After what felt like an eternity, the bell rang dismissing the students from McGongall's class. Hermione darted out of the classroom, weaving through the web of students with an impressive lack of jostling or collisions. Before Ron and Harry could even make it out the door of the class, she was well out of sight.
But not out of mind. It was clear to Harry that Hermione was going to be avoiding him in earnest, and yet the need to talk to her seemed very pressing. He hated to do it, but knowing her stubbornness as well as he did, he knew he would have to corner her. And thus, after dinner that evening, he followed her as she left the great hall and made her way up to the Astronomy Tower.
She stood there overlooking the grounds below her, watching the play of moonlight on the surface of the lake, her dress blowing lightly about her in the soft breezes of the late evening. The moon was bright, the air crystal clear and all the stars shining.
She felt his presence before hearing the first sound of a footfall on the stones. "I want to be alone," she said, not turning to face him.
He came up behind her, wishing she would turn to look at him and said simply, "I don't." The true impact of his words hit her when she felt his hands come to rest lightly on her sides, a gentle touch with a warmth that she could feel through the thin fabric of her dress.
"So you need a convenient warm body?" she asked, a touch of bitterness in her voice.
"I need YOU, Hermione," he clarified.
There was a beat of silence. "Are you sure?" she whispered finally.
"More than I am about anything," he murmered.
He could feel her skin, warm beneath the cloth, and finally she relaxed against him, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. "Oh, Harry," she said. "I'm so confused."
This strange transition from friendship to something more felt was to Harry akin to moving to a new country...somewhere beautiful you had read about and imagined, somewhere that turned about to be much bigger than you'd envisioned -- thrilling, but overwhelming in its newness. So much to learn, to see, to explore...it was enough to make anyone's head spin.
But despite the vertigo, Harry felt a thrill of warmth and pulled her close against him, their bodies flush together, the smooth, soft lines of her and the sharp, strong lines of him. It felt good; it felt right. It felt finally arriving at that place you'd visited only in dreams, but knew where you belonged. It felt like coming home.
And so they stood there overlooking the calm land below them in meditative silence, each occupied in their own thoughts, kept company by the familiar warmth of each other's bodies. After a long moment, Harry bent to kiss her neck lightly, meaning it to be innocent and brief. But he found her skin was so soft, warm and delicate, that he could not help but let his mouth linger there. His stubble was rough against her flesh, coarse and erotic, and involuntarily, a moan escaped her, a small sound that sent a delicious rush through him, imagining the heat pooling between her legs.
He kissed her there again, hoping for more of her soft sighs. He kissed her neck up and down, soft, wet, sucking kisses that made her skin feel hotter beneath his hands.
He let his lips linger by her ear, his breath warm against her skin. It was so easy to touch her like this, and as he closed his eyes he could almost imagine what it would be like to make love to her.
He thought of her small, round breasts beneath her snug dress, imagining her rosy pink nipples against his chest, soft and responsive to the roughness of male hands. He became very concious of his grip on her sides, of how soft her skin was, how pliant to the touch, and thought that he would like to feel her skin naked and warm beneath his hands, to grip those soft sides as he rocked into her. He thought of her legs...those long, long legs, and remembered how they moved, graceful and smooth beneath the fabric of her dress as she walked along. He wanted them wrapped tightly around his waist, and wanted especially what was between them.
With a pang of excitement, he remembered that she was a virgin. Admittedly that knowledge thrilled him, and he imagined that she would be deliciously, almost painfully tight, soft and hot and small. He thought of her ass, remembering how it moved beneath her dress, round and supple...and he decided that at the least, he needed to feel it against him since he could not simply bury himself inside her at the moment. So he moved, just slightly, guiding her body to where he wanted it with a strong hand on her waist. Now her ass, soft and round, was pressed soundly against his arousal. He heard her breath hitch.
He was unbearably hard, and he almost couldn't take the torture of it, her bottom so deliciously soft against his straining erection. He resisted the urge to simply shove her skirt up past her hips, bend her over the ledge and take her...to sink into the softness between her legs, feel it surrounding him, hot and tight and slick. Instead, he pulled her tighter against him, and moaned, not caring if he had gone too far or if he had shocked her with his boldness. He wanted to make her understand her effect on him.
"Do you feel that?" he asked her, his voice barely a whisper and deeper than she had ever heard it. She felt her skin flush at the sound of it. "Do you see what you do to me?" he choked, his breath warm and airy against her skin.
"Yes," was all she could manage. He took it as a good sign.
He turned her around, mustering some self-control and vowing to keep himself in check. He moved with greater slowness now, wrapping one arm solidly around her waist, pulling her to him. He felt an overwhelming need to feel her against him, and this closeness was a true intimacy, their faces very close together. Her eyes were dark and a bit frightened, but imploring. And so he buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply.
She was a soft, sweet kisser, her mouth warm and wet and inviting. If they had been in a bedroom somewhere now, he would've slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and tugged it off her body, letting it pool around her ankles. He wanted to kiss down her neck, kiss her breasts, her stomach, her thighs...kiss and suck between her legs, feel her fingers in his hair as he tasted her there, even wetter and more inviting than her sweet mouth...but they were not in a bedroom, so he contented himself with letting his hand journey down to her ass. It filled his palm perfectly, and he squeezed it involuntarily. He was painfully, painfully hard, his erection pratically sobbing for relief. It was pressed soundly against her body, and the awareness of it sent the blood pumping through her veins wildly fast, her heart hammering in her chest.
With great effort, he pulled himself away from her, turning away, barely able to catch his breath. He didn't dare look at her, for fear that he might not be able to resist ripping her dress off her, freeing her beautiful body from the confines of clothing, spreading her legs and fucking her hard. She deserved hours of slow, soft love-making, and he knew he could not give her that now, and certainly not up here on a hard stone floor. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep his composure. "I know you're not ready for this."
"Harry..." she began softly.
He turned to her again suddenly, grabbing her and kissing her once more, fiercely. "We'll talk in the morning," he said.
"Procrastinator," she whispered, but he saw her smile coyly, and watched as one bewitched as she moved fluidly down the stairs back inside the castle, casting one quick glance back over her shoulder as she went.
Later that night, alone in his bathroom upstairs, he at last found the release he was seeking. The first contact of his
hand against his manhood was almost enough to bring him to orgasm, delicious and familiar, and he almost whimpered with
the pleasure of it as he stroked himself. He could still feel her soft body against him, and thrusting up into his
hand, imagined it was her, hot and tight around him. He came quickly, and it was a long while before he was fully calm
again and his breathing returned to normal. He sighed to himself, confused and overwhelmed, and wondered what the
morning would bring.