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Hermione couldn't believe this was happening. In the summer before her final year at Hogwarts, she'd promised herself to let go of her desperate crush. Though she knew her feelings were nothing like a crush, she kept telling herself that they were. She'd had a crush once or twice. Take that stupid Professor Lockheart for example. He'd been handsome and dashing, and she'd believed he'd been some kind of hero.
It had all been fake: Ginny'd had a crush on Harry... It only brought her heartache, but not too much. When Ginny'd finally admitted to herself that her feelings for Harry were based on the projection she had of Harry, and not on the reality, it was more of a 'growing up', 'letting go of illusions' kind of thing. Hermione knew that wasn't the case with her, though. She knew Harry inside out, on some levels even better than he knew himself. And she loved him even more because of his faults, if that made any sense.
She knew early on that she was in danger from this scrawny boy. Sure, she hadn't expected that THE Harry Potter would be a geeky, clueless 11 year old, travelling on the Hogwarts Express like everyone else. But even before the Troll incident, she'd admired his heart. She remembered commenting him being an idiot for taking Malfoy's bait and risking expulsion to retrieve Neville's remembrall. In reality, she'd admired him. He wasn't even friends with Neville, Neville wasn't even there, but he stood up for him anyway...
Over the years she'd denied her feelings for Harry daily. She knew he saw her as his best friend, and she relished in the fact that he needed her. She would never jeopardise the relationship she had with him now by showing how much *she* really needed *him*. Besides, it sometimes scared her how she'd believe she wouldn't survive without him... and not just in the melodramatic way. Take Ron, she'd never really recover fully if she would lose him, but she knew that she'd go on any way. Harry, however, had somehow become such a large part of her, and she was trying to fight it with all her might.
Hence her intention of finally getting rid of those pesky feelings. Well, easier said then done. The summer had been the most boring one ever, being practically imprisoned in her own house, for security reasons; she hadn't even been allowed at the Grimmauld Place. She'd quickly read every interesting book available twice, and had started to read the novels of her mother's out of sheer necessity. All to keep her mind of Harry, of course. Hermione had successfully avoided those 'ridiculous books' for a long time, but was unprepared to what written words could do to her.
She'd always considered fictional literature captivating, and, if the author was any good, she could retreat in the world of a character completely. But those 'trashy stories' made her feel something she'd never experienced before. Sure she had grown up like any Muggle kid with tv, and had seen her share of movies with love scenes. But she had been, well perhaps a prude... sure, the scenes made her blush, but that was it. She remembered with distaste when she'd shared a dormitory with Parvati and Lavender; they'd often teased her about totally personal things like if she ever touched herself.
She knew that her title as Ice Queen of Hogwarts had actually originated from those two. No, she'd never touched herself, even until this very day. And when she read those rather graphic details on how certain touches could arouse you, she'd felt more then a facial blush. She'd felt tingles in her nipples she didn't even know were possible to feel. Muscles had tightened down there and she'd been grateful she was wearing a slip inlay... Of course this hadn't helped one bit as to help her system get rid of Harry, on the contrary.
Whereas before she'd simply wished for Harry to notice her as more than a brain, and in her more daring moments she'd envisioned how it would be to maybe get to kiss him, now she had a totally new knowledge that fuelled... other imaginary scenes. Just holding hands and hugs and a few kisses wasn't what she envisioned any more. Especially since the start of seventh year. Now she didn't only feel her heart tug painfully when she left her feelings unguarded for a moment. No, she not only ached for Harry to tell her he loved her too, she ached for him to *show* it.
The fact that he'd finally seemed to have grown into his body did nothing to help her get rid of forbidden thoughts. He had always been on the short side; in the beginning of fifth year she had even been an inch taller than him. But at the end of that year, he'd managed to be a few inches taller than her. Through his sixth year he continued to grow until he was a head taller then her. Despite of his growth spurt, he was still as skinny as always and though he was handsome in a sweet way, he was still gangly, though not as much as Ron had been. Combined with the fact that he still wore his out-dated glasses, it hadn't made him popular in the way Malfoy was popular with the girls.
Maybe it was the fact that he'd finally spent a healthy summer away from the Dursley's with Remus and Tonks (they had finally found a way around the 'protection'-conditions of calling Harry's aunt's where-abouts his home), but when he returned at Hogwarts that year, he didn't receive female attention just for being The Boy Who Lived. Remus had insisted on buying him expensive glasses, that shaded automatically with strong light and the frames were made in 'unbreakable' metal. The model was also much more modern and sophisticated. As for his scrawny form... he'd filled in somewhat, though not a trace of fat could be found, all sweet muscle. It would make any girl sick with jealousy, if it wasn't for the fact that they were to busy drooling over him.
The fact that he was totally clueless to the effect he had, made the attraction all the more stronger. He was the exact opposite of Draco Malfoy. The blond Slytherin's looks were remarkable and he knew it. He looked innocent, but definitely wasn't: a fallen angel. Whereas Harry's looks held the promise of something more dangerous, mysterious; when he was in fact as innocent as Draco looked.
Hermione had had the *pleasure* earlier this year of walking in on Harry when he was preparing for a Quidditch match. Nothing indecent, only his cape wasn't draped around his shoulders yet and he was in the process of tying his boots. Well, she always thought he looked most flattering in his Quidditch robes, but with him bent over in those tights, she almost swooned right there. A most un-Hermione-like thing to do, that was for sure. The fact that he was completely oblivious to the fact that she was trying hard not to stare at the perfectly cute bum was just maddening.
After that incident she resolved to find some way to stop her turmoil. Trying to get a full grasp on the situation she'd laid out a plan. It seemed a perfectly good plan at the time. She was going to get rid of the images in her mind by writing them down on paper, then burning the parchments. That would relieve her from those forbidden thoughts. It did for a while, when she'd written it down, except that she didn't burn them immediately, but she didn't read them either. Until last night.
When she'd arrived at Hogwarts, she had immersed herself in schoolwork and duties as Head Girl. It hadn't worked a tinny tiny bit, with Harry being Head Boy, and in most of her classes. But she couldn't shake the feeling Harry's behaviour towards her was somehow different. It irritated her that she couldn't pinpoint what it was that was bothering her about him, and Harry never left the number one place of thoughts in her mind.
That night she was going to burn the blasted writings; she ended up getting caught reading them... It was pure agony trying to act normal when Harry'd come back from a nightly walk. If it was because she had just been 'in the middle of something', or because his hair was even more tousled as normal, or because of the only light source being the fire and a candle just next to her... She'd consciously had to stop herself from just pouncing on him and devouring him whole.
That would've been a sight: proper Muggleborn Head Girl, exemplary student Hermione Granger, Ice Queen of Hogwarts, jumping her best friend Harry Potter, Untouchable Prince of the Magical World as a bitch in heat. She knew he'd promised not to get intimate with anyone, to protect himself, fearing what that would implicate concerning the many people who wanted him to suffer. She also knew she'd unconsciously followed his example, pushing away the very few who had interest in her.
But she didn't know what made her say what she'd just said to Harry. She was confused and very tired, and after finishing her round she had just one wish: collapse in her bed and trying not to dream about a certain best friend of hers. But next thing she knew she felt all the hairs on her body stand upright; she wasn't alone in the seemingly deserted corridor. Somehow she wasn't scared, and then she realised why: it had to be Harry. Goose bumps never left her body when she got confirmation and saw the familiar mop of black hair and green eyes appear as out of thin air, when he shed his Cloak.
It didn't help when he pronounced her name with that deep, sexy voice of his. If she were anything like those brainless fans of his, she'd swoon right there in his arms. During their little staring contest, she'd guessed he somehow had to have read her parchments. For the life of her, she didn't know why she had that thought, and even less why she just confronted him with that bold question. What was wrong with her? She didn't want Harry to ever find out about that shameful 'thing' she'd done, did she? And Harry would never have gone snooping in her things like that, would he?
But Harry's reaction said it all. She was horrified at herself that she allowed her instinctive amusement show, and it didn't seem Harry found it funny at all. Was he angry with her? Was he disgusted that she had 'used' him, in a way? Did he feel betrayed? She knew she would, if she'd ever catch Ron do anything 'with' her on paper like she had done 'to' Harry. She felt paralysed with a strange fear. Though by now she was used to being confronted with Harry's anger, this was different; Harry had an unfamiliar, almost dangerous glint in his eyes that made her shiver, if not from fear, from lust.
She couldn't believe that her fear was mixed with the strongest arousal she had felt ever. His green eyes flashed at her, unreadable, and when he grabbed her arm, a shot of desire flooded her. What was wrong with her? Next thing, she would be begging him to punish her? Oh, goddess, just the thought made her unable to react when he started to pull her through empty corridors. She was convinced by now that she had gone totally bonkers, and gave up on trying to make sense of this.
Scratch that; she did make sense of the situation: this was a dream! It was the only logical explanation: they were both acting out of character, and all the daydreaming about Harry had landed her in a fantasy dream about him. She'd read about those, she knew it was perfectly normal to have graphic dreams once in a while, but had never really had one before. It was a very real dream, but then again, it might have to do something with being a witch (Hermione's mental note: I'll have to research that sometime). She relaxed a little in that belief and decided to go through the sensations as they came to her.
Harry dragged her to a portion of the castle that she only had been in once before, on a weekend in her first year, when she'd wanted to explore every corner of the building with her favourite book as guide. They stopped in front of a door. Harry pulled out his wand muttered Alohamora, then said 'Voldemort' and the door opened. A double locking charm, but why would he choose that password? Well, of course, Hermione berated herself; not only would it be very hard to guess, but most wouldn't try pronouncing the name out loud, even if they guessed it could be the password...
Harry let her walk in first and was explaining his history with the room in a soft voice. She had trouble concentrating on the information listening to that voice coming from behind her, his mouth just a little too far from her ear to actually feel his breath on her. She didn't notice him taking her wand from her and placing it on the floor next to the door. He ordered her to take of her shoes before entering the room further, and without questioning the reason she complied.
Tension was building again, uncertainty flooded her for a moment, but she was determined not to show it, and let 'dream Harry' take charge. She wanted her fictional Harry to do to her whatever wicked things he had in mind for her, and realised her panties felt quite humid. Dream or not, it was a bit embarrassing that she was already that aroused without having 'done' anything. She didn't dare break the sensual spell that seemed to linger between them by speaking up, so she kept quiet. The familiar voice continued in an alien, almost breathless intonation.
'Do you know what you're doing to me, Hermione? I mean, you're one of my best friends, and here I am trying to ignore how you make me feel, because you're my friend and I'm not supposed to think thoughts like that. I'm supposed to respect you, I mean I do respect you. And I'm constantly mentally punishing myself, and I don't know what game you're playing... But I'm lost here... then you let me read those things/
She wanted to scream at him that she did no such thing. He had no business in her bedroom. She would be mortified enough that he should find them outside her dream world. But he was circling slowly around her while making his little speech, making her feel like a pray of some sort. The thing was, she liked how he made her feel almost submissive, how she was struggling with herself so as not to slap him right then and there. She liked not knowing what he'd do to her. She trusted this boy with her life, she trusted he wouldn't ever intentionally hurt her, certainly not in her own dreams; she was so hopelessly devoted to him in so many ways, she was only afraid that she might lose herself in him.
In the mean time this boy behind her was causing havoc on her senses by whispering right next to her ear: 'Do you want me to make you feel the way I felt when I read them, 'Mione? Totally powerless, stripped naked? Do you?' He was standing in front of her now.
She looked into his eyes, silently pleading him not to expect an actual answer, but she didn't push him away when he brought up both hands behind her head. She anticipated to get kissed, at least, but he brought his lips next to her ear again, while unfastening her hair from her tight bun. 'You can command me with just a look, do you know that? One word from you and I'd do anything...'
He retreated a little, making her shiver and brought his hands to the front of her school robes. He took his time unfastening the robe, all the while looking into her eyes, waiting for her to indicate he was seriously overstepping his boundaries, here. She made no motion, soon her jumper followed the robe. He loosened her tie just a bit and pulled the collar of her blouse up. He started, still excruciatingly slow, to unbutton her shirt. When he'd freed the last button after pulling the front out of her skirt he let it hang loose, while starting to feel his way around her waist searching where he could unfasten the skirt.
Hermione's breath meanwhile was slightly irregular. She fought the urge to retaliate and shed some of his clothing too. Letting Harry take charge of this entirely gave her a thrill she hadn't expected. She also wished he'd work a little bit faster, but this was 'dream Harry'. So either her conscious was giving her a way out of this immoral business of her subconscious, by giving her ample chances to stop, or her dream self was really enjoying being teased to death.
After her skirt had left her in her simple white cotton knickers, he'd brought his hands back to her blouse taking it of, leaving the Gryffindor tie on. Before he went to unfasten her bra, he took her long hair from behind her back and draped it over her clothed breasts. He gently unhooked her remaining top clothing and slid the straps from her shoulders. Her hair was successfully hiding the part of her body he'd just unclothed. He was standing behind her again and put his palms on her back. He alternated smoothly between feather light and massaging touches over her back, her shoulders and her arms.
Hermione felt like in heaven, she'd never in a million years guessed that these gentle caresses combined with the heath radiating from his body behind her would feel like this. His hands slid down her arms and cupped her own hands. He brought them away from her body, so that her arms were now hovering a few good inches from her sides. When he let go of her hands he put his hands on her hips. She kept her arms where he left them, and he slid them over her sides to just above the height of her breasts. Agonisingly slow he lowered them, caressing the skin he encountered thoroughly.
The proximity of his fingers to her breasts made her nipples harden almost painfully for a moment. Harry let his hands rest on her hips once more. His right hand came around to rest on her stomach, while she felt his body heat move itself to her side. His left hand trailed after with that movement, dropping, a little lower, so that he was brushing her bottom through her knickers lightly, causing goose bumps to form on the covered skin he let his fingers travel on. He stood before her once more, again resting his hands on her hips.
They locked gazes when he reached up to gather her hair and pulling it back over her shoulders. When he let go her curls tickled her back, but his eyes didn't lower, yet. It was as if he paused to see permission in her stare. After a moment he brought his hands up until his fingers touched the underside of her breasts. When he finally did look down, her nipples were already aching. He took the tie in his left hand and tickled the skin around her belly button with the tip of the cloth. His right hand was around her side, his thumb caressing the underside of her left breast.
Hermione couldn't take much of this anymore and was about to plead with him to get going already, when he let her tie loose and cupped her breasts with both hands. She let out a breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding, and gasped immediately after that, when his thumbs - at last - found their way to her nipples. He seemed to be examining them with an intensity in his gaze that reminded her of how he looked when he was chasing the snitch or, on rare occasions, when he was concentrating on difficult homework. When he had exhausted the number of ways he could caress the sensitive skin, he brought his palms up and let them slide warmly from her shoulders over her chest back to her hips.
She had been having trouble breathing normally, but was desperately trying to stop moans begging to escape her throat during the wonderful sensations caused by his fingers. His right hand came up again, curling his fingers around the knot in her necktie. Pulling her slightly towards him, she was acutely reminded of the fact that he was fully clothed, except for his robes. He buried his nose in her hair when he whispered: 'Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?' Well, now she was sure she was just dreaming...
He let his hands travel to her back, his head resting somewhere above her shoulder. He almost tenderly 'grabbed her but', and kneaded the flesh slowly for a moment. He resumed caressing her lightly through her knickers and descended to the upper part of her thighs. He moved his fingers slowly in circles from the outside to the inside. She was grateful he was standing closer to her, because her balance was starting to falter, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.
He must have felt her stumble slightly because he ceased his activity and when she had gained control over her knees again, stepped a little away from her. She almost groaned when he took hold of her necktie again and led her towards one of the beds, the only one with something resembling a mattress. He made her kneel on one of the beds facing the end of the bed (also facing the door). He knelt behind her and cupped her hands again. He brought them up to the closest bedpost and curled her fingers around it.
He adjusted their position so that she wasn't slightly bending over to reach the post, but upright with her bare back firmly against his clothed chest. He had gathered her hair over one shoulder, so that it tickled her left breast, and his breath tickled her right shoulder. His knees were between hers. She closed her eyes and imagined the scene he'd just created in her mind. Hermione: her hair wild on her left shoulder, her head slightly tilted to the left, her mouth slightly open, her tongue wetting her lips, her eyes closed, not wanting to see the door for fear that somehow someone might walk in... She was only wearing white cotton knickers and innocent looking knee socks, the only colourful clothing item, her Gryffindor necktie. She was on her knees before Harry, who was fully clothed in dark colours, creating a contrast with the innocent pale bare flesh. Her knees were a little too far apart to be decent for an English lady, but then again, nothing in this situation was.
She cracked her eyes open and saw a mop of black hair descending to the hollow between her shoulder and neck. His breath and then finally his lips made her feel everything she felt before the little interruption of changing positions, back in full force. While his mouth feasted on the skin of her neck, earlobe and shoulder, his fingers alternated swiftly from her chest to her thighs, to her feet beside him and back up again. When he finally slowed down his hands moved to the inside of her thighs and slowly crept up to the one place he hadn't yet touched.
She felt as if the anticipation would kill her and couldn't concentrate on anything then his hands and where she wanted them...
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