Scratching The Itch
By Anne U
Author's note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1 already. I really appreciate your kind comments.
Chapter 2 - Discovery
Although she was a witch, Hermione Granger had grown up as a Muggle and was still fond of certain Muggle inventions that her friend Ron couldn't comprehend. One of them was an alarm clock, which came in quite handy the next morning. Only the shriek of the alarm could have roused her from the completely pissed slumber she'd fallen into as soon as her head hit the pillow. Was it really 7:00 a.m.? Did she really have to get up and go to work at the Ministry of Magic on only four hours of sleep?
Errrrrggggghhhhh, she thought as she pushed the covers off and swung her legs out of the bed. Bloody hell. Remind me not to go out drinking with that bunch again anytime soon.
Hermione wasn't surprised to find herself wearing the same clothes she'd worn to Ron's Quidditch game the previous day. After eight, or was it ten, hours of drinking after the game, her shirt and jeans reeked of tobacco smoke and multiple alcoholic beverages. She knew she needed a long hot shower, but more than anything she really needed to pee. She was surprised to discover that she also needed to scratch her stomach, which itched like hell. She grabbed her favorite bath robe and went down to the main bathroom, where she unzipped her jeans and -
"Dear God in heaven!! What is this thing on me?!" she exclaimed to no one in particular.
She looked down at her abdomen in shock. It was still there, and it still itched and prickled like the dickens. She unbuttoned her shirt and looked at her entire front in the mirror. Still there, still hurt. She licked a finger then rubbed it on her abdomen, hoping the ink would rub off and the annoying prickling sensation would go away, but no such luck.
Low on her stomach, just above her fuzz, was a tattoo of a Golden Snitch, the tiny winged ball so prized and pursued by Quidditch players, specifically Seekers. In other words, players like Harry. Somehow -- it must have been last night while she was totally pissed out of her mind -- she'd gotten a Snitch tattooed on a very intimate part of her body. She supposed the location could have been worse (high up on her inner thigh, perhaps) but the image was equally mind-boggling.
She's managed to get herself branded with the object Harry had spent seven years chasing on his broom. She assumed Lavender had something to do with actually getting the tattoo, but why this particular object? Why, in the name of Kennilworthy Whisp, did she get a Snitch?
Hermione needed to talk to someone about this. Right. Now. The idea of discussing it with Lavender was quickly rejected when she realized that Lav was probably tucked in bed with Ron. Bloody hell, don't go near that room, she thought. The more she looked at the Snitch on her belly, the higher her panic rose, so she did the only thing she could think of.
She apparated into Harry's bedroom.
"Oh good, you're up, I thought maybe I was the only one who'd woken yet, I really need to talk to you," she blurted out, hoping she didn't sound as frantic as she felt.
The words tumbled out of her mouth as she paced back and forth in his room, her shirt flapping open and her jeans still unzipped, barely aware of him sitting on his bed. "I can't believe what I've gone and done. I really don't remember doing it, but the evidence is right here" -- she waved toward her midsection -- "and it itches and burns and it's probably permanent and I am so totally going to strangle Lavender when she gets up, and it's really her fault and Ron's and yours for letting me get so drunk that I'd even consider doing something like this and -"
"Uhm...What?" Harry looked at her, glassy-eyed. Probably just hung-over, of course.
"Oh honestly Harry!" she snapped, "haven't you heard a thing I've said?"
He shook his head, looking like he'd just lost fifty points from Gryffindor.
"I was so bloody drunk I let her talk me into it and dear GOD of all the things to put there!"
"Put where?"
"HERE!"
Then she surprised herself -- and apparently him -- by what she did next. She tugged her jeans open and pulled them down around her hips so he could see what she was talking about. It didn't even bother her that his eyes were locked to the bottom of her zipper. She was so intent on his seeing what she wanted to show him that she didn't consider what else he might see.
His eyes moved up her body and went wide with shock when he recognized the design. As he stared at the tattoo, Hermione could feel the Snitch's wings flutter restlessly on her belly. Bloody bloody hell.
"It moved!" he sputtered.
"Yes, it does that!" she barked, beside herself with annoyance. "It's attuned to my mood!"
A dreamy look on his face, Harry continued to stare at her belly.
"W-why?"
She frowned. What did he mean, why?
"Why did you get a Snitch on you?" he insisted.
She blinked, and pulling up her pants, she zipped them shut and hid the tattoo.
"I have no idea! No idea at all!" She suddenly realized he was sitting there in nothing but a towel, his upper body bare and still damp from his shower. Merlin, this was going quickly from bad to worse. What could she have been thinking when she popped in here?
"Why'd you show me?" he pressed her.
She stared back at him and frowned, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Pulling her shirt closed, she sighed. Bloody hell.
"I don't know."
Without another word she popped out of his room and back into her own bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the floor for several minutes while her usual common sense seemed to have left her. Finally her logical, rational mind kicked in and she reviewed the situation. She'd gotten tattooed in a delicate location while in a drunken stupor, then panicked and shown the tattoo to her best friend, giving him an eyeful of parts of her body he'd most certainly never seen before. Said best friend not only seemed to enjoy said eyeful very much, he was also wearing nothing but a towel. Not to mention that the tattoo involved an object of unusual interest to said friend, and for the life of her she didn't know why she'd chosen to have a drawing of that object burned into her flesh. There was only one thing for it. She had totally, completely screwed up.
Hermione took a very brief shower that morning. She worried about being late for work and she didn't want to be reminded of that Snitch on her belly any longer than she could help it. As she dried herself off the Snitch's wings fluttered in a slow, leisurely fashion that Hermione took as a sign that she was starting to calm down. She put on some knickers and a matching bra, then a tee-shirt, some socks, a pair of very trim jeans that made her arse look smaller, boots, and finally a jacket. She clipped her hair up on top of her head and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.
Ron and Lavender hadn't risen yet so Hermione had the kitchen to herself, at least for now. She was glad they weren't up yet, as she was afraid of what she might say to Lavender when she finally did see her again. She put some bread in the toaster and was thankful for having this Muggle appliance because her head hurt so bad she couldn't remember the spell for making toast. She was also glad that Harry hadn't come to breakfast yet either. She's been terribly riled up when she popped into his room and really hadn't thought through the implications of baring so much of herself to him. She'd shown him not only the Snitch tattoo but also, inadvertently, her nipples and the top of her fuzz through the flimsy underthings she'd worn. His glassy-eyed stare could have just been part of his obvious hangover, but the way he couldn't take his eyes off the Snitch seemed to be something else entirely.
It was almost as if he were…no, this is Harry we're talking about, he couldn't be… Harry doesn't think of me that way, I'm just Hermione to him. But he seemed so incredibly taken by it…
Her lone slice of wheat toast popped up, cutting off her musings. She buttered the toast and spread a dollop of strawberry jam on it. Then she unfurled the Daily Prophet and scanned the front page while she nibbled on her breakfast. When someone suddenly entered the room, Hermione didn't even need to ask or look up to know it was Harry - she knew it was him by the sound of his footsteps, by the clean, distinctively masculine smell of his freshly showered body. Bugger, he smelled great, but she still didn't know quite what to say to him, so she continued to read.
He waved the teakettle in her direction. "Tea? Coffee?"
She shook her head and looked back to the paper. He sighed and made himself something to eat. As he sat down opposite her to eat his breakfast, Hermione could feel his gaze trained on her, green eyes clouded with thought and…well she wasn't quite sure what else. She felt her lips tighten and a blush roar into her cheeks - and he hadn't even said or done anything yet.
Then he said something that made her cheeks burn even more.
"Won't it come off?"
She looked up at him and sighed. "No. It's a tattoo. I'm stuck with it for life."
"But it's magic," said Harry, "and you're the smartest witch I know. You can do any spell you want with a bit of practice."
She blinked and sighed again. She was so tired, so very tired and hung over. Head aching, she rubbed her temples.
"It's not that simple, Harry. Wizard Tattoo artists aren't regulated like Muggle ones. Not in Knockturn Alley, anyway! They don't want the mark to fade, their livelihood depends on it, so they're always coming up with better and stronger tonics and potions and paints and you bloody name it! I couldn't remove this unless I was deeply knowledgeable of the trade!" A feeling of sheer panic rose in her again. "And I'm not! I could kick the bums of all the tattoo artists between here and freaking Hogwarts but I couldn't get this bloody thing off me!" The panic inside was rising faster by the moment, and Hermione bit her lip to keep back the tears she didn't want to shed.
Harry grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, his own soft with concern. "Hey, hey…"
She raised her own eyes and met his slowly. "I think it looks very pretty," he said in his most assuring voice.
That opened the dam. Unable to keep her feelings in check, she buried her head in her arms and whimpered.
"I'm so bloody humiliated!" she moaned. "And embarrassed! And horrified!"
"Why? It's just a tattoo."
"No!" she cried. Arrrrgh! He doesn't understand! "It's not just a bloody tattoo, Harry! I'm marked now! I'm worse than those Quidditch girlfriends simpering at the bar over their meat-headed boyfriends! It's like I'm something to be grabbed at and fought over, a prize!"
"But look at it the other way," he consoled her.
"What other way?!" What other way could there possibly be to look at this?
He took her hand again, apparently trying to calm her. She hoped he could say something that would stop her from wanting to hide in her room for the rest of her life.
"Well, the Snitch used to be a little golden bird called the Golden Snidget, and it was a really big deal to catch it, because this guy was going to award a hundred and fifty galleons to the guy that caught it during a game of Quidditch hundreds of years ago," he said soothingly. "And now it's become a symbolic thing, this little golden ball. It's like...what everyone wants, more than anything. It's success, and victory, and triumph. That's a powerful thing to have on your body."
She noticed his eyes drift down toward her belly before he continued. "It also represents elusiveness, and desire." Then he pressed his lips together and, his cheeks crimson, he took his hand away. "I think that's pretty appropriate, if you ask me."
Harry moved his eyes to a spot on the tiled floor, apparently too embarrassed to look at her anymore. She realized in that moment that he hadn't intended to say those last few sentences and might have betrayed something that was still bubbling under the surface inside him. She gazed past him trying to weigh what those words might mean to her and to Harry.
Something clicked inside Hermione's heart but she needed to stew on it a bit, let it simmer at least for the rest of the day. Besides, it was time to leave for work. She jumped up and cleared her dishes from the table, then grabbed a scarf and adjusted her cloak as she walked up to her best friend.
"Thanks, Harry," she said, then kissed him on the cheek and apparated to work.
^*^*^*^*^
Once Hermione arrived at the Ministry of Magic, she was very glad that her day was booked tightly until leaving time. Attending several meetings plus spending some hours doing research in the Ministry archives would prevent her from dwelling on the events of the past twelve hours. At least she hoped that would help. Truth be told, she wasn't sure what would help other than something she dared not hope for. Whatever was happening between herself and Harry - and she was now sure that something was happening - was like an itch that started just beneath her skin and went down to her core. If the opportunity arose, would she try to scratch it?
Hermione's day proceeded much as she anticipated, except that she could feel the Snitch responding to her changing moods. As she sat in a meeting feeling bored, the Snitch fluttered slowly as if stretching and trying to stay awake. She found herself doodling on her parchpad, and when the doodle turned into a black-haired boy flying on a broom, the Snitch flapped wildly. After lunch she went down to the archives to read some old reports on unicorn poaching; unfortunately, digging through ancient drawers full of dusty parchments seemed to give the Snitch a coughing fit. Bugger, the thing was sensitive. She could just imagine what it might do if she were thinking of…
No. Don't go there. Not yet anyway…
For once Hermione was glad that she and Harry worked on opposite ends of the second floor and that he was busy helping train new recruits that day, as she was anxious about how her tattoo might react if she saw him just then. She went back to her cubicle and pulled out a heavy parchment file folder. Half an hour later, she finished her report on unicorn poaching and walked down the hallway to the office of her supervisor, Remus Lupin, who led the Greater London Section of the Auror Division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione walked into Lupin's office and handed her report to him. He scanned it briefly, thanked her then suggested she knock off work a tad early. Totally knackered from the previous evening's debaucheries, Hermione was happy to comply. She gathered up her purse and cloak and apparated back to the flat.
"Good evening, everyone! " she called out, hanging her cloak on a peg in the foyer. Neither of her two best friends replied. Hmmm. Probably not home yet. She walked toward her room and called out again. "Harry? Ron?" Still no response. Walking further, she could hear the rumble of the shower in the communal bathroom. That accounted for Ron, but not Harry. She assumed he wasn't home yet and retreated to her own room to get comfortable.
Closing the door, she kicked off her boots and removed her clothing. Stripped down to just her bra and knickers, she wrapped her favorite dark-pink silk bathrobe around herself. After spending so much time in the Ministry archives, she felt somewhat dusty and grimy, and she hoped that a shower would give her a second wind for the evening. Lavender had owled her at lunch time, saying Ron had invited her for dinner, which probably meant Lavender would be spending another night at the flat. Hermione also hoped to train some warm water on a part of her that had been aching all day.
Harry won't be home for half an hour, so he won't mind if I use his bathroom, she thought. She'd used the bathroom attached to Harry's bedroom on numerous occasions when the other bathroom was in use, and while there had been a few close calls in towels and bathrobes, she'd never seen anything too embarrassing.
Never, that is, until this time, when she apparated just inside the bathroom door.
There was Harry, leaning against the bathroom sink, his hands covering his face. He was completely, utterly naked. And there, little more than an arm's length away from her, was his manhood, exposed to her in all its glory.
And Merlin, it was glorious indeed.
The instant she realized what she was seeing, her breath hitched and the damned Snitch started flapping on her belly like a pixie in heat. Hermione wasn't exactly a virgin, but she didn't have a huge amount of sexual experience either. Nevertheless, she thought Harry's erection was the most beautiful example of its kind she'd ever seen. It was longer than she'd expected (not that she had ever expected to see it in this or any other lifetime), beautifully proportioned, and the sight of it sent a bolt of lust through her like she'd never felt toward anyone. Any pretense of having platonic feelings for him evaporated in the ten seconds she stood in the doorway and stared at him. Every inch of him was gorgeous (including the rest of his body) and the sight of his vulnerable, undeniably sexual self caused her to ache in a way she couldn't ignore in such close quarters.
But the fact that he didn't even cover himself up confused her terribly. Could he not care whether she saw him in that condition? She didn't know what to think or feel. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on her as a new and different wave of panic rose up in her chest. She turned and uttered a strangled little sound as she stumbled out of the bathroom.
A few seconds later, the door opened. Harry stood there, finally wrapped in a towel, his cheeks crimson. Just inside his bedroom, stepping from foot to foot, Hermione stood with her face buried in her hands.
"Harry..." she gasped.
"It's all right. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" she bleated. "I just didn't know you'd be in there!"
Harry's mouth wagged for a moment, then he found his voice. "The last kid went home early today. I just did some training with Moody and came home." As he looked down she noticed his erection had not gone away. "What are you doing home early?"
Hermione continued to pace back and forth. She felt as shaken as though she'd just traveled by Portkey. Hands over her face, she couldn't bring herself to look at him.
"I finished my report on the - the..." A strange noise left her throat. "They let me have an early day for once!"
He clutched the towel as he opened the door further. She stood in the doorway, face in her hands, eyes fixed on the floor. Her hands remained on her face; she was terrified of what either she or Harry might do or say next.
He leaned on the door, watching her. "You grossed out?" he asked quietly.
She lifted her eyes to his and sucked in a breath, then gulped and stood there with her mouth open while she searched for the right words. When none came, she shook her head.
"...Oh," was all Harry managed to say.
"Y-" She stopped herself, pulling her hair from her face and looking at her feet. "Are you mad with me?"
He shook his head.
At that instant the itch roared back into Hermione's body, the itch that started just beneath her skin and went down to her core, and now beyond to the most intimate part of her. Her past and future with her best friend were suddenly bound up in this single moment. Merlin help me, she sighed inwardly.
She pushed herself up from the doorframe and placed one of her hands over Harry's hands, which clutched his towel around his narrow hips. He looked down at her, watching her. She gazed at her hand on top of his, for a tiny second lost in thought. The opportunity to scratch the itch had indeed arisen (and beautifully so). She had to do something. She had to know.
So she curled her fingers around his and pulled his hands aside. His towel dropped to the floor, and then there was nothing separating him from her.
She peered down at him with a mixture of mischief and awe. He uttered a tiny gasp as her fingers curled about his penis. As she ran her thumb up and down the underside of his shaft, every nerve in her body trembled with excitement and emotion. Here he was, her best friend, allowing her to touch him in this most intimate way, trusting her, not pushing her away. As she moved her fingers up and down and around his shaft, she touched his lips with the fingertips of her other hand. Then she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. She wanted to speak, to whisper how much he meant to her, how feeling him under her hand made her melt inside, but she couldn't say a word. Now that the moment had arrived, she was completely overwhelmed. So she stood there mute, head on his shoulder, fingers on his lips, her other hand wrapped around his penis, moving in ways that made him gasp and moan and made her wish he was doing the same to her.
If they both survived this and she was very lucky perhaps, someday, he would.
And then it happened. He shuddered, his release spilling over her hand. Though her face remained placid, Hermione was smiling inside. I did that to him. I made him come. Still, a part of her wondered if it mattered to him that her hand, and not someone else's, had taken him over the edge. But there was no time to worry about that now. She'd scratched her itch and discovered that, as often happens, scratching only made the itch worse. And the only person who could scratch it properly for her was Harry.
"Huh- Hermione..." he muttered through half-lidded eyes.
She looked up, her face soft with care, and leaned in toward him breathing gently, so close to his lips and yet so far away. Then she pulled away from him, walked to the sink, and slowly and carefully washed her hands. She dried them, pulled her silk gown closed and walked to the door.
As she reached the doorway she paused beside Harry, who leaned against the doorframe limply. She looked at him closely, tilted her head and ran a finger lightly along his jaw. It would take some time for both of them to come to grips with what had just happened, and for her own sanity Hermione felt she had to put what had just happened into a little box for a few days, just so her life could go on beyond this one breathtaking moment.
"Lavender's going to be here in half an hour," she said quickly, hoping she didn't sound faint.
"Better get ready."
Harry nodded, looking dazed. As she stood in the doorway of his bedroom, gazing at his unclothed form hanging against the doorway, the Snitch continued to flap wildly on her belly, and she decided to tell him just where she hoped this encounter would lead.
"You were born to catch the Snitch, Harry."
~~~*~~~* ~~~