Harry Potter Porn Story: Complete certitude

Harry Potter Porn Story: Complete certitude

involve his pining after Hermione and hating Harry.

Things had almost worked out for the best for all of them. Almost, that is, except for one clearly important aspect of Hermione and Harry’s relationship.

It wasn’t that Harry wasn’t attentive – he was, very much so. She never considered that he didn’t love her, because she knew that he did. His schedule was often busy, what with classes, Quidditch, and the occasional thoughts of not being able to defeat Voldemort. Still, she had reasoned enough that a solution couldn’t interfere with any of these things for long.

The problem was that Harry Potter, one of the most passionate boys she had ever had the luxury of knowing personally, had a bit of trouble touching his own girlfriend. He kissed her, of course, and hugged her, but that was the extent of it. There could be several logical reasons for this, Hermione knew, but every time she managed to start speaking up about it, Harry became disgruntled and ambled off to do something else. If she were a different type girl, one who was not sure of her boyfriend’s love for her, then she might feel as if something were terribly wrong with her.

Nevertheless, Hermione had trouble accepting this, because it meant that something was wrong with Harry. Perhaps wrong was not the accurate description for this situation, but something was definitely amiss. She had briefly considered that Harry was afraid of intimacy, which she would certainly understand, considering the fact that Harry had rarely had the opportunity to get very close to people and when he had… they had been taken from him. And she hated to think of Harry as a boy who was fearless, like everyone else did, but the fact of the matter was that he was Harry Potter – not just The Boy Who Lived, but the Boy Who Had Faced and Overcome Many Obstacles in His Life. To think that he was not every inch the Gryffindor that he had tried to prove himself to be since the Sorting Hat almost sorted him into Slytherin was just… that seemed wrong.

There was no ignoring the fact that despite all of this, or perhaps because of all of it, the relationship had been going on for year and Harry still had a problem. An Unnamed problem, at present, and if Hermione was good at anything, it was both patience (which she felt had been tested many times, especially in these last few months) and the innate ability to find good solutions.

* * *

Easter holidays, seventh year, N.E.W.T.s looming darkly a mere couple of months away, and the Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had nothing on her mind except to seduce her boyfriend. Yesterday, Monday, when most of Gryffindor and further, Hogwarts, had been cleared out, Hermione had sat down next to Harry on their preferred sofa in the common room and, for lack of a better phrase, grabbed at him.

This, she learned rather quickly, is not the thing to do to a boy who is gazing thoughtfully into a fire with his mind a universe away. Harry had squeaked and jumped and thrust his wand at her before he even thought about what he was doing, much like the way he did a lot of things. Her own face had turned an embarrassing shade of rose before he was even able to catch his breath. There had been an awkward moment of silence, then a couple of mumbled apologies from both of them, immediately followed by Harry’s need to be in bed although the sun had just set.

* * *

Early the next morning, Tuesday, Hermione had written a very neat note with a message that was short and to the point:

Fluffy’s Chamber, 11pm.

Since then, she had made a determined effort to avoid Harry. This also meant, much to Hermione’s dismay, that she had to avoid the Library, as it would be the first place anyone who knew her would look to find her. She had spent the morning and most of the afternoon inside her dormitory, but found it rather lonely and the silence too distracting for her to concentrate on anything but that evening. She did not want any of her peers to see her, and after much deliberation, she had made a decision as to where she would hide out next. In fact, she had taken the most extreme measure and had decided, for the sake of working everything out perfectly (without Harry demanding to know if something was wrong), to visit Trelawney in her tower.

Although Hermione had taken pity upon the strange person during the spectacle Umbridge had made at Trelawney’s expense two years ago, she had never made another visit to the professor’s tower until now. Just ten minutes of boggle-eyed conversation, plus the putrid smell of all those herbal candles, teas, and incense sticks, might have been enough to have shocked her system into not being aroused for the rest of the week. Somehow, she had stayed until twenty-five minutes before curfew and then stealthily proceeded down several staircases and through many corridors.

During her sneaky journey through the already empty corridors, Hermione stopped at the door of one of the vacant classrooms, thought better of it, continued, and then stopped again. Her body wasn’t in much of a hurry, but her brain seemed to knock jerkily inside of her head at the moment, if this indecision was any indication. She opened the door, slipped through it quickly and quietly, and slowly shut the door behind her, brown eyes already scanning the room for what her brain thought she needed.

* * *

She had always been a practical girl, doing things simply because those things needed to be done. This situation – this dent in an otherwise perfect relationship – was to be met in much the same manner, except with a completely foreign adult flare. Maturity, Hermione figured, had different levels. Tonight she would be embarking on a whole new level of maturity she had not before bothered with. Hermione was sensible, not sexy, so making herself think – convince herself and Harry – that she was sexy, had come to be a sort of fear she had been avoiding.

Courage and strength needed to be involved and possibly a different tone of voice and… movement. She was not an ugly girl. Often, when she was alone in her dormitory, she had vainly stood in front of her mirror nude and examined her body. Her skin was smooth and soft, her curves fine, but not sharp, and, if she were quite honest, she had lovely breasts that were perfect in both shape and size. Nothing about her body had ever provided her with any reason that a boy would not want to touch her.

There was, again, the dilemma of knowing how to move her body in a way that was not only sexy, but seductive. Sex, basically, revolved around behaviours and responses to these behaviours. A bat of the eyelashes, a twirl of the hair around a finger, a dip of the hip, could easily cause several acceptable responses.

Now Hermione stood in Fluffy’s abandoned, uncared-for, slightly dank chamber. Against a wall was a long mirror that she had transfigured so that it would fit in her knapsack. She stood, or rather swayed, in front of it with just her skirt and bra on, examining herself once again. Some of her tan had faded, with all the months since summer, but there was just enough tint of brown that her skin had a certain glow about it.

If she had been a boy, or even a girl who liked girls, Hermione would have found herself straining to touch a body like hers. Hormones had a way of reaching your nerves before your brain did, and she had the kind of body that a wide variety of hormones would reach out to. There was certainly, most definitely, without a doubt, no problem with her.

With a satisfied smile, she pulled on her blouse and buttoned it up, sashaying her hips with a skill that no one would have predicted in Hermione Jane Granger. If Harry was going to try to walk away from her after what she had planned… well, he’d have a bit of trouble walking without waddling. She laughed at the thought, imagining Harry running through the corridors with an erection threatening to explode in his trousers. The laugh echoed loudly in her ears, so she stopped quickly, winked at the mirror, and skipped over to her knapsack to search for something.

* * *

The watch on her left hand told her it was just thirty minutes until 11pm. After looking at it, she unbuckled it and tossed it in the general direction of her knapsack. As usual, she had everything ready in advance. She had “borrowed” a large and comfortable chair from the unused classroom down the corridor and it was placed in front of the eastern windows, turned so that the back of it was facing the windows. This, she had decided, would create the best kind of lighting to set the right kind of mood.

She lingered in one of the darker corners of the room, telling herself that she was not nervous, that she was ready, that everything would go perfectly according to plan, so long as she did everything right.

There was a soft knocking coming from the entrance to her right. Of course Harry would knock, he’s so polite. Remaining in the shadows, she cleared her throat and called out for him to come in.

From her vantage point, Hermione watched him enter the room slowly, wand held out in front of him. The light from the Lumos spell allowed her to catch those bright green eyes of his, darting everywhere for a sign of foul play. Mentally, she berated herself for not thinking about how utterly suspicious was the scene laid out before him. Harry slipped in anyway, gaze fixated primarily on the only object in the room that he could see: the chair.

“Hermione?” He ventured, “Are you in here?”

“Cancel Lumos and shut the door, Harry,” was her only reply. Harry turned toward her voice, but she clung to the wall. He did as he was told, and she saw and heard him whisper Nox and softly click the door closed behind him.

In the small pool of moonlight, Hermione could make out Harry’s silhouette and the shine of his messy jet-black hair. His head remained turned toward the corner where she stood, but the light reflected from his glasses so she could not see if he was focused on her or just the general area.

“Hermione, what’s going on?”

“Sit in the chair, Harry.”

Hermione watched his head turn, skeptically, without his body following the movement. The seconds that Harry stood there, evaluating numerous possibilities concerned with deception, she was sure, seemed more like heavily weighted minutes. Slowly, his hand dropped and he walked to the chair. To her amusement, he prodded the cushion with his wand and, after discovering that it was just a chair, turned around and sat down in it, albeit a little carefully.

“Okay?” Harry inquired cautiously.

It was possible, she assumed, that he was on high alert and ready to attack anyone or anything, if the way he sat rigidly upright in the soft chair was any sign. She proceeded to slink her way along the wall toward the door, the rustling of her robe rubbing across the stone of the wall filling the air loudly.

“Can you see me, Harry?” she asked, knowing that his eyes were on her, but clueless to whether or not he recognised her. Voices and shadows could play tricks on the mind, as both she and Harry knew all too well, but she was doing this on purpose.

“Er, sort of? Are you wearing your robe?”

She pulled her wand from her robe pocket discreetly as she approached the door, murmuring a complicated Locking Charm so they would not be disturbed. Once in front of the door, there was enough light so that, when she turned, Harry could be certain of who he was talking to. Hermione turned now and leaned backward against the door, toying with the strings that kept her robes closed.

“Temporarily. Are you comfortable?”

It was easy to tell that he was ill at ease, but Hermione figured it was best if he was. Confusion could delay his natural response of fleeing the scene with excuses. The double-sided locks on the entrance would help with this as well. Sure, it was a cunning thing to lock your boyfriend inside a room so that you could be intimate with him, but Hermione was hoping that he wouldn’t want to go anywhere anyway. That was really the whole point.

“I guess. It’s kind of dark in here, don’t you think?” Harry’s voice caught at the end of his question, signalling nervousness, as if he could read her mind. She ambled further out of the shadows, into the largest area of light, and without preamble, unfastened and dropped her robes to the stone floor.

Hermione could almost visualise herself as if Harry’s eyes were her own. As she continued to walk, swaying her hips as she stepped, she watched as his face bloomed with recognition, surprise, and then appreciation. He sat with his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide, staring at her naked body as she was bathed in the pale of the moonlight. She did not stop until she was standing between his knees and there was no possibility that he could see anything except her.

“Hello, Harry,” she said as softly as she could without whispering. Her words broke his eyes away from her breasts and they now flicked upward to her eyes for the first time. Besides this, Harry did not move. His hands were resting on the arm of the chair near her thighs. If he moved his fingers, he would be touching her, but he remained tensely still.

“Hermione, what – ” In a swift movement she leaned down and put her fingers to Harry’s lips, cutting off his predictable question. He continued to question her with his eyes, but she did not answer him verbally. Instead, she arched her hips forward and placed her knees on either side of Harry’s thighs, keeping her eyes fixed on his. Harry’s breath hitched and his eyes threatened to close as she pressed her chest against his, but he remained restrained. Hermione held herself in that position, looking down at Harry, imploring him, pressing into him without touching his lap.

His body struggled; she could both see it and feel it. Harry was holding himself back from her, literally, trying to shrink back into the chair. He had closed his mouth and his jaw was tight and adamant. His body was rigid and tense against hers, but she did not let this stop her. Until she had a reason, she would not stop what she was doing.

Without closing her eyes, Hermione placed her hands flat against Harry’s neck, thumbs on his cheeks, and bent her head down fraction by fraction, watching the response in Harry’s eyes, and kissed him. His eyes closed when her lips met his, but his lips lacked the tightness the rest of his body had. She allowed him time to adjust, kissing him so softly on his bottom lip that it was more of a breath than a kiss. She paused, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs, but did not pull away from his lips. Inch by inch he felt his body relaxed against hers, no longer shrinking away, but melting into her.

“What do you want from me?” The words brushed against her lips in a whisper, filled with anxiety and a child-like ignorance. She pulled her head away from his and looked down on him again. He looked up at her with bright, pleading green eyes that revealed more fear than she had ever seen in them. It surprised her that, of all the things for him to be scared of, he would be afraid of sex.

“Harry…” Hermione slid her body down his chest, sitting on his lap carefully, keeping eye contact. Harry was hard through his trousers and, for a moment, she was caught off guard. She had only felt him once, but he wasn’t at all hard. This was new for her. Harry’s look of shame and guilt tore her away from her surprise. With a roll of her hips, she gently rubbed herself against the length of his erection, teasing him and getting a feel of him both at once.

Again she was surprised, this time by the size of him. Hermione had expected… much less, but he was thick where she expected him to be skinny. He wasn’t terribly long, but he was long enough for her. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed and his mouth fell slightly open again, threatening to let pleased sounds escape his throat. He gulped and she knew he was being too self-conscious. She moved her face directly over his and slowly slid herself down his cock, barely touching it. Without pausing, she again rubbed herself, more firmly this time, up against his growing erection and, at the same time, kissed him fully on the mouth, not even waiting for him to kiss her back.

The moan that came from Harry’s lips almost sounded pained, but it was the first Hermione had ever heard and, in a sort of evil way, she found it to be incredibly hot. If she had to, she would tease and toy with him until he touched her, because more than she wanted him, she wanted Harry to want her. She wanted him to want her so badly that it hurt him to not have her.

While Hermione kissed Harry, she felt the shadows of his fingertips close to the naked skin at her waist, wanting to touch her, but still hesitant. As a motivator, she leaned back into his fingers as she slid down the front of his trousers. Her eyes never left his face; she watched him lick his lips as a nervous habit, and then her mouth was there again, over his and sucking at his tongue. In an instant, his fingers gripped her waist and held onto her as she pulled his tongue into her mouth and really showed him what she wanted and what she was capable of.

The sounds from his mouth turned desperate, replacing the agony that he had had before and pushing away his nervousness. Harry was becoming less guarded and more willing to go along with what he was feeling. Hermione, too, was slowly losing control; she had never kissed Harry liked this. It wasn’t just that she was naked on his lap and that he was hard because of her, but that he was touching her; he was into it as much as she thought he would be, and even though it was slow in coming, he was not just responding to her, but being proactive as well.

Harry’s hands, probably on their own, pulled her up the length of his cock again, with much more firmness than Hermione would have applied. She could feel every inch of him and nearly bit his tongue in her attempt to muffle a small cry of pleasure mixed with pain. The fabric of his trousers against her clit was rough and she had to stop him from moving her.

Her hands went down to his shoulders and pushed him back into the chair to look at him for a moment. His face, usually so pale with worry, except for when someone angered him or he had been flying, was now flushed with heat and passion. He didn’t open his eyes at first, but when he did they were wide open, bright and clear as if seeing her for the first time. Hermione smiled down at him and guessed that her own eyes matched his; that he understood that she did this because she loved him.

One of Harry’s hands slid up her waist, carefully, as if memorising the shape of her body, past the side of her breast – which worried her for a second – to brush brown curls away from her face and out of her eyes. She leaned into his hand, softening and melting against him, and kissed his palm. “Hermione…” His eyes searched hers, and he sighed. Her thumbs massaged his shoulders soothingly and she raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. She could imagine that he would want to apologise or even thank her for doing this; making him want her. Harry opened his mouth to speak again, then dropped his eyes to her shoulder and mumbled something she couldn’t make out.

“What was that, baby?” Hermione had never called him that before – or any other pet name, really, though she had always thought of him as baby, the way that he could be so innocent and needed to be taken care of. Now he seemed to be having trouble expressing himself; his eyes were searching for something over her shoulder in the dark of the room, but she knew that was Harry’s way of searching himself for the right words. She readjusted herself; slid her hands down his shoulders and to his chest, waiting for him to speak. He turned back to her, biting his lip, and looked up to her with a most pitiful expression.

“I don’t want to die a virgin, Hermione.” Inside her chest her heart could have broken into a million pieces. If any other boy had said it to her, she would have thought it was a line, but it was her boyfriend, Harry Potter. The chance of him dying before he had sex was greater than that of other boys. But beyond that, she knew just how he felt. It was possibly the most selfish, immature, shallow thought she had ever had her life. In her own mind, there was nothing more that she wanted to do than to show her boyfriend that she loved him before either one of them was killed.

She didn’t say a word, but nodded and kissed him again, more passionately this time, her body once again pressed into his so much that even his clothing was not much of a barrier. He was there to meet her, though, leaning up and grabbing onto her with more passion than she had ever expected from him.

As she poured her soul into one of their first kisses of this magnitude, Hermione lowered her hands to the fastenings of Harry’s robe and untied them, pushing the garment off his shoulders and down his arms. He did not resist; in fact he assisted in the removal of his robes by shrugging out of them and pushing them away. For a moment, he broke their kiss and leaned back to look up at her, green eyes wanton and expectant. Taking that as an encouraging sign, she dropped her hands to the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head, mussing his already tousled black hair.

Her own libido surged at the sight of his bare chest. Hermione had seen him shirtless before, glistening with sweat after a Quidditch match, but then there had been no chance of being close to him. Now that Harry had given her permission (mostly in the form of a particularly hard-felt part of his body between her legs), the thought of what they were about to do hit her hard, right in the pit of her stomach. She admired him with her eyes and hands, running her palms flat down the length of his chest. When her hands reached the top of his trousers, her eyes went back to his face to see his reaction. His eyes were closed behind his glasses, and his jaw was slack again.

“Harry…” She spoke softly, almost whispering, but he did not open his eyes. Instead, Harry leaned up against her, urging her to continue, and his hands slid down from her neck to the tops of her breasts. Hermione temporarily lost track of herself, moving her hands from Harry’s trousers to his thighs so that she could arch into his touch. Harry didn’t seem to mind, ghosting his fingers down over her nipples and underneath her breasts to cup them fully in his hands. The feeling in her stomach flipped when his fingers touched her nipple, so she lowered herself to catch the feeling of his hands there again, unconsciously rolling her head back in pleasure.

Harry raised himself up, squeezing her breasts tentatively and circling his thumbs over her erect nipples, and kissed the bottom of her chin. “Hermione, you’re so beautiful.” She looked down at him directly into his half-lidded eyes and bent to kiss his forehead that already a damp film of sweat covering it.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered against his skin and felt him shudder silently beneath her. Their eyes locked again, and their breath mingled and wavered between their lips, heavy and quick in the silent room.

“I love you, too, Hermione. So much.” His voice cracked and his brows knit together in regret. “I’m so sorry I haven’t shown you – ” Hermione placed a finger quickly to his lips to prevent him from saying another word, then replaced it with her lips, showing him that she forgave him. Harry moaned, caught off-guard, the sound ringing in her ears as he arched into her, opening his mouth and inviting her inside. She took advantage and slipped her tongue into his mouth, rolling it gently across his tongue until he caught up with her and started kissing her back.

Without taking a breath, Hermione returned her hands back to the front of Harry’s trousers, hurriedly undoing the button and unzipping the fly. Harry’s tongue became fervent and his kiss much more rough as she raised herself up enough on her knees so that she could easily slide his trousers down his legs. Both of their movements became quicker, Harry holding onto Hermione’s side while trying to help her tug his trousers all the way down to his feet. Caught in an awkward situation, Hermione laughed into the kiss and broke free, nearly bringing Harry with her.

“What – ” Harry blinked dazedly at her, confused, as anyone working their adrenaline up for sex would if they were interrupted. Hermione blushed a wonderful shade of dark pink and began crawling backward off of his lap, pulling his trousers with her.

“We can’t do this if you have even a stitch of clothing on, Harry. Give me a moment,” she replied to his half-question, easing herself to kneel on the floor in front of the chair. First she took off his shoes and socks – when she said no clothes, she meant no clothes – then tugged the remaining portion of his trousers neatly off of his legs. After she had finished, she crawled her way back to the chair, leaning on it between Harry’s almost naked legs, and ran her fingers over his knees, up his thighs, and under his boxers, gauging his reaction with watchful eyes, ready to stop if he protested in any way.

Luckily for her, and to her immense relief, Harry still didn’t resist in any way. She gripped at the boxers from the inside, pulling them down slowly and carefully, watching as more of his abdomen appeared, finally revealing the thin trail of black hair that led to more provocative places. Hermione’s gaze flicked up to meet his again; his eyes were glued to hers as if he were waiting to see a reaction in her, too. This did not worry her at all; he was her Harry and she would not be disappointed in anything he had to offer her.

Her eyes went down to his lap again, eyeing the bulge in his boxers that would soon be uncovered. She licked her lips and pulled the plain blue fabric toward her, over the thick patch of black hair, slowly so as not to harm Harry in any way. Unconsciously, she took a deep breath, but had enough wits about her to keep her eyes wide open. Harry’s erection emerged head first, and as she continued to pull, more of the thick member was revealed, until his boxers were down to his thighs and it bobbed up against his stomach. Hermione licked her lips again greedily, hungrily, and tugged the boxers down and off Harry’s feet as quickly as she could manage.

She had never thought that she would be the type of girl that wanted sex as much as she did right now. Hermione did not move her gaze from Harry’s cock at all, but stared at it appreciatively, like she had come upon some new way to defeat Voldemort. Climbing up back onto his thighs, she reached out to touch it, not really knowing how to handle it, but wanting to feel it in between her fingers. Harry, ever so helpful with things, arched upward to meet her hand as she was within reach, and she grabbed it tentatively. For the first time since she’d seen it, she looked up at Harry, who was looking both eager and in pain. He was so hard in her hands she wondered if it did hurt him to be so hard.

“Hermione,” he said with much strain, “come up here.” His eyes were squeezed closed. She did as she was told, welcoming someone else taking a little bit of control for once, but she did not let go of him. She planted herself on his thighs again, directly in front of his cock, and stroked him slowly, squeezing out the little bit of pre-come that had been built up and rubbing it between her fingers. He moaned, or rather, whined, and pulled her roughly against him to kiss her fully on the mouth, his hands harsh against the skin of her sides. Their naked bodies pressing against each other for the first time, Hermione felt the silky dampness of skin burning hot against her own flesh. If she wanted Harry before, she wanted him even more now that he wanted her, too.

Without wanting to prepare herself more, she ran her hand down to the base of Harry’s erection and held it upright, at the same time raising herself up. Gasping, she broke their kiss and paused, waiting for Harry to open those green eyes and look at her. He whined again, and pulled at her, but she held herself firm. He opened his eyes, so hesitantly she swore it had taken all his strength, and when he focused on her, she lowered herself down onto his cock, one hand gripping his bicep for leverage.

The two of them shared one single, shocked gasp; their eyes widened out of their heavy-lidded states, and before long, when Hermione had taken all of Harry inside of her, the air that had been trapped in their lungs came out as moans of pleasure. Hermione did not want to move, she wanted to sit like this, Harry inside of her, Harry looking at her the way he was, forever. She was afraid that when she raised herself up again, she would feel so empty that she would want this all of the time.

Harry must’ve recognised the look of anxiety on her face and pulled her close, allowing her to bury her head in the crook of his neck. “I don’t want to ever lose you,” he whispered. She wrapped both of her hands around his neck and nodded, unable to speak at the moment. He held onto her, tight and unmoving. He seemed to hear the words flowing through her mind and turned his mouth to her ear. “Do you want to stop…?”

She shook her head furiously, without thinking, her hair tickling the skin on his neck and chest. “No, Harry, I want to show you.” This had been, after all, her every intention for tonight. Taking a deep breath, she leaned backward and gave Harry a wavering smile. He craned his neck and kissed her on the tip of her nose, soothing her.

By now, the moon had moved just enough to strip them of much light. Some light glared at Hermione from the lenses of Harry’s glasses, so she removed them with the knowledge that he wouldn’t need to see, so much as he would want to feel. He blinked up at her and she had to wonder what his vision allowed him to see: was she now just a fuzzy image surrounded by brown ringlets? It wouldn’t matter, anyway.

Her hands went to his shoulders, gripping them with confidence and lifting herself up; emptying herself of Harry, feeling every bit of him that disappeared from her body. Harry’s eyes fluttered and closed, his hands held on to her waist and slowed her trajectory. He moaned softly through wet lips, and she felt what he felt, bending down to cover his mouth with a whimper before closing her own and allowing the feeling to take complete control over her.

It was difficult; she’d had no idea how it would feel and what she would have to do, but neither did Harry. They both had trouble letting go and experiencing things just for the sake of love, but this was what they were doing now. Harry, who couldn’t touch her before without freaking out, now gripped and lifted and steadied her. And she, she kissed him like she wouldn’t be able to after this was over, as if this were the very end and tomorrow would be the day that one of them would be destined to die.

Their movements were still slow and careful, up and down, and in and out, the only things quick about their love-making were their kisses and their breathing, because that was something they both knew how to do without failure. Hermione could feel Harry straining beneath her, around her, inside of her, and she knew that sooner than she anticipated, this would be over. His mouth became more insistent on her, his tongue plunging and feeling inside of her own searching for something he couldn’t find. She was close to coming, too, but she needed to do something more if their orgasms were going to happen at the same time, and that’s what the romantic in Hermione wanted.

Giving both of them room to breathe, Hermione pulled back from Harry and, without giving him time to waver and think, clutched his shoulders hard enough to leave marks and began moving up and down Harry’s cock faster with minute movements of her hips. Before she threw her head back, she saw Harry open his eyes and widen them to a diameter she had never seen before, and heard him intake a large gulp of air.

The rhythm of their bodies became frantic, rushed, both of them nearly shouting. Their moans and cries reverberated off of the stone walls. Harry leaned forward, into Hermione’s chest, holding her tight so as to keep up with her. She let him have control and trailed her fingers up his neck and into his hair, where she tangled her fingers up in his distinctive mess of black. She felt him almost screaming into her breasts, causing her to respond and react the same way, panting into his sweat-slicked hair.

As she held him, Hermione felt Harry’s body tense and she knew. She did not stop pumping herself up and down on his cock even though he stilled and clung to her as he emptied himself into her. All that she felt then was warmth and Harry everywhere and she was overcome. It was disappointing that he would come before she did, it certainly wasn’t what she wanted, but she wasn’t going to give up. Harry tried his best to keep going with her, but she squeezed her muscles around him, making her feel every sensation as his cock slid in and out of her. Then the warmth crept up on her, out of her loins and into her stomach and suddenly her body was hot and she was saying Harry’s name over and over in an explosive attempt to cling to something familiar.

Her body shuddered; her muscles twitched and contracted in a delightful way that made her orgasm last longer. Harry had stopped moving all together and when she opened her eyes and came back to herself a little bit, she found him watching her, amazed. She couldn’t see clearly, the blurriness of unreality not yet gone, her eyes still readjusting to a world without flashes of light. She was still moaning, quite loudly, and embarrassed, she quieted herself and blushed at Harry, who watched her orgasm so intently. The fine lines of Harry’s face came into focus and her body stopped convulsing, but she continued panting.

“Wow… that was so… I didn’t expect, I mean…” She closed her mouth and then laughed, partly embarrassed and partly because there was so much tension and excitement still inside of her. It didn’t help that Harry looked positively goofy while he tried to focus his eyes without his glasses on. He still hadn’t said anything; he had just stared, open-mouthed, since he orgasmed. She reached over his head to retrieve his glasses and put them back on his face.

“Thanks, uh…” He blinked and readjusted his vision. Hermione still sat with him inside of her, though the hardness had long since passed and the insides of her thighs were slowly trickling with come. Harry relaxed and exhaled a deep breath, then gave his girlfriend a long, searching look. “Hermione, watching you… do that… that more than anything could help us all defeat Voldemort.”

Hermione laughed, wide and open, and kissed Harry’s scar. “Well, I hope ‘all of us’ won’t be required to actually see me getting off.”

Harry’s expression turned serious and grave, his eyes hard and penetrating. Hermione’s smile faltered for a moment. “No, no one else is going to see you… like that. I don’t mean to sound so possessive, but…” He gave her a half-smile. “You’re mine, Hermione Jane Granger.”

“I always was, Harry,” she whispered past a sad smile. “I always will be.” Her arms dangled loosely around his neck; she leaned in to plant a short, soft kiss on his lips. “Always.” Harry’s arms tightened around her, as if he was determined to never let go, but Hermione didn’t mind. She clung back just as fiercely, unsure of how long this new-found feeling between them would last, nuzzling into his neck so that she could hide her tears. All that she had wanted from him was physical intimacy, but Harry had given her so much more: hope.

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