of his bedroom, squinting through the morning sunlight
filtering in through the windows. 'Harry? Hey! Didn't think you'd be here this early.
Sorry, mate, I'd have met you at the Knight Bus otherwise.' The lanky redhead he grew up
with came over and gave him a manly hug, back slapping and all.

'I figured with your play last night, you might've been . . . recovering this
morning,' said Ron, fighting a smirk.

'Oh, we drank all right,' laughed Harry as he wandered to the kitchen and took a stool.
'But there's this potion you can make, makes mornings a whole lot less painful.'

'You and potions? I thought Snape would've turned you off entirely. Merlin knows he did
for me.'

'Yeah, but I had much prettier teacher this time,' said Harry with a wink. 'One of
our Chasers,' supplied Harry at the blank look. Eyeing Ron as his friend rubbed sleep from his
eyes, Harry decided to take advantage of Ron's befuddled state. 'So, who were you cheering
for last night? Cannons or Puddlemere?'

Harry knew Ron would've been in a tough spot. The team Puddlemere was playing against last
night — and to whom they lost — was Ron's all-time favourite team. Ron, with his best friend
playing against the Cannons, was in the impossible situation of wanting both teams to win.

'Come on, that's like a girl asking me if she looks fat. Can't win, no matter how I
answer,' Ron pleaded. 'But for what it's worth, you guys had a bloody brilliant season.
Absolutely brilliant.'

Harry gave Ron a rueful smile while glancing down the hall at one of the other bedroom doors.
'Thanks mate. It *was* a hell of a season. Say, where's Hermione? Is she here? Or does
she actually spend the night with that bloke of hers? What's his name again?'

'I wish she would,' said Ron with an eye-roll.

'What's that mean?' asked Harry.

'You'd already started your season before Harold — that's his name — and Hermione
met, so you'd already moved out of the flat. Let me put it this way: I haven't cast the
Silencing Spell so much since Flitwick's class.'

Harry's brow arched with surprise and not a little amusement. 'Our little Hermione's
a bit of a scream—'

'Ahhh! Don't even say it!' interrupted Ron, throwing his hands over his ears. 'I
still can't get Hermione and sex into the same thought, much less . . . well, all that.'
The redhead wore such a pained expression that it sent off an uncontrolled guffaw from Harry.

'Oh, shut up,' said Ron, irritably. Then, steering the conversation back to the original
question, 'Hermione's on some Ministry business up in Scotland. She's supposed to be
there all weekend, back on, er, Monday, I think she said. Just as well, because she turned your
room into a library-study. So, unless you want me to Transfigure you into a book, you can use
Hermione's room until she gets back.'

'She did what to my room?!' Harry rushed over to the room-formerly-
known-as-Harry's. Dismayed, he saw that Ron was quite right: tall bookshelves lined with books
— both Muggle and Magical — covered every non-window and non-door space; a testament to
Hermione's voracious appetite for books. A large desk, very neat and tidy that screamed of
Hermione's organization, stood in the middle.

'You let her do this to my room?' asked Harry in betrayed tones.

Ron shrugged helplessly. 'She thought you were going to get a new place, since you were
going to be on the road so much. Said it'd be a waste of a room just to store your stuff.
Don't worry, they're in a couple'a trunks in the attic.'

'Well, I can't very well sleep in her room when she gets back. You've kept the couch
at least?'

'Well–' Ron began slowly, 'We still have it, sure, but, you see– it got a bit too
close to the fireplace one time and you know my *Reparo* isn't fantastic. It's pretty
uncomfortable for everyone except Crookshanks these days. Likely wake up with a spring or two up
your backside.'

Harry breathed in deeply, letting out a long sigh. He had been looking forward to settling in
with his best mates, sharing meals and not worrying about diving feint patterns, Seeker Snitch
snatch rates of opposing teams and the early-morning practices. And now: room occupied by an army
of books; bed transfigured into a desk (presumably); and the couch little more than a large
sleeping cushion for an ugly cat.

'Fine, fine,' said Harry, resignedly. 'I'll crash in Hermione's room for
now, but when she gets back, you're helping me convince her to give me my room back!'

'Sure thing, mate,' said Ron, laughing. 'Anyways, since we're up, how about some
breakfast?'

Harry spent the rest of the day relaxing with Ron in the flat. Morning gave way to lunch, to a
lazy afternoon, then to a dinner at the Leaky Cauldron with Fred and George, whose joke shop was
nearby. It was a pleasant winding-down day though the twins weren't ones to let the Puddlemere
loss go all that easily. They kept inserting sly remarks about it into the conversation, though
Harry didn't really mind. It was simply a pleasure to talk about the game without having to
worry about how he would perform in the next game. For now, he was just another fan of the
game.

Back at the flat, Harry and Ron were enjoying a nightcap and catching up on news. Some gossip
about mutual friends and acquaintances, news on all the Weasleys and, finally, on this Harold
fellow that Hermione was dating. Ron seemed slightly on the negative side about him, though he
couldn't really give a reason.

'Just a feeling,' he said. 'I think he's just using her for a shag.'

'I suppose even Hermione has needs,' said Harry, giving Ron with sly look. As expected,
Ron just rolled his eyes. Gesturing to Ron, 'What about you? Anyone tending to your
needs?'

'Nah,' Ron shrugged, 'No one right now. Sorta between girls at the moment. Last one
was just off-the-wall barmy.'

'Luna Lovegood?' asked Harry with a grin.

'Feh, I wish! Luna's strange, but pretty harmless. No, this one . . . had control
issues. And she really didn't like Hermione or that me and Hermione share a flat. You've
never seen Hermione so close to punching someone since Malfoy that time in third year.'

The thought of Hermione so riled made Harry pause. 'Wow. That's just — wow.'

'Exactly,' said Ron. 'Anyway, not a pleasant thought. How about you? Quidditch star,
Boy Who Lived, wizard who defeated You-Know-Who . . . must've had the girls lining the bar
after matches. You must have some good stories! Eh?'

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. 'Come on, mate, you know that's not
me.' He paused while taking in Ron's incredulous, even disbelieving, looks. 'I'm
serious! I mean, not that a bunch of them weren't quite fit–' (To which Ron snorted,
'I'll bet!') Harry just shook his head. 'But it's just strange, innit? Throwing
yourself on someone who doesn't know you? Couldn't do it.'

'Harry, Harry, Harry,' said Ron with a disappointed sigh. 'Any guy would give their
left testicle to be in that spot, and you don't even indulge a little?' Then, with that
mischievous Weasley twinkle in his eye, he asked, 'You don't fancy boys, do you? I mean,
you're my best mate and all, but you're just not my type–'

Harry took a playful swing at Ron, who half-expected it and easily dodged with an impish grin.
'If you must know, I had a little thing with Maura,' he said.

'Tinnerman? The Chaser?' said Ron excitedly. 'Now *that's* what I'm
talking about! Details, man!'

'Well– a bit weird telling you this, but she kinda reminded me of Ginny.' Harry saw
Ron's brow rise questioningly. 'You know, red hair, Chaser, bit of a mischief-maker. Now
she–' A pause with a wistful sigh.

Ron grinned knowingly. 'She was your first?'

'With whipped cream,' said Harry, without hestitation. 'And silk scarves.'

'Kinky!'

'Oh yeah,' Harry chuckled. 'But, I'm a gentleman, so I won't kiss and
tell.'

Ron reached over and slapped Harry on the back. 'Heh. Sounds like more than kissing. Well,
good on you mate. But you sound like it's over.'

'Yeah, it was mostly a distraction for us while we were on the road. She's the one who
taught me the hangover potion. She's been with Puddlemere a few years now, so she knows how to
party.'

'And how to look a cutting sight on her broom.'

'Quite.'

Grinning into his cup, Ron downed the last of his drink and glanced over at the house clock.
'Well, it's late, and mum's invited us to the Burrow. I told her you were probably in
this weekend.'

'It'll be great to see everyone again,' said Harry.

'Well, I'll hide the whipped cream when we get there, in case you get any ideas with
Ginny,' said Ron with a smirk. 'Not that she wouldn't mind. I'll wager she's
still got the hots for you, even if she denies it.'

'She does *not* have the hots for me,' Harry scoffed.

'A little fire.'

'Ron,' Harry said severely, 'I'm certainly not going to try anything with Ginny
at the Burrow, much less shag her.'

Heading to his room, Ron tossed a parting grin over his shoulder. 'Better safe than sorry,
eh?'

'Git. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Night.'

With a yawn, Harry padded over to Hermione's room and paused just inside the entrance. All
the touches of femininity, from the colours, to the furnishings, to the faint lavender scent
permeating the room brought a smile to his lips. The familiarity was enough to evoke an evanescent
presence that was almost as good as her being actually there.

Stripping down to his shorts, Harry slipped underneath the soft covers and sank gratefully into
the pillows. The homely feeling of it all was a welcome relief to the uneven nature of inns for the
past few months.

Harry took his glasses off and tossed them onto the nightstand. Reaching for his wand next to
his glasses, he gave a sleepy *'Nox'*. As the lights winked out, he passed into a
restful sleep.



2. Strangers in the Night
-------------------------

Strangers in the Night by Nox

--- * --- * ---

**Rating:** NC-17

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and other related trademarks and copyrighted materials are
property of their respective owners. Use of such properties is for entertainment purposes only and
does not constitute a claim on such properties.

**Chapter Notes:** The NC-17 bits. Sordid, unadulterated smut. Prudes beware!

--- * --- * ---

**Strangers in the Night**

Something roused Harry from his sleep, and it was the sensation of a pair of hands that touched
his chest for just a moment, then quickly withdrew.

'Who's there?' whispered a female voice sounding alarmed.

Through his groggy fight to consciousness, Harry only vaguely registered the question. Other
than that a question was posed to him; and that it was dark. And that the scent of lavender that
seemed so very close. Was that Lavender? Couldn't she see it was him?

'Uh, it's me. Harry,' he whispered thickly.

A shocked beat. 'Harry! What are you doing here?' said the female voice, now with amused
relief.

*What would Lavender be doing in my inn room? I didn't see her after the game,* Harry
thought as the twin bludger bats of confusion and sleepiness had him wondering what was going on
in. Then he remembered he was back in London, not on the road. Still, why would Lavender be here?
Was Ron setting him up? He answered in a slurred voice, 'Ron told me to come here.'

'Really?' The female voice giggled. 'I didn't think Ron would have let you stay
the night without me here.'

'No, I couldn't—' Harry began.

'—wait for me? Aw, how sweet!'

'No, I meant—' Harry protested.

'Shhh. Stop talking,' the female whispered. The faint rustle of robes and clothing being
slipped off distracted Harry for a moment, but not nearly as much distraction having the sheets
tugged aside while the bed pressed downwards from the additional weight of another body climbing
onto the bed. Specifically, straddling Harry.

The shock of such an unexpected turn of events had Harry gasp. He breathed deeply the
tantalizingly familiar floral scent until it finally dawned on him. Lavender scent: *Hermione!
She's come home early from Scotland and thinks I'm her boyfriend Harold!* As he felt her
leaning down, he blindly reached up to restrain her, lest the situation get completely out of
hand.

Harry felt a violent sensation in his groin as his hands came in contact with two
exquisite-feeling — and quite bare — breasts.

Hermione's bare breasts.

A sense of shock stunned poor Harry — but not nearly as much as when Hermione pressed downwards
and attacked his lips with a heated kiss. There he was, palming his best friend's breasts while
being snogged (quite pleasantly, really) and—

Harry groaned softly as said best friend began slowly grinding against his boxers, the warmth
from between her legs eliciting the reaction one would expect from any red-blooded male in his
situation.

Now fully awake, in more ways than one, Harry tried to stay very still, hoping that Hermione
would stop and he would get a chance to interrupt her and make a terribly embarrassing explanation
before things *really* got out of hand. Despite the pleasant sensations she had evoked and was
spreading through his body, the undeniably allure of having a warm, willing body riding him, he
knew this was a huge mistake.

His plan worked . . . sort of. Not seeing as much reaction as she might have expected, Harry
felt a smile form as Hermione pulled away from the kiss. 'Oooh, playing hard-to-get, hmm?'
she giggled.

Harry felt one hand press against his chest and the cooler evening air as Hermione lifted
herself off. Spinning on one knee, she swung her other leg over to reverse-straddle him. His breath
caught as he felt his boxers being pushed down and Hermione grasping his shaft; he then realized
why Hermione had shifted herself into this position. It wasn't enough that a warm, wet
sensation engulfed him as she drew out exquisite pleasure with her tongue, but a moment later, the
scent of a highly aroused woman assaulted his senses, the herald to Hermione scooting backwards and
pressing her sex insistently to his lips. A sex which was decidedly damp when it got there.

*Oh, Merlin, I was right, earlier. Hermione has needs and she's not bloody shy about them
in bed!* he thought frantically.

Hermione's lithe body slid and slithered over Harry's, the *soixante-neuf* bringing
the Boy Who Could Now Die Happy such excitement beyond all possible measure. Friend or no, it was
all simply too much to ignore; valiantly, he tried to stem his lust, but before he knew it, he had
reached up to wrap his arms around Hermione's waist and reciprocating the pleasure she was
bringing him.

For long minutes, their tongues and lips duelled, stimulated and explored one another. He had a
guess that his namesake had taught Hermione how to please a man, and for that he was considerably
grateful. He was equally grateful that he didn't turn down Maura's attentions during the
Quidditch season — so he had *some* idea on how to stimulate a woman. At least, he assumed he
did, given the vibrations Hermione's moaning sent down his shaft, threatening to have him
explode before he would've liked.

Harry's hips were soon rising and falling with Hermione's suckling while his tongue
danced over, under and around her clit. It wasn't long before the situation was just too much,
though. With one last upward thrust, he spasmed his pleasure into Hermione's mouth. Violently.
He stifled his yell by burying this mouth into Hermione, incidentally slipping his tongue deeply
into her and causing her delighted muffle which vibrated along his pulsing cock.

The sensation faded quickly and Harry's hips fell back down to the bed, his wet and spent
shaft twitching pleasureably in the cool evening air. His heart was beating as if he had just ran a
race, his breathing equally quick from the intensity of his release. Hermione raised her head from
Harry, grinding her groin on Harry's face.

"Hmm," hummed Hermione throatily. The sound of her licking her lips with his recent
offering only excited Harry even more. 'I've never seen you last that long or come so hard.
It's like a whole new you!'

The irony wasn't lost on Harry, who just grunted a non-verbal response by grazing intimately
on her netherlips. He flicked his tongue against her clit and she jerked in response. He did it
again. She jerked again, this time with a whimper. 'Mmm, make me come . . . .' she groaned
wistfully. Arching her hips downwards, she made the point quite clear that she expected a return
favour.

Fair was only fair, and Harry did his best, suckling the spot Maura had taught him to seek for
just such occasions. This turned out to be a good thing, as it was barely a minute later that she
began bucking and panting. True to Ron's account, her cries of 'Oh, yes!' and 'Oh,
Harry!' rose in volume until at that sweet moment when she finally peaked, she loosed a
resounding, 'Uuunh!' that echoed in the darkness and clamped her thighs around Harry's
head.

*Hermione must've come as hard as I did,* Harry thought with a certain swelling pride
at his prowess. With just the tip of his tongue loitering at her entrance, he could feel the
muscles spasming and contracting. It was all terribly exciting.

All good things must come to an end and Hermione finally collapsed to Harry's side,
quivering periodically from post-orgasmic tremors. For several minutes, they both just lay there,
panting and heated from all the action. She turning around, she snuggled into his arm, draping her
body over his and mewling contentedly. Pillow talk at this juncture was out of the question. What
could Harry possibly say now?

Somewhere in his lust-clouded mind, familiar voice sounded: *Any guy would give their left
testicle to be in that spot, and you don't even indulge a little?*

So when he gently rolled her over onto her back and passed a hand up along her inner thigh from
her knee, it wasn't just to Hermione's surprise.

He was going to indulge.

'Harry!' she gasped as his fingers danced along the much-slickened petals his lips had
been blessed to graze upon. 'You- you want to go again? But—' She groped around until her
fingers wrapped around his tumescence. Another gasp.

Kneeling between her legs, he gently parted them, a task that met little resistance. As he slid
over her supine form, prepared to take her, she pressed her hands to his chest for a momentary
pause.

'My God, you missed me terribly, haven't you?,' murmured Hermione.

'Yeah,' Harry replied with a hoarse whisper. *I did miss you — I just never thought
I'd get this sort of a welcome!* And with a groan, he pushed himself into her warmth, not
stopping until he was fully seated in her. Hermione grabbed his head and pulled it into a hungry
kiss as gently moved in and out of her. So much for stopping before it got completely out of
hand.

Harry maneuvered her arms up over her head, crossing her wrists and pinning them down with one
hand. This was another thing he did with Maura — though it was usually bound with a silk scarf
before the sexing up. He could feel a surprised sort of gasp between kisses; this was new to
Hermione. With his 'prey' secured, he increased the steady rhythm of filling her, pulling
out and filling her as deeply as he could. The sensation of vague helplessness, the inability to
caress the man bringing her so much pleasure didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she did the
only thing she could do: wrap her legs around his thighs and thrust back at him.

Several times during the brisk pace, Harry felt Hermione go taut, shudder and he experience a
velvety pulsing along his shaft that could only be experienced with such intimacy. The difference
in Hermione's climaxing patterns were a fascination, a note he tucked into a corner of his mind
for later analysis — Maura needed a much longer time to climax. And due to his earlier release, he
remained hard and continued to drive Hermione from one crest to another, each one punctured with a
sharp cry into the night.

After some number of orgasms on Hermione's part, she simply collapsed back, unable to keep
even her legs around Harry's waist. As Harry withdrew, she whimpered softly from the lack of
his presence within her. As it turned out, it was only temporary. Harry coaxed her to turn over
onto her stomach and she found herself with her hips raised into the air.

From this position — one she had yet to experience herself — she felt Harry reposition himself
behind her and before she knew it, his rutting continued unabated.

The change in sensation was a second wind for Hermione, it seemed. The former Head Girl was soon
on all fours, arching back at Harry, bouncing off his lean abdomen. For her, it was back to another
series of climaxes as Harry's hands gripped her waist, her hips, her shoulders, driving into
her relentlessly. This was another favourite of Harry's.

*I've never gone even this long with Maura. My God, when did Hermione get to be
so—*

Finally, the tingling pressure in his groin was too much to ignore; he had manfully held out for
as long as he could, but release was beckoning him in means too difficult to ignore. Leaning over
her slender back, Harry nipped at her nape as his thrusts became more and more erratic. Then— he
squeezed at her hips and thrust to embed himself as deeply as he could, releasing the pressure that
he had built up.

The act of release was almost as painful as the build-up. Despite the room's darkness, white
blindness and stars filled Harry's sight as he completed an act of intimacy he had never
thought he'd share with his best friend. If he had more presence of mind, he might have noticed
that his release was enough to coax one more from Hermione.

This time, when they collapsed from their respective positions, it was even longer before they
could move or do much more than groan from their nocturnal activities.

Limply dragging herself into a snuggling position against Harry, Hermione heaved a soft,
shuddering sigh. 'That was brilliant! I don't know what you did, but you've never
lasted so long. You haven't been practicing with someone while I was gone, have you? It's
only been a few days!'

Harry shook with private laughter at Hermione's question. What could he answer with?
*Sure, I've been shagging Puddlemere's Chaser!*

Between their exertions and her late-night travelling, Harry supposed, they took their toll on
Hermione. She swiftly fell into a regular breathing pattern and wouldn't answer to Harry's
soft calls of, 'Hermione! We need to talk.'

Unwilling to disturb her, and certainly enjoying her soft curves against him, Harry gently
traced his fingertips over Hermione's slumbering form as he drifted back to sleep himself. It
was one last enjoyment as he mapped his tactile explorations to his mind's eye. A strange
mixture of marvel and not a little shame wrestled in his mind over what had just happened. *In
the morning. I'll talk to her in the morning. Yeah, that's it. . . .*



3. Ron's Sleepless Night
------------------------

Strangers in the Night by Nox

--- * --- * ---

**Rating:** NC-17

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and other related trademarks and copyrighted materials are
property of their respective owners. Use of such properties is for entertainment purposes only and
does not constitute a claim on such properties.

**Chapter Notes:** Denouement.

--- * --- * ---

**Ron's Sleepless Night**

A shift on the bed nudged Harry from unconsciousness. He blinked, less from the sunlight, which
had slipped into the room and filled it with early morning warmth and brightness, but more because
he was breathing in floral-scented tresses of bushy brown hair. As the rest of his senses came
awake, he noticed that he was spooning Hermione with an arm draped over her body, cupping a modest,
but nonetheless exquisite, breast.

Harry gasped as he remembered it had been Hermione he had been with all night; Hermione he had
shagged nine ways sideways (all right, it was only two or three) before collapsing from sheer
exhaustion. Frantically, he glanced towards the door, measuring his chances of making an
escape.

Reluctantly, he released his hold on Hermione's breast and slipped it out from underneath
her arm. This movement, and the cool air replacing the warmth from his hand, stirred Hermione into
wakefulness. A low, throaty groan, followed by a yawn, were her first actions. Not yet turning
around, she grabbed Harry's hand and tugged it back to her chest.

*Bugger!* Harry thought. *I am* so *in the shit.*

'Mmm. I think I'm going to be sore all day,' said Hermione with a semi-groggy giggle
and a wriggle to press her bare back against Harry's warm chest. Then with a sigh, she
continued with a measure of hesitancy in her voice.

'I have a confession to make, luv,' said Hermione. 'I know you like hearing about
kinks, and I have to tell you . . . there were a couple of times last night when I thought I was
making love to someone else.'

Harry just remained silent. *So Harold* is *the one bringing all this burgeoning
sexuality out of her Hermione!*

Hermione continued. 'Well, you know I had a little thing for Harry– Harry Potter. When I was
screaming your name, at least once . . . or twice . . . . I pretended I was with him.'

A stunned Harry did some more of the silence routine; his lower regions, however, began to
enlarge and thump lightly against Hermione's rump. *Traitor!* he cursed, directing the
thought to his erection. But it didn't answer back. It rarely did.

'You don't think it was too . . . weird, do you?' said Hermione, a touch of concern
creeping into her voice when no answer was forthcoming. 'Harry?'

Randomly, Harry reminded himself to kill Ron for not telling him that Hermione's boyfriend
was called Harry as well, not 'Harold'. At any rate, when he eventually found his voice.
Clearing his throat, he answered:

'I have a confession to make, too, Hermione. I'm not Harold.'

Now it was Hermione's turn to seize up. One, two, three quick breaths and she spun around
and met Harry's eyes. Those emerald eyes that were a far cry from Harold's brown; a scar
that every wizard and witch in the world could recognize; the unkempt black hair she had known
since she was eleven. (Though it was even messier than usual at the moment.) She blinked,
feverishly wondering how it was she could be rogered so thoroughly and not realize who it was doing
it to her.

'And, it's a little weird,' Harry offered in the silence, offering a small, awkward
smile to Hermione's last question.

For the rest of his life, Harry was unable to fully explain how Hermione's facial expression
faded from shock, to horror, then to one of dumbstruck realization that *she* had made the
assumption of him being her Harold, and initiated the sequence of events that led to their unseen
activities in the dark.

Several times, her mouth opened and closed, attempting to say something. Despite himself, Harry
eyed those lips which he had gotten to know quite intimately last night, recalling how delectable
and soft they were.

'My God. Harry. You were . . . here all night?' Hermione finally asked at last,
weakly.

'Yeah.'

With her face and neck flushing with horrible embarrassment, she flopped back to the bed,
grabbing a pillow and covering her face. It didn't so much to cover the rest of her, though.
Harry fought to keep his attention where it needed to be: diffusing the situation.

'Oh Merlin!' gasped Hermione. 'Oh my God. I thought you were Harry . . . erm,
*my* Harry!'

'Yeah. I– I kinda figured that.'

'Harry, *why* on Earth didn't you say anything?!'

'Hermione,' Harry began in his most reasonable tones, gently stroking her hip, 'You
woke me up; I was already asleep, so it– it took me a moment to figure out where I was. I tried not
to respond to you when I figured out what was going on, hoping I could stop you. But then you sort
of – er – sat on my face and . . . well, I'm only human, Hermione. I couldn't help myself
after that.'

Hermione peeked out from one corner of the pillow to see Harry biting his lower lip with an
anxious expression on his face.

'Um. Your boyfriend is a really lucky man," Harry offered.

'Not last night,' Hermione answered with a sheepish laugh, emerging from the pillow. A
wave of relief filled Harry as it seemed Hermione wasn't going to go spare and place the blame
of the whole incident on him.

'Yeah,' said Harry, equally sheepish as he scratched his head. 'I, um. I guess
not.'

Propping herself upon an elbow, Hermione levelled an appraising look at Harry. Those
intelligent, sharp eyes skimmed his lean form, taking in the toned musculature of a professional
sportsman, widening when they saw his 'morning wood' (or was that morning broom?). 'You
were . . . *fantastic*, Harry,' she said at last. 'I was more satisfied last night
than *week* with Harry– Harold.

Harry flushed lightly, a little embarrassed at his morning state, now that both knew exactly who
it was they were dealing with. Despite his lack of glasses, the closeness made it easy to discern
her more salient features in the morning light. Features he drank in furtively; or, as furtively as
he could be, just inches away from his best friend's nude form.

It was Hermione who slid forward, reaching for his morning erection, squeezing and fondling it
appreciatively. 'And, I've never had such an . . . enthusiastic morning greeting,' she
purred.

'Herm– Hermione, this is– wouldn't this be a mistake if we were to do this, now that we
know?' stammered Harry. His breath sped up as she closed the distance until their noses were
touching.

'Shush," she whispered before pressing those lips to his and rolling him onto his back
. . . .

--- * --- * ---

Ron was in a right foul mood.

Really.

Tugging on a dressing gown, Ron padded out into the hallway, glaring harshly at Hermione's
door. She had interrupted his night *yet again* with her cat-in-heat wailing as she and her
wretched boyfriend shagged. All. Damned. Night.

'Bloody Hermione. Bloody Harold. Figures they'd get home early,' muttered Ron
bitterly. As he passed their door, he could hear the bed creaking and Hermione's breathless
cries that could only mean one thing. Disgusted, Ron pounded on the door. 'Oy! It's too
damn early for that!' It was barely 9:00 in the morning!

Of course, they didn't stop. Muttering imprecations, he headed for the kitchen to brew some
coffee, thinking up suitable revenge tactics. *Maybe a shrinking spell,* he thought savagely.
*Yeah, that's got to be in one of the spellbooks in Hermione's study.*

A fleeting thought crossed Ron's mind as he sipped on his coffee. There was something he was
forgetting. Something important. He should talk about it with Harry–

Where was Harry? Ron wandered around the flat, hoping Harry wasn't too angry about being
kicked out of Hermione's room. But he was nowhere to be found: not in the loo, his old room,
the attic, nor on the couch where Crookshanks purred loudly. He wandered back to the kitchen,
wondering if Harry had gone out early when a horrific thought dawned on him.

Harry had never left Hermione's room.

Just then, the kitchen's fireplace flared up and a red-headed face appeared among green
flames. 'Ron!' said Ginny. 'Ah, you're up, good. Mum wanted me to remind you to
bring Harry around this afterno– Ron, are you all right? You look like you've seen a
boggart.'

'They're *shagging* in Hermione's room!' Ron said weakly, mostly answering
his own thoughts than Ginny's question.

'What, again?' Ginny answered with a wry laugh. 'I'd figure you'd be used to
Hermione and Harry going at it by now.'

'No!' cried Ron, desperately. 'You don't understand, Gin. That's
*Harry* in there with her!'

As if to underscore the point, one of Hermione's pitched, 'Oh, Harreee!' climax
cries echoed from down the hallway to Ginny's ears. Ron winced.

Blood drained from Ginny's already pale features. '*Harry*?!' she exclaimed,
jaw dropping. A moment later, she burst out into peals of silvery laughter. 'I knew it! I
didn't think she'd have the guts to go through with it, though.'

A stunned look from Ron met Ginny's eyes which danced with mirth. 'What do you mean you
knew?!' he demanded.

'Oh, Hermione's fancied Harry for a little while now. I mean, *really* fancied
him.'

'But I thought *you* fancied him?'

'Well, a little, but really, what red-blooded witch doesn't?'

'It's bloody news to me! How come I didn't know?' Ron demanded.

'Oh, Ron,' said Ginny, shaking her head. 'You really think Hermione's going to
admit she's got an urge to violently shag her best friend? Anyway. Lunch is at one o'clock;
we're expecting Bill, so tell Fred and George to be there.' And with that, she vanished,
leaving Ron staring at a normal fire again.

The action seemed to have died down back in Hermione's room, but to Ron's reluctantly
trained ears, he knew they weren't finished in there.

'I have a feeling we might be late for lunch,' he said mournfully.

*Finis.*



4. Post-Script
--------------

**Post-Script:**

I would be remiss (and, in fact, I *have* been!) by not mentioning my beta readers and
thanking them for their time, corrections and suggestions. Thanks go out to Mina and GeoTube from
here at PortKey, and to LadySmith and GilderoyW from RestrictedSection.org.

To address a few of the queries in feedback:

This fic was initially intended to be a one-shot, but as I progressed, it seemed to make more
sense to break it into its constituent chapters.

There are no real plans to write prequels or sequels to this — it came as a plot bunny that got
chased down. What you see here is what was running around in my head at the time.

I suppose there's an arguable case of various levels of OOCness in Hermione's character;
charges I won't deny. I took a leap of faith that readers could believe that such a Hermione
was a *possibility* post-Hogwarts. I will admit that a longer backstory, or leadup,
might've helped pave the way, but then I'd drifting into a piece that might conflict with
PortKey's submission guidelines.

To everyone who's responded, my sincere thanks, and I'm glad many of you enjoyed it. It
was fun to get it written down!

--Nox
*semper ubi sub ubi*



