Something She Had Never Done Before

MononWalker

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 28/08/2004
Last Updated: 28/08/2004
Status: completed

After discovering Harry's feeling for her, Hermione makes another astonishing discovery about herself. With the stress of approaching NEWTs and the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort, Harry needs to relax and Hermione finds she can be a wicked witch. Originally written for the LiveJournal Harry/Hermione Ficathon. Warnings: Angst, an attempted suicide, secrets, revelations and smut. *One shot*

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, Scholastic, yadda yadda, all hail the Queen of Hogwarts. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I own nothing here. Really; nothing at all.

Warnings: Angst, an attempted suicide, secrets, revelations and smut. SWS.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Head Girl Hermione Granger sat at her table in the library, with her notes for her Advanced Arithmancy NEWT exam spread across half the table.

Well, it wasn’t really her table -- it wasn’t as if she had built the table with her own hands and installed it in the library herself; or that Madam Pince had placed a placard on it that read "Reserved: H. Granger".

It was just that from virtually the first day she arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she had always sat at this particular table. It was fairly secluded from the rest of the room, situated in a back corner, against the outside wall, behind the shelves of Ancient Runes texts and near the end of the caged restricted section. Nearby, a tall, stained-glass window looked out towards the Quidditch pitch.

She didn’t know what other students may have used the table the few times she wasn’t in the library. The stacks of books she found on it were different each day when she arrived. Its relative seclusion was probably why she always found it unoccupied. The one time near the end of her third year when she had come in and found Pansy Parkinson sitting there reading a trashy magazine, Hermione stood glaring at the girl until the Slytherin had looked up and hurriedly gathered her belongings and before slinking away. Ever since that day, the table had always been unoccupied when she arrived.

It was at this table where she read and reread Hogwarts: A History. It was the table where she, Ron and Harry had read the biography of Nicholas Flamel. It was at this table where she had ripped the page from Dangerous Magikal Creatures with the basilisk reference. It was at this table where Viktor Krum had approached and asked her to accompany him to the Yule Ball. It was at this table where the three of them had scoured books trying to find ways to help Harry with the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament before she and Ron had been summoned by the headmaster. It was at this table she and her friends had spent countless hours studying for their OWL exams in fifth year.

It was the table she now shared with one of her best friends on a Saturday night as they studied for their NEWT examinations. It was two weeks until the exams began and Harry Potter sat on the other side of the table, nearly buried by the stack of textbooks and parchments where he had been scribbling furiously at his latest essay for Advanced Potions. Hours before, their other best friend, Ron Weasley, had declared, "My brain is full" and left them to find some distraction from the intense studying they were doing.

And Hermione wasn't exactly sitting at the table at this particular moment. She felt herself being shaken lightly by the shoulder and she heard Harry softly calling her name. "Hermione. Wake up." She opened her eyes and found the left side of her face pressed into her Arithmancy text.

"Oh, Harry," her voice cracked as she sat up. Harry pulled his arm back from across the table, a slight grin on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

“It’s alright. I just finished revising Snape’s comments into my essay. Madam Pince came by a while ago saying she’s getting ready to close up for the night and I figured I should wake you.”

As she sat up straighter in her seat, she heard Harry sharply inhale. Glancing up at him, she saw him squeeze his eyes shut and absently rub at the scar on his forehead. "You okay, Harry?" she asked. "Is he ..."

"No," Harry sighed. "Voldemort isn’t up to anything in particular at the moment. I’m just tired and he leaks through sometimes when I let my guard falter." Hermione knew that the Occlumency lessons with Professor Dumbledore in the summer after fifth year and then during their sixth year, while stressful if not downright painful, had been effective to block most of the Dark Lord’s attempts at influencing Harry. He grimaced as he scrubbed at his eyelids beneath his glasses.

I’m so proud of him, Hermione thought, smiling inwardly. Who would have thought that Harry Potter could become so studious as to spend a Saturday evening with me in the library? He’s really decided it was time he prepare himself and has really applied himself these last two years. After all that happened during our fifth year ... the dementors, Umbridge, Sirius, the prophecy ... ever since that night that Hedwig came to me...

She shuddered at the memory.

For two weeks after going home for summer holidays after their fifth year, Hermione didn't hear anything from Harry. He didn’t send any letters or notes or anything to either her or, she found out later, Ron. She thought about writing a letter to him, but the Muggle post was slow and, for the first time in her life, she regretted getting Crookshanks as a pet instead of an owl. She tried telephoning him once, but Petunia Dursley refused to call him to the phone.

"He’s locked himself in his room and yells his fool head off at anyone who attempts to speak to him. Really, the audacity of that boy! I refuse to be treated in that manner in my own home!" she said before Hermione heard the receiver slam down on the cradle.

She knew she shouldn’t worry too much because she knew the members of the Order were checking up on Harry every few days, but nonetheless, worry she did.

Then that fateful night that Hedwig flew into her bedroom window, screeching and flapping about and nipping at her hands, she was filled with dread. Not knowing what to do, but having to do something, she wrote a quick note and tied it to the owl’s leg. "Fly to Headquarters as fast as you can," she instructed the bird. "Find Lupin or Tonks or Moody. Tell them to get to Harry right away!"

As the snowy owl winged its way out the window, she was left with nothing to do but fret and pace the floor. Attracted by the noise, her parents came in, concerned that she was up so late and obviously in distress. Not able to fully express her anxiety to them, her mother made some hot chocolate, but even that did not calm her.

Two hours later, Hedwig returned, looking ruffled, but appeared to be somewhat calmer. A new note was attached to her leg. As she removed and read it, her father went to get some water and find something for a treat. The note was in Remus Lupin’s neat handwriting and said simply: Harry’s alright for now. Was very close call. Will fill you in later.

The next day, Lupin arrived at her home and broke the news that Harry had attempted to kill himself. Upon arriving at Privet Drive, he had found Harry in the bath, his wrists opened, his life-blood draining away. As quickly as he could, Lupin had healed the wounds and portkeyed them both to St. Mungo’s, where Harry was now recovering. He was weak, in serious condition, but stable.

Relief and dread had flowed through Hermione. "But, why?" she asked.

Lupin sighed, shaking his head. "It was many reasons: primarily his guilt over losing Sirius. He keeps blaming himself." A deep frown creased his tired face. "He also is very worried and fearful for those who accompanied him to the Department of Mysteries that night." When he said that, he gave her a significant look. She grimaced as a twinge of pain flashed through her side. Worry crossed his face as he asked, "Are you all right? How is your recovery going?"

Waving aside both his concern and the pain, she said, "I’m fine. This isn’t about me." She paused. "Surely, that can’t be the only reasons he ... he ..." She faltered, not able to say the words.

Lupin sighed again. "No. Apparently, Bellatrix Lestrange told Voldemort of what happened with Sirius at the veil. Voldemort is a very powerful Legilimens." He closed his eyes momentarily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Harry told me he was forced to relive that moment over and over again for nearly the entire two weeks. He knew it was Voldemort entering his mind, dredging up that memory - and other visions that were not necessarily real - and he was unable to block it out." His voice turned bitter at this point, as though he tasted a vile potion. "If only Snape had done what he had been told and properly trained Harry in Occlumency."

"Harry’s not entirely blameless in that either, Professor," she began. "If he had only gone and apologized..."

It was Lupin’s turn to wave off the comment. "I know, Hermione. But Severus is a member of the Order and had been given explicit instructions to train Harry. He should have done what he had been told. He needs to get past his hatred for James. Harry is not his father, no matter how much he looks like him." He paused. "Anyway, Dumbledore is going to take over his training, and do it properly this time."

A wave of relief spread through her then. "When can I see him? Can we go today?"

A frown creased his features. "I don’t think you should see him right away." He paused, looking at his shoes. "Harry’s not in the ... medical ward."

It took a moment for her to realize what he was saying when her eyes widened in shock: the fourth floor. He'd be on the same ward as Professor Lockhart and ... the Longbottoms. Lupin reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, he’s going to need therapy. One doesn’t attempt suicide and get up the next day as though nothing had happened."

He held her gaze, an earnest expression on his face. "He will get better. He’s under the care of the best therapists the wizarding world has. He will get the help he needs. And with Dumbledore taking over his Occlumency training, the visions and nightmares should end."

A small smile turned up the corner of Lupin’s lips then. "I don’t know when or if he will be allowed visitors. He won’t be allowed to have contact with the outside for some time, but you should owl him, let him know that you ..." he paused, the small smile increasing slightly. "Let him know that you care for him." He patted her shoulder and looked away. "And when he gets out, I believe you two should have a long talk."

As it turned out, she never got the chance to have that conversation with Harry. They were never sure when Harry would be released from St. Mungo’s. It was a day-to-day thing as to when the wizard therapists would think he would be ready to return to the outside world. A week after that night, she was summoned to Grimmauld Place where she and the Weasley's continued to try to both clean and to rid the house of dark magics. So by the time Harry arrived at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, the week after his birthday, she had forgotten her promise to Lupin.

Harry was distant and remained secluded much of the remainder of that summer with his continued sessions with the wizarding therapist and his new Occlumency lessons with Professor Dumbledore. On those days, Harry would disappear with the headmaster for hours at a time, only to emerge shaken and exhausted. And after every session, Harry would make excuses and retire to Sirius’s old bedroom and not come out for some time, often missing the next meal.

Eventually, Harry’s mind became trained to turn away the thoughts of the Dark Lord. The nightmares and depression finally diminished, almost completely disappearing.

Once they returned to school for their sixth year, Harry still seemed quite distant, preferring to spend much of his time with, surprisingly, Neville. Considering the events that had taken place at the Ministry and that it had been Neville who had taken on ten Death Eaters with Harry, Hermione still felt somewhat shut out.

“At least he’s spending time with someone,” Ron said.

As the Christmas holiday approached, however, Hermione was unable to fill the hole in her life that was Harry. When she spoke with Ron about it on Christmas Eve, he, too, admitted that he was missing Harry’s friendship. “Christmas at Hogwarts just isn’t the same without Harry being a part of it,” he said. They decided to confront Harry about it the next day.

"Harry," Hermione said as they sat in the boy’s dormitory after they had opened presents. "You can’t keep locking us out like this. You’re our best friend and we miss you."

"Yeah, mate," Ron said. "We want to help you."

Harry made a disgusted sound. "Yeah? Well, there’s not much you can do. It’s my head that Voldemort keeps messing with." Ron shivered at the Dark Lord’s name, but Harry continued angrily. "And every time he does, someone gets killed."

"Oh, bloody hell, Harry," Hermione retorted, equally angry. A shocked look crossed Harry’s face with her choice of words. "You can’t keep blaming yourself for Cedric and Sirius. And I know you wouldn’t take the coward’s way out ... that you wouldn’t ... just because ..." She still couldn’t say it, but she was angry; angry and hurt and she wanted him to know how much she had been hurt.

Harry grimmaced and a sigh had escaped his lips. "I know," he said softly, looking at his hands in his lap. "Really, I don’t blame myself anymore. I know he’s really the one responsible for their deaths. I just ... I can’t talk about it yet. It’s still too fresh."

"Well, then what’s wrong, Harry?" Ron asked. "Why won’t you let us help?"

It was then that Harry had revealed Sibyll Trelawny’s first actual prophecy to them. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord ... born as the seventh month dies ... he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. He told them that he didn’t expect to be the one to survive - how could he, an inexperienced, teenage wizard be expected to defeat the darkest wizard in a century? He told them how it could have been either him or Neville, but that Voldemort had chosen him - The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal - the half-blood like himself. Throughout the entire telling, he refused to look either of them in the eye, either to staring at his fidgeting hands in his lap or at the floor below his dangling feet.

While sufficiently sceptical of Divination as a magical art, Hermione realized that this is what Dumbledore believed; that it was this prophecy that he built the second Order of the Phoenix around. And that he would do everything possible to protect and ready Harry to fulfill this prophecy. That day, Ron and Hermione also promised to help Harry.

Ron proclaimed: "We’re going to do everything in our power to cut that bloody bastard off at the knees and we’re going to win this." Although Hermione felt that Harry was still holding something back, she simply said: "Everything and anything."

And in the intervening eighteen months, that’s what they had done. After the Christmas holidays, Harry asked for and received permission to take on two additional courses: Arithmancy and Runes. He felt that an understanding of these additional areas of study would help him in understanding the prophecy better. With tutoring from both Hermione and Professor Vector, by the end of their sixth year Harry had caught up with the rest of his class and now, in their seventh year, surpassed all but Hermione herself.

On his own, Ron had reinstituted the Defence Arts club - Dumbledore's Army. He led the group of students fourth year and above to become a well-honed fighting force. While he didn’t lead this time, Harry enthusiastically participated, perfecting his hexes, jinxes and shields. At the beginning of their seventh year, Ron also introduced some physical training to the regimen, knowing that in any extended battle that the one with the most stamina usually came out on top.

Hermione, for her part, began a quest for knowledge by reading every book in the library that she hadn't already read, starting with the first shelf and continuing until she had reached the last. No bit of information was deemed insignificant. Any new and interesting spells or hexes she would pass on to Ron to teach in the DA. Any new or interesting potions she would consult with Professors Snape and Dumbledore before she attempted to brew them with Harry for study. Transfigurations she would discuss with Professor McGonagall before she would practice them with both Harry and Ron evenings in the Room of Requirement. By the beginning of their seventh year, her knowledge and depth of understanding had more than proved her qualifications for Head Girl.

During the year and a half since that Christmas morning, Harry and Hermione spoke often of the prophecy, especially when working through their Arithmancy or Runes homework. They spoke often of the spells they practiced either in classes or the DA. They even spoke of Harry’s time in St. Mungo’s and his therapy.

But they never spoke of the secret that he had not divulged to her on that day - the secret that he still kept hidden from her.

She was suddenly roused from her reverie when she heard her name being called loudly. "Hermione! Hello," Harry called to her again, waving his hand before her face. "Are you in there? Are you okay?"

Startled, she thought, I have to find out. I have to know what he's keeping from me. I usually can get him to tell me just about anything, but this one thing he has kept hidden.

She put her best determined look on her face as she said, “Harry. Tell me what happened that night. You’ve never spoken of it to anyone except Professors Lupin and Dumbledore.” Pleading as much as she could with her eyes, she added, “I need to know.”

Harry shuddered and looked quickly away. He chewed his lip, his mouth turning down in a frown.

Hermione sat forward in her chair and reached across the table, laying her hand on his. "Harry," she said. "Please, tell me. We're best friends and if you can't share that with me..."

"Friends", he sighed, looking at her hand atop his. “How much did Remus tell you?”

“Well,” she began, again dredging up the memory of that horrible night and the next day. “He said that Voldemort had been attacking your mind almost continuously for those two weeks. That he had shown you Sirius falling through the veil over and over again.” She closed her eyes briefly, trying to clear the memory away. “But he implied there was more.”

“There was more he showed me. Do you remember how he lured us there in the first place - how he made me believe that he was torturing Sirius to get the prophecy?” Harry shuddered again. “He showed me someone else and I was afraid. I was afraid of ...” He stopped, his voice cracking.

“What, Harry,” she said softly. “What were you afraid of?”

"I was afraid to ... It’s just ..." He looked up and stared directly into Hermione’s eyes. "I don’t know what I would do - I don’t know if I could stand it if I lost you."

And that’s when it hit her, striking like a someone had cast Stupify on her. She sat back suddenly in her chair.

He’s in love with me. She was stunned. That’s what Professor Lupin meant. When did this happen?

As though he read her thoughts, Harry said, “Ever since that night in the Department of Mysteries, when Doholov hit you with that spell, I’ve been afraid of what could happen to you. I thought you had died - that I ... that he had killed you. And I don’t know how I could go on if you weren’t a part of my life.”

She remembered being struck by Doholov’s curse, falling, Harry crying out her name. She remembered feeling Harry's hand on her shoulder, shaking her, trying to wake her while she fought for consciousness. She remembered Neville shouting something that sounded mumbled, and then Harry shouting another hex. She had heard Neville saying she had a pulse and Harry’s loud sigh of relief before the blackness had claimed her.

Another realization struck her then; she knew from the look of desperate longing in his eyes that he was speaking specifically of her - not any other of his friends, just her. It was her becoming a target for Voldemort and the Death Eaters that he feared. It was the possibility of her being taken hostage to him that he dreaded.

And as he continued to stare into her eyes, she saw in his eyes what he saw, his worst fear: a vision of her being tortured, dying at Voldemort’s hands, him being forced to witness it.

And that he had already seen it, over and over again.

Quietly, she said, almost in a whisper, "That’s what he kept showing you. That’s why you ..." She faltered, not wanting to speak the words herself.

"Yes," he said, lowering his eyes now filled with shame. “I ... I ... just couldn't bear to see it any more. And I still can't risk seeing it happen for real."

"But, why," she whispered. "Why couldn't you tell me?"

Harry paused. "I couldn’t tell you because ... because I couldn’t see a future beyond the day that I have to face him.”

Startled, Hermione reached across the table and lifted his chin. She looked him in the eyes, seeing once again the longing, the fear - the love. She realized that she had known - that deep down, she had always known this, that Harry loved her. And she realized then that his love for her wasn’t unrequited.

When did I fall in love with Harry Potter? she asked herself. He hadn’t done anything overt to attract her to him. Was it all the time we’ve spent together the last year and a half? Was it all the academic discussions we’ve had? Or was it the talks we’ve had about personal things - when he had opened his heart to me, let me see his faults and fears. He’s always been there for me with an open mind and open ear whenever I’ve had problems, just as I’ve been there for him, listening to him, reassuring him.

She couldn’t put an exact date or time to when her feelings for him had changed, had deepened. When had it even begun? she asked herself. Was it after Christmas this year when he had given her the sterling silver bracelet with her birthstone - a medium sized sapphire - embedded in it and the inscription "Forever - Harry"? Was it Christmas of the year before when he had finally shared the secret of the prophecy? Was it that fateful summer night when Harry's attempted suicide had filled her with the intense feeling of loss?

She reviewed her life with Harry, thinking of every incident with him, trying to think of when he had won her heart. Was it that night in the Department of Mysteries as they protected each other from the Death Eater's curses? Umbridge’s detentions with her evil quill? The First Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament when even Ron had turned away from Harry and she alone had stood by him, helping him with his Summoning Charm? Was it the night they when they had turned back time to rescue Sirius, flying on Buckbeak's back with her arms wrapped around him to the window of the tower? The Polyjuice Potion they had brewed together in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom? Was it when she had solved Snape’s Potion Puzzle and she told him that it was his friendship and bravery that made him a great wizard? Was it when only Harry had remembered her crying alone in the girl’s lavatory the night Quirrell had let the troll in? Was it even that very first day on the Hogwarts Express with her knowing everything that had been written about Harry and him a wide-eyed and innocent boy not knowing anything at all about his past and even less about his future?

As she looked at his face, she realized that it didn’t matter when it had begun and when or where it had happened. She knew now that Hedwig had known that night who it was that Harry needed most. All that mattered was that Harry’s heart belonged to her and now, Harry had hers.

She glanced up at the scar that marked his forehead, the thing that seemed to define him to most of the wizarding world. No, she thought, there’s so much more that makes up Harry Potter. He’s smart, he’s brave, he’s kind, and he’s loyal. He’s a good friend, a great Quidditch player, an even greater wizard.

She looked back at his whole face as she thought, He’s even become a rather handsome young man despite the hair that has a mind of its own.

A look of concern had come to Harry’s face as these thoughts had rolled through her mind. He asked, "Are you alright? Is anything wrong?" He glanced around the room before looking back into her eyes. "Madam Pince will be back in a few minutes to close up for the night."

She smiled and tried to put as much emotion into her gaze as she could to show him just how much she loved him. "Yes, Harry," she said as she reached across the table and entwined her fingers with his. "Everything’s alright now."

Seeing the look in her eyes, he returned her smile, almost reading her thoughts as they seemed to have done so well over the last seven years. They knew that whatever came, that whatever happened, whatever they faced, whatever the future held, they would face it together and they would come out in the end survivors - more than survivors, they would be together and the future would be theirs.

She had truly done something she had never done before: she had committed herself to one person, to one man, the future. She had committed herself not just to Harry’s cause, his survival; she had committed herself, her heart, her love, to Harry.

The future belonged to them.

However, their immediate future held their upcoming NEWT's and that was what they needed to survive for now. She noticed the haggard look on his face, the dark circles under his eyes; his left eye seemed to twitch every now and then. He’s under such tremendous stress these days, what with the DA and Quidditch, on top of studying for NEWT’s and just knowing that Voldemort is out there, somewhere, plotting some evil plot to take Harry down. They all knew without a doubt that Voldemort would do something at the end of the term - something had always happened at the end of the school year each of the last six years. Why should this year be any different?

There must be something I can do to relieve that stress, she thought. A game of chess or gobstones? A bag of Honeydukes chocolates? No, those would take his mind off his studies but it wouldn’t really provide release.

Does he need more time off of studying? No, NEWT's are just two weeks away. He seems to relax when he's flying. Do I need to schedule in some time for him to spend on his broom? No, the only time not already taken is meal times and besides, he's got Quidditch practice for flying time.

So what can I do?

Harry squeezed her hand, and then released it. He pushed his chair back from the table and then began gathering up his scrolls and quills to leave. As he did so, inspiration suddenly struck her. She would do something else she had never done before.

"Harry," she said a sly smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. "Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?"

He paused, giving her a sideways glance. "You know I never leave the dormitory without it nowadays." A question arched his eyebrows. "Why?" he asked, beginning to reach down to his bag.

"I’ll get it," she said, a wicked grin curling her lips. Yes, why not wicked? I’m Head Girl and in seven years I’ve never been wicked. I deserve to be wicked at least once. Picking up her wand, she quickly cast a concealment charm over the table as she laughed inwardly when the phrases "Head Girl" and "wicked witch" crossed her mind. Oh, I’ll be a wicked witch all right, she thought. She then slowly slipped under the table, her eyes never leaving Harry’s until they fell below the edge.

She took the cloak from Harry’s bag and pulled it over herself, her form shimmering out of existence. As she crawled slowly to him under the table, she heard Harry say, "Hermione? What are you doing?"

She snickered a little and answered, "Just trying to get you to relax a little. Trust me."

Harry’s voice held only a slight skeptical edge when he replied, "You know I’ll always trust you -ou -ou ... Hermione!" His voice hitched and rose as she reached out and unbuttoned and then tugged down the zipper of his trousers.

"Hush, Harry." The wicked grin was evident in her voice as she reached her hand inside his boxers. "You don’t want Madam Pince coming and interrupting us now, do you?" She could feel him shift as he apparently looked around to make sure no one was nearby.

She began to slowly stroke him, feeling him hardening. She heard him moan as his member gained length and thickness. She continued to stroke him for a minute or two as she gathered her courage. When he slouched in his chair and she heard him sigh, she knew it was time to proceed.

With both hands she reached out and tugged his trousers and boxers down below his waist leaving them bunched just below his knees. She heard him gulp as he shifted, apparently looking around him again. Arching her back so she was over his lap, she got her first look at his erection rising from a nest of thick, curly black hair. I will not be intimidated by looking at Harry’s penis, she thought, swallowing back her trepidation. I will NOT be intimidated by it.

She tried looking at him with a clinical detachment. From everything I’ve read of male anatomy, I suppose I should be impressed, she thought. While she didn’t have precise instruments to measure him, she guessed he was a centimetre or more longer than average, perhaps a centimetre better in width. Oh, heck, Hermione. Drop the dedicated student act. I AM impressed.

Still hidden under the cloak, she leaned down, stuck out her tongue and licked up his entire length. Harry jumped when she did and almost slipped out of the chair. She heard him gasp as she did it again and she felt the wicked grin crease her mouth again.

She wrapped her fingers around the base of his erection and flicked her tongue across the tip. She felt Harry’s entire body shudder. Parting her lips, she wrapped them around the head and gently sucked on him. The sound of hissing breath came from above her. She slowly stroked her hand up and down as she continued to suckle on just the tip. She heard a strangled moan come from deep in his throat.

Suddenly, a voice called from the end of the library stacks. "Miss Granger? Mr. Potter? Are you still back there?" Hermione froze, and Harry seemed to stop breathing. A moment later, she heard Madam Pince say "Nox", and the lights in the room dimmed but didn't quite extinguish themselves. A moment later, a door was heard closing and silence fell throughout the room.

She heard Harry release his held breath. His whispering voice drifted down to her. "Hermione. Maybe it’s time we should go."

No, she thought, time to go to work. As she lowered her mouth over him, she tried to recall everything she had read in the book she had "borrowed" from her parents’ bedroom when she had been bored last summer.

Pushing him as deep as she could without choking on his length, a shuddering moan filled the air. Harry's hands grasped the sides of the chair seat, his knuckles whitening with his strong grip. Pulling back until just the head was trapped in her lips, she flicked her tongue over the tip again. Pushing back down, she felt her teeth scrape across his sensitive flesh.

Harry jumped and hissed. "Hermione," he whispered. "Teeth!"

Without thinking, she tried to say, "Sorry," his erection still held firmly between her lips. Instead, her voice hummed in her throat, her tongue working against him. When she did this, he gasped "Bloody Merlin!" and twitched mightily in her mouth. Interesting, she thought.

Experimentally, as she held him deep in her mouth, she hummed again and was rewarded again with the twitch followed by an incoherent gurgling. As she continued to stroke him with both her hand and her mouth, she began to hum the first tune that came into her head: Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me...

She continued pumping him in and out of her mouth, her cheeks caving inward as she withdrew, her tongue constantly moving against him, her low humming rumbling in her throat. Harry’s breathing became ragged; the longer that time stretched out, the more aroused he seemed to become, seeming to grow longer and thicker.

It didn’t surprise Hermione that Harry’s arousal would increase. What surprised her was how aroused she herself became. She could feel a warm tingle begin between her thighs, slowly spreading to her abdomen, then up and across her breasts. She could feel her nipples stiffen beneath her clothing as a hot flush passed through her and then shivered down her spine.

As she increased her pace on Harry, Hermione reached with her other hand and tweaked the puckered tip of her breast. A jolt of electricity ran through her, from her nipple to her crotch. She felt a dampness build in her centre, soaking the material of her knickers. She couldn't suppress her own moan of pleasure, her lips clamping down firmer on his erection.

Suddenly, Harry groaned and shuddered, his entire body stiffening and shaking. She felt his organ throb and twitch between her lips and her mouth was flooded with his seed. She didn’t know what to expect, but she hadn’t expected it to actually have a somewhat pleasant taste: grass and salt and sky and something she could only identify as Harry.

Hermione pulled her mouth off of him and swallowed; a slight musky taste was left on her tongue. I'll have to remember to keep a small amount of mouthwash in my bag for the next time. She snorted. Next time? She watched as his erection subsided and he seemed to collapse within himself, his whole being becoming limp.

Harry jumped a little when she pulled the cloak from her head and grinned up at him. It must be a little strange for him to see just my head floating above his lap.

Harry returned her smile then swiftly reached out and pulled her into his lap, her body still concealed by the Invisibility Cloak. His arms wrapped around her waist as hers went around his neck. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. When she felt his tongue brush against her lips, she parted them and shared the taste of him as she deepened the kiss.

After several minutes, she reluctantly pulled away from his mouth. He leaned his head into her shoulder and sighed, his breath tickling her neck.

"So, Harry," she said quietly, the smile not leaving her lips. "I take it that you rather enjoyed that? Are you are feeling a little more relaxed now?"

She felt him smile again against her shoulder. "Oh, yeah. I feel much more relaxed." She heard him snicker. "Although, it took me a minute to get the thought of Moaning Myrtle sneaking peeks at me in the prefect's bath out of my head."

She added her giggles to Harry's. "Oh, thank you very much for that image."

Harry sighed again. "There's only one thing that would make me feel even better than I do right now."

Hermione felt one of her eyebrows raise. "What's that?" she asked.

Harry pulled away from her shoulder and looked her directly in the eyes, a serious expression on his face. "That you let me return the favor and help you relax."

She shouldn't have been shocked, but she now felt both eyebrows rising up her forehead. "Really? And what would you know about…"

"Hermione," Harry said, cutting her off. "You're not the only one who can read. I've been preparing myself for this day since ... well, it feels like it’s been forever." His smile grew wider as her eyes blazed with understanding. "Besides, I'm sure you'll be able to correct me if and when I make a mistake. You've always been good at that."

She snorted and felt her cheeks blush. "Well," she said. "I'm sure I will be able to give you an adequate critique of your technique." Harry gave his own snort.

Hermione glanced around the darkened library. "It is getting rather late, though," she said. "Why don't we get back to the tower and go to bed." It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. She scowled at him slightly. "To sleep and rest and in our own beds." She pushed on his shoulder when the corner of Harry's lip quirked up.

"You're going to need your rest," she said sternly. "I'm going to revise our study schedules tomorrow."

"What for?" Harry asked, a look of concern on his face.

This time it was her lips that curled into a grin. "I plan on working in some private tutoring time with you, Harry Potter." When the smile returned to Harry's face, she added, "And your first lesson will be tomorrow night, say, nine o'clock on the Astronomy Tower?"

Harry's smile widened. "Better yet, how about Professor Binn's classroom? That way I’ll have a least one pleasant memory of that room."

Hermione had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter from echoing around the deserted library.

After straightening out their clothing, they quickly gathered their books and quills and parchments and stuffed them into their bags. Harry draped the Invisibility Cloak over both of them and they quietly slipped out of the library and made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. They passed through the silent corridors of the castle, Harry guiding Hermione by the shoulders, stumbling often over each others’ feet and trying to stifle their giggles.

“You know,” he whispered. “This used to be easier when we were eleven.” She had to bite her knuckles to keep from giggling again. It was an oft-repeated line as they grew up: what once easily covered three small children now could barely cover two teenagers without their feet showing under the hem as they walked. The statement would probably be repeated again and again on into the future.

Entering the Gryffindor Common Room, they found it deserted. Removing the cloak, Harry walked Hermione to the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitory. As they reached the doorway, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a soft, lingering kiss.

When he pulled away, he gazed at her, his emerald green eyes almost glowing in the darkness. “Good night,” he said almost in a whisper.

“Good night, Harry,” she said, just as quietly. As she gazed back at him, Hermione felt a compulsion to tell him the words written on her heart. She began, “I ...” He placed a finger over her lips, stopping her.

“You don’t have to say it now,” he said. “I know. We’ll have a long time ahead of us to say the words. Now that I know that you’re with me ... now that I know your heart is mine ... now that I have something ... no, someone to come back to ...” A lone tear slowly coursed its way down his face.

She stroked his cheek, wiping away the tear, and smiled. “Yes, a long time.”

And with that, she turned and ascended the stairs, her mind already planning her first tutoring lesson.

~*~*~ The End ~*~*~