Walking, Alive

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of JK Rowling’s fantastically awesome characters, obviously...

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Harry gripped Hermione’s arm hard. They were in the middle of a deserted corridor of Hogwarts. Harry doubted Hermione had even ever been here, except maybe in her imagination while reading Hogwarts, a History. There weren’t any classes held in this part of the castle, though Harry had been here a couple of times before, wandering underneath his Invisibility Cloak at night when sleep refused to take him away.

Lately he’d been here more than ever, though the reason of his insomnia wasn’t what it used to be. Well, not all of the time anyway. Normally the cause was fear, fear of reliving the most horrible experiences in his life. The grave yard scene with Voldemort, Wormtail and Cedric had never really abandoned the realm of his nightmares, but Sirius’ fall had taken the edge out of that memory. He could blame Bellatrix, Kreacher, Voldemort, even Snape, Dumbledore, and so many others, in his heart he still felt solely responsible for the death of his godfather... And for all the misery Voldemort had caused since his resurrection...

His friends obviously tried their best to help him, and he couldn’t ask for more reassurance, but he had his weak moments. Hence his new habit of wandering at night with his Invisibility Cloak. On his walks he’d found an abandoned room. At first he’d thought it was an unused classroom, because it had a normal door, and not a portrait or gargoyle as entrance. But there weren’t any desks in it.

The room had been covered in dust, and it was clear no one had entered the place in ages, not even House Elves. There were several old four-poster beds, the curtains torn and heavy with dust. There weren’t any mattresses on them, except for one. Though on closer inspection it hadn’t been a mattress, but merely a bunch of old cushions covered by a grey-used-to-be-white sheet. The pillows on the bed weren’t torn, but there were several more strewn everywhere on the floor of the room that were.

The first time he’d entered the place, he’d felt as if he’d committed a sacrilege. He was entering some kind of shrine of old memories, not to be disturbed. It was strange to see those first footprints in the thick layer of dust covering the floor and know it were his. His first reservations about the room disappeared the second night he’d entered it. He felt selfish about the room. And even though it was very unlikely anyone else would find it or him there, he went through great lengths to ensure he was the only one getting access to the room. Ever since the existence of the Room of Requirement was discovered by Umbridge, it certainly wasn’t privacy one found in that room.

Making sure Ron didn’t find out about the very Hermione-like action, Harry’d researched the library books on strong locking spells for the door, a one-way blinding spell for the window (so that he could still see the night sky) and silencing spells for a whole room, without cutting of the sound that came from outside of the room. He even went as far as to search a spell that would keep the ghosts outside, but had to settle with placing minor repellent charms, that gave no real guarantee of warding off the dead.

He’d gone there on and off, when the nightmares plagued him too much, to let of steam. In that room he was safe from people judging him, from restraining himself, he was safe to let himself go. He’d beat the cushions, rarely using magic, but usually with his bare hands. Though he knew that without his magic, he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight, he found relief at beating the stuffing out of the stupid cushions. Sometimes when he thought about it during the day, he felt really embarrassed. It really was a ridiculous thing to do. He could work his frustrations during duelling practises, maybe that would be more appropriate.

But he always felt that odd restraint while duelling. It was like he was afraid that if he’d let go completely he’d lose control over his actions, he’d feel too powerful, and that scared him shitless. And made him angry as well. He hated feeling fear; he remembered Lupin’s reactions to the Dementor-Bogart. It meant that his greatest fear was fear itself. He hated feeling it, the fear of losing control of his magical power, the fear of losing his friends to the vengeful Dark Lord, the fear of being helplessly locked up in the cupboard under the stairs. It enraged him to feel that paralysing fear and he took it out on the poor old pillows in ‘his room’.

All well, this wasn’t the main reason of his ‘irritation’ lately. Hermione was. Loyal, logical, most times annoying, dependable, studious, pseudo-librarian, ‘I-have-an-answer-for-every-problem’ best friend Hermione was also a sweet, caring, confusing, distracting, deliciously female, brilliant witch. He didn’t know when it started; Hermione had always just been there. He knew he was guilty of taking her for granted, and he would’ve gladly retorted in fourth year when she had blown up about the stupid comment Ron made before the Yule Ball: “of course we know you’re a girl, we’re not that daft”. But he knew better, he’d acknowledge she was actually pretty during the Ball, but it wasn’t until much later he’d REALLY noticed she was a WOMAN.

She’d never dated anyone, even the whole ‘Krum thing’ wasn’t what the papers claimed it was. She admitted later that she was quite flattered about Krum’s obvious affection for her, but that she never felt more for him then curiosity about how he combined events in his life as a student and Quidditch star and what he studied back at Durmstrang. And it had grown from there to a sort of pen-mate friendship. Ron had gotten a good laugh out of her admission, thinking it typical Hermione to only be interested in academical stuff.

Ron had tried to date her; she’d even relented to try. But Harry didn’t catalogue what they did as dating. They went on a Hogsmead trip just the two of them, had a couple of butterbeers, and kissed once. Ron had confided in Harry that kissing Hermione had been like kissing his sister, only worse. The two had wordlessly agreed to just be friends and leave it at that. After a while Hermione went by the name Ice Queen Granger with the boys at Hogwarts, because nobody could ‘get’ her.

Harry had been bemused at first. He didn’t understand why they would even bother giving her a nickname. She wasn’t what you could call popular, like the Patil twins or that blond airhead from Hufflepuff. But she did get asked by some blokes every time there was a Hogsmead weekend, all of which she turned down. At first he thought maybe she was asked because they thought she wouldn’t have the heart to refuse. Obviously that logic didn’t hold when she made arrangements to go with Harry and Ron as just friends, or with Ginny and her friends, or even planned to not go at all, and consequently never said yes to any of the offers...

Though Ron and Harry threatened blokes who called her Ice Queen, he couldn’t help but feel that Ron agreed with them. The final straw had come when Malfoy had whistled after Hermione, as usual calling her Mudblood, and offering something as “warming up the cold prude”. Before either Ron or Harry could retaliate, Hermione’d simply stopped in her tracks, calmly walked up to Malfoy and without blinking she’d kneed him in the family jewels. Of course the all Gryffindors publicly acknowledged Malfoy got what he deserved, but in the dorms Harry’d heard the whispers.

Damn gossip, they were the cause of all this. Hermione’s nickname was even more frequently used, even among females. There were actually some girls who considered it to be a crime to even turn down sexy Draco Malfoy, let alone jeopardise the functions of his precious reproductive system... Malfoy had been really popular, especially since sixth year. Harry still didn’t know for sure what his deal was. Well, he was no idiot; he knew the girls were mostly attracted by his looks and bad boy act. But that was it: Malfoy had always been just obnoxious and vicious, but ever since he spent that summer while his father was in prison (Voldemort took his time freeing the Death Eaters that had failed him back in fifth year) he had that flirtatious ‘fallen angel’ attitude going on, becoming a real cruel man-whore in the process.

Then he had that bloody talk with Ron... That was when Harry confronted him about his suspicions of Ron thinking Hermione was cold. Ron had challenged him to prove she wasn’t. Harry retorted with numerous examples where she’d shown her deep concern and worry about their safety. Ron had waved them away impatiently. He’d acknowledge that she was very caring and friendly and all that, but approach her with a more than friendly attitude, and she’d tense up, or, when you were considered out of line, cause severe damage. He’d also said it was a damn shame because she could be sexy as hell. Of course this had been a one-time conversation between the two boys, never to be brought up afterwards.

But to Harry it had been the beginning of the end. He knew he, himself, wasn’t any better then Ron made Hermione to be. He probably had a similar reputation with the girls as Hermione had with the boys, or maybe not. Though unfair, he knew there were always different measures for opposite sexes. After the childish crush-relationship with Cho, and Sirius’ death, he sort of made a pact with himself to not get himself into anything resembling a relationship. So he’d successfully kept to the big no-no on dating. He couldn’t imagine, and certainly wouldn’t want to experience, what it would be like to let himself get close to someone and have them used against him by Voldemort.

Well, except for Hermione and Ron. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but he couldn’t push them away. He needed them more then ever and felt sometimes selfish for keeping their friendship. Ron had never known about his ‘angsty period’, like Hermione now jokingly referred to. She on the other hand had seen right through him, and shaken some sense into him, quite literally too. Hermione... he wouldn’t know what he’d do without her. She and Ron both kept him sane and gave him the feeling of being loved. But it was probably Hermione that he needed the most to stay really alive, not just existing.

Harry’d always prided himself in understanding Hermione better then Ron did. And in a way he did; they shared confidences they didn’t with Ron. But then again there were things he’d told Ron he’d never tell her. But he’d always managed to overlook one thing; well part of it anyway. Of course he knew she was a girl, a woman now, but until recently his brain never made the connection that she was a ‘she’ as in the opposite sex, a sexual creature. The moment that finally sunk in, it hit him like a tidal wave.

He’d loved Hermione in one way or another for a very long time. The first time he’d seen her he’d thought she was an irritating snob, but he couldn’t help but feel an instant respect for her. When over the course of his first year, they’d become friends, that respect for her only grew. Everyone used to joke Ginny and Colin were presidents of the Harry Potter Fan Club. To Harry, Hermione had always been his number one supporter. Not in the ‘famous Harry Potter’ way, but she stood by ‘just Harry’ through everything. She was always by his side, even when he yelled at her, and shamefully taken for granted most of the times.

So on with his current state of mind... They were in their final year, Voldemort was still on the rise. Hermione of course was Head Girl, and Draco Malfoy would’ve been Head Boy, if not for some rumour last year that he’d gotten a girl pregnant. Fortunately no new Malfoys were going to be put in the world for some time, but his questionable reputation made it to all teachers. And Snape could rave and rant all he wanted, Harry Potter was made Head Boy, since Dumbledore realised that this wasn’t ‘another burden’ for Harry, but something he deserved.

This led to the part where he and Hermione now shared a common room, a private bathroom, and an office. This also meant she slept in the room just next to his. All this inescapably led to more intimacy. Over the summer before their seventh year Harry’d had his epiphany after Ron’s ‘challenge’, and he found it sometimes hard to act the way he’d always acted around Hermione. He craved her touch, before only as comfort, but recently he caught himself tensing and shivering slightly when her skin brushed his unexpectedly.

He found himself listening mesmerised when she lectured him on Heaven only knows what, daydreaming about her, losing sleep over her. It wasn’t as if the change of cause of his insomnia was entirely unwelcome, but he’d never felt more frustrated about anything in his life.

First of all, this was his best friend, a woman whom he’d gotten to respect a great deal, and thinking of her in any way sexual seemed inappropriate.

Secondly, he promised himself he wouldn’t get involved with anyone as long as Voldemort was around, even if it was Hermione and she was already in that kind of danger for being his friend.

Thirdly, he’d gotten the point behind the Ice Queen thing. Well, part of it anyway... Though she confided once in him she was like every other girl, dreaming for the ‘one’ to love and care for her, she mostly sent signals that screamed ‘back off!’ to any male with the slightest indecent proposals.

The list went on forever in his mind: jeopardising a perfect friendship, fear of rejection, and so on. Not that he was really considering asking Hermione to be any more than a friend. Oh well, he WAS being a hypocrite if he really believed that. Ever since the start of term it became increasingly obvious to him... working with her even more then ever in the past: she was a goddess. Untouchable for a mere mortal like himself. She wasn’t cold, she was untameable, but her passion, her heath within was carefully restraint behind her studious exterior.

The possibility of her being in some way similar to him, both struggling to keep control over themselves, was almost more than he could handle. He knew he wasn’t what a lot of people considered a ‘normal’ teenage boy. Though he had his rare embarrassing ‘wet dreams’, he never masturbated, but took VERY cold showers whenever he felt the least bit ‘bothered’. Again he assumed it had to do with control; the only activity he felt comfortable letting instinct take over was Quidditch.

Well, how in the world could he link sex and Quidditch in the same thought... Anyway, he’d encountered Hermione the day before on his way back from a nightly pillow bashing. Of course she heard the portrait open and shut and immediately guessed it was invisible Harry. She had seemed flushed and if that situation would have occurred before his epiphany he doubted he would’ve noticed anything different. She was sitting in front of the fire, Hogwarts, a History on her lap, nothing unusual. But he wasn’t Seeker for nothing, he noticed a little flash of parchments that weren’t from the book inside it. During their innocent conversation about insomnia he’d carefully ‘checked her out’.

He’d had to fight to keep his composure. Her hair was wild and more untamed then he’d ever seen and was gloriously gold with the light coming from the fire; her robes didn’t betray her curves, even now, but that did nothing but stimulate his curiosity of what was hiding underneath. The flush covering her cheeks had been caused by the fire, or so he kept telling himself. When he tried not to notice she was carefully squirming in her seat, he couldn’t stop the thought that maybe, just maybe she was rubbing her thighs together. Of course that thought caused ‘things’ to stir, so he went to his room as quickly as possible, trying not to behave suspiciously.

That night he hadn’t slept even a bit. He kept remembering those loose pages in Hermione’s book. An idea was sneaking his way into his head, it would be wrong, it would mean betrayal of the person who meant the world to him, but he just had to know. The following day he executed his plan before he lost his nerve. When he was certain Hermione had left, he walked into her room. He knew her routines by heart; she wouldn’t be back in a long time.

He hoped the pages were still in the tattered book. Maybe Hermione was really that confident in her opinion that no matter how many times she nagged them to read the damn thing, he nor Ron would ever come within reading distance of the old book. When he picked up the book, his eyes fell on the ones underneath it. Momentarily forgetting about his quest, his amusement was great when he saw Muggle romance novels piled in that corner of her room. He picked one up letting it fall open on his own, thus coming to the pages of the book that had been read the most.

He almost dropped the book in shock, but read through the steamy love scene all the same, hardly believing his Hermione would ever read such a thing. Then again, she did read about everything didn’t she? ... Putting the novel back like he’d found it, he opened Hogwarts, a History. Several sheets of parchment fell out. The neat writing of Hermione greeted him, he read the first lines and almost passed out. He wanted to stop reading, telling himself this was way too personal.

For lack of a prettier description, it contained Hermione’s sexual fantasies. He shuffled through the pages, froze when he recognised his own name, there, written in perfectly controlled letters H-a-r-r-y, Hermione’s hand... Unable to stop himself he read the part. It resembled the part he’d just read in the novel, but it was written with ‘I’ and the lover of ‘I’ was named Harry, had ‘gorgeous’ green eyes, messy black hair... The love scene was adapted, to Hermione’s own taste? It was mostly a little more... romantic, but at the same time more erotic then what happened in the novel.

He’d read them all, put everything back the way he found it and went straight for the bathroom. Of course this didn’t really help him forgetting about Hermione in anything other then friendly ways. He’d let the bathtub fill with cold water, while taking a shower, a cold shower. He stepped in the bath, dipped his whole body under the surface and stayed in the cold water until the need for oxygen was becoming somewhat of an emergency. He’d been too cold, and curled up in his bed afterwards. He feverishly tried to think of anything but Hermione, but his thoughts trailed to the evening before. Now that he knew what she had been reading it put things in a maddening perspective.

The most unnerving part, was what she wrote about her emotions. Feeling totally captivated by his stare, getting shivers from hearing his voice... It was unreal, but she couldn’t have described his own feeling of blissful abandon better whenever *he* was in *her* presence. He didn’t know how to feel about all of this and decided to think about it in the morning. He remembered twisting in his bed in an effort to find solace in sleep, forbidden images flashing through his mind.

Next thing he knew, he was on his way to ‘his room’. Being Head Boy, Harry knew Hermione was doing rounds this evening, but didn’t realise that in fact it was still fairly early, thinking even she must have gone to bed already. He’d completely lost track of time, with all the ‘excitement’. It was Saturday, he’d gone to her room after lunch, that meant he’d missed dinner. It wasn’t that unusual for him to miss dinnertime on the weekends, which explained why neither of his friends had woken him this afternoon. They knew Dobby would take care of his hunger when necessary.

Of course knowing his luck, he encountered Hermione that night. She had developed the uncanny skill of sensing Harry when he was invisible. Part of him wanted to ignore her, but he revealed himself anyway. His voice had sounded hoarse when he acknowledged her saying her name. When he’d noticed her shiver slightly, his mind almost exploded. They’d engaged in a heavily sexually charged staring contest, sexually charged for him anyway. He still held back from believing Hermione could feel even half of the sensations coursing through his body.

The air in the desolate dark corridor seemed to get warmer, hotter, thicker, ... aargh, damn cliché’s confusing his judgement. Some very primitive part of his brain sent images through his mind of pushing her up against the wall and just shag her senseless until all these building sensations were satisfied. He refrained from doing so, of course, but wasn’t prepared for her question though. In a throaty voice he’d never heard her use before, she asked if he’d found what he was looking for in her room. He stumbled backwards, and saw Hermione looking at his reaction almost amused. He should’ve known something was fishy; the books had just lain there. If Hermione didn’t want something to be found, you didn’t, full stop.

Did she want him to find out like that? Or was she toying with him? Had she found out he’d been looking at her in a different way ever since the beginning of the new term, and decided he’d pay for daring to let his mind have these thoughts? His heart was thudding painfully in irrational fear, which soon transformed to anger. He was lost, worshipping the ground she walked on. He wanted to hate her for it, but he desperately, totally loved her. He was lost...

His anger took control and he grabbed Hermione by her arm. He fully expected her to flinch, then struggle, snap at him, even hit him... But she looked like he felt just minutes ago: lost. This brought him no particular joy, but damn it, it excited him seeing her look at him with wide eyes and a hint of fear. Irrationality overtook him, part of him wanted to do everything in his power to take any of her fears away. Another, very bad part of him, wanted to give her a real reason to be afraid, and before he’d knew it he’d dragged her to ‘his’ sanctuary.

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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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She felt as if the anticipation would kill her and couldn’t concentrate on anything then his hands and where she wanted them...

Abruptly her surroundings changed. Panting heavily she noticed she was lying down, in a bed with a real mattress, with sheets tangled between her legs, her bed... She sat up so quickly that she groaned and flopped over on her bed again with her eyes tightly closed. Her breasts were highly sensitive and with every movement she made, her nightclothes would cause jolts in them. The place between her thighs was now aching so badly, that she made a fist and placed it against her damp knickers harshly to ease the throbbing.

She curled in a ball and waited for her body to relax and the sensations brought by her dream to subside. For a moment she wanted to call back the dream so she could finish what she started, but she fought down that impulse. Her brain was still debating if she was disappointed or relieved that it had only been a dream. Exhausted she decided to think about it in the morning. After picking up her wand, Accio’ing the offending parchments, setting fire to them once and for all, and magically hiding the novels that started all this, she fell back in a dreamless sleep.

***

Harry jolted awake; he was hot, in more ways then one, and he kicked his sheets off. He was so painfully aroused that he didn’t see himself walking to the bathroom for a cold shower. As quickly as possible, he ‘took care’ of his problem. Guiltily he grabbed his wand and cleaned up the mess he made, while his mind went over the dream he just had. It had felt so real, and the fact that he not only got aroused by the idea of *being* with his best friend, but also nearly dominating her made him... Well he wanted to say sick, but that wasn’t really the case, now was it? Exhausted, he turned over in his bed, determined to think about it later and catch a little bit of sleep.

The following morning he was reminded of his dream when he saw his uniform necktie lying around. How was he going to act around Hermione now? He glanced at the clock; it was almost 10 am. He’d have to hurry up for breakfast; Sundays you were allowed to lie in, but they didn’t serve breakfast all through the day. The one good thing was that Hermione most likely already went, and was currently in the library, or, if the weather was all right, reading somewhere on the grounds.

Sure enough she was nowhere to be found. He met Ron who was in a heated conversation with the rest of their Quidditch teammates. With Ron as captain, since he wasn’t prefect anymore and Harry being Head Boy (Harry was captain in sixth year), the trainings had intensified even more. Ron wasn’t satisfied with just winning the Cup, he wanted to slaughter the rest of the teams and go down in Hogwarts History as one of the best Gryffindor Quidditch teams. He dragged them all to the field after Harry barely ate four pieces of toasts.

After a gruelling exercise time, which only ended when the Slytherins came down to make fun of them (but really were trying to catch the new tactics Ron constantly came up with), Harry took a nice warm bath. Luckily Dobby had brought some food on the Pitch, because Ron didn’t let them go at 1pm to get something to eat. Harry used to wonder if there was anything that would stand between food and a hungry Ron Weasley; he wondered no more. When Harry came out of his bathroom (he found it more relaxing to go in the private one, instead of the showers in the changing rooms) it was already 4 pm, and he’d succesfully avoided Hermione all day.

He finished some late schoolwork and met up with Ron again in the Gryffindor Common Room. They lost track of time and instead of going to the great hall for dinner, they went down into the kitchens. Harry because he wanted to avoid Hermione some more, Ron because he bought Harry’s excuse that they should thank Dobby, and he was starving and didn’t want to hear Hermione criticizing his table manners.

Sunday’s he had to do the rounds, and he ended up going to ‘his room’ afterwards. He could do with clearing his mind, before he possibly stumbled across Hermione again on the way to his room. When he mumbled his passwords, the door sprang open to reveal...

***

Hermione knew Ron and Harry would hardly miss her on a Sunday so close to a Gryffindor match. And she certainly didn’t feel patient enough to sit through all the Quidditch talk. So she retreated, as usual, to the library. She knew she promised herself to think about her dream, but found herself trying to forget about it. Studying all morning and afternoon, having missed lunch, she gave up and walked to the Great Hall for dinner, bracing herself to see Harry. He hadn’t been there. Knowing he would do his rounds, she didn’t expect to see him soon in their common room.

That’s when something else occurred to her. In the dream, they had been in some room here at Hogwarts; what if it was real? ‘Dream Harry’ had said something about it being a sort of refuge. Ignoring the fact for a moment that she was going bonkers if she thought what was said in her dream, could be real; it explained where he disappeared to... Unable to squash the need to check, she ‘borrowed’ Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and set off on a wild goose chase. After she’d wandered almost anywhere she could come up with, she found herself in the corridor where she’d heard Harry use the Voldemort password in her dream. She berated herself for having her heart behaving quite erratic.

She didn’t know how long she’d stood in front of that door; she’d tried everything to open it, except the way her dream told her to. Finally, with no little amount of dread, she imitated ‘dream Harry’, and the door sprang open. It was exactly like her dream! What was going on here? Had she been pulled, somehow, in Harry’s dream? No, that couldn’t be it, he’d never dream of her like that, would he? But how come she had seen this real thing in her dreams? Or maybe it hadn’t been? Maybe it really happened last night? But that couldn’t be it either.

Before she had any time to ponder over this, the door swung open again to reveal the man of the hour. Shocked, with just enough presence of mind to see equal shock written on the other’s face, she stood speechless. This was the first time she saw him since that dream, and her body’s as well as her heart’s reactions were off the chart. He walked inside and let the door fall closed behind him. Trying to regain some composure Hermione wanted to ask him a question, but couldn’t decide which one she’d voice first. Harry seemed to be in the same dilemma, but decided on the most obvious, and then again most awkward to answer:

“What are you doing here, and how did you get in?”

Hermione, not yet ready to answer this truthfully, fired back: “What are you doing here?”

His answer contained most of the information she got from him in her dream, and she began to feel very unsettled. When Harry concluded with a repeat of his first questions, she couldn’t look him in the eye, but couldn’t lie to him either. She squeaked out: “Dream”

His reaction was almost imperceptible, only a quick tensing of his body, though she wasn’t looking at his face, so there might have been more to read there. So he *had* been in her dream?

She barely heard his: “When?” but answered with “Last night” nevertheless.

She looked up at him when she heard him take in a sharp gulp of breath. She knew the shock, and disbelieve in his gaze was mirrored in her own. Through her embarrassment, thoughts raced through her mind... Was it wishful thinking or was there hope in between all those mixed emotions, too? She almost jumped when he asked: “What... what happened in your dream?”

Blushing madly she managed: “What happened in yours?” which resulted in making him blush quite satisfactory in return.

With bravery she hadn’t expected she was capable of, she went up to him, placed her hands on his chest, and was about to stand on her toes to reach his lips with hers, but he’d already beaten her to it. His mouth came down with a gentle urgency that made her toes curl. After a few blissful moments, she didn’t care about whose dream it had been, or whether or not she should be angry at Harry. One hand was holding the nape of her head, the other rested on the small of her back.

The kiss quickly grew much more passionate, making them both pant for air, yet unwilling to leave each others' lips for more then a few seconds time. Hermione almost unconsciously pressed her chest into Harry’s; he groaned and she felt ‘something’ grow against the underside of her belly. When she rocked her hips Harry gasped and suddenly pulled away, making her groan in protest...

***

Harry couldn’t believe it. He had the woman of his dreams pressed against him, ravaging his mouth, and ... Great Merlin, she just pressed her hips closer! His eyes crossed behind his closed eyelids, before a thought struck him. The woman of his dreams... Reality... hearing the desperate groan from the girl he just let go, Harry tried to sort out the emotions that were ruling his judgement...

“No, this isn’t real...” Harry stumbled back into the direction of the door. Without giving the panting Hermione time to get her composure back, he fumbled with the door, and got out of the room as quick as possible.

“It was only a figment of your imagination, Harry. No need to panic and act like a ninny...”

Harry continued to mumble that all the way to his dormitory as if to convince himself. But he wasn’t a complete fool. Even when the dream had been real enough, it hadn’t been anything as it had been now... He could still *taste* her on his lips, he recalled her smell vividly, and he definitely remembered distinctly how her hands on his clothed body had made him feel.

As the realisation that his anger at the unreality of all this had probably hurt Hermione downed on him, he almost ran back to the secret room. Almost... He remembered also, that those dreams had been, to say the least, even weirder then he’d first anticipated...

Was Hermione able to see into his dreams? Or was he able to see hers? Was this some juvenile practical joke? Had they been cursed? Who would do something so... embarrassing to him and Hermione? How did Hermione really feel about all this? Was she just reacting because of those dreams, or did she really want to kiss him just now?

Damnit! He really didn’t need all of this, he had enough on his mind as it was without some stupid hormonal dreams coming between him and one of the people he trusted most... Barricading himself in his bedroom he changed for the night and planned to have a conversation with Hermione before the end of the next day, so that the air was cleared for Monday next, when they would need to work again, side by side... While staring at the ceiling he heard the portrait hole to the Head-common room slam closed. Wincing Harry started doubting he’d be able to talk rationally to Hermione about what happened before. He only hoped she’d cool down during the night. Listening to her footsteps stomping up to her bedroom door, he cringed when she let that door also slam loudly after her.

***

‘The nerve!’

To say Hermione was hot and bothered was an understatement... One moment she was making her dreams into reality, and the next everything shattered!

She was angry with herself for acting on impulse and kissing Harry like that, and for not saying anything when he pushed her away. But most of all she was angry with Harry. She understood that he wasn’t as experienced, but neither was she. She knew he was clueless as how to deal with what he and Ron called ‘female emotions’, but really, Harry couldn’t be that thick. Most of all she understood he was confused, but then again so was she; that was no excuse to treat her the way he did.

There was also no reason to leave her unsatisfied…She squelched that thought quickly; Hermione Granger didn’t think like that...

To cool her temper she stomped the whole way back to their dormitory and with a satisfying bang she let the portrait slam shut behind her. She made as much noise as she could thumping up the stairs to her room, to make it very clear to the culprit, if he was there, that she was not happy with him, not happy at all.

Furiously she put on her nightclothes, and prayed not to be plagued with those dreams again...

***

Harry tried not falling a sleep, he really did. But soon he found himself back in the room. He felt Hermione’s presence in the room and turned around.

Harry nearly died of shock... Unlike him, who was fully clothed, Hermione hadn’t a stitch on her, besides her knickers. But that wasn’t what made his heart stop, well, it was only part of it... Hermione was bound to the bed. Gryffindor scarves were tying her hands and feet to the four corners of that one bed, and the tie, oh that tie..., was covering her eyes.

Dried tears could be seen on her cheeks, but Hermione looked to be asleep for now. The sight was a beautiful creamy coloured X on the filthy grey sheet. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of her... Unable to move he watched her. She really was beautiful, so real, so close...

Shaking his head, Harry frowned, it wasn’t real, and this time he was sure of it. Then why didn’t he move away, and leave this like he mistakenly did in the real world?

Harry didn’t have the opportunity to answer his own question, since Hermione’d chosen to move. Seeing her breasts bob when she was fighting of the hold sleep had on her Harry’s brain pretty much abolished the thought of leaving.

He saw her frown even if the blindfold didn’t really permit him to see her furrow her eyebrows...

“What the...”

The realisation she was bound and blindfolded made Hermione squirm and fight the restraints, much to Harry’s wicked entertainment... She really was a sight: she first tried to struggle out of the bounds holding her wrists, while shaking her head, trying to shrug of the tie obscuring her vision. This caused her breasts to jiggle this way and that, and her hair to form a circle around her head.

Her legs were hold firmly spread, and when she tried to bend her knees, her arms were stretched to the maximum, so that her skin was stretching her breasts up. Seeing her bent her spread legs like that made reason the farthest thing from Harry’s mind...

Watching transfixed Harry saw her panting and giving up on the intense fight.

***

Hermione was struggling against the bounds that held her until a sudden thought occurred to her: they didn’t hurt... Investigating this epiphany further she realised that she must be in one of those dreams again: everything fit! There was no sound, besides the one she was making herself, whatsoever. Noises were always there in the old castle, which told you it was alive and lived in; even at night there could be heard the draft whispering secrets. There wasn’t any sense of smell, which was weird, and she hadn’t even noticed before she’d kissed Harry in the real world... There wasn’t any feeling apart from excitement and fear...

“So we’re back in the dream, I wonder... Potter! Are you there yet?”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel excitement course through her when she thought about the possibility that Harry had been there all along... She felt goose bumps forming and her nipples harden, and she blushed at the thought that Harry, even if it was dream Harry, could see her like this, bound, blindfolded, and helpless to prevent whatever wicked things he had in mind for her body...

Damnit! She shouldn’t think like that! She felt her knickers get wet at her earlier thought, and cold from the fact that her legs were apart... Shite! She couldn’t even rub her thighs together!

Pulling on her restraints, she tried to occupy her mind on getting out of the bounds, but the only thing she could think about was Harry watching her, and getting off on it... both of them...

Suddenly she heard a rustle of cloths... then the bed sagged a bit on her left side...

“Harry?”

Her heart was pounding loudly, and the possibility that maybe this wasn’t Harry suddenly occurred to her. A moist whisper next to her ear confirmed her that indeed it was her best friend... His low, dangerously sexy voice told her:

“You didn’t think you could get rid of me this easily, did you?”

Again Hermione wanted to retort hotly, that it was the other way around, but she was rendered speechless under the power of his husky voice. She prayed to the gods, that if they ever got to do something like this outside their dreams, that she wouldn’t be conquered so easily...

Suddenly his warmth left her side... She gasped when she felt his hands touch her feet gently. From what she could make out from sounds and from the way he could tickle both sets of toes, Hermione’d say he was standing at the end of the bed. Being extremely ticklish, especially there, Hermione tried to move her feet away violently, making her whole body spasm.

She couldn’t relax even when he stopped assaulting her toes. Her stomach was in tumult, and her chest was heaving as controlled as possible so that her panting wouldn’t distract her too much from trying to hear where he was. She felt his fingers suddenly caressing the inside of her right elbow so lightly it tickled in the most sensual way. Hermione decided to try and relax as much as possible and enjoy the feeling.

Harry must have understood what she was doing because he stopped abruptly. Not knowing what to expect next, she waited patiently her heart hammering nonetheless. There was a short, rather sharp pain on her left nipple.

Had he just pinched her? Before she could think about it the shot of pain transfigured itself into a burning that sent signals right to her loins... Moaning she arched her back, as if to ask for more. However Harry was running a finger gently and very slowly on her right armpit, before she could properly flinch from the tickling that caused, she felt him lightly tickling her side causing her stomach muscles to contract irregularly.

His assault didn’t stop there, his hands were everywhere, tickling and pinching, short and never at the same place twice. Hermione couldn’t feel anything but the unexpected, and was sweating by the time Harry retreated again.

Trembling she waited for his next move, and started cursing mentally when he was tickling her feet again, not stopping even when tears started seeping from the blindfold. Flinching and trying to get away from his torture, she was nearly choking on her sobs, trying to contain a reasonable amount of oxygen in her system.

Finally he squeezed her feet lightly letting her know this attack was over. She felt the bed sag again, this time between her bound feet. This brought back the thoughts on how she must look to him. Not only merely bound and blindfolded anymore, but sweating and panting, wriggling and wet for him. There could be no way he could miss that growing patch of cold wetness on her panties. Wait, this is Harry Potter they we’re speaking of, of course he could be able to miss it!

***

Harry had been surprised at his own resourcefulness. When he had no experience to boast about in this area, and only had the texts he’d read from Hermione as a guideline to suspect what a woman’s body would need, he’d been surprisingly confident in this dreamworld.

The minute Hermione had shouted out, demanding if he had been in the room, too, his first reaction had been to panic. But that was until he saw the effects Hermione’s suspicion he was in the room did to her body. His own body had responded accordingly, changing his attitude back into that cold teasing bastard persona, Hermione had somehow created deep inside him... or maybe the cause of his birth had been the dreams...

Better not dwell on that, he had a sweet witch to torture. She really was so sensitive, and very responsive. Granted, it was probably prejudice to say she was perfect, but really, what did he care? She was perfect.

He felt very wicked when he tickled her feet again; it was obvious she couldn’t stand it. But her body flinching, while she was biting her lower lip, and tears seeping from her covered eyes... it was too much of a turn-on to consider to stop...

Finally he let her go, and went to his knees between her spread ones. Slightly caressing the inside of her knee, she flinched again, just when he thought she couldn’t bring up the energy anymore to do so... Her thighs quivered when he took an eternity to slide his fingertips softly back and forth on the inside of her thighs, minutely moving upwards...

She was breathing hard now, and her wetness was harder to ignore, but he liked seeing her like this: uptight Hermione Granger, bossy like hell, rendered panting and defenceless... Harry knew he shouldn’t be doing this, let alone like this, but really, it was just a dream, wasn’t it? And she wasn’t exactly asking him to stop either, was she?

***

Hermione couldn’t have stopped herself from moaning, anymore then she could have stopped herself from breathing, when Harry’s fingers on her thighs came dangerously close to her panties. Reason completely left her brain, when she felt him trace the skin next to her knickers, only inches from where he should be. She moved her hips frantically as much as to get away from his torturous fingers, as to make him increase the friction on her sensitive wet part. When she heard herself whine and thought again at how much of a whore she must look like thrashing in front of her best friend, she felt a light caress on the wet cloth tracing her covered slit.

She suddenly stiffened, falling completely still. Feeling something explode inside her, she had no control whatsoever when trashing around and moaning, bucking her hips helplessly, arching her back from the sheet and trying but still failing to struggle free from her restraints...

***

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***

***

Hermione woke up feeling her sweaty trembling body curl itself up in protection. Panting, her nostrils were assaulted by a foreign heavy smell... The scent of arousal...

She scrunched up her nose and as soon as the trembling stopped enough for her to move, more or less... she threw her sheets off, got out of bed and strode to her bedroom window, throwing it open. Icy cold night-air hit her by surprise, but calmed her down in more ways then one...

Feeling uncomfortable in the panties she was wearing just now, she closed the window and the curtains, and going over her trunk she got out a fresh pair. After changing she finally let thoughts go through her brain again, and felt herself get angry with Harry. She tried valiantly to abolish the utter humiliation she felt of getting aroused by being tortured... Well at least there hadn’t been whips or nipple-clamps... A shudder went through her with that thought, and it wasn’t a good one, to her relief...

But tickling her when she was bound was still torture, and she’d gotten off on it... Forget that, she’d even experienced her first orgasm from it! Well she supposed that was an orgasm... The recollection of those feelings was kind of hazy, and wasn’t an orgasm supposed to relief you from some of the ‘frustration’? Anyway, she’d still gotten strong, not-bad feelings from that rather shameful encounter.

What did that say about her? Was she a freak? Was she losing her mind? What did the dreams mean anyway? Oh, if she ever found out who was behind it, she’d make sure that person would suffer...

***

Harry Potter was in a bad shape: his body seemed to have become the battlefield of several strong emotions… Shock was quickly replaced by deep guilt and shame. This all didn’t take away the strong arousal he felt, though…

Unable to rap his mind around what was happening with Hermione and him, the only thought that kept him sane at that moment was the knowledge that it was just a dream... Well, maybe not just a dream... He’d bet his Gringotts vault the Hermione tied to the bed had been more then just a figment of his imagination... Just not really real either...

Horrified at the prospect of ever having to face his best friend again, Harry acted on instinct, took out his Invisibility Cloak and fled like a coward... Though he knew Hermione now was aware of his hiding place, he supposed it was still the safest place to be at, since it would be very unlikely of her to want to return there this evening...

On the walk there Harry’s head was in turmoil. Yes, he did want Hermione even before those dreams, but did that justify them? Had he wanted her that bad and restricted himself that much in the real world that he was now forcing himself on her in the dream one? Or maybe she had wanted him, too? No, that couldn’t be...

The dream Hermione was too much like he fantasized her to be... Well, he hadn’t honestly fantasised about bondage games with her, but he had imagined her to be beautiful, and very shaggable... There he went again, perverting her like that... Concentrating on Hermione Granger, the model student and bossy best friend and not a wanton sex-goddess, he arrived at the room.

He easily slipped in the routine of pillow bashing... Taking his frustration out, he felt something tug at his heart.

She’d kissed him in the real world; had she just reacted on the emotions generated of sexually charged dreams? The tugging in his chest amplified... Did she just see him as a potential ‘friend with benefits’? The logical part of his brain would’ve supplied him with answers as: Hermione would never do that to you. And: if she were looking for that, she could have gotten Ron... but then that part of him that had been born with and nurtured by the Dursleys whispered to his unsure heart: but getting Ron wouldn’t be a challenge, Ron’s not Harry bloody Potter!

Howling he flung a pillow to the other side of the room and he dramatically sagged to his knees. He felt so confused, so frustrated, and the shame and guilt were welcomed back... Hermione would never do something like this; and even though he didn’t deserve her, she’d always been there for him, which is more then he had done for her actually...

Feeling utterly crushed and despicable, he sat down on the dirty floor and hugged his bent legs to his chest, rocking himself without really meaning to. He didn’t know how long he’d been like that: staring off into the distance and clearing his mind of all thoughts...

But it couldn’t have been that long when the door opened silently. Harry’s memory provided his mind with simple facts: Hermione Granger was the only one who could get in here besides him, without having to try an abundance of counter-spells on the entrance. Hermione Granger was not someone to leave things be when confronted with an actual ‘situation’. Harry Potter should’ve known better as to assume Hermione Granger wouldn’t show up here at this moment...

Harry looked up, fully expecting to see an enraged Head girl. He hadn’t seen the full wrath of Hermione yet, though he’d come close to witnessing the fury inside her taking over... He shuddered to think what hexes she would throw his way for what he’d done to her. But as always when one dreads the outcome, it never quite lives up to the expectations (or it exceeds them, but, no matter)...

Hermione’s kind brown eyes didn’t flash with anger when he met them with his gaze, no steam was coming out of her ears... Her hair was terrifyingly wild and frizzled, though: a sure sign she was annoyed beyond belief, or so he gathered from experience...

Hermione spoke softly: “Why are you crying?”

It was only then that Harry realised his cheeks were wet. Bemused he looked at the smeared tears on his fingers after he’d brought a hand to his face. Now he understood the bafflement on Hermione’s face.

Gathering all his Gryffindor bravery, he looked at her pleadingly. Not really knowing the answer to her question himself, he spoke “Because I’m scared of losing you...” And in that instant he knew it was true; he couldn’t handle losing Hermione...

He’d never seen Hermione look so clueless in all the time he’d known her.

“Lose me? Why would you lose me? Are you still on about Voldemort? Because...”

Harry shook his head. Hermione faltered and tried again, this time much less confident:

“It’s about the dreams, isn’t it? Look... Don’t worry... I - I’ll research it first thing tomorrow... I’m sure there will be something to be done about them... You - you’ll be free in no time! No time at all!”

Hermione smiled nervously. Harry was almost stupified at her maintained aloofness, mentioning the dreams...

He whispered: “I don’t want to be free”

Himself unsure of what he meant by that statement, but somehow knowing this was the truth, he saw Hermione looking at him with something akin to fright. Mentally kicking his own ass royally, he looked at her with fear in his heart. Hermione sputtered:

“Wh-What do you mean, Potter...” gaining some confidence, she spat at him, “You don’t want to lose your little plaything, is that what you mean?”

***

Up in the Head Girl’s room, Hermione didn’t really know what to think. She’d just heard Harry leave, and had instantly known where he’d be. After a long mental conversation with common sense, she’d went up to his room, hoping he’d at least left his Marauder Map. Of course she would never find it the traditional way, with all the mess lying around, so taking out her wand she cast a spell that made the object you were looking for hum.

Sure enough something in a corner of his trunk reacted, and pushing some smelly socks out of the way, she grabbed the Map and muttered the ridiculous password...

Sneaking her way through Hogwarts, she found herself face to face with Harry sooner then she was really ready for... but she wasn’t ready for the side of Harry she came to witness. She’d seen Harry laugh, she’d known him to be shouting out his anger, she’d seen so many emotions on his face... but never in her short life had she seen him weep.

Not sure if he was too embarrassed for her to stay there she watched him looking at her nonplussed. It suddenly occurred to her he didn’t realise he was crying! Asking him, she saw him reach for his cheeks in confusion.

His answer, though, threw her off. Her mind refused to go in any other mode then the concerned best friend one... But when he shook his head to her inquiry if this was about Voldemort, her resolve to not mention the unmentionable crumbled. Trying to be brave about it, she promised to free him of the ‘inconvenience’.

That’s when he said something that made her heart stop. For several milliseconds she dared hope that he was referring, maybe... that he was trying to say... well...

This train of thought only served to make her angry with herself... Yeah, right, because the only reason why he didn’t want to be free of the erotic dreams which enabled him to dominate her was because his love was so pure and innocent... Letting her frustration get the better of her, she threw it in his face.... Immediately regretting it the moment she saw his face...

Oh, Goddess, how could she be so heartless? Her heart felt extremely constricted within her chest. Harry looked like she’d just slapped him in the face. Guilt and shame was evidently all he was feeling in that moment. Regret was noticeably absent, though... To Hermione’s surprise, she felt relieved at that.

Deciding that Harry had always been a bit challenged in the matters of showing affection, she went up to him carefully. It was as if he was a wounded animal to be treated with caution. She knew what emotional scars he carried around, and damn her if she wouldn’t do anything to take away at least some of the pain...

Harry was watching her every move suspiciously, looking out for sudden movements. She reached out to cup his still damp cheek, and held his gaze pleadingly. She tried to convey all of her love for him through ‘the mirrors of her soul’. Realising those troubled green eyes held so much doubt in them, she knelt before him.

Gathering all of her courage, dismissing the little voice that called her stupid, rather than brave, she brushed her lips gently over his. The contact made her shiver, and her eyelids closed momentarily of their own volition, enabling her to savour this historical event. This was so different from their first kiss; it had been so frantic and desperate and hurried... Afraid the perfect moment could shatter anytime, she looked at Harry, finding him staring at her...

Another expression she couldn’t quite place... It looked a lot like hope... a rare emotion indeed if you were called Harry Potter...

This time she didn’t know who closed the distance between their lips, but she was damn sure that this was reality and that he didn’t seem to want to push her away anytime soon... Harry was still sitting with his arms tense around his legs. Hermione backed away a little and placed her hands gently on his arms, urging him to relax his limbs.

When he finally did, she sat herself onto his lap, placing her knees on either side of his thighs and cupping his cheek once more.

His eyes were wide with surprise, anticipation, and a little bit of fear. Hermione leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

“Harry? Do you trust me?”

An hesitant nod from him would have to do... for now. Hermione leaned forward again and kissed him tenderly. Pulling back again slowly, she travelled back to his ear-shell:

“I trust you with my life, you know. You have to know, I...” Hermione’s hands were fisting in his hair, when she struggled to keep a reign over her emotions: “Harry, you mean so much to me. I can’t lose you...”

Not waiting for him to react verbally on that, not wanting to know, either, she kissed him again, a little more urgent this time...

***

Harry could’ve sworn he’d died and gone on to the ‘next great adventure’... These few previous moments the feelings going through him had been changing as per heartbeat. But when Hermione kissed him for the third time (technically, fourth, but he wanted to forget about the little fiasco being the reaction on that first kiss), he decided to not care anymore about the reasons not to do this...

Her actions felt as healing potions on his very soul... No longer able to keep his hands impassive, they wound their way up into her hair with a groan escaping his throat. He kissed her back fiercely, enjoying the sounds that elicited from her, far more then should be legally allowed.

Harry’s tongue seemed unstoppable in discovering the depths of her mouth, his lips unrelenting in savouring her taste. Hermione gave back as good as she got, though. While their mouths were battling to prove who wanted the other more, she pressed her body closer to Harry’s, which he couldn’t object to, even if he’d wanted to.

In an act of desperation and rashness, Harry’s hands left her hair and travelled down her back unthinkingly. Gripping her hips, he pushed her even closer, making him react like every other warm-blooded wizard would react to such a situation with a witch they were attracted to...

Hermione’s gasp brought him back, however, and he was about to apologize for his body’s reaction... But anything that could’ve come out of his mouth was effectively cut off by an instinctive groan caused by a hip-movement orchestrated by the witch on his lap.

Before his brain could melt wholly, he used his hands to firmly prevent her from any other surprise-moves... Their gaze locked again, and for a moment his lungs forgot to work; her eyes were so warm and inviting. Her knowing look, the understanding and wisdom behind them couldn’t erase the adolescent uncertainty, making her that more intriguing...

Her cheeks were slightly flushed, cute; her lips were a red never seen before, alluring. Her hair was frizzing every which way, making her look wild, someone to be tamed, but at the same time promising never to be... tamed that is... Unbeknownst to him, Hermione had taken advantage of his focus on her beautiful face to resume her earlier intent.

When her shy movements were becoming more deliberate, Harry’s resulted condition of arousal commanded him to help her press their sensitive parts closer together. Loving the little gasps coming from the HeadGirl, he kissed those wet lips. His hands left her hips briefly to slide down her thighs, find the hem of her night shirt under her outer-robes and slide back up again, this time on bare skin, until he found her underwear-clad rear...

Harry thought he heard Hermione yelp at that moment, but even if she did, the moaning sighs coming from her right then reassured him nothing serious was wrong... Well, except for the fact that he was actually molesting his best friend. Hermione... Warmth beyond anything he’d felt before flooded him as he realised this wasn’t a dream, that the object of his outmost desire was willingly kissing him, being close to him, holding him, letting him touch her...

Harry’s instinct refused to be satisfied with this happiness though, and he retreated in shock when he felt Hermione’s hands leave their rightful place in his messy hair and travel to his front, grazing her nails over the thin fabric covering his chest. Shuddering he grabbed her wrists, and broke the kiss.

“Hermione? ...”

Harry barely recognised his own voice, it sounded so... rough? Though he was fairly sure his body was going to regret this royally, he spoke his mind:

“Shouldn’t we wait? I mean, isn’t this going a bit fast?” Shaking his head he tried to formulate what he really was scared for: “Are you sure this isn’t because of the dreams?”

***

Hermione sat on Harry’s lap feeling a bit foolish. He’d just proved to be the voice of reason, here! She was almost certain she would’ve gone all the way if he hadn’t brought up this very valid point.

Bringing her hand towards his face again, she caressed the side of his face.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t rush into this... We should try and find out first what the deal is with the dreams at least...”

Lightly kissing him again, she ignored the screams of her bodily needs and lifted herself up from his lap. Smirking to herself she noticed he was very reluctant to let her go from his embrace.

“We do have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and we should try and get some more sleep,” Hermione stated, knowing very well that sleep wasn’t going to be easy this night.

She walked towards the door of the secret room and turned around, looking at the lost Head Boy on the floor, fumbling with his robes. She caught his eye and smiled, trying to convey all the love and tenderness she felt for him in her gaze, her smile, her stance, her voice...

“But Harry? If you think for a minute that these dreams have changed anything about my feelings for you... You’re sadly mistaken: I’ve loved you for a while now”

Winking for good measure she left him there on the floor, even when every nerve in her body screamed at her to go back and finish what they’d started. She hadn’t really meant to confess that yet, but if he was feeling even the slightest amount of frustration like she was feeling right now, it was enough... Though she was satisfied that she’d for once taken a little bit control, and wasn’t totally submissive like in the dreams, she planned on having revenge one time in the future and make him submit to her...

***

Please review

***

Hermione had little trouble falling asleep that night after the confrontation, despite the gnawing worry about being too forward with her feelings. A part of her still didn’t know what possessed her to proclaim a secret she’d virtually been keeping since she knew Harry. As it turned out, there hadn’t been any dreams any more, normal or otherwise...

The morning after, her stomach seemed to be in knots however, when she thought about facing Harry again... Until she steeled herself, reminding herself she was a Gryffindor. So that morning she pretended nothing had happened the faithful night. In she just got no distinct reaction in return from Harry.

Despite the fact she started that cool, friendly attitude, she felt unsure about the way Harry was acting. When he hadn’t really avoided her, per se, she couldn’t for the life of her get a height of his feelings... She couldn’t even tell any more if he treated her different or not... She couldn’t remember... But she refused to let on to her confusion, and slight disappointment... Slight? Now she was even lying to herself. It hurt that he didn’t… DO something… anything…

For as much as she remembered they’d agreed to take it slow, until they knew more about the dreams. But Harry hadn’t even approached her to ask if she wanted to do some research, or if she herself had looked it up already. Even though her schedule didn’t permit her to dwell as much as she’d wanted on Harry’s behaviour, it was never far from her mind.

The week had gone by with the usual routine of classes, Head duties, extended duties (because of the war after all), and of course, the extra ‘battle courses’, as Ron had dubbed them. Each of them had private lessons. Harry was now working with Dumbledore himself. Ron and her were respectively working with Remus and McGon… Minerva. Snape had been Harry’s original tutor, but there had been made other arrangements when it was clear the two would’ve ended up killing each other, before the end of the first lesson.

In addition to all this, Harry still had Occlumency and she’d taken to help Madam Pomfrey, together with Ginny and Luna, for the injuries of members of the Order, who they couldn’t risk to be sent to St-Mungos…

Before Hermione had known it was Thursday evening, and she was terribly knackered...

***

An eternity had passed, or so it seemed to Harry. It had been Sunday night when Hermione had left him there in his special room. By the time the snitches had somewhat settled inside his chest, she was gone, and he was painfully reminded of his aroused state. While his heart still fluttered like a silly schoolgirl’s when he remembered Hermione declaring that she loved him, he’d ‘taken care’ of his ‘problem’.

That was Sunday. Monday had been... normal. This whole school week had been hellishly normal.

It was now Thursday evening, and it had been a whole week since the mess had started. Hermione had treated him like nothing at all had happened, whenever they were not alone, which was most frequent. And even when they were alone, only a few stolen glances here and there were the only indictive that there had been something happening...

He supposed the ball was in his court, but he had stalled long enough in his indecission, to finally convince himself that Hermione had not really intended to tell him she really loved him, like passionately-in-love... She probably just meant it in a best friends way, with maybe extra perks since they were of the opposite sex… This sounded like a hollow excuse, not to mention, a cowardly one, but he couldn’t help wanting to... Well, what was it that he wanted?

Having the distinct feeling that he was acting like a despicable prat didn’t really galvanise him into action. He was relieved, but disappointed in a way also, that the dreams had ceased, until now anyway.

He readied himself to exit their bathroom, feeling confident he was alone in their Head quarters at this hour. Hermione was having her lessons with McGon… Minerva, after all...

***

Hermione stumbled into the Head-quarters, feeling extremely ready for a relaxing bath and bed afterwards…

All weariness in her bones vanished, though, the moment she saw Harry, and was replaced by some kind of hot liquid that made her feel extremely alive, and at the same time dangerously vulnerable. For several seconds the only thing her brain could process was: “Harry and wet hair = good, naked torso = excellent, towel round his middle = presently undecided, towel round his middle slipping just a little bit = definitely nice, …”

This was more or less where she regained control over her more baser thinking pattern, and snapped her eyes back to his face. Well, that was a mistake... For some reason he hadn’t worn his glasses and his glittering green eyes were squinting in her direction... Hermione felt irritated, he didn’t seem half as flustered as she felt. Well, obviously he hadn’t a clue on how she was affected on seeing him like this. The way he was squinting, he could probably just barely make out her identity, let alone the look in her eyes...

***

Harry was startled for a minute when he heard someone entering the Head rooms, but relaxed when he realised it was only Hermione.

“Hey! Back so soon? Didn’t think you’d be back yet...” Harry remembered Hermione liked to soak in the bath tub after duelling with their Head of House, so he grinned and cocked his head towards the door he’d just exited: “Bathroom’s free!”

Wanting his glasses, he walked through the door of his bedroom, and shut the door behind him. At that moment the towel on his waist slipped a bit and he caught it. With that, the realisation came about what had just transpired. He’d been in a room with Hermione, wearing ONLY a towel!

Together with a furious flush, that felt like it covered his whole body, came the fluttering sensation of humiliation, and … something else.

‘Way to go, Potter’

Trying to regain his mental abilities he was sorting out thoughts. How could he have been so stupid, so oblivious, so... Well, on the other side, maybe he should bless his inner-cretin; he didn’t want to know what it would’ve been like if he’d showed his blatant embarrassment in front of Hermione. Especially when, without his glasses he had no idea how she was reacting...

He tried to picture him, in only a towel; flustered beyond believe, and fumbling about like an idiot. And then Hermione fully clothed, laughing at his awkwardness, or something. But he wouldn’t know since he hadn’t any glasses and he would’ve had no way of knowing what she’d be doing… Making him even more vulnerable in the situation.

Yes, it had been definitely better he’d acted without realising all this at the exact moment, even if he was the greatest fool in the universe… he’d avoided certain humiliation, so…

***

Hermione stood rooted in the same place even minutes after Harry had closed his door. The nerve!

She tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Still in quite a daze, she was having distinct problems doing just that. Shaking her head furiously, she pushed her mental incapability aside, and stomped into her room, preparing to go to the bathroom. The routine of this almost ritual after-duelling-soak made her trembling calm down, but she still felt a strange kind of rage inside her midsection, that threatened not to be ignored for long…

Walking briskly towards the bathroom she closed the door securely and set about to prepare the bath. Finally relaxing her muscles when she lowered her body in the scented water, she allowed thoughts back to her mind. Sensing she was going to fail trying to rationalize the situation, she tried her best to just analyse this new development, as calmly as possible, without worrying too much about logic.

Harry had seemed completely at ease. Basically he had been wearing a towel, ONLY that, so that was just a microscopically small leap to being naked… OK, that might be just a bit over the top: it would be a gigantic leap to see him as bare as the day he was born, but still… Until now the most she’d seen was a pyjama-clad bare-footed Harry, and that was only this year when he’d overslept the first morning here, not accustomed to sleep alone and not get a wake-up call.

But he’d seemed so comfortable… Like he didn’t mind her seeing him like that. What did that mean? Did it mean he wasn’t attracted to her? That he didn’t feel insecure at all around her, just like a best friend? That he was growing up and had become a lot more mature overnight? That he didn’t want her to know… What?

It just didn’t make sense. Harry had always been awkward about intimacy, even in the strictly friendship-relationship-sense. And somehow she’d never pictured Harry as someone who would be secure about his looks, not that he had any reason to feel insecure, but that didn’t really matter anyway.

But he hadn’t looked like he cared at all that she’d been ogling him or not. Of course, he didn’t have his glasses, so he couldn’t know she was practically drooling. Though, shouldn’t that have made him feel even more uncomfortable? He couldn’t see much without his glasses, and she imagined that could be very disorienting...

Had Harry somehow become a confident young man without her picking up on it? Had he suddenly left all of his insecurities behind? It was virtually impossible: she knew how he’d reacted to her touch, to her words, how he’d all but told her that he at least needed her, and maybe even loved her… Of all the things she could accuse Harry off, she could never suspect him of deliberately lying to her with the surety of hurting her in the process…

So where did this leave her? Was he trying to build up more courage? Was he trying to distance himself from her for other silly reasons like protecting her from Voldemort? Goddess, she hoped he wasn’t that daft! With her being a Muggleborn and the students with the best OWL results this century, combined with the fact that she was a close friend of Harry’s, she wouldn’t be in much more danger if she became his girlfriend officially. And even if it did bug him that much, surely he’d known she’d understand and keep the change in relationship secret.

With a start she realised she was trying to find arguments to convince Harry she should be his girlfriend… True, she had longed for it a long time. But on the other hand, she’d also promised herself she wouldn’t become involved before she’d finished her studies, and secured herself a pleasurable job. She didn’t want to end up living her life for a boyfriend, even if she loved Harry more then her own life. It was a matter of principle. She wasn’t going to betray her believes on justice and equality for all, by becoming a housewife that stayed home waiting for her husband to come home.

Distracted by the water getting cold in the tub, she halted that train of thought. For Merlin’s sake, she had been thinking about marriage!

After she’d towelled and got ready to leave the bathroom, she tried to summarise her thinking about the little almost-naked-Harry-incident. Bottom line was that she hadn’t a clue, and even more then ever she didn’t know what to think of his attitude.

Resolving herself to at least go researching the Restricted Section tomorrow morning for tomes on peculiar dreams (she hadn’t found the time yet earlier this week), she reassured herself that she would at least find an answer to that question…

***

After a lot of tossing and turning, Harry’d finally managed to fall asleep. Feeling himself pulled deep in the darkness, his thoughts were again on Hermione.

Suddenly, he was back in the frustration-room, as he’d come to name it… Hermione being there too, he knew immediately they were in for another one of those dreams. There was a slight difference, though. The previous times he’d had this drugged feeling, kind of… Like he was being lived through the dreams and it weren’t really his own actions, even if he obviously wanted to do those things on an unconscious level.

This time, however he felt a little bit more in control... Well, that is to say, his mind wasn’t as numb, but it was definitely racing with irrational thoughts at the sight of Hermione, and the promise of her submission, like before in the dreams…

Clack!

Well, that theory was out… Harry hadn’t seen it coming: Hermione had slapped him across the face. Luckily this was a dream, so the only thing that got bruised was his ego. He looked up at her: she was really magnificent.

Her unmanageable hair was, again, wild, her eyes were flashing with emotion, and her body… Well he could only speculate what she hid under her robes, but he liked to think that the dreams gave him an educated guess…

The tense silence was interrupted by her talking in that maddening lecture-tone. It made him want to… do unmentionable… things… Harry didn’t really pay attention to what she was saying, not that he really tried, either.

It was funny in a way, ever since the first time he’d met her, she’d lectured him; it had just become such a constancy… It was one of those things in daily life of being best friends with Hermione Granger. He’d always had some kind of reaction: most of the times annoyance, a lot of other times he was impressed, and rarely he thought it ridiculous. But never in his life had he imagined that Hermione’s lecture would be sensual in any way.

It was just that she was so passionate about things most people took for granted. It was the maddening fact that she was right most of the times. She’d lick her lips unexpectedly when she was busy on a particular long rant, or brush a lock of stubborn hair behind her ear unthinkingly. She would be so immersed in what she was trying to convince you off, that she didn’t pay attention to her body language.

Harry was watching her while all his thoughts melted into one desire, too powerful to resist. Throwing caution in the wind, as this was a dream anyway, he made his move.

***

Hermione was steaming! She’d thought those dreams would’ve been over and done with. At least in the sense that they would belong to the past that needed to be analysed, but not relived!

Harry had toyed with her enough already, she didn’t care if she was supposed to be the docile one in these dreams: she would have none of it. In a fit of blind rage fuelled by extreme frustration, she slapped him across the face.

Refusing to feel guilty about it, since they were in the dream world, and it couldn’t have possibly hurt, she concentrated on the relief it brought. Telling him what she thought of these dreams, she put her hands on her hips. She didn’t neglect to warn him that when she got through with researching this phenomenon and that she’d find out he had anything to do with it… Voldemort would be a piece of apple pie compared to her.

That’s when Harry just took a few steps in her direction. Surprised for a moment, she didn’t let it stop her speaking up her mind. She was cut off mid-sentence though when his lips descended on hers. Still feeling the rage within fuming, she tried to jerk her head back and finish whatever she had been saying.

Harry just followed her movement though, and made everything coming from her mouth sound mumbled. Refusing to let the wonderful feeling of his lips on hers distract her from more important things, she brought up her fists and tried to pound-push on his chest.

Again Harry disabled her actions by grabbing her fists and twisting them back. While he was restraining both arms against her back he deepened his kiss, and suddenly Hermione’s mind couldn’t remember those more important things she had to say.

Emotions flashed through her, each bringing his own feeling to the mix. It wasn’t much later that Hermione began to feel boneless. Despite of her resistance failing, Harry didn’t let her arms go, but pressed them tighter to her back, so that she had no choice of leaning against his front fully. She could feel the soft hardness of his body, and ignored the soft-hard-paradox that was begging to be analysed further.

Giving in entirely, it seemed like the intense fluttering warm emotion that swept through her would consume her. Trying to give as good as she got, she felt her strength failing again and again. Letting him ravish her mouth she held on desperately on the few rational thoughts inhabitating her mind, but it was in vain.

She felt light-headed and completely carefree, the feelings she had come to associate with the special dreams. Hermione had yet to decide if that was a good thing or bad…

The kiss seemed to go on forever, without the need of fresh oxygen ever arising. It was powerful and exciting beyond belief. Never would she have thought to feel so alive just because of a kiss.

Granted it wasn’t just a kiss… It was something completely different and yet… the same. Their mouths seemed to communicate their desire for the other, and the feelings amplified every time there was an exchange of want from one to the other.

She felt like she’d lost her footing, like she was floating mid-air, like they were the only two people in the world,… All the cliché’s ever made about true love: she seemed to be experiencing them all at the same time. Hermione was even led to believe that if he even touched her briefly, on any sensitive spot on her body (and the way she was tingling right now it would be anywhere on her skin), she’d combust then and there.

Slowly the intense feeling of being swept of her feet, thoroughly, desisted. Harry was still kissing her on her nose, the corner of her lips, her cheeks, her forehead…

For a short moment he pulled his head back, locking gazes with her. If she wouldn’t have been boneless already, she would’ve melted all over again under his intensely green stare. As it was all she could do was lean in the arms that were restraining hers, and trying to plead with her eyes for him to kiss her like that again.

Harry was still looking at her with scorching emotion, and if Hermione was any weaker of will, she’d beg him on the spot to kiss her like she was the only person on this earth worthy of being kissed…

As if Harry’d heard her thoughts, he moved his head closer and Hermione could feel his shallow breath together with the anticipation of being worshipped like that again. A happy tension in her stomach was forming.

***

Hey everyone!

First of all, I want to thank those of you who have taken the time to review this story... It means a lot to hear that people like reading what I write...

Secondly, I want to apologize for not answering sooner about why I haven’t been updating for a while... I'm truly sorry, to have kept you all waiting, but I do have a lot of work outside of my fantasy-world, and that has been taking first place on my priority-list lately...

But for all of those out there who were wondering if I stopped writing... NEVER! (well, maybe some time, but not yet)

Anyway, what I'm trying to say, is... I have gotten permission at the yahoo-group Prefect Blends to post my unfinished stuff there! That is to say: I normally don't like posting work-in-progress, or create shorter chapters, just to post sooner, but I was starting to get e-mails from worrying readers, who thought I'd stopped writing. So, if you want to have a bit of a taste on what's about to happen in the next chapter: just visit this site http://groups.yahoo.com/group/prefectblends/; go for 'Files', 'Unfinished Business', 'Nienie', and you'll find pieces of chapters that are being worked on by me... the next chapter of this fic will be Revenge, and should be partially posted by the end of the weekend

Enjoy!

xxx, Stietoe

PS:

By the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ve been working on a little NC-17 spin-off of ‘Love is Hope, Life After…’: it’s called ‘Basical Caring’, and it’s about the Remus/Tonks relationship... Since I write ‘Love is Hope…’ from Hermione’s point of view, I can’t very well describe the more... naughty bits of Remus and Tonk’s relationship in that fic… Anyway Portkey doesn’t support the Remus/Nymphadora ship so I can’t post it there, and I don’t want to risk a pure NC-17 fic at Fanfiction.net, so you can read ‘Basical Caring’ at the yahoo group Prefect Blends, or at AdultFanFiction.Net under the penname ‘Stietoe’…

If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to mail me at nienie_gonagal@yahoo.com

***

Please remember to REVIEW!!!

***

Harry almost howled in frustration.

It had felt so good stopping Hermione mid-lecture, and forcing her to forget herself. He could only hope that would ever be possible in real life…

But it had even felt better, kissing her like there would be no tomorrow. Kissing without having to pause for breath because it was just a dream, kissing without holding anything back, kissing without having anything to lose, kissing that blew your senses away… Actually, the word ‘kissing’ made it sound so empty: it didn’t convey what had been so real in the world of unreality…

It had felt so liberating, and had added a whole new meaning to the expression, snogging someone senseless. It had made everything that had come before, pale in comparison. As a matter of fact everything had seemed to hold a less bleak countenance ever since he’d been having those dreams. Or maybe it had started before: the moment he’d started realising his best friend was the most desirable being he’d ever laid eyes on…

But it had been EXTREMELY frustrating to find himself kissing his pillow!

***

Hermione felt strangely calm. It seemed like she’d passed the limit of anger mixed with neglected need. Only one word stood clear in her mind: revenge.

She’d had enough. Somehow, she would have the upper hand, and she was passed caring if this suited Harry or not. She was not going on like this, she would relieve her needs, even if she had to tie Harry down to get it from him.

Tomorrow morning, she would head to the Restricted Section; she just would have to cancel on gossip session with the rest of the Gryffindors at breakfast. That wouldn’t be a terrible waste, but they couldn’t hold her to her Head Girl status all the time, by making her ‘interact’ with the female student body 24/7.

*********

Hermione felt a bit evil right now, oh, how she planned this into detail... She was still… irked by the dream from the night before. But now that she’d found out the source of the dreams... The fact that he had drugged her with his presence, kissed her into oblivion...

Anyway, the point was it shouldn’t have happened... The dreams HAD to stop, or she was going to crack and do something even more drastic then what she was planning now. Hermione hadn’t any real qualms about her ‘plans’... She’d been researching dreams all morning, and came to a conclusion at last.

Part of her had been dying to tell Harry immediately, but that had been but a very small part.

No, tonight, she’d show him what she was made of…

So the only advice she could (but wasn’t going to) be giving him was: ‘Just try and keep your shorts on!’

***

Harry had been avoiding Hermione at first. He’d gotten up early, and had been down to the Pitch flying around furiously on his broom. He didn’t know what to think anymore, it was just too much. But he knew he’d have to talk to Hermione sometime…

Resolving himself to find her, he’d been faced with the fact that someone (most likely Hermione) had taken his Map, and that he wasn’t able to find her all day. Of course being Saturday didn’t mean he could spend the whole day looking for her. He had many chores, on top of homework that needed to be done. But so had Hermione, and armed with the map she had the advantage if she wanted to avoid him.

At last he assured himself that after the rounds he had to do that evening, he’d find her in their rooms and she’d be forced to speak to him then. Yes, that would do…

Unfortunately, when he arrived late, there wasn’t any Hermione there. Throwing his body tiredly on the couch he shoved his fingers between his glasses and closed eyes and rubbed, moving his fingers to his temples, then, massaging them. Sinking deeper in the couch he heard something crunch. Turning his lower body sideways, he saw a piece of parchment.

Wrinkling his forehead, he recognised his precious Marauder Map. He wouldn’t have left it just lying there, would he have? And surely Hermione wouldn’t have left it so carelessly, if she’d taken it. Now he was wondering if Hermione had been the one to take it, or didn’t she.

Well, at least now he’d be able to tell where she was. Picking up his wand, he opened the Map.

She was in the room.

***

Hermione was pacing impatiently, until she realised Harry could be in their rooms from now on. And that would mean he could be watching his Map at this very moment. She’d borrowed it for the day, not wanting to crash into Harry, before she had an answer about the dreams. And after that, she just wanted to face Harry off on her own terms.

The key was to bring him to the room. She hoped he’d find the Map, and would be coming down here. If not to talk to her, then at least to shoo her out of the room which he thought of as his. She didn’t despair yet, because if she knew Harry, he would come down here tonight even without the Map, or without the knowledge that she was here…

Now all he had to do was show up, and then she could do with him as she pleased…

In a remote part of her brain she acknowledged the fact that what she was about to do didn’t resemble her usual logical actions. But damnit, these thoughts just fuelled her anger towards Harry more. It was his fault she had come up with this plan in the first place!

Now if he could just come through that door before she blew up from anticipation, that would be just fine by her!

Catching herself, she forced herself to take a nice long, and calming breath. It wouldn’t do to get jumbled because of nervousness, if she wanted to complete her task! She wanted to be ready when Harry arrived, and not faint at the first sight of him! Taking deep breaths, slowly, to avoid hyperventilation, she was able to focus with all her mind on the task before her.

And it wasn’t a minute too soon, either!

***

Harry had crept into the ‘frustrationroom’ shedding his Cloak he looked around. He couldn’t see Hermione anywhere… Had she left yet? A wave of disappointment went through him… Then he looked more closely at the changed appearance of his room.

She had redecorated it! Harry took in the crispy white sheets on a decent looking mattress on the central four-poster. Thankfully she hadn’t cleaned out the corners of the room, but all the filthy pillows were stacked orderly on one side of the wall…

How could she have done this! This was his place! He wanted it messy; it was the basis of its appeal. Why did she come into his life and disrupt everything! Where was she anyway!

Grabbing the Map for the second time that night he found to his consternation that Hermione’s dot was on the other side of the bed on which she had been tied on during one of their dreams. The bed that was now unbearably clean! Looking up from the Map he looked suspiciously to the place where Hermione should be.

Nothing.

The Map couldn’t be faulty, though. And he had his Cloak here next to him on the flour. And with a concealment charm he should still be able to see the contours of her body disrupting his line of vision, since nobody could hold being absolutely motionless for more then a few seconds…

Clenching his wand, he prepared to defend himself. Even though his brain told him that only Hermione could have access in here, and that she would never harm him, he liked to be prepared for anything… Coming closer, the silence weighed heavenly against his ears. He couldn’t even hear her breath…

Again glancing at his Map, he saw that he was standing directly on front of her. Gingerly reaching out he tried to see if there was anything solid there.

The moment his brain registered he was indeed touching something, he lost consciousness…

***

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief… The Baiting Spell had worked perfectly. She had been unsure if her invisibility from that spell wouldn’t work like the concealment charm, and then Harry would’ve known immediately. The other tricky part of that spell was that it was of an unpredictable duration…

The tension leaving her made her tremble… But she had to focus… Harry would soon wake up, since he had been trained to fight disabling charms. And despite the Baiting Spell having the effect of a powerful Stunner upon touch, she knew he would wake from it soon, and she better not lose her nerve now…

***

Harry woke up, feeling slightly disoriented, but forced his mind to quickly assimilate the events leading to his predicament. Opening his eyes he noticed he didn’t have his glasses. While doing that he was momentarily panicking, since it seemed he was not able to move at all. Concentrating, he tried to fight of the bonds that held him.

But he soon realised that he wasn’t held by a Petrificus Totallis, and squinted around trying to take in more of his surroundings… He blanched when it downed on him that he had been tied to the bed, in the same way Hermione had been, but not with his Gryfindor tie, or anything… No, since he was still fully clothed, thank Merlin for small favours… But with shackles of some sort…

It was weird… from what he could perceive with his bad eyesight, they had to be old metal ones. But they felt extremely soft, and didn’t cause pain where they came in contact with his skin, even when he pulled hard.

Cursing under his breath, he next tried to shout the spells in the vague hope of achieving the wandless magic Dumbledore seemed so sure Harry was capable of… Of course nothing happened, and then he heard a soft chuckle just above him…

His eyes in desperate slits, he tried to see her, but to no avail. The mattress underneath him moved a little, and he felt her breath tickle his nose. She must be under the Concealment Charm…

“Hermione? Why/”

He was cut of by an invisible finger against his lips. He heard her whisper and strained his ears to listen to her:

“Shh, Harry, I’ll tell you… But first… you have to promise me to stop that ridiculous shouting… I know you’re a powerful wizard, and you’d probably be capable of wandless magic for minor spells by now. But I have to tell you: even Dumbledore would have trouble breaking the spells I’ve put on your bonds…”

“Hermione/”

Harry started to lose his patience, and didn’t understand this crazy situation he was in. The girl in question though, shushed him gently:

“I’m not going to hurt you, Harry. Honestly! I just wanted to let you know I found the cause of our little problem…”

Harry frowned; his brain trying to work out what this all meant. So she knew where the dreams had come from? What did that have to do with him being tied spread-eagled onto an old four-poster? And why did she conceal herself?

Ready to fire his questions at her, and to release the extreme disgruntlement he felt, he took a deep breath, glaring in the direction he thought she must be. Before he could utter a sound though, he was silenced in a new way…

Soft lips descended with not so soft carefulness upon his. A warm, yielding weight covered him suddenly from hip to chest, and all thoughts about protesting vanished from his brain. She was straddling him, and he felt the warmth of her body instantly through the layers of his cloths, making him wonder what she was wearing.

Images flashed through his head. Though limited in experience about these things, he was still a seventeen year old male… Hermione wearing only underwear, or like in the dreams… or maybe, if he was lucky, some black leather…

For just a few moments, it didn’t matter that all those thoughts didn’t sound like anything Hermione would ever wear. But then again, the whole situation he was in, sounded like nothing Hermione would ever do…

Of course, with her kissing him and wriggling her warm body on his, these forbidden thoughts he had of her only increased the nervous anticipation inside him, and it didn’t take long for clear evidence of his desire to rise. His mind blissfully clouded for the moment, he didn’t notice that Hermione would certainly feel his reaction to her.

***

Hermione was enjoying herself immensely, though she still felt a bit nervous, the passion in the shared kiss melted her insides. The concealment charm and taking away his glasses helped, though. She wouldn’t be able to do this facing him directly. Disgusted with herself at her cowardly methods, she was reminded to what had led up to this and was re-boosted in her confidence.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, she noted with extreme satisfaction that Harry lifted his head, as if to capture her retreating lips. Looking down at Harry, Hermione was quite pleased with herself. The little blush on his cheeks, combined with the brilliant greenness of his eyes was breathtaking. And the evidence that he was anything but indifferent pressed against her.

Without her conscious knowledge, her hands had found their way to his adorably mussed hair. He really looked edible, and a great wave of tenderness pulled her into losing herself in those green eyes.

***

Harry was still slightly panting. He was trying to see her, even though his brain told him how futile that was. Even after she broke the kiss, she was still resting on top of him, and her hands in his hair were driving him mad… Through the jumble that was his brain he remembered he was tied up, and the sudden need to just hold her became unbearable.

“Untie me”

It was supposed to come out as a command, but, out of breath, and still feeling the lures of desire torment him, it came out as a pathetic whisper. Despite that, Hermione didn’t say anything for a moment, as if considering this. But his hopes were quickly dashed when she chuckled again…

He could’ve sworn she shook her head and before talking sweetly:

“What about me then? I wanted to tell you something very important! And you’ll listen”

With that she brought her body up and her hands out of his hair. Missing the warmth already, she was sitting lightly on his belly. Extremely frustrated that he couldn’t see her, but strangely excited about it too, he held his breath and waited for her next move.

She started speaking in her usual lecture mode:

“I had a real problem finding anything useful about our subject of our annoyance. Most of those prophesy books are full of rubbish about dreams…”

Suddenly Harry noticed the top button of his old dress shirt pop open as if on his own account. About to protest, Hermione must’ve seen him looking down because she continued in a voice that was a bit more forceful. It was the sort of tone she used when she wanted Ron and him to pay extra-close attention to what she was saying.

The way she was prattling on usually got on his nerves in every day life. Now, it strangely made him anxious. She had opened his shirt methodically, and when she rested her palms flat on his bare chest, it made him crazy when she didn’t seem to be inclined to do anything more.

“… But then I stumbled upon a useful book about magic and sub-consciousness. It had a very interesting chapter about accidental Legimency…”

Through the hazes of his mood, he barely understood what she was saying. And then she did something that had his cheeks flame red.

Scooting lower, she’d brushed her bum slightly over his hips and the restrained erection. Ignoring his gasp she stated matter-of-factly:

“That must be quite painful”

Before he could say anything, he felt her hands brushing his waist and he saw his belt being taken out of the loops. Excruciatingly slow, at least for him, she open his trousers to give his swollen flesh a bit more freedom. Harry’s mind was reeling and he was starting to believe he had somehow ended up in some kind of Alternate Universe.

“So, now you can concentrate again on what I was trying to explain! So: because you can’t control your powers of Occlumency and Legimency, your strongest and restrained emotions have gotten the better of you! Hence the dreams where you force your emotions on me!”

***

There, now he knew, too. Hermione restrained the urge to smirk smugly when she saw the look of confusion on Harry’s face. Then again, maybe there wasn’t enough blood left in his brain to really understand what she’d just said. That he was responsible for their problems!

But no matter, she’d just have to play her revenge on him, and then he’d think twice of coming after her in her dreams! He should just ask her in real life, the bloody coward!

Getting up she walked over carefully to the table she had set up behind the head of the bed. It wasn’t easy to prance around invisibly; you had to keep your balance, and try not to knock into anything…

Hmm? What would she use first? The chocolate or the whipped cream? Or should she just have the ice-cream first, wait… she had a quill somewhere to! She should’ve planned this bit more: what would happen first? Quite the dilemma…

***

Please review! I need them, I wither away and die without them… ok, without the drama: just leave your opinions for me to learn from!

Hmm? What would she use first? The chocolate or the whipped cream? Or should she just have the ice-cream first, wait… she had a quill somewhere to! She should’ve planned this bit more: what would happen first? Quite the dilemma…

***

Harry was still wrapping his mind around what Hermione had told him. He had used accidental Legimency on her… Well, it sounded quite logical when he pondered it: for Legimency through dreams, all you need was proximity. That and a whole lot of power and preferably a magical link.

He supposed the friendship he and Hermione had between one another could have been fortified magically. The number of times they saved one another’s lives must have created that link. If only that didn’t mean he would start barging into Ron’s dreams the next time he stayed over at the Burrow…

But what really didn’t add up was the strength necessary to do that kind of Legimency. He had never trained to go to that level, and even if he had, he couldn’t have done that anyway. The level of control necessary… And the natural defences around Hermione’s mind… And hadn’t he overheard McGonagall telling Dumbledore Hermione had requested to train in the art of Occlumency?

With all those thoughts swirling in his head, he forgot the predicament he was in for that moment. But now his thoughts again focused on the unreality of this situation. He almost wished it was a dream right now. But his brain provided him with evidence that it wasn’t so. The feel of it, and the fact that it was Hermione taking charge… No: this time it was for real.

Just as real as it had been when she’d told him she loved him. He felt like such a stupid prat, now. He had desired her for so long, and by trying to repress it, it had only grown to the point of somehow making him reach out with his subconscious to hers. And instead of letting him wallowing in guilt, she had reassured him by confessing her love…

And he had been unable to stand up to his feelings and desire for her, but had just basked in the knowledge that she might be his. If only he had taken the gift she’d given him… But no: his stubborn and insecure ass ignored her heart for almost a whole week, until his need for her grew again to the height where another dream ensued…

Now she was claiming back the control that had been slipping from her in their dreams, and the rational part of him couldn’t really bring himself to blame her. Of course, in the situation he was in, that part really wasn’t the most ‘in-control’ of his, but still…

Pulling his bonds he started to wonder what was taking her so long.

“Hermione?”

Glad his voice had actually sounded like his now, he squinted into the emptiness that surrounded him. He knew she was still in the room, but he needed to know she was there, ready to hear his apologies, so that she could free him, and that they could move on from this mess…

***

Hermione had come to a decision and prepared for a bit of rearrangements. She heard Harry’s voice calling out her name, and saw him look around as if to guess where she would be, and what she was doing. He looked worried for some reason, but he should know she would never hurt him.

Flicking her wand she started with the adjustments for the next few moments. Harry looked startled and yelped quietly when he was being lifted from the bed slightly, his shackles following, and was rotated in mid-air.

Hermione saw his erection had deflated a bit since her announcement of the reason of the dreams, so she wasn’t too worried about hurting him when she slowly let him back down, now on his belly. She gave him a bit more slack in his arms, and his upper arms could now make a right angle with his torso… it would make things more comfortable…

“Hermione! Please hear me out! I’m sorry, ok? I apologize, I’ll never do it again… Just, let me free!”

Chuckling slightly Hermione moved to sit across his clothed bottom:

“Harry! It’s ok! I won’t hurt you, I already told you that. I love you, and I’m going to make you understand that,” she brushed her hands flat over his clothed shoulders, “You see: all this tension… You really need to relax more. And I’m going to help you with that…”

With that promise, she charmed away his dress shirt and poured some of the hazelnut speciality from the Hogwarts’ House Elves in her hands to warm the thick liquid, before applying it to his shoulders.

“But, Hermione…” Harry groaned when she started massaging his shoulders thoroughly, “I just… You don’t have to… Oh, do that again!”

Hermione smiled to herself when it seemed she had found a good spot to rub. She continued massaging his back and shoulders, briefly rubbing the back of his arms. Feeling him melt and calm down under her hands made her feel giddy, but this wasn’t really the point of this evening.

Though she felt perfectly fine feeling his skin under her gliding fingers, there was still a lot to do before she could let him take her in his arms… It felt so good and just… right to touch him like this… Shaking her head from the warm clouding feelings, she made up her mind on her next course of action.

Retreating her hands carefully, with a last little brush from her fingertips, she grabbed the wand she had beside her and summoned the vanilla ice-cream.

***

Harry had all but forgotten that he wanted out of the bonds. He felt so relax and warm… Cared for… He really should ask her to do that on a regular basis. Like after every Quidditch practise, or gruelling duelling lessons… Or even after Double Potions, yes, he could really use the relaxation after that…

If this was her view on punishing him, who was he to disagree with her?

Hermione’s soothing hands rubbed all the tension out of his muscles and he felt the warmth reach through his bones. Where had she learned to do this?

So relaxed was he, that he hadn’t noticed right away her soothing hands had left his skin. His befuddled mind, though, got quite a shock when something pierced his sensory system. Something extremely cold dripped between his shoulder blades, doing strange things to his relaxed body. About to call out to demand the meaning of these recent event, he felt something new…

It was the strangest sensation… It felt like… wet? well he couldn’t really compare this feeling to anything he ever felt before… Not knowing if he liked it yet, or not, he tried to analyse what was happening… The strange sensation stopped, and again, cold drips fell on his skin this time on his lower back.

“Mmm, I love vanilla ice-cream”

Harry heard Hermione murmur before he felt her scoot her weight down, and those strange sensations attacked his lower back. Now Harry may not be the brightest in the bunch, but he wasn’t completely thick. Hermione was pouring melted ice-cream on him, and licking it off! And that was her hair tickling his sides…

Armed with the mental pictures of what Hermione was doing, he decidedly loved the previously foreign sensations. Hermione kept dripping the cold liquid on various parts of his back, licking it away, half-massaging his skin with her tongue. The cold and warm alternation was doing exciting things to his body, and he wished he had the guts to move his hips against the bed, because she was killing him!

His straining erection was trapped between his body and the bed, and Hermione’s moans when she tasted the milky ice was delirious torture… Harry was torn between starting to plead for her to stop, and letting this continue until she took mercy on him.

Thankfully the decision was taken from him, when she sat up, and he felt her leave the bed once more. Harry tried to listen where she was going, but the blood rushing through his veins caused a deafening friction in his eardrums…

He heard Hermione say something about the bowl of vanilla ice-cream being empty, and then his bonds started to pull him up again. If he had the presence of mind, he would’ve gotten offended at being treated like a roasting pig above a fire. When he was settled again on his back, he had expected to be relieved with the loss of entrapment his erection had been in.

Unfortunately, his weeping cock-head had made his boxers humid. When the air hit the damp cloth it send stimulating shivers throughout his body…

***

Hermione licked her lips for the last drops of vanilla ice-cream, mixed with the taste of hazelnut and Harry…

It really was a pity she didn’t have more, but she mustn’t overwhelm poor Harry too much… She was surprised at the way he had kept from pleading with her to release him, or to stop teasing him and get on with business.

Maybe he liked to be teased? Or maybe he felt like he owed her since he felt guilty for the dreams? Knowing Harry it was properly the latter…

But the thought of upending him until he begged hit something primal inside her…

While she set out to quickly cast a cleaning spell on his back, she turned him back around. Faced with his front, she saw the wet patch on his boxers, and it made her smile. She felt positively evil, and she was not ready to stop just yet.

Summoning a new bowl, she saw Harry was having difficulty making sense of something flying by through his poor vision. Again, she was glad for the invisibility charm she had cast on herself…

Dumping a finger in the whipped cream she summoned, she let a great glob fall on Harry’s nose. Not wasting any time she hunched forward and took his nose in her mouth, making sure to lick every drop of whipped cream.

She felt and heard Harry groan, and it pleased her in a way she’d never known she could be pleased. Working her way to his Adam’s apple, his earlobes and breastbone, Harry seemed to be moaning continuously, and not conscious about doing that.

Deciding to make things a bit more serious, she dropped some whipped cream on each of his nipples. Hearing him suck in his breath, she, again lowered her head and licked until there was only skin to be massaged with her tongue…

Harry was shivering, and she lifted her head a bit, to blow gently on the wet skin…

Moving her mouth back next to his ear she whispered mock-disappointed: “My bowl of whipped cream’s almost empty… but I want to put it on my special treat, so I’ll have to spare it for later…”

Reaching out with her tongue, she licked Harry’s ear lobe slowly. Surprising her, though, Harry turned his head and managed to capture her lips, sort of. The temptation was too great for her and she lost herself in Harry’s passionate need.

Tongues duelled desperately for a while, but Hermione managed to extract her mouth from Harry’s quick enough before she forgot about everything and took him right there.

“Ah, ah, ah. You think you can get away with that. Sweet, sweet Harry…”

She was panting herself, but it was nothing compared to Harry. He clenched his jaw though, and seemed to refuse to give in to her taunting…

Smirking, though he couldn’t see her, Hermione scooted backwards, and again put her wand to good used. Charming his pants off, now the only thing that remained on his body were his boxers…

“Mmh, nice legs, Harry…”

She ran her fingers torturously soft over his lower leg, watching fascinated as goosebumps erupted.

“Interesting…”

***

Harry didn’t like the way he heard Hermione say ‘interesting’… Nope, he didn’t like it one bit. She was already testing his boundaries thoroughly, and he could feel something bubbling deep inside him begging to be let out, to end the delicious torment and make her regret this…

The way she had lapped at him before, the way her warm breath had hit his sensitive wet skin, and then, when she had whispered… No, he shouldn’t think about that… The thought alone of what the ‘special treat’ could’ve meant was enough to finish him off. And he would not give in!

The situation was getting out of hand, and he’d be damned if he let her make him beg… He was not going to plead with her anymore, he was just going to lay there and stay impassive… Never mind that he had never been this hard before in his life, he was not…

Oh!

Oh! What the fuck!

Squinting down his body he tried to find out what the source was for the incessant tickling near his ankle. There was something white and fluffy moving its way up his leg and for a moment he thought he’d pass out.

Was that a quill?

Oh, it travelled from his ankle to his knee, paying special attention to the sensitive area behind his knee… Switching legs, the feather tickled his foot sole before gliding sensually up. It didn’t stop at his knee this time, but the wench kept stroking him very slowly on the inside of his thigh…

Harry didn’t even know he’d kept from breathing, until the feather disappeared. His panting rough now, he tried to reign in his emotions. He was very close to losing it, hoping against hope she would stop with the feather, he felt his stomach clench when the feather light strokes returned, on the inside of his other thigh.

“Ah, Hermione! Please! Please, stop! Please, Hermione!”

Harry was shakily holding on to the last bit of restraint, but his concentration was taking a toll on his body. He couldn’t stop from shuddering at intervals, and his eyes, shut firmly, felt wet. He felt like a whimpering fool, but blissfully Hermione stopped using that damn quill of hers!

Again he felt a warm yielding weight covering his chest, and it soothed him… until her breath tickled her ear again:

“Do you want me to get on with the rest of the whipped cream?”

The words hit Harry and he gulped, his desire flashed through him, longing made him want to beg her to get on with it, yes, but he tried to fight his desperation. He could take on a girl, he wasn’t going to be weak!

“Harry…” the quill caressed his cheeks softly, “Don’t you want me to get my treat?”

Ok, Hermione was not just any girl!

“Y-yes… Yes!”

“What’s the magic word, Harry?”

Harry clenched his jaw, determined not to get anything past his mouth that resembled a plea…

Hermione didn’t seem to care, though. She lifted her body away from his, and let her fingers travel from his navel, to the start of his boxers. Fingering the material she asked sweetly:

“Can I take this off, Harry!”

Before Harry could retort with sarcasm, she hadn’t asked with the other pieces of clothing, had she, and it wasn’t like he could object much, his other head answered for him:

“Bloody Hell! Yes!”

No sooner were the words spoken, or the boxers disappeared magically. Squeezing his eyes shut again, Harry realised, through the almost painful haze of his desire, that he was completely bare now. Naked in front of Hermione…

Any thoughts about embarrassment were chased from his mind when he felt something soft touch his erection. He felt his limbs trembling in their bonds when he waited until Hermione had finished coating him as her desert…

“So, Harry, what’s the magic word?”

“Please!”

Thoroughly disappointed with himself, he felt Hermione’s hair tickling the skin of his hips.

When he felt a humid heath around just his tip, he thought he’d pass out. This was the worst and most delicious torture she had inflicted upon him, and considering this evening, that was saying something!

He felt every of her tongue’s deliberate movements, he was treated like a lollypop. Hearing Hermione’s moans, the whipped cream must’ve been very good. Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head when he felt Hermione’s mouth go as far as she could, and then she moaned, with him inside, and it vibrated through him, and he felt his control tear slowly.

Suddenly she was gone. Harry’s heart thudded in his ears, loudly, and the only thing he heard her say, was something about chocolate…

His control slipped, and he felt something strong swirling inside him forcefully.

Opening his eyes, he couldn’t see the room anymore… Colours, swirling… The intensity of the power that was woken inside him frightened Harry, but he tried to reign in it. Concentrating, he focused on the bonds.

As strange as it seemed, it was as if he could feel the ward… He could feel the very shape of the magic containing him to the bed… Curious he tried to will the bonds to break…

That didn’t work, they only seemed to get stronger that way. Trying something different, he willed them to shift shape, to loosen enough so that he could slide his hands past the bonds.

In the haze he was in, he barely realised, he really was free…

Where was Hermione? He wanted to see Hermione…

***

Hermione was trying to regain some of her composure. She would’ve never guessed that what she had done for Harry just now, could ever be sensual for a woman too.

It had aroused her to no extent to have him inside her mouth, and she didn’t know if she was meant to be disgusted by herself or not…

Chocolate… focus! There was still the chocolate to go through… Her hand shot out carefully, since it wasn’t that easy to reach for something when you were invisible, even to yourself…

But then, reaching for the can of chocolate sauce she saw her fingers… her arm. Jumping backwards she looked at her very visible hands with a hint of panic. But the move backwards made her collide with something warm.

Squealing she jumped around, only to be met by a very naked Harry. Well, maybe that wasn’t the most important adjective to think about just now…

Looking into his eyes, she felt her heart thumping in fear. If his green gaze could’ve, it would’ve melted her with its heat and intensity.

Frozen in place, she let Harry grab her upper arms…

***

Please! You have to review, and I promise, next chapter the teasing will be over, well kind of… But it will be… explosive…

AN: Sorry for the unforgivably long hiatus in updating this fic… But this does require some inspiration, and hmm, I will not elaborate further on that… Anyway, here it is… and I sincerely hope it meets the expectations…

By the way: Selene L. Holloway, thanks for your pointing out the correct spelling for Legilimency, I mostly work from memory, and you see, my mind’s screwed up sometimes… most of the time… especially when I write this sort of chapters… As for your comment on them being OOC… Well, I do try to stay as close to their real characters as possible. Though I’m quite aware this kind of situation would not likely happen in JKR’s books, I still believe the two of them could act like this when put in that situation… Especially when I read some other smutty scenes (check AdultFanFiction.Net if you don’t believe me), I believe I’ve created something (mildly) kinky, but still true to their characters from the books… But then again, I could very well be deluding myself…

***

Looking into his eyes, she felt her heart thumping in fear. If his green gaze could’ve, it would’ve melted her with its heat and intensity.

Frozen in place, she let Harry grab her upper arms…

*

Hermione didn’t know what to do… She had let herself go all evening, but now that she was faced with the repercussions… her mind drew a painful blank…

She had forgotten about why she had done all this in the first place, she only knew she was at his mercy…

***

Harry looked at her… He was starting to calm down a bit, but the blood in his veins was still pushing his limits… Some far away part of his brain informed him of the irony, that this insane situation had unleashed the very ‘thing’ Dumbledore had been wanting him to do all year long…

That power, that liquid magic, so strongly linked to emotions was still coursing through him… This was what he had been so afraid of letting go… this was what had cost him so much anxiety, and now it was flowing through him. Not at all satisfied with just getting to alter some restraining bonds, that power demanded more…

His fingers tingled where his skin was in contact with the shirt she had donned. She really was marvellous! Her hair was wild, just as he liked it. It was clear she hadn’t a bra under that white dress-shirt she was wearing… and the top buttons were already unbuttoned… Her elegant legs were bare, and a feast to the eyes…

Unable to stop the desire to bare her completely, he turned the two of them around, and making her back up into one of the posts of the bed, he eased the magic flowing through him by putting it to good use. Sliding his hands over her arms to her wrists, he brought them up.

She was a beautiful sight, her back against the wooden post, her wrists above her head, her eyes on him… She was still too shocked to do anything, and it was no difficulty at all to get her wrists pinned above her head. Hermione didn’t protest when he bound her wrists there, but she probably had no idea… sliding his fingers slowly from her wrists, over her arms, she flinched when it started to tickle.

Harry could pinpoint the moment she understood her wrists were bound. She stood for a little while, after he had stopped touching her, unmoving, but with wide eyes. Her breathing was heavy, offering Harry an alluring sight of a heaving chest before his eyes. Though he could have brought up the patience, if he really had wanted to, he grinned momentarily at the Head Girl.

That was all the warning she got when he took both sides of the shirt in each hand, and ripped it open in one go.

***

Hermione thought she was going to pass out any moment now. Though she had never felt as scared in her existence, it wasn’t a panicky-scared-for-her-life-thing… It was an anxiety that was brought on by a situation where she was going to be naked in front of someone else. Not just the skin, but her everything, leaving her vulnerable in a way even Voldemort couldn’t make her feel…

Harry had the power to destroy a part of her by simply rejecting her, and that was enough to make any witch scared…

Despite all of that, she had certainly never felt as aroused and wanton either… She tried to control the primal feelings Harry was lighting deep inside her, but it was a losing battle.

The fact that she had no idea how he had managed to make her wrists impossible to move from their place, made her wonder just how powerful a wizard Harry really was… The thought of him breaking out of his bonds and apparently making the magic around them do as he wished should make her at least nervous. Instead it made her want him even more…

It was like the feeling she had in her dreams, only much stronger. Feeling submissive made something deep inside her hurt in the most delicious way… When he looked at her as if he wanted nothing more than to devour her, he ripped her white blouse away from her. Instead of feeling indignant about that, she felt excitement lashing through her, threatening to engulf her.

For now, there wasn’t really anything he hadn’t seen in the dreams before. But she felt his gaze almost physically burn her. It made her shiver, but the goose-bumps only served to stimulate her skin into more sensual sensitivity. After what seemed an eternity, he finally brought his hands to her in real contact with her skin.

The pleasure and slight relief it gave her to feel his hands resting on her hips, just above her panties, gave her mind some room to breath…

***

Harry couldn’t have been gentlemanly about it, even if he’d wanted it. He may be a powerful wizard or something like that… At the moment he was very much a teenager seeing a part of female anatomy for the first time… live… Of course he’d had the lifelike dreams… And he’s seen his little share of nude upper bodies on Muggle tv and wizard pictures… But nothing could have made him turn away his eyes from the skin he’d just bared.

It was all he could do not to lose control and start fondling her like a lecherous creature… But this was Hermione, and despite the craziness of the situation, a part of him was firmly telling his itching fingers to show at least the littlest respect for this amazing girl… no woman…

After Harry felt he had been able to memorise every curve’s shadow of her chest, he uncurled his fists carefully, and reached for relatively innocent skin. After all, she had been able to investigate all of him… He really wanted to see all of her, too…

Harry felt the skin of her hips, and the feeling of just touching Hermione so, made something inside him soar… Or was it roar?

He pushed his confusion and guilt about the situation aside: after all, turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it?

“Just evening the score, tease…”

Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear, while he gently brought his fingers under the waistband of her white-cotton knickers, and slowly pushed them down a few millimetres. He was careful to hold her gaze for any sign she wanted to stop this… All he met, though, was an uncertain and confusing gaze.

He had just gotten the posterior side of her knickers over her soft globes; Merlin, that skin was soft… when he saw the littlest of flicker in her eyes. Remembering what she’d said to him before this whole evening had started, he whispered in her ear:

“You know you can trust me, don’t you, love?”

Their gaze was intense, but even without any vocal protest of Hermione, Harry proceeded with his explanations. All the while keeping his fingers feathery light on the skin he’d just bared, but couldn’t see.

“You see, there’s something that’s been bothering me ever since you told me, how it was those dreams came to order… Now you blamed me for using Legilimency… And I can see that… it could be that I unconsciously used it in my dreams… But I don’t think that would be enough for us to have those kind of dreams…”

Breaking the gaze, Harry brought his mouth close to her ear, whispering he continued:

“I know you practised Occlumency… So, the dreams could’ve never happened by accident if you didn’t want them to happen… You see, I couldn’t possibly make you do anything in the dreams, Hermione… You were there of your free will, or you wouldn’t have been there at all…”

***

Hermione could barely breathe when she felt his fingers caress the skin of her bum… so softly… The light touches were driving her crazy, and at the same time, she couldn’t suppress the feeling of nervousness that he was about to shed her knickers…

His eyes focused back on hers, and together with his words, they were comforting her, assuring her, making her fall even more…

But the stubborn part of her started to awaken. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t melt for him as easily as she had in the dreams… She should fight this… this delicious feeling… And ask him to take away the bonds, or move his fingers less ticklingly over her bare bottom… She knew he would, if she just asked him…

Her attention was slipping, and she barely made out what he was saying… Whispering in her ear… His breath was just so, wet and warm, and made her shiver in a wondrous way every time it hit her skin. Occlumency? Yes, she was quite good at it, actually… What did that have to do with… the dreams? Free will? Could it be? Maybe she’d always known it, but didn’t want to… believe…

No! Come back… Harry had just moved away from her… Her ear shell feeling strangely cold… His green gaze… but she had to focus now…

Oh! Had he just… squeezed her? Hermione was thorn between wanting to slap him, or kiss him for finally stopping with the soft mind-numbing touches on the skin of her bum…

Hey! What, oh… Well, now there went her knickers. Her last barrier… She was now as nude as he was. Feeling not as uncomfortable as she thought she’d feel, she assisted him when he helped her step out of the white cotton.

Despite not really knowing what to expect next, she was rather surprised when he rubbed her feet, and moved his touches slightly higher, but never past her knees. Hermione relaxed in the soothing caresses, and didn’t really notice he had an alternative agenda to making her feel worry-free…

***

After giving her bottom a quick squeeze, Harry found the courage to take her panties from her…

Harry was in a strange place. Knowing for certain that it was the liquid power he had somehow unleashed that was keeping him from being a nervous mess, he was grateful for the confidence it brought him.

Seeing her digest the knowledge that they were both responsible for the dreams, and what happened in them, he thought he’d waited long enough to give her a chance to back out.

Without encountering any protests from Hermione, he’d slipped the innocent-looking underwear down her legs. Kneeling in front of her, he realised the amount of skin that could be explored of her, just from her legs.

Not seeing any reason not to do it, he brought his hands to her ankles, and tried to test out the effect of every touch on each little piece of skin he encountered. While he was learning… memorising her, he revelled in the soft moans she uttered. How was it possible for Hermione Granger to have such unchecked noises coming from her mouth? And was it really all because of him?

He discovered a particularly sensitive spot in one of the hollows behind her knees. And she reacted rather ticklish when he concentrated on her toes… But this wasn’t enough… And although he’d really wanted to explore higher… Discovering the most intimate, as well as the most intimidating part of the female body… of Hermione’s body… he decided to reign in his impulses, with the aid of his magical, flowing power, and treat her like she’d treated him moments before…

His mind just thought up one most… interesting… plan…

He’d read about Wendelin de Weird before his third year, and he’d never thought anything about it… Until now… Yes, Hermione must enjoy a little scientific experiment just fine, why ever wouldn’t she?

***

Hermione was perfectly content to stay like that forever… Well, maybe not forever, because her arms were going to start hurting at one time or another from their position above her head. But the nice caresses and massages her feet and lower legs were getting fell heavenly.

So heavenly, in fact, that she’d completely forgiven Harry about the fact that she was pretty much nude - save for the ripped shirt - and tied up by him… And really, when one thought about it… Harry did have a point… She’d ‘punished’ him before, because she believed he had been solely responsible for the dreams. So why couldn’t he repay the favour? … Hmm, no… it wasn’t a favour… what was it again? Oh, yes: revenge…

Proud of herself to have come to the right solution - what had been the problem again? - she had to drag her mind back to the present when she lost the exquisite feeling of his touches…

Wh-what?

Harry stood up straight again, and she noticed he was towering over her a little more than normally. Frowning, she realised her feet were standing apart, and that there laid the reason for her being seemingly a bit shorter. However, it seemed that her evil supposed-to-be best friend had somehow bound those too from being able to be moved, much like the way her wrists were bound.

Looking down at her feet to asses the situation, she was suddenly very much reminded about their clothing… well, lack there of… Of course, she knew before this that he hadn’t anything on… Why she had shed it all herself! And she had been quite closely introduced to the part of him that was still quite hard and pointing in her general vicinity…

But, just looking down, and seeing they were both naked, together… it was just another reason to make her heart beat a little harder than it already was…

Looking up uncertainly, she tried to guess his intentions… Well, the only thing she could discover from his expression was that he was planning something naughty… uhmm… maybe mischievous was a safer term then - shiver- naughty… Trying to focus through her rebelliously disobedient thought process - really, she should be more level-headed then this! - she frowned at Harry’s growing smirk.

With wide eyes, Hermione saw Harry extend his hand, and as if it were nothing extraordinary, he performed wandless magic to bring a bundle of torn sheets from somewhere on her left. While he let the dirty grey sheets fall at her feet… between her feet, really… Hermione looked at them in confusion before a moment of terror stopped her heart. A spark had ignited, and in only seconds, the drapes were on fire!

Panicking she looked up at Harry, ready to demand what he thought he was doing. But as soon as she tried to speak up, she found that he’d numbed her vocal cords… a bloody spell she’d taught him!

Not knowing what to think about this, her head tried to push away the unproductive terror, and think about this rationally…

Giving up on that hopeless trail of action, she looked at Harry pleadingly… Why was he doing this to her? Why was he looking so calm, and reassuring? He was her best friend… and he knew she loved him? Why would he hurt her? Why? … Oh!

Breathing in sharply, she felt the first flame lick on her skin. The expected pain was never registered… Though it was only after a few moments that her mind properly did register what the true feeling was… It tickled!

Looking incredulously at the black-haired fiend standing before her, she let herself relax voicelessly in the sensations of the flames infected by a freezing charm. It felt rather like the touches from before, when it had been his fingers working their magic on her skin… now it were the fire’s fingers… similar… only… well, different… less purposeful… more erratic…

***

Harry watched the emotions of his bloody brilliant Hermione with care… he felt a bit guilty at her fearful shock… But just when he was going to reassure her vocally, she had already figured out just what he’d done.

He didn’t really know how that piece of long forgotten information had been pushed back to the front of his memory… But it had just appeared in his conscious mind, and really, the opportunity to see how it would affect her was too good to pass up. Watching her closely, as she relaxed in the tickling sensations of the freezing-charmed flames on her ankles and lower legs, he decided to up the stakes… so to speak…

“You know, Hermione, I just know you’ll be delighted that I’m taking interest in doing a little magical experimenting… I’m sure your gorgeous mind has already guessed that these flames have a freezing charm on them, and no doubt do you remember how our kind used this method to save themselves from the executions throughout the Middle Ages… So now… Well why don’t we see how its effects really are from first hand experience? I know I should probably take notes, but now I’ll just have to pay very close attention and commit everything to memory, won’t I?”

Throughout his little speech he made the fire grow a little in intensity, letting the flames aim higher… gradually…

***

Hermione’s heart was racing… Despite the ‘mounting’ distraction from the frozen flames, her mind suddenly registered the real effect his voice had on her… He really ought to speak like that more, almost lecturing… He didn’t use this calm baritone nearly enough as he should… But maybe that was a good thing… Imagine the expanding growth of his already large fan club! All witches would be entranced if they knew the full effect of Harry’s charms, like his intense green gaze, and that commanding voice, and that force behind all his gentleness, and relative innocence behind all his scars, emotional or otherwise…

Brought back to the present, Hermione was made aware of her body’s impulses… Trying desperately to give up on the pointless urge to close her legs, and escape the mounting flames, she felt the tickles attacking her mercilessly.

It had started above her ankles, but now, the fire was already roaring softly up until her knees. Her knees were trembling, but even they couldn’t totally give up on holding her weight, because then she wouldn’t be able to escape the flames at all.

Struggling with her elbows to get her wrists to move, she moved back as much as she could… until the bedpost dug almost painfully in her back. No escape from the torture, and no vocal way to demand that he stop this, she tried to keep the flinching in her stomach stop…

Ticklish as she was, she couldn’t help but laughing despite the loss of use of her vocal cords. The sensations were so intense, even her upper body reacted, without her permission. Goosebumps covered her chest, and if she weren’t so preoccupied with the sensations lower, she would’ve desperately needed a soothing touch there…

Growing weak, and warm, and light-headed, she felt the odd flame flicker up now and then, touching her inner thighs in a most teasing way. Too content and frustrated at once, a strange numbness settled over her… She felt like a warm, twitching, boneless victim of too much… Strength leaving her, her mind was peacefully blank…

Her knees giving up, and her elbows trembling, she fell lower, her knees bent, dangling from the bedpost by her wrists… But only for a few seconds… Before she… burned…

If Hermione could’ve, she would’ve yelped… or screamed… or… something, when she felt the results of her defeat. Not at all painful, she felt a fire consume every stray logical thought that dared enter her mind. Senses on overload, her body reacted on instinct and nothing more…

Now that her body was positioned lower, but the fire was still as high and intense as ever, the flames were tickling a part of her that had never before been tickled. Her thighs trembled, her eyes bulged, and she was trying very hard to catch a breath, but she felt… ironically… like she was drowning…

Fierce pleasure cursed through her, raw and untamed, Hermione was utterly lost in the intensity of feeling the vulnerable flesh between her thighs touched by the flames, though the fire was tickling other sensitive parts of her skin, like her thighs, and her bottom, it was only there as intensely felt, and only there that she could still consciously feel it.

If Hermione Granger had ever known aggravation, frustration, and exasperation, all together, she had never quite felt it like right now. The fire’s touch wasn’t solid, as she craved for it to be…

Her body reacting with self-preservation urges, and with strength she didn’t know were left in her muscles, she managed to arch her back as far as possible, shoving her pelvis away from the mind-numbing fire, finding extreme relief with the ticklish sensations shifting to her lower back only…

***

Harry watched the emotions playing on Hermione’s face with an attention never shown before… He was just a bit surprised at how much he loved teasing her the way she had him before, and the way he had in the dreams…

Seeing her sag, and react so strongly to the overpowering feeling of the flames too close to sensitive flesh, he made to release her. Just milliseconds before he could free her from her bonds and willing the flames to cease, he saw her body react instinctively to escape the flames as he barely managed to catch her…

All those actions happened in mere moments… But by the time Harry held the trembling Hermione in his arms, she was powerless to do more then catch her breath… Because of the situation before, Harry found himself in an awkward, but very pleasurable position over Hermione.

Her feet still apart, despite the disappearance of the magic holding her so, he had rushed between them to catch her, giving him now the exquisite position between her trembling thighs… Her back arched, and her arms reaching limply towards the floor, fallen from their bound position, the torn shirt slightly clinging to her sweaty skin… He held her with both arms under her back, giving him a most powerful and beautiful sight of the flush colouring her cheeks, and breasts, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, in an impossible display of abandon…

This was a Hermione Granger nobody but him got to see. His heart warmed inexplicably, followed by the rest of his body. The sudden understanding of how really important she had become to him, and how seriously important it suddenly struck him to be as irreplaceable to her, as she was to him… The numbing fear, as well as the total strength those conflicting, all-consuming feelings brought him, gave his very existence reason to pause while still gazing upon the amazing sight…

***

Hermione knew the most fierce sensations must have lasted for no more then mere moments… But recuperating in Harry’s arms was too delightful to actually try and move out of his embrace.

She couldn’t pinpoint what exactly her body had just experienced, but while her breathing returned to normal, the sweat on her naked body made her shiver. Slowly opening her eyes, to determine the reason Harry held her like that, she almost instantly focused on green eyes.

To say his gaze had been intense before was not doing justice to the amount of energy that was crackling behind them now… Oddly, it reminded her of Dumbledore’s ability to make his eyes twinkle… But Harry’s definitely weren’t just twinkling now… it was more like burning… only, still different as the unique way she had been burned before…

Hermione was exasperated by the limited aid language supplied to describe what she was experiencing… It was as if his eyes were branding her… Branding his claim on her heart… But not in any bad obsessive way Hermione would’ve protested against… No, it was different… again…

Grasping at words to formulate what this gaze meant, she lifted her previously limp arms, and cupped his face into her hands. Unable to tell who moved to get her upright first, Hermione slightly stumbled in Harry’s supporting arms, moving close enough to Harry to feel every part of his skin. Clinging, a bit sweaty, to him, she was reminded how much Harry still seemed to be holding back, if his slightly flinching muscles were anything to go by…

But the games of teasing and punishment were temporarily forgotten…

***

Sorry, this is it, for now… Please, review?