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Chapter 3 (Harry's Shadow), Chapter 4 (Magic, Shadows and Two Witches), Chapter 5 (The Triwizard Shadows), Chapter 6 (The Dragon, and The Shadow Mage), Chapter 7 (Shattered Friendships), and Chapter 8 (Passion After The Dragon) are already available for Patrons.
Harry's lungs burned as he finally pulled away from Hermione's lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The taste of her lingered—a hint of peppermint from her toothpaste and something else uniquely Hermione. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on her waist, suddenly unsure if they belonged there.
"Well," Hermione whispered, her cheeks flushed a delicious pink that spread down her neck and disappeared beneath her collar. "That was..."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his voice hoarse. His lips felt swollen, sensitive from the pressure of their kiss. "It really was."
The classroom seemed to have shrunk around them. What had moments ago been a spacious abandoned room now felt intimate, almost claustrophobic. Harry could hear the soft whisper of Hermione's breathing, could count each individual eyelash as she blinked up at him.
Hermione tucked a strand of bushy hair behind her ear, her fingers quivering noticeably. Their eyes met, then darted away, then met again. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly hyperconscious of how his body occupied space near hers.
"So..." Harry began, rubbing the back of his neck. The collar of his shirt felt too tight, and sweat prickled along his hairline. "Should we...?"
"Continue practicing?" Hermione supplied, her voice an octave higher than normal. She smoothed her skirt unnecessarily, fingers lingering at the hem. "Yes, that would be... prudent."
A laugh bubbled from Harry's throat before he could stop it. "Prudent? Really, Hermione?"
Her lips twitched, and then she was laughing too. The tension did not disappear, but now it felt easier to breathe.
"What would you prefer I say?" she challenged, her hands finding their way to her hips. The gesture pushed her chest forward slightly, drawing Harry's eyes momentarily to the subtle curves beneath her uniform shirt. "'Bloody brilliant, let's go back to throwing hexes at each other after snogging like that?'"
"Well, it was bloody brilliant," Harry countered, finding his footing in their banter. He took a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her lavender shampoo. "And I wouldn't call that snogging. That was... something else."
Hermione's tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Harry tracked the movement with an intensity that surprised even him. "Something else," she repeated softly, her eyes darkening. "That's one way to put it."
"Always the vocabulary expert," Harry teased, his fingers itching to reach for her again. Instead, he stepped back and retrieved his wand from where it had clattered to the floor—when had he dropped it? "Shall we try the shadow binding spell again?"
Hermione nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on his mouth as she retrieved her own wand. The classroom felt uncomfortably warm now, as though someone had stoked a fire nearby. Harry tugged at his tie, loosening it to allow more air to his constricted throat.
"Remember the wand movement," Hermione instructed, her professional tone belied by the flush still staining her cheeks and the way her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her shirt. "It's a downward spiral followed by a sharp upward flick."
Harry nodded, trying to focus on her instructions rather than how her uniform skirt swayed with each subtle shift of her hips.
"Like this?" he asked, demonstrating the movement sloppily, his mind elsewhere.
Hermione stepped closer, her body heat radiating against him as she positioned herself behind him. Her hand closed over his on the wand, and Harry's breath hitched. Their bodies aligned, her soft curves pressing against his back. Her breasts, small but noticeable, brushed against his shoulder blades as she guided his arm through the correct pattern.
"Like this," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. "Smooth and deliberate."
Harry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. The spell on his lips died as Hermione's free hand came to rest on his waist, ostensibly to steady him but feeling far more intimate than necessary.
"Smooth and deliberate," he repeated, his voice thick. "Got it."
When Hermione stepped away, the absence of her warmth left him feeling oddly bereft. He turned to face her, finding her eyes locked on his, pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of brown remained visible.
An hour later, the classroom floor was littered with the remnants of their practice—a few scorched papers, a chair with its legs bound in shadowy tendrils, and the lingering scent of magic hanging in the air. Despite their best efforts to focus on spellwork, Harry found his concentration repeatedly slipping whenever Hermione bit her lower lip in concentration or bent to retrieve a fallen quill.
"I think I've finally got it," Harry announced, successfully binding a desk leg with the shadow spell. The dark tendrils slithered around the wooden leg like serpents, then dissipated as he released the magic. "Though I doubt it would hold anything stronger than a garden gnome."
Hermione clapped politely, though her eyes betrayed her distraction. "Well done, Harry. You're picking it up much faster than I expected." She twirled her wand absently between her fingers, a habit she'd developed recently when thinking deeply. "Your magical control has improved significantly since—"
"Since touching the Goblet?" Harry supplied, setting his wand down on a nearby desk. "Or since kissing you?"
The blunt question sent a visible shiver through Hermione. She tucked her wand into her robe pocket, her fingers fumbling slightly with the fabric.
"Both, perhaps," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Though I'd like to think I had the more profound effect."
Harry's laugh was genuine but nervous as he stepped closer to her. "No contest there. The Goblet didn't make my knees weak."
Harry found himself moving toward Hermione like a planet drawn into a star's orbit. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for her, coming to rest tentatively on her waist.
"Harry," she breathed, her eyes wide and expectant.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his thumbs tracing small circles against the fabric of her uniform shirt, "and I will."
Rather than answering, Hermione stepped closer, eliminating the space between them. Her soft curves pressed against his chest, and Harry's hands instinctively slid lower, palming the curve of her bottom through her skirt.
The gasp that escaped her lips was nothing short of intoxicating—surprise and pleasure mingled in a sound that shot straight to Harry's groin. Her head tipped back, exposing the slender column of her throat as she pressed herself more firmly against his hands.
"Don't stop," she commanded softly, her fingers coming up to tangle in his perpetually messy hair.
Harry squeezed gently, marveling at the perfect roundness beneath his fingers. Despite her modest frame, Hermione's backside was delightfully shapely, fitting his hands as though designed for them. Through the fabric of her uniform skirt, he could feel the firm muscle beneath, the hint of lace that must be her underwear.
"Merlin, Hermione," he groaned, heat flooding his veins as she rolled her hips against him in response. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to touch you like this."
Hermione pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her brown eyes scorching with intensity. "How long?" she challenged, her fingernails scraping lightly against his scalp in a way that made him shiver.
Harry swallowed hard, suddenly finding honesty easier than he'd expected. "Since last year," he admitted. "Maybe since you slapped Malfoy last year. Or when we used the Time-Turner together." He paused, his hands continuing their exploration of her curves. "It's hard to pinpoint exactly when I started seeing you differently."
A soft smile curved Hermione's lips. "While I appreciate the Malfoy-slapping appreciation," she said, her fingers tracing down to the nape of his neck, "I've had rather longer to come to terms with my feelings for you."
Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of her skirt without conscious thought. "How much longer?"
"First year," she confessed, her eyes dropping to his chest momentarily before meeting his gaze again. "After the troll incident. Not many boys would jump on the back of a mountain troll to save a girl they barely knew and rather disliked."
"I didn't dislike you," Harry protested weakly, though they both knew it wasn't entirely true. His hands slid back to her bottom, cupping and squeezing with more confidence now.
"You didn't particularly like me either," Hermione countered, her body arching subtly into his touch. "But that moment—when you and Ron came back for me—it changed everything."
Harry felt a strange mixture of pride and regret. "That was three years ago, Hermione. Why didn't you ever say anything?"
She gave him a look that suggested the answer should be obvious. "Because you were busy dealing with Voldemort trying to kill you annually? Because I was terrified of ruining our friendship?" Her voice softened. "Because until recently, you never seemed to notice me that way?"
Harry winced slightly at the gentle accusation. "I've been blind," he acknowledged, "completely blind not to see what was right in front of me." His hands tightened on Hermione's bottom, pulling her flush against him so she could feel the growing hardness in his trousers. "But I see you now. You're the one I think about when I'm alone in my bed at night."
Hermione's sharp intake of breath was followed by a deliberate roll of her hips against his erection. "And what exactly do you think about, Harry Potter?" she asked, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper that he'd never imagined could come from Hermione Granger's mouth.
"This," he admitted hoarsely, leaning down to brush his lips against her neck. "And more."
"Oh...When we saved Sirius together last year," Hermione continued, tilting her head to give him better access to her throat, "flying on Buckbeak with my arms around you... feeling your heart racing against my hands... I knew then that this wasn't just a schoolgirl crush anymore."
Harry growled against her skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear. "And what is it now?" he demanded, both hands now firmly kneading her ass, lifting her slightly onto her tiptoes.
Hermione's answer came between shallow pants as he sucked lightly on her pulse point. "Something much more dangerous," she confessed, her entire body trembling against his. "Something that makes me want to break rules I've never even considered breaking before."
"Rules like what?" Harry whispered against Hermione's throat, his lips buzzing against her pulse.
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head back further. "Like proper classroom decorum," she breathed. "Curfew regulations. Appropriate student conduct."
A surge of desire rushed through Harry at her words. Hermione Granger, willing to break rules for him? He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, finding her pupils dilated with want.
"The door," he suddenly realized, glancing at the unlocked classroom entrance. "Anyone could walk in."
With reluctance, he released his grip on her and strode quickly to the door. "Colloportus," he muttered, hearing the satisfying click of the lock engaging. For good measure, he added, "Muffliato," remembering the sound-dampening spell he'd recently discovered.
When he turned back, Hermione was watching him with hunger, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her normally pristine uniform was rumpled, her tie askew, and her hair even wilder than usual from where his fingers had disturbed it.
"Very responsible," she commented, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk that made his blood run hot. "Ten points to Gryffindor for thinking ahead."
"Only ten?" Harry countered, closing the distance between them. "I thought ensuring privacy for ravishing the brightest witch of our age would be worth at least twenty."
Hermione's laugh was cut short as Harry reached her, his hands finding her waist and pulling her roughly against him. "Ravishing, is it?" she managed before his mouth descended on hers.
This kiss was nothing like their earlier hesitant explorations. Harry claimed her mouth with newfound confidence, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until they parted for him. The first slide of his tongue against hers drew a moan from deep in Hermione's throat, a sound he immediately decided he needed to hear again and again.
Hermione's hands flew to his hair, her fingers tangling in the unruly black strands and tugging just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain down his spine. Harry growled into her mouth, his own hands roaming from her waist to her back, then lower to cup her ass again, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh.
"You taste amazing," he murmured against her lips, nipping gently at the lower one. "Like peppermint and ink and—"
"Ink?" Hermione pulled back slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes despite her breathlessness. "That's your idea of a romantic observation?"
Harry grinned, completely unapologetic. "It's distinctly you," he explained, pressing his forehead against hers. "Books and parchment and knowledge."
"Only you, Harry Potter," she sighed with mock exasperation, "could make tasting like stationery sound appealing."
Instead of responding verbally, Harry recaptured her mouth, swallowing her laugh and transforming it into another moan. His tongue swept inside, more boldly this time, exploring every corner of her mouth as though mapping territory he intended to claim permanently.
Hermione wasn't passive in her response. Her tongue dueled with his, sometimes retreating to lure him deeper, sometimes advancing to explore his mouth in turn. Her hands moved restlessly from his hair to his shoulders, then down to clutch at his back, nails digging in through his shirt.
Their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and Harry could feel the soft swell of her breasts against him. He shifted slightly, aligning them more perfectly, and was rewarded with a gasp from Hermione as his growing erection pressed against her lower abdomen.
"Harry," she panted when they finally broke for air, her lips swollen and glistening from their kisses. "This is—we're—oh!"
The last exclamation came as Harry dipped his head to her neck again, this time letting his teeth graze over the sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. He worked his way down the column of her throat, pausing to suck lightly at the junction where neck met shoulder, careful not to leave marks that would raise questions.
Hermione's head fell back, offering more access as her fingers clutched convulsively at his shoulders. Her body arched against his, and one of her legs hooked around his calf, pulling him impossibly closer.
"Is this okay?" Harry asked against her skin, his voice so husky he barely recognized it. "Tell me if I'm going too fast."
Hermione's laugh was breathless, almost delirious. "Four years of friendship, Harry," she reminded him, her hips rolling subtly against his. "I think we've exercised sufficient patience."
Emboldened by her response, Harry captured her mouth again, walking her backward until she bumped against a desk. In one move that surprised even himself, he lifted her to sit on its edge, stepping between her parted thighs and pressing forward until there was no space left between them.
The new position aligned them perfectly, his hardness pressing exactly where she seemed to want it most. Through her skirt and his trousers, he could feel the heat of her core as she rocked against him, seeking friction.
"Merlin, Hermione," he groaned, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against hers, his glasses slightly askew. "You're driving me crazy."
Her smile was pure feminine satisfaction, a new expression he'd never seen on her face before—confident, seductive, and utterly bewitching.
"Good," she whispered, her hands sliding down to tug his shirt from his trousers. "That makes us even."
He trailed soft kisses along the line of her jaw, his lips kissing her neck, and finally reaching the bottom of her neck.
"Harry," Hermione sighed, her head tilting instinctively to grant him better access. Her hands remained busy, fingers untucking his shirt completely and splaying across his lower back, her touch sending pleasant shivers up his spine.
The first soft moan escaped her when his mouth found the pulse point just below her ear. The sound vibrated against his lips. He remembered how her earlier gasps had affected him and found himself hungry for more of those sounds.
"You sound beautiful," he murmured against her skin, his breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. "I never imagined you'd make sounds like that."
Hermione's laugh was breathy and uneven. "I never imagined I'd be making them," she confessed, her fingers threading through his hair again. "At least not outside of my dreams."
Harry smiled against her throat. "You've dreamed about this?" he asked, nipping gently at her earlobe.
The sharp intake of breath was answer enough, but Hermione elaborated between increasingly shallow pants. "More often than I care to admit. Especially after we saved Sirius—oh!"
Her explanation dissolved into a wordless exclamation as Harry's exploration brought him to a spot at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her entire body shuddered against him, her fingers tightening reflexively in his hair.
"Found something interesting, have we?" Harry teased, his confidence surging as he returned his attention to that particular spot, alternating between gentle suction and the light scrape of teeth.
Hermione's response was unintelligible, her usual articulate vocabulary reduced to broken syllables and gasps. Her legs, still parted with Harry standing between them, wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer against her.
"I never knew," Harry confessed between kisses to the sensitive area, "that the famous Hermione Granger could be rendered speechless."
This comment seemed to penetrate her haze of pleasure. "Shut up, Potter," she managed, though the command held no heat. "Less talking, more—ah!"
Harry had returned to that magical spot with renewed focus, this time sucking with enough pressure to leave a mark. The resulting sound that tore from Hermione's throat was unlike anything he'd heard before—halfway between a gasp and a moan, high-pitched and desperate.
"What was that?" he asked, pulling back just enough to observe her flushed face. "More what? I believe you were giving me instructions, Professor Granger."
Hermione's eyes, usually so bright and alert, were heavy-lidded and dazed. "I—I can't think when you do that," she admitted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "It's not fair."
"Not fair?" Harry repeated, his grin turning wolfish. "The brightest witch of our age complaining that something's making it hard to think? Now I've heard everything."
He returned his attention to her neck, this time experimenting with different pressures and techniques, mentally cataloging which drew the strongest reactions. When he found a particularly effective combination—a gentle bite followed by soothing circles with his tongue—Hermione's knees actually buckled. Only her seated position on the desk and her legs around his waist kept her upright.
"Harry," she gasped, her voice taking on a pleading quality he'd never heard before. "Please—"
Harry pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, finding her eyes dark with desire and her lips parted.
"Please what, Hermione?" he asked softly, his hands moving to cradle her face. In the fading light of the classroom, with her hair wild around her flushed face, she had never looked more beautiful.
"Please touch me," Hermione whispered, her academic confidence momentarily replaced by vulnerable desire. "Properly."
Harry glanced at their current position, perched precariously on a student desk. "Not here," he decided, his gaze landing on the teacher's desk at the front of the room—larger, sturdier, and somehow more forbidden.
Without warning, he wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist and lifted her, causing her to squeal in surprise and cling to his shoulders.
"Always wanted to sit at the teacher's desk," Harry quipped as he set her down, quickly sweeping aside stacks of parchment and a forgotten inkwell.
"How very rebellious of you," Hermione retorted, her eyes sparkling as she reached for his school robe. "Though I suspect this isn't what Professor McGonagall had in mind for classroom use."
Harry's laugh turned into a sharp intake of breath as Hermione's fingers made quick work of his robe, pushing it off his shoulders to pool on the floor. Her efficiency surprised him, though he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less from someone who approached every task with such focused determination.
"In a hurry, are we?" he teased, his voice catching as her hands moved to his tie, loosening it.
Hermione rolled her eyes, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. "Four years, Harry. I've been imagining this for four years."
As she unbuttoned his shirt with nimble fingers, Harry watched her face—the concentration, the anticipation, the way her lower lip caught between her teeth when the final button gave way.
"Oh," she breathed as she pushed the fabric aside, her hands coming to rest against his bare chest. "You're... wow."
Harry felt a moment of self-consciousness followed by pride as Hermione's fingers traced the definition of muscles earned through years of Quidditch training. He wasn't bulky by any means, but the lean strength of a Seeker was evident in his shoulders and abdomen.
"Not bad for a scrawny kid from the cupboard, eh?" he joked, though there was a hint of genuine vulnerability beneath the humor.
Hermione's eyes flashed at the reference to his childhood, a fierce protectiveness momentarily eclipsing her desire. "You were never just that," she said firmly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sternum, directly over his heart.
The tenderness of the gesture nearly undid him. Harry cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply before pulling back to address the inequality in their state of undress.
"Your turn," he murmured, fingers finding the top button of her blouse.
Where Hermione had been efficient, Harry was deliberate. Each button revealed a new sliver of skin—first the hollow of her throat, then the upper curve of her modest cleavage encased in simple white cotton. His fingers trembled slightly, not from inexperience but from the overwhelming significance of the moment.
"You're shaking," Hermione observed softly, her own hands coming to rest on his forearms.
"I just can't believe this is happening," Harry admitted, pausing halfway down her blouse. "That you want this. Want me."
Hermione's smile was equal parts tenderness and exasperation. "Harry Potter," she said, guiding his hands to continue their work, "for someone so perceptive about Dark wizards and magical threats, you can be remarkably oblivious about certain things."
As the last button gave way, Harry swallowed hard at the sight of Hermione's smooth skin and the gentle curves contained by her practical bra.
"I'm not oblivious now," he promised, pushing the fabric from her shoulders with reverent hands.
The classroom's fading light cast Hermione in a golden glow as she sat before him, perched on the edge of the teacher's desk in nothing but her skirt and the simple white cotton bra that somehow seemed more enticing than any lacy confection could have been.
"You're staring," she whispered, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into her voice as her arms moved to cross over her chest.
Harry gently caught her wrists, preventing the motion. "Because you're beautiful," he said simply. "So beautiful it hurts."
A becoming blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck, disappearing beneath the edge of her bra. "They're not very impressive," she murmured, glancing down at her modest chest. "Not like Lavender's or—"
"Perfect," Harry interrupted firmly. "They're perfectly Hermione."
He reached behind her, his fingers finding the clasp of her bra. He paused, waiting for her nod of permission before unhooking it.
"Someone's been practicing," Hermione observed with a raised eyebrow as the straps loosened.
Harry felt his own cheeks heat. "Teenage boys talk," he admitted. "Seamus is particularly descriptive about... techniques."
Hermione's laugh was genuine but brief, fading into a sharp intake of breath as Harry eased the straps down her arms, finally revealing what he'd only dared imagine in his most private fantasies.
"Like I said," he breathed, his eyes taking in the small, perfect mounds with their dusky pink nipples already tightening in the cool air. "Absolutely perfect."
"The real test," she challenged, her voice remarkably steady, "is whether they feel as good as they look."
Harry stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup the gentle weight of her breasts. They fit his palms as though designed for them—not too small, not too large, but exactly right. The skin was impossibly soft, softer than anything he'd ever touched, and warm with the flush of her arousal.
"Better," he assured her, his thumbs brushing experimentally across her nipples. The resulting gasp told him all he needed to know, and he repeated the motion with more confidence.
"Hermione Granger," he murmured, leaning down to place a kiss on the slope of one breast, "always exceeding expectations."
A breathy laugh escaped her, quickly transforming into a moan as his mouth moved lower, finally closing around one sensitive peak. The sound she made—half surprise, half pleasure—sent a jolt straight to his groin. Her back arched instinctively, pressing more firmly into his touch as her fingers found his hair once more.
"Harry," she gasped as he laved her nipple with his tongue before gently scraping it with his teeth. "That's—oh!—that's wonderful."
Encouraged, Harry devoted himself to learning what drew the strongest reactions—which touches made her breath hitch, which made her fingers tighten in his hair, which made her whisper his name like a prayer. He switched his attention to her other breast, giving it the same thorough appreciation while his hand continued to caress the first, rolling and pinching the damp nipple between his fingers.
"I've imagined this," he confessed against her skin, his voice rough with desire. "During History of Magic. While you're taking notes, looking all serious and proper, I've imagined what you'd look like like this."
The admission seemed to thrill her. Hermione's head fell back, her inhibitions visibly dissolving as she gave herself over to the sensations he was creating. Her hips shifted restlessly against the edge of the desk, seeking pressure where she needed it most.
"And," she panted, her usual articulate speech fragmented by pleasure, "does reality—ah!—meet expectations?"
Harry pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hands still caressing her breasts with gentle insistence. "Reality," he said with absolute certainty, "makes fantasy look like a poor imitation."
Harry then started mapping her body with his hands, she moaned slightly as his hands touched her arse and her waist.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Harry murmured against her collarbone, trailing kisses along the delicate ridge as his hands found the zipper at the side of her skirt.
Hermione's laugh was breathy, her head tilted back to grant him better access. "I was just thinking the same about you," she replied, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his trousers.
They paused, eyes meeting in silent negotiation before Hermione nodded, answering his unspoken question. With careful movements, Harry unzipped her skirt, letting it pool around her waist on the desk. She now sat before him in nothing but simple white cotton panties, the fabric noticeably damp at the center.
The sight stole the breath from his lungs. "Merlin, Hermione," he whispered, his thumb tracing the elastic band at her hip.
She squirmed slightly under his intense gaze, but there was no hiding the evidence of her arousal. "Your move, Potter," she challenged.
Harry accepted the challenge without hesitation. His hand glided up her inner thigh, savoring the silky smoothness of her skin. When his fingers finally brushed against the damp cotton covering her center, they both gasped—Hermione at the contact, Harry at the tangible proof of her desire.
"You're so wet," he marveled, applying gentle pressure through the fabric.
Hermione's hips canted forward unconsciously, seeking more friction. "That's what happens," she explained between shallow breaths, "when you spend an hour thinking about someone touching you, followed by that someone actually touching you."
Her matter-of-fact tone, so reminiscent of her classroom explanations, made Harry grin even as he continued his exploration. "Always the teacher," he teased, his fingers hooking into the side of her panties. "Even now."
"Old habits," she gasped as his knuckles brushed against sensitive skin. "Besides, you—oh!"
Her explanation dissolved into a sharp exclamation as Harry's fingers slid beneath the fabric, finally making direct contact with her slick heat. The sensation of her—so warm, so wet, so incredibly soft—nearly overwhelmed him.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice tight with restraint.
Hermione nodded frantically, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. "More than okay," she managed. "Please don't stop."
Emboldened, Harry began exploring her folds with gentle curiosity, watching her face intently for reactions. When his thumb brushed over a particular spot, her eyes flew wide and her hips jerked involuntarily.
"There?" he asked, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves again.
"Yes," she hissed, her head falling back. "Right there."
Harry devoted himself to learning her responses, discovering what pressure made her breath catch and what movements made her thighs tremble. When he finally slipped a single finger inside her tight heat, the gasp that tore from her throat was unlike anything he'd heard before.
"Harry," she moaned, her inner walls clenching around his digit. "More, please."
Following her cues, he added a second finger, stretching her gently as he continued circling her sensitive nub with his thumb. The angle was awkward, his wrist beginning to ache, but the sight of Hermione Granger coming undone beneath his touch was worth any discomfort.
"Like this?" he asked, curling his fingers experimentally upward.
The response was immediate and dramatic. Hermione's back arched off the desk, a strangled cry escaping her lips as her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through his open shirt.
"Exactly like that," she panted, her internal muscles clenching rhythmically around his fingers. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't—"
Harry repeated the motion, establishing a steady rhythm that had her writhing beneath him, her usual composure completely shattered. Her hips rose to meet each thrust of his fingers, chasing the pleasure he was building within her.
"Beautiful," he murmured, watching her face contort with mounting ecstasy. "You're so beautiful like this, Hermione."
As Hermione's movements grew more urgent, Harry was struck by a sudden impulse. With his free hand, he tugged at her panties, his intention clear.
"May I?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.
Understanding dawned in her pleasure-hazed eyes, followed by momentary hesitation and then resolute determination. "Yes," she whispered, lifting her hips to help him.
Harry slid the damp cotton down her legs, removing his fingers reluctantly to complete the task. Now fully naked, Hermione perched on the professor's desk, knees instinctively pressing together as a flash of self-consciousness passed across her features.
"Second thoughts?" Harry asked softly, standing between her legs, his hands resting reassuringly on her knees.
Hermione shook her head. "Just... no one has ever seen me like this before."
"I'm honored to be the first," Harry replied with absolute sincerity, gently encouraging her legs to part. When she complied, revealing herself fully to his gaze, he felt a surge of tenderness mixed with desire. The sight of her—pink and glistening and perfect—made his mouth water.
Slowly, giving her time to object if she wished, Harry lowered himself to his knees before her. In any other context, the position might have seemed subservient, but there was nothing submissive about his intent as he looked up at her with hunger in his eyes.
"I've never done this before," he admitted, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. "But I want to taste you more than I've ever wanted anything."
Hermione's breath hitched, her hands gripping the edge of the desk until her knuckles whitened. "It's not in Hogwarts: A History," she joked weakly, "so we're both navigating uncharted territory."
Harry laughed, the tension breaking momentarily. "We've faced worse odds," he reminded her, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "Basilisks, three-headed dogs..."
"This is definitely preferable," Hermione agreed, her voice catching as his kisses moved higher.
When Harry finally leaned forward, the first brush of his tongue against her core drew simultaneous gasps from them both—hers from pleasure, his from the taste of her arousal. Salt and sweetness and something indefinably Hermione flooded his senses, spurring him to explore further.
Her hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the unruly strands—not pushing or pulling, just holding on as if anchoring herself against the sensations he was creating. Harry took his cues from her reactions, noting which motions made her thighs tense and which drew those exquisite sounds from her throat.
When his tongue circled the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds, Hermione's hips bucked involuntarily. "Harry," she gasped, her academic vocabulary momentarily deserting her. "That's... oh, don't stop."
Encouraged, he focused his attention there, alternating between gentle circles and firm strokes while his hands kept her thighs spread wide. Each flick of his tongue drew a new sound from her—whimpers, gasps, and increasingly desperate moans that echoed in the empty classroom.
Hermione's breathing became more erratic, her thighs beginning to tremble on either side of his head. Her hands in his hair tightened, now guiding him subtly to exactly where she needed him most.
"Just like that," she panted, her voice higher than normal. "Please, Harry, I'm so close."
Harry redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving in tight, fast circles around her sensitive bud. He could feel the tension building in her body, the way her inner thighs quivered against his shoulders, the increasing urgency of her movements.
When he closed his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked gently, the effect was immediate and spectacular. Hermione's back arched sharply, her thighs clamping around his head as a cry tore from her throat—his name, echoed by her pleasure.
"Ha—rry! Oh—oh—HARRY!"
Her release washed over her in visible waves, her body shuddering as Harry continued his ministrations, guiding her through the climax with gentle persistence. Only when her hand tugged weakly at his hair, signaling oversensitivity, did he pull back, resting his cheek against her inner thigh as they both caught their breath.
The aftershocks of Hermione's climax gradually subsided, her breathing slowly steadying as Harry pressed gentle kisses to her inner thighs. His own arousal strained painfully against his trousers, a fact that hadn't escaped Hermione's notice as her gaze dropped to the prominent bulge.
"Stand up," she commanded softly, her voice still slightly hoarse from her cries.
Harry complied, rising to his feet between her parted legs. Though her cheeks remained flushed from her recent pleasure, there was a new determination in her eyes as her fingers moved to his belt buckle.
"Your turn," she murmured, undoing the clasp.
Harry's breath caught as she unzipped his trousers, pushing them down his hips along with his boxers. His erection sprang free, standing proudly at full attention, the tip glistening with evidence of his excitement.
Hermione's sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet classroom. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him—thick, long, and unmistakably ready.
"Oh," she whispered, a hint of apprehension mixing with curiosity in her expression. "You're... quite impressive."
Harry felt a fleeting moment of masculine pride quickly tempered by concern at her obvious nervousness. "We don't have to do anything more," he assured her, stepping out of his pooled trousers but making no move to touch her. "What we've done already has been amazing."
Hermione's eyes met his, a small smile playing at her lips despite her evident anxiety. "I want to," she affirmed. "I'm just... you're rather larger than I expected."
Harry reached out, cupping her cheek with tender affection. "We'll go slowly," he promised, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. "And we'll stop anytime you want. I would never hurt you, Hermione. Not for anything in the world."
The sincerity in his voice seemed to reach something deep within her. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders as she leaned into his touch, turning her head slightly to kiss his palm.
"I know," she said simply. "I trust you, Harry. I always have."
Her hands reached for him then, gently wrapping around his length with experimental curiosity. The sensation of her soft fingers exploring him drew a hiss of pleasure from between his clenched teeth.
"Show me," she requested, looking up at him through her lashes. "Show me how to make you feel good."
Harry's hand covered hers, guiding her movements with gentle pressure. "Like this," he demonstrated, his voice strained. "Not too tight, just... yes, exactly like that."
As Hermione's confidence grew with each stroke, her earlier hesitation transformed into eager fascination. She shifted on the desk, making room for him to stand closer.
"I want you, Harry," she said, her voice steady despite the vulnerability of the admission. "All of you."
"You have me," he replied, leaning down to kiss her with all the tenderness he could muster.
Harry positioned himself between Hermione Granger's spread thighs, both of them naked and trembling.
Harry's hand shook slightly as he guided himself to her entrance, still slick from her earlier pleasure. Their eyes locked, a thousand unspoken words passing between them in that single gaze.
"Ready?" he whispered, the head of his length pressing gently against her.
Hermione nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in that familiar expression of concentration. "Yes," she breathed, her hands gripping his forearms. "Slowly, though."
With exquisite care, Harry began to push forward, watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort. The sensation of her body gradually yielding to him was indescribable—hot, tight, and impossibly perfect. He had to fight against every instinct that screamed at him to thrust deeply, to claim her completely.
A small wince crossed Hermione's features as he breached her barrier, her fingernails digging half-moons into his skin. Harry immediately stilled, concern overtaking desire.
"Should I stop?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of remaining motionless.
Hermione took a deep breath, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation of being stretched and filled. "No," she decided after a moment. "The worst part is over. Just... give me a moment."
Harry leaned forward, covering her face with feather-light kisses—her forehead, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose, her flushed cheeks—anything to distract from the discomfort. "You're amazing," he murmured against her skin. "So brave. So perfect."
Gradually, the tension in Hermione's body began to ease. Her hips shifted experimentally, taking him a little deeper, and they both gasped at the sensation.
"More," she encouraged, her hands sliding down to his waist.
With careful restraint, Harry pressed forward until he was fully sheathed within her. The feeling of completeness was overwhelming—physically, emotionally, magically. It was as though he'd found a piece of himself he hadn't known was missing.
"Hermione," he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. "This is... I never imagined..."
"I know," she agreed, understanding as always what he couldn't quite articulate. "It's like..."
"Coming home," he finished for her, and she nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright.
After giving her another moment to adjust, Harry began to move—shallow, gentle thrusts that gradually deepened as her body welcomed him more fully. The initial discomfort on Hermione's face gave way to curiosity, then pleasure, then something approaching wonder.
"Oh," she gasped as he found a particularly effective angle. "That's... oh!"
Encouraged by her response, Harry established a steady rhythm, one hand braced on the desk beside her head, the other gripping her hip. Each thrust drew a new sound from Hermione's throat, her usual restraint abandoned as pleasure overtook her.
The classroom filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—skin meeting skin in rhythmic percussion, the ancient desk creaking beneath them, their increasingly labored breathing, and most intoxicating of all, Hermione's uninhibited moans.
"Harry," she panted, her head thrown back to expose the elegant column of her throat. "That feels so good. So—ah!—so incredible."
Pride surged through him at her words, bolstering his confidence. "Better than getting an Outstanding on your O.W.L.s?" he teased, punctuating the question with a particularly deep thrust.
Hermione's laugh transformed into a moan midway. "Much—oh!—much better," she assured him, her hands clutching at his back. "Though the—mmm—educational value is certainly comparable."
Even in the throes of passion, her academic mind couldn't fully disconnect, and Harry found it endearingly, uniquely Hermione. "Always learning," he teased, leaning down to capture one peaked nipple between his lips.
"Some lessons are—ah!—more enjoyable than others," she gasped, her back arching to press more firmly against his mouth.
Their banter gave way to more primal sounds as Harry's thrusts gained intensity, driven by Hermione's increasingly enthusiastic responses. Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him deeper with each movement.
"Harry," she moaned, her inner walls beginning to flutter around his length. "I think I'm going to—"
"Yes," he encouraged, his own release building at the base of his spine. "Let go, Hermione. I'm right with you."
Her eyes locked with his, pupils blown wide with pleasure, a thin ring of brown barely visible.
Hermione's climax took her suddenly, her body arching like a bowstring as she cried out his name. The sight of her coming undone, combined with the rhythmic pulsing of her inner muscles around him, catapulted Harry into his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and surrendered to the wave of ecstasy that crashed over him.
Time seemed to stop as they peaked together, their bodies tensing in perfect synchronicity before melting into shared bliss. Harry barely had the presence of mind to catch his weight on his forearms as he collapsed forward, preventing himself from crushing her smaller frame.
For several long moments, the only sound in the classroom was their mingled breathing, gradually slowing as they floated back to reality in each other's arms.
The wooden desk beneath them had grown uncomfortable, but neither Harry nor Hermione seemed inclined to move just yet. Their limbs remained entangled, her head nestled against his chest, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along her spine.
"That was..." Harry began, searching for words adequate to describe what they'd just shared.
"Magical?" Hermione supplied with a soft laugh, her breath tickling his skin.
"Better than magical," he corrected, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Magic I understand. That was... transcendent."
Hermione propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with surprised delight. "Harry Potter, when did you learn words like 'transcendent'?"
He grinned up at her, pushing a wild strand of hair behind her ear. "I do occasionally read books that aren't about Quidditch, you know."
"Could have fooled me," she teased, though her eyes were soft with affection. Her hand came up to trace the line of his jaw, her touch tender. "I can't believe we waited so long for this."
Harry captured her wandering hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss her palm. "Would you have been ready before now?" he asked curiously. "I know I wouldn't have been. Too thick to realize what was right in front of me."
Hermione considered this, her analytical mind evident even in her post-coital state. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "Everything happens when it's meant to, I suppose." A mischievous smile curved her lips. "Though we do have quite a bit of lost time to make up for."
"Is that right?" Harry's eyebrows rose as he pulled her down for a lingering kiss. "And how exactly do you propose we do that, Miss Granger?"
"Well," she murmured against his lips, "I've always believed in thorough research and repeated experimentation."
Their shared laughter echoed in the empty classroom, followed by a comfortable silence as they basked in the afterglow, neither quite ready for this to end.
Eventually, though, reality intruded in the form of the distant tolling of the castle bell, signaling the approach of curfew. With reluctant sighs, they disentangled themselves and began retrieving scattered clothing from the classroom floor.
"This will be easier once I've mastered nonverbal summoning charms," Hermione commented as she stretched to reach her bra, which had somehow landed on a nearby chair.
Harry paused in buttoning his shirt to admire the view. "I don't know," he mused appreciatively. "The current method has its advantages."
She threw his tie at him playfully, her cheeks flushing with pleased embarrassment. "You're incorrigible."
"And you're beautiful," he countered simply, causing her blush to deepen.
At the classroom door, Harry paused, his hand on the knob. "What happens now?" he asked, sudden uncertainty creeping into his voice. "With us, I mean."
Hermione's response was to rise on tiptoes and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, her eyes held a promise that made his heart race. "I believe," she said with a decisive nod toward another door across the hall, "that the Advanced Arithmancy classroom is always empty after dinner tomorrow."
Harry's grin was answer enough as he opened the door, checking that the corridor was clear before they slipped out, hand in hand, already counting the hours until tomorrow.
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