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“Thank you so much for your help, Harry,” Hermione said as she wiped the sweat off her forehead with a sheet of paper towel. She offered Harry a paper towel as well and he accepted it with a grateful grin.
Harry was wiping the sweat from his neck when their eyes caught. They smiled at each other with mirth and warmth… and underneath the friendly familiar warmth there was something hotter, burning… like a lava flow just beneath the crust of the earth.
The spell was quickly broken when Hermione started to giggle (nervously?) and said, “I’m sure there’s some magical way to get rid of sweat. But I haven’t learned that spell.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure there is,” Harry agreed. "But I don’t know it either. Oh and no need to thank me, Mi. I’ll always be there for you.”
Hermione couldn’t help the blush that crept up her neck and into her cheeks… It always did something to her when he used that particular nickname. “Mi” sounded dangerously similar to “mine”. But Harry couldn’t mean that, right?
Or did those sweltering forbidden dreams find him in the middle of the night like they did her?
Green eyes burning with desire… warm calloused hands encircling her wrists, pinning them above her head… lips, teeth, tongue creating patterns of need along the sensitive skin of her neck… his large heavy body anchoring her down… his erection pressingly intimately, deliciously, right where she needs it…
Hermione gulped and quickly turned away lest Harry notice her getting caught in a memory of a dream… or a daydream rather. Embarrassingly it was an all-too-familiar fantasy of hers.
She sighed and looked out over her empty (new) flat and the small pile of her magically minimized possessions. All her furniture and books, packed into boxes, had been carefully shrunk to facilitate the move. Hermione enjoyed the perks of being a witch, having grown up without magic for the first 11 years of her life she quite relished getting to do things the (easy) magical way.
She thought that it was a bit strange that none of their other friends had come by to help with the move. Not that it was all that much work, using magic and all. But still… she frowned thinking of the excuses that Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville had given for being unable to come by.
Harry was the only one here and the only one who’d been there for the past few hours, helping Hermione with her last-minute packing, determining which items were too precious or rare to be shrunk.
“Help yourself to a ginger ale, Harry,” Hermione tossed out over her shoulder as she took out her wand. “They’re in the fridge.”
She bend down to pick up her shrunken couch and then placed it on the floor near the window. Then she murmured the Finite spell while carefully pointing her wand to focus on the couch only. It expanded quickly and looked quite nice in that spot, she thought.
Harry was quiet, uncharacteristically so, as he walked over to the kitchen (which was technically part of the living room) and took out two bottles of ginger ale. It was a sweltering summer day in London and Hermione had not set up the cooling charms in the new apartment just yet. So it was hot!
He popped both bottles open, then walked over to Hermione and handed her one of them. She smiled at him as she accepted the cool bottle from his hand and her fingertips brushed along his skin in an accidental caress.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said. Their gazes tangled again and caught. Something about being alone, the oppressive heat, their bodies perspiring… this was making it very difficult for Hermione to concentrate on unpacking. She was getting more and more curious about what Harry was packing… Oh!
First to break eye contact: Hermione Jean Granger. Again.
She looked out the window and frowned… Clearly, her crush on her best friend was getting out of control.
She first started having “those” feelings for Harry during the war, while they were sharing the tent, especially after Ron left… but of course nothing ever happened between them. Being on the run during a war was not the most romantic time, but there had been moments… stolen glances, hugs that lasted just a little too long, hands touching in a way that COULD be construed as a caress.
She glanced back only to watch as Harry took a long swig of the sweet bubbly soda, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed.
Mmm… even his neck was sexy. Ever since he trained as an Auror he got really built. His body now was all defined muscles, corded, sinuous…. he wasn’t bulky, but just… hard all over. He looked masculine. Confident. He looked like someone who could make Hermione’s toes curl with a single smoldering look from those blazing green eyes.
Kind of like the look he was giving her now? What was that? The way his eyes traced a path down her face to her lips then down to appreciate her torso, and lower to her hips… Hermione was wearing a simple cotton tee-shirt (periwinkle of course, her favorite color) and cut-off denim shorts, which was perhaps not the sexiest of outfits... but, was she imagining things or did Harry seem mesmerized by her bare legs? Was it a heat-induced hallucination or actually happening?! She couldn’t really be sure.
It felt like her fantasy life was bleeding into her real life and that was very… confusing. But also… exciting?
“Um,” she began (eloquently).
Um? Um? When was the last time Hermione Granger began her sentence with “um”? She shook her head. Something was seriously wrong with her today.
“How’s the… ginger ale?” she asked. She’d finally come up with a question and it was possibly the most inane question ever.
Merlin! This was ridiculous.
Harry smiled. It was such a warm genuine smile that she couldn’t help but smile back although she felt a little silly. This was Harry after all. He was her best friend! They went through the war together. He was there to comfort her when she ended things with Ron, and through all the awkward interactions with the Weasley clan that followed. And she was there for him when his relationship with Ginny fizzled out. But… his smile… it lit up his whole face.
Hermione couldn’t help it…. she was staring at him, gazing up at his handsome features, his hair mussed like he just rolled out of bed, the faint mark of his lightening scar over his eyebrow, his glasses…. damn it…. how did he look messy and tousled and so sexy at the same time?
“My ginger ale?” he repeated her silly question. “It’s great, Mi. It’s delicious. How do you like it?”
She blinked. What did he just ask her? Hermione felt like her head was swimming… her thoughts thoroughly entrenched in the gutter. Did he just ask her how she liked it? Missionary, cowgirl, doggy-style…. What were they even talking about?
Oh, right. Ginger ale. For gods’ sake, get it together, Hermione! she berated herself internally.
But Harry was still smiling that big infernal smile. And it was making her tummy do a funny flippy thing that she was trying very hard to ignore.
“I like it,” she said as she took a sip. Eloquence was nowhere in the flat today, she lamented to herself. “Um… it’s quite… refreshing.”
Now Harry was chuckling. Was there something going on?
Hermione peeked around her shoulder, to see if any of their friends were about to jump out and yell “Surprise!” But no, of course, not. None of their friends were here. They were quite alone. In her new flat. She hadn’t even started to unpack. In fact, the only piece of furniture which was enlarged to its normal size was the couch.
It was a small (soon to be cozy) flat. There was a kitchen and living room area, where Hermione and Harry were currently standing. And then a hallway with a small bedroom (currently empty) to the right and a bathroom to the left.
“Hermione, I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Harry said as he put his now-empty bottle of ginger ale down on the kitchen counter. He looked around and stuffed both his hands into his pants pockets.
Hermione gulped because his movement served to emphasize the fit of his grey joggers, and moulded the cotton fabric even further to his muscular thighs. Her eyes were drawn to where the front of his pants was stretched tight over his groin and his sizable… package... which a keen observer couldn’t help but notice. And Hermione had always been a keen… uh… observer.
She wrenched her gaze up to his face, admonishing herself not to ogle. But damn, he was making it difficult today. The way his white tee-shirt had plastered itself to his muscular chest, emphasizing his pectorals, and then narrowing around his waist… and those low-slung joggers showed off his arse to perfection.
Hermione had noticed that particular part of his physique when he bent down to lift several boxes of books all at once. Those books were too precious to be shrunk, but luckily Harry was plenty strong enough to lift the boxes without magic… and the muscles of his back, shoulders and arms had flexed deliciously as he did so. And his derriere looked just …
Hermione blinked as she stared up at Harry’s face. Had he said something? Shit. Was he expecting some kind of answer from her? Shit, shit, shit! She had gotten lost in her dirty thoughts about his ass… again. Damnit.
“S-sorry, Harry,” she stammered out an apology as she felt her cheeks heat. Again! “What was it you wanted to talk about? A new case? Some Auror business? Anything I can do to help? Something going on with one of our friends? Or, um… something else?” She trailed off.
When she was nervous she tended to ramble.
Harry knew that of course and while he wasn’t quite grinning his lips were twitching. He held up his hands with the palms out.
“Nothing bad, ok? I wanted to say something …. about us, actually.”
“Oh?” Hermione croaked.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Nothing bad, like I said. But I’ve been wanting to tell you something… or rather, ask you something.”
It was so typical of Harry to circle around what he wanted to say as he gathered the courage to actually say it. Something about the familiarity of it, of him, made Hermione relax a little bit.
She still had no idea what he wanted to say, but she trusted that eventually he’d find his way to getting the words out.
“Maybe we should sit,” Hermione suggested. She pointed at the couch with a wry smile. There wasn’t anywhere else to sit of course.
She put her ginger ale down on the counter. They walked over to the couch and sat on either side. Hermione turned toward Harry. She tucked her feet underneath her, and pushed a loose curl behind her ear. Harry took a deep breath as if bracing himself.
Hermione knew she should wait patiently for him to speak but instead she found herself making a joke.
“Is this about coming out of the closet again?” she teased.
“What? No. No, I’m still bi,” Harry rushed to clarify. “Like I’ve been… like I told you.”
“Yes, I remember. Three years ago, I think.”
“You were the first person I told, you know?”
“I didn’t know that," she said. "And thank you. You know you can tell me anything."
“Yeah… yeah, I know… I think." Harry stumbled over his words. He stared down at his hands, clasping and unclasping. "I mean, I know I can tell you anything. But I’m just nervous that this will change things.”
Harry glanced up at Hermione, his expression earnest and anxious and hopeful. He carefully placed his hands down to rest on his knees.
“Change things how?” Hermione whispered. This conversation was making the butterflies in her belly perform some complicated maneuvers but she was NOT about to excuse herself to the bathroom. She would stay and hear him out, despite the awkwardness. Or maybe because of the awkwardness? It certainly piqued her curiosity.
Harry took another bracing breath and then turned fully to face her. His eyes were blazing with conviction.
“Hermione, I like you," he said. "I like you as more than a friend. To be honest I have for a while.”
Harry's words flew out and zoomed in a close orbit around Hermione’s head making her feel lightheaded.
Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
Was it possible that her unrequited crush on her best friend was actually…. requited?
When Hermione didn’t say anything, Harry continued. “I haven’t said anything until now, and I realize that this might be a bit of a shock… but I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. Whenever I’m around you I feel like I want to grab you and kiss you, smell your neck, lick, suck… Merlin! I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m even saying.”
Hermione blinked and stared up at him.
Her silence was deflating his confidence faster than a Slytherin seeker catching the snitch.
He made to get up, presumably to run out the door and never appear in polite society again, but Hermione grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down onto the couch, this time he was sitting a bit closer. Close enough that her knee was touching his thigh. She kept a hold of his arm, slightly afraid to let go, because she didn’t know how she was going to survive this next part. Because now it was her turn to be honest. About HER feelings. Blimey!
“Wait, Harry,” she began. “This is a bit of a shock, but not the way you may think. I mean that - you don’t need to apologize. I’m actually really glad that you told me, gathered the ol’ Gryffindor courage and all that.”
They both chuckled. He relaxed a bit more into the couch and she let go of his arm, her hand caressing down his wrist and over his knuckles before retreating back to her lap.
“I… well… I like you, too,” she admitted quietly, daring a glance up at him through her lashes.
“Yeah?” he asked, as if he couldn’t really believe his luck.
“Yeah,” she replied with a soft smile looking at him shyly.
They sat like that for a soft delicious moment, in Hermione’s new empty apartment, both of them full of anticipation, hope, yearning and desire. Finally Harry reached out and caressed her cheek with his calloused fingers.
“Does that mean…” His gaze flicked down to her mouth and back up to look into her eyes. "I can kiss you?” he asked.
Hermione looked away, fluttering her eyelashes bashfully while he cradled her cheek with his hand.
“I… yeah, I think so,” she whispered in reply. Then she nuzzled her face into his palm.
His hand moved to the back of her neck and he leaned forward. Hermione held her breath as Harry's face get closer, his attention focused on her lips.
Everything was happening in slow motion.
She exhaled, her warm breath misting lightly over his lips, and closed her eyes.
Then their lips connected in the softest of kisses. The culmination of so many years of friendship, and the years of longing, which she now realized was not one-sided like she’d thought.
Their lips pressed delicately, firm and soft, seeking and responding. Again. Then again. Harry brought his other hand up to gently clasp her jaw and tilt her head in the way he wanted before he deepened the kiss. His tongue flicked out to lick the seam of her lips requesting entrance.
Hermione parted her lips for him on a breathy exhale and then their tongues clashed with a fervor that surprised them both.
In an instant the moment morphed from something soft and sweet to something urgent, heavy, demanding… and carnal.
Harry was kissing a hot wet trail down the side of her neck, his tongue laving, his teeth grazing her flesh (eliciting a delicious shiver that she couldn’t hide), his lips soothing the sting.
Placing his hands on her hips he made to shift her body down onto the couche, but then hesitated. Breaking away from her neck he looked up.
“May I?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, the enthusiastic content shining in her eyes. “Green means go.”
“Oh yeah? Green is it?” he teased as he shifted her body onto the couch and lay himself on top of her.
Hermione obligingly moved her legs apart to make space for him. She carded her fingers into his messy hair and tugged forcefully to get him to come back up and kiss her again. He obliged, enjoying her obvious ardor.
Harry's body felt unreasonably good on top of her. His kisses were spectacular. His hands squeezing and caressing whatever part of her he could reach felt divine. And where their hips met, the firm pressure she felt at her center (so decadently near, just a few layers of soft fabric between her weeping cunt and his hard cock) was revelatory.
“Merlin! Harry,” she gasped. “What is happening right now?”
Harry chuckled into her neck.
“I’m finally doing what I always wanted to do with you, Mi.”
His confession flamed hotly across her collarbones igniting a tenderness in her chest.
“You- you have?”
“Salazar’s bullocks!” Harry exclaimed and then sucked gently on her neck, releasing her flesh quickly so as not to leave a mark. “You’ve no idea for how long… how badly I want you, baby.”
His use of the Muggle term of endearment made Hermione tingle in the most delectable way.
She shifted her body against the couch to buck her hips against him. It felt so good. It felt so unbelievably fucking indcredible. And it was Harry! Harry’s thick muscular body, his large hands, his firm lips… it was him that was pressing her into the couch cushions with so much force that the furniture creaked in protest.
One foot was up on the arm rest of the sofa, her other foot dangling off to the side.
His lips were moving lower, over her tee-shirt, skimming down until reaching her shorts, horribly in the way.
His teeth closed around the fabric of the front of the shorts in a move that was unreasonably hot. And then he pulled the material away from her body with a growl.
Hermione giggled in surprise at encountering this feral side to him.
“Need to taste you,” he said, lifting his head, his eyes gazing pleadingly into hers.
“Oh, well, I…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she lay back and looked anywhere but the gorgeous wizard currently between her legs.
“Please, baby,” Harry lifted up a bit so he could look at her while his hand rested heavy and warm against her sex. “Let me show you how I feel about you.”
How could she say no to that? Why would she want to?
“Okay,” she whispered.
“You want me to taste you?” His voice turned husky, with a hint of darkness.
“Yes, Harry,” she couldn’t believe she was saying it. But it was Harry. She trusted him. And she’s been lusting after him for so long.
She couldn’t deny him anything. Least of all a chance to “show her how he felt about her”.
She wanted to know. She had wondered for so long. At times she saw the way he looked at her and she felt a loving tenderness shining inside. But other times he was so busy with work. There were days, even weeks, when she didn’t hear from him. When they did spend time together, which was almost always in a group setting he would open up to her about his frustrations with work, his righteous anger at what the higher-ups were doing at the Ministry. And she felt close with him.
But now, right now, it was different. They were tangled together on the couch, all limbs and heat, and carnal desire.
Harry had moved back down to press his face between her legs. Even through the jean material of her shorts she felt the heat of his mouth, the delicious pressure only he could give… to relieve the ache only he brought out in her.
“Yes, I want you to taste me,” Hermione spoke clearly despite the nerves and breathlessness.
Her hands went to the button of her jeans but he swatted them away as he muttered, “I got it, baby.”
She ran her hands up his arms, sank her fingers into his hair and tugged playfully. Harry gazed up at her with so much passion that she had to look away.
“Put your arms up over your head,” he commanded. And something inside Hermione melted at his dominant tone of voice.
“Oh. Okay,” she said. She lifted her arms up and rested her wrists on the couch armrest above her head.
Harry unbuttoned her shorts, his breath heavy with need and appreciation.
“So beautiful. So perfect for me, baby,” he assured her.
Hermione shifted her hips up so that Harry could pull her shorts down over her ample ass and thighs.
With a pang of alarm she felt her underwear slipping down along with her shorts and quickly caught the elastic in the back, pulling it back up.
The fabric of her jean shorts was bunched at her mid-thigh by his hands. His teeth deftly caught the edge of her knickers just as she was pulling them back up in modesty. He growled and his eyes flared at Hermione as she glanced down to watch her best friend in a tug of war with her over her prissy black cotton panties.
Hermione swallowed down her anxiety. She was mostly a confident witch, but she knew her body had changed over the years, mostly her hips, thighs and ass. With past lovers she insisted on darkness during moments of intimacy. But here she was, in the bright light of day, sprawled on the only piece of usable furniture in her apartment, with Harry Potter tugging at her knickers. It was… a lot.
She looked down. The sight which greeted her was highly erotic. A handsome wizard on his knees, his hands pulling her shorts down her legs, his teeth tugging at her panties.
He wanted to taste her. To see her. She saw the sincerity in his eyes. And the desire.
She wanted him.
Harmione let go of her panties and lifted her arms back up overhead. She felt Harry exhale hotly against her belly as he let go of her panties.
“Good girl,” he growled.
Oh.
That felt mmmm… rather lovely. She sighed and relaxed a bit more.
“You know what happens to good girls?” he asked. Her shorts had been discarded and his hands were caressing a trail of heat up her legs toward her panty-covered groin.
“N-no,” she admitted, hesitantly.
He chuckled and his fingertips traced the edge of her panties at her thigh while his thumb skated over her slit with barely-there pressure.
“They get rewarded, Mi,” he explained, patiently rubbing up and down her slit, deliciously close but still not close enough - with the (quickly dampening) cotton between his hand and her heat.
She moaned and twitched her hips up to get a bit more pressure on her clit but he shifted away.
“Keep your hands up there on the armrest. And don’t move,” Harry said. “Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll try,” she whispered.
“I know you will,” he whispered against her lower belly, his breath hot against where she ached for him.
Hermione needed to close her legs and rub her thighs together to relieve some pressure at her core but the way their bodies were positioned, with his torso wedged between her knees, she was helpless to do so. Instead she willed her body to relax against the couch, her fingers twitching overhead as she felt Harry’s stubble rub deliciously against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. It was exciting. It was shocking. It was everything… all her sexiest fantasies suddenly (finally!) coming true… on her moving day.
“Mmm, you smell so good,” Harry’s raspy voice against the sodden fabric of her knickers made Hermione shiver despite all her best efforts to stay still.
Then she felt his tongue stroking along her slit still covered by that hard-working bit of cotton. His groan vibrated against her pussy and her clit throbbed. She felt like she was burning all over.
“Ooooh Harry, please,” she whimpered, begging for something only he could give her.
“Shhh, baby,” he murmured against the skin of her lower belly. “I’m going to take these off of you. Don’t worry. I’ll take such good care of you.”
His words, his touch, his breath… It was all too much. It was not enough. It was a delicious form of torture and Hermione shuddered in anticipation.
Slowly, so bloody slowly, Harry hooked his fingers over the elastic of her panties and slowly… SO BLOODY SLOWLY… he pulled them down, down, down… He had to shift back so that her legs could draw together and allow the damp knickers to slide along her thighs, past her knees, over her shins and finally off completely. His hands caressed her skin the entire journey.
She lay panting on the couch, nude from the waist down. Her nipples taut, the tight buds clearly visible through her lacy bra and the thin cotton of her tee-shirt. Harry noticed immediately and his hands went to her ample breasts, palming them to squeeze and caress.
“These are magnificent,” he muttered. Then his lips came down to envelop her right nipple. Feeling the wet heat of his mouth through the layers of fabric Hermione moaned and pressed her legs together tightly.
“Tsk, tsk. You’re not supposed to move,” Harry admonished, his voice stern in a way that made her cunt clench furtively. He shook his head at her giving the right nipple a deliciously hard pinch. as his mouth moved to lavish attention on her left breast while .
“Ow,” Hermione whined.
“Aw, that’s all right,” Harry said, placatingly. His mouth moved to lavish attention on her left nipple, while his fingered continued their assault on the right. “I know you like it, baby.”
“Ugh… I do,” she had to agree with a gasp.
“If there’s anything you don’t like,” he said. “Use your colors. Yellow for pause and red to stop.” As he spoke he deftly divested Hermione of her tee-shirt and bra with admirable dexterity and startling speed.
“Yes. Ok,” she said, quiet but certain.
“Color?” he asked.
“Green,” she replied.
Now Hermione was completely naked. With her best friend, Harry Potter. And he was still wearing ALL his clothes. A part of her wanted to demand that he take off his clothes immediately. But another part of her longed to relinquish control to him and let him lead. She was achingly curious to see what Harry would do now that he had her sprawled nude on the couch in her otherwise empty flat in the middle of this hot summer afternoon.
His eyes were flashing green sparks as he looked at her body.
“Gorgeous. You’re unbelievably gorgeous, Mi.” His words were reverent and spoken so quietly she almost had to strain to hear.
Before she could come up with any semblance of a coherent reply to his words of praise, he was pressing his face into her belly and breathing her in like she was an exotic flower whose aroma was the headiest of aphrodisiacs.
His large hands grasped her knees gently but firmly and applied a small bit of pressure. She resisted. Just as show of modesty, a little challenge.
He looked up at her with a devastating smirk and commanded, “Open. Please.”
She couldn’t help but melt under the weight of his heated gaze. Her knees fell open, the left resting against the back of the couch and the right cradled in his palm as he gazed down at her. Exposed. Naked. Quivering.
He looked up at her face once more, this time giving her a look that was so excited, so thrilled, so boyishly charming … and so familiar. It was Harry. HER Harry. And oh gods! He was about to put his mouth on her.
Hermione felt her belly clench in anticipation.
He didn’t make her wait long. Harry was as eager as Hermione to finally get his tongue into his best friend’s pussy. His right fingertips blazed a path along her inner thigh until his thumb rested at the entrance of her sex. He gently rubbed her labia opening her even further to his hungry gaze.
“Stunning. Baby, you’re absolutely stunning.”
He brought his face between her legs and with the falt of his tongue licked a line up from her weeping hole to her clit.
Hermione moaned softly but plaintively.
Encouraged, Harry began to feast on her pussy in earnest. He licked up and down, tongued around her clit, applied the perfect pressure when he sucked it into his mouth… all while his thumb continued to massage and gently pull on her labia. It was filthy. It was holy. It was profane. It was profound.
Hermione could barely breathe, the pleasure so intense. Her mind was scrambling to keep up with the reality of this sexy marvelous moment.
“Oh,” she whined softly. “Oh please Harry.”
She was trying to keep still, not to writhe… to keep quiet. The experience was so unexpectedly erotic, as if by giving her mind the constraint of restraint she was able to relax into the freedom of the exquisite pleasure that was zinging along all her nerve endings.
“Yes, baby,” Harry encouraged. “You’re doing so well. I want to feel you come apart on my tongue.”
She moaned.
“Can you do that for me, baby?” he asked as he gently pushed his middle finger into her slick canal.
“Yes!” She gasped. The sensation was so rich, so… magical.
And when Harry added another finger, pumping them slowly in and out while his tongue applied firm rhythmic pressure against the underside of her clit, she exploded into the most exquisite orgasm she’d ever had in her entire life.
Her moans filled the small apartment alongside the heat and the sunlight.
Harry continued licking her pussy, his fingers slowly moving in and out. He seemed perfectly content to stay where he was for the rest of his life.
But post-orgasm Hermione felt oversensitized and needed to catch her breath.
“Harry,” she began, as she gently pushed his hand away. Her hands cupped his cheeks and she tilted his face to look up at her. “That was… well… It was absolutely incredible. I’m not going to ask where you learned to do that. But… wow. Merlin! That was… wild. I’ve never… I mean, not like that.”
Harry smiled tenderly. Then he turned his head to one side to kiss her palm, then to the other side to place a sweet kiss into her other palm.
“It was my pleasure, Mi. Truly. It’s something I’ve imagined doing so many times. But the reality was… well, it was much tastier than the fantasy.” His eyes twinkled mischievously as he said it.
Remarkably, after all that had occurred only moments before, Hermione was blushing again.
She shifted up to sit on the couch and Harry stood up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor. Kneeling in order to perform the most amazing act of cunnilingus. He truly was a wizard, in more than one sense of the term.
As if sensing that she was suddenly feeling awkward about her nudity Harry took out his wand and with a complex flourish conjured a satin robe in a deep red color. He carefully helped her put the robe on before sitting on the couch and tugging her down onto his lap.
He adjusted her body so that she was comfortably tucked into his chest and then sighed with obvious contentment. Hermione wanted to thank him, or to ask if he’d like her to reciprocate, but found that she could not form the words. She felt like she was wholly under his spell in the solemn silence as Harry held her tenderly in his arms.
For a while Hermione simply luxuriated in being held and relished the sensations as Harry stroked her back and sides. When she braved lifting her gaze up to his she was richly rewarded.
“You’re so gorgeous, Hermione,” Harry said, his eyes shining with tenderness and affection. “And not just that, you’re brilliant. Truly the brightest witch of our age. I just… I feel honored and I want to be by your side because your magic is going to change the wizarding world.”
“Harry, stop!” Hermione pushed at his chest playfully and looked away, Harry’s unexpected praise making her tummy flip with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. She tried to laugh it away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll show you,” Harry said. He gently moved her off his lap so they were sitting side by side. Then he lifted his wand again, mumbled a quick spell under his breath and a parchment appeared in his other hand. Hermione noticed what looked like a photograph moving on the page. He looked it over for a moment and then handed it to Hermione.
She took the paper from him, gave him a quizzical look and then looked down.
In her hands was a news clipping from The Daily Prophet. The headline read: Hermione Jean Granger Becomes the Youngest In History Minister of Magic
There was a picture of Hermione, a little bit older, a touch of white glinting in her dark brown curls like hidden gems of wisdom.
The Hermione in the photo was smiling warmly and waving, looking competent, accomplished and hopeful.
Hermione (the one sitting next to Harry on the couch) couldn’t help but smile as well looking at the photo of what was presumably a future version of herself.
“What’s this? she asked. “Where did you get this?”
“This is your future,” Harry said quietly, with conviction. “What do you think, Mi?”
Her smile got bigger.
He caressed her cheek with one hand while he lifted his wand bringing the tip up to her temple.
“Imperio,” he said, looking into her eyes.
Harry’s magic (his dark magic!) poured into Hermione, his will leashing around her mind, giving him complete control over her body.
She gasped but the intrusion being so sudden and unexpected she didn’t even have a second to react defensively.
Harry!?! Why in the world would you perform an unforgivable curse? And use it on me? She wanted to scream the words but couldn’t find the fortitude to break his hold over her.
Harry was not looking at her now, he was busy making complicated wand movements to materialize a stack of legal parchments that crackled with dark magic. Then he conjured a small table, an ink well and a quill.
When all the materials were arranged to his satisfaction Harry looked at Hermione. He winced with regret for a brief moment, but then steeled his resolve.
“Sign here,” he said to her and placed a black quill into her right hand.
She took the quill, her eyes filling with tears of frustration, anger and disbelief. Why would Harry do this?
Hermione looked down at the parchment in front of her. Her eyes, unable to focus through the sheen of tears.
Her hand automatically went to the Signature line that Harry had indicated. She signed her name. Then dropped the quill.
Harry quickly checked the document, then satisfied that all was in order he waved his wand to vanish all the items he’d conjured. Then he turned back to Hermione, his best friend and confidant of many years, his lover as of today, and his pawn as of right now.
“Finite,” Harry said quietly and Hermione’s eyes flashed as the spell holding her released. Rage, confusion and betrayal battled for dominance in her heart.
But before she could say a word Harry cast another spell.
“Obliviate."