Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me; they are the original creation of J.K. Rowling and I intend no profit from this story.
Author's Note: If you enjoy this story, please tell me so...I will update according to reader response!
Lying awake in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter stared up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing, thinking about everything...thinking about her. His nighttime hours of late had been maddeningly restless, and he was drawn to the warmth of the fire that still burned here, hoping it would give him some solace and comfort.
A noise on the stairs jerked him out of his peaceful reverie. He knew almost without looking who it was, and as she stepped further into the room out of the shadows, his heart lurched at the affirmation that it was her. Hermione.
She yawned and stretched her arms high above her head, the hem of her nightie creeping dangerously far up her thighs until he could almost see her knickers -- that is, if she was wearing any -- although he couldn't imagine that Hermione would be the kind of girl to neglect such an article of clothing. Seeing her standing there yawning like a little girl and dressed in such a womanly little skivvy was a conflicting image -- similtaneously the most arousing and endearing sight Harry had ever seen. Feeling very naughty and rather warm for looking at her in such a way without her knowledge, he cleared his throat to announce his presence, and was met with a startled little "Oh" from Hermione as she realized that she was not alone. She moved with sudden insecurity to straighten her nightie, trying to tug the hem down lower to reveal less of her long, smooth legs, for indeed, it was little more than a meager scrap of fabric. Who knew that conservative little Hermione would sleep in such a tiny bit of lace?
Trying not to stare, Harry realized that the illumination of the moonlight behind her gave a clear view of the outlines of her body beneath the light fabric, and found his throat uncomfortably dry as he noticed the smallness of her waist and gentle curve of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts beneath the fabric and the place between her legs where they parted from one another. He gulped hard. Although he was 17, it was nonetheless the most naked he had seen a woman in person, and the thrill of it made his heart race and his head spin.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I should've put on my robe." She blushed and looked down at the floor, digging her toes into the carpet shyly.
Harry could not believe that such a stupid comment could come from a girl -- no, woman -- as smart as Hermione, because she could realize with one glance at his lap that he was most certainly not sorry that she had neglected to don her robe.
Clearing his throat again, Harry stood up, hoping that his shirt would cover the painful bulge in his thin pajama pants. He approached her wordlessly until they were standing very close, and smiled at her softly as he looked down on her, her large brown doe-eyes full of apprehension at their proximity. "Don't be sorry," he said softly. "You've never looked more beautiful."
Looking shocked, Hermione began to protest. "Oh, but my hair --" she started.
"Is beautiful, and messy, and sexy," he reassured her, taking a lock of her curls in his fingers gentle, playing with it, marvelling at it.
"Harry --" she said nervously, backing away from him demurely and stepping closer to the light of the fire. She didn't seem to know how to finish her sentence, and stood there not meeting his gaze for a moment, focusing instead on the dying embers. For once observant, Harry realized with growing excitement that he could see her belly-button through the fabric of her nightie, and let his eyes wander higher to her breasts, where he realized for the first time that her small, dark nipples were just barely visible through the fabric of her gown. She could feel his eyes on her and knew that the flush that suddenly creeped across her skin was not because of the warmth of the fire.
"Hermione," he said simply, approaching her again. The strap of her gown has slipped off her shoulder, and she looked up at him fearfully as she felt his rough fingertips on her arm, guiding it back up to where it belonged. His hand lingered there and her eyes were wide and dark, fearful and hopeful of what he would do next.
Given new boldness by the intensity of his arousal, his hand wandered up to tangle in the messy curls of her hair, tilting her head up gently. Too overwhelmed by the look in his eyes, Hermione closed her own just moments before feeling his lips descend onto hers, soft and wet and sensual.
He kissed her as gently as he could manage given the sheer magnitude of his lust for her and the sudden desperation he felt for her, for this. Her mouth was warm and wet and inviting, and she parted her lips for him, welcoming the firm assault of his tongue. Her body trembled against his as he snaked his free arm around her waist, feeling the supple, soft skin beneath the thin material of her gown, feeling intensely masculine and powerful at the smallness of her waist. A thought flew into his head and he tried desperately to push it away as he realized how dangerous it was -- the thought of how much he would like to feel those same soft sides beneath his hands as he fucked her, guiding her movements with a firm grip on her hips, watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed heavily on top of him, long legs locked tightly around his waist, slick heat enveloping him...he wanted her so badly, it hurt.
When their lips broke for the smallest of seconds, she gasped as she similtaneously felt his hand move to cup her ass and a persistent bulge collide with her thigh. He moaned softly with the intensity of it, still feeling her trembling against him. "I need you," he mumbled into her hair, knowing he had gone too far but unable to find his reserves of self-control.
She stood their like that for a tiny moment, breathing heavily against him, her round bottom poured into his palm, filling it deliciously. And then, suddenly, she moved to pull away from him, as he had known she would. It was all too heavy for her, too fast and too intense.
She said nothing as she fled from the room, casting one last look over her slim shoulder as she mounted the stairs back up to the Griffyndor girls' room. With a defeated sigh, Harry collapsed backwards onto one of the sofas, burying his face in his hands.
They would talk about it in the morning. For now, they would spend another lonely night in their seperate beds, their dreams full of soft kisses and small sighs in the dark of the night.