Breakfast of Champions

Breakfast of Champions

by FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER: The usual business, it’s all JK Rowling’s, not mine…

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AUTHOR’S NOTE – The positive reaction I received to the little plot bunny ‘Extra Credit’ got me to thinking about what actually happened in the library, and just why Hermione had come up with that charm. This is the result…

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Harry jogged silently down the deserted corridor, stifling a yawn in the early morning light as he made his way towards the Library. It was at moments like these that he felt a twinge of annoyance at having a certifiably mental workaholic for a girlfriend, but it was just a twinge, and one that was always quickly quashed by all the items that immediately popped up on the plus side of the ledger. She was sensitive and caring, absolutely brilliant, and knew him far better than he knew himself. She made him think beyond the stress and the occasional horrors of his current life to a hopeful future of peace and happiness, and inspired him to believe that the boy who grew up in a cupboard under the stairs might someday have a home and family of his own.

And it didn’t hurt that under those enveloping robes was a body that could stop a clock…

With that last thought inspiring a grin of epic proportions, Harry came to a halt before the doors of the Library. This early in the morning it was still closed to the general school population, but there were a few perks to being Head Boy that Harry wasn’t going to quibble about, and the freedom to move around the castle without getting detention was one of them. Especially when he knew that the Head Girl was waiting for him inside.

One of the unfortunate side effects of Harry and his friends’ continuing efforts to follow in the Marauders’ footsteps was a decision by Madam Pince to start locking the doors of the Library after hours. Their sixth year had seen one too many late-night forays into the restricted section, and she had demanded from Professor Dumbledore the right to secure her sanctum from the trespasses of those who were trespassing against her. The headmaster had affably agreed, and then turned around and given the Head Girl permission to select a password so that her late night research marathons wouldn’t be adversely affected, a stipulation to which Madam Pince grudgingly acquiesced.

That this arrangement meant that the worst of the transgressors would still have access to the sacred precincts of her temple did not escape her, but something was better than nothing. After the librarian left the office, Dumbledore had gently suggested that in the future Hermione should take extra care to erase the evidence of the unauthorized nature of some of her prowlings before Madam Pince returned to her domain, to which she blushingly agreed.

Of course, all that meant as far as Harry was concerned was that he and Hermione had a place all their own to snog, one where they wouldn’t have to worry about being interrupted by other couples in search of a bit of privacy. That there would be other benefits to the arrangement was something he’d only discovered later on.

Placing his hand on the latch, he whispered the peculiar password Hermione had insisted on using. “Dewey Decimal,” he intoned, and listened as the locks Professor Flitwick had installed at Madam Pince’s request disengaged. Pulling the door open, Harry slipped inside and pushed the door closed, listening to the tumblers shifting as the doors re-locked behind him.

A jaunty spring to his step, Harry sauntered across the large area where the majority of students usually sat and read under Pince’s watchful eye. Once past the arrangement of tables and chairs he worked his way through stacks towards the study nook that Hermione had staked out as her own turf their first year, and woe betide any student foolish enough to dispute her claim. Centered in the middle of the most advanced (and thus to Harry, the most boring) research tomes in the open section of the library, the table’s surface was hardly ever completely free of some portion of Hermione’s work. Stacks of books with slips of parchment marking relevant places in the text, rolls of parchment absolutely covered in her precise, neat hand, bottles of colored inks for use in annotating footnotes and the like, the tools of her trade were never far from her. Research for Hermione was like Quidditch was for Harry; the Library was her Pitch, and knowledge was the Snitch.

This year, however, something new had been added, something Harry had only seen brief glimpses of before. He knew he shouldn’t have been so surprised by one more change among so many others, but he was still adjusting to the life-altering changes that had occurred over the summer, when the spark that had been smoldering for six years finally burst into flame.

It had taken a bludger to the head during a pick-up game at the Burrow to do it, but Harry wasn’t about to complain, not after regaining consciousness to a tearful Hermione covering his face in kisses. At that moment his Seeker’s reflexes had combined with his Marauder’s instincts, and before either of them realized what was happening they were locked in a passionate kiss that as far as Harry was concerned had involved not nearly enough tongue, but it had been hot enough to earn whoops of approval from Fred and George and a couple of awkward days with Ron. In the end, though, Ron accepted that Harry and Hermione had officially moved beyond being Best Friends to Something More, though he’d made it very clear, with a blush red enough to match his hair, that he’d just as soon not see (or hear) any more mutual tonsil Quodpot.

Harry’s mental reverie was brought to a crashing halt as he rounded the last corner sheltering Hermione’s study nook and caught sight of his girlfriend’s mane of bushy hair. Merlin, how he loved that hair, especially when it was wild and tousled and damp with the sweat of their passion… “Morning, love,” he said softly, smiling as she squeaked in startlement.

“Harry! Don’t do that!” she said in mock protest, her hand dramatically clutching her throat as their morning dance commenced. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?” she asked, her hand trailing down along the unbuttoned potion of her blouse, drawing his gaze to the creamy flesh of her throat. Harry took a deep breath to steady his suddenly pounding heart, inhaling the unique atmosphere of the library that his hindbrain had come to associate with Hermione.

His thoughts flickered briefly to their fourth year, to Christmas morning and to Ron’s ill-considered gift of perfume. At the time he hadn’t really thought much about it, but later on Harry had realized that he’d never noticed Hermione wearing scent of any kind whatsoever. If any fragrance beyond the clean smell of her soap or shampoo clung to her, it was the smell of her beloved books and the chamber that housed them, and now that he’d come to know her more intimately, he knew why.

Who would have ever thought that the scent of musty books and parchment could be an aphrodisiac?

The Hermione of the stacks was radically different from the one he knew in the outer world. Outside those doors she was prim and proper, focused on her schoolwork and her duties, and inclined on occasion to be more than a little bit prissy. Oh, she could be persuaded to let down her hair every so often, but it was a stretch, and one with which she was never entirely comfortable. But inside the library, Merlin, watch out! There was an intensity and fire to her that only appeared when she was surrounded by her books; he couldn’t count the times he’d found her sitting hunched over her table, her eyes hooded as she bit her lip in concentration while her quill scratched away at the scroll before her. What no one ever saw was that, while one hand was busy recording her thoughts, her other hand was busy dealing with the state of mild arousal that always struck her the moment she entered the library. She was a bibliophile in the truest sense of the word, a passion that Harry was rapidly coming to share.

Sitting down next to her, Harry leaned over and captured her soft lips in a quick kiss before looking around at the curiously empty table. “So, how is that research of yours going?” he asked, referring to the project that had been occupying her spare time for several weeks now. She’d been rather secretive about it, merely smiling slyly in a manner that caused a certain portion of his anatomy to stiffen whenever he asked about it.

“I finished it last night,” she replied happily, confirming the suspicion the empty table had aroused. “At least I think it’s finished; I won’t be sure until I have a chance to run a practical test of the results.”

“So, there isn’t anything I can help you with this morning?” he asked in mock disappointment. “Darn, I hate to think I got out of my warm bed two hours early for nothing…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was for nothing, Mister Potter,” she breathed, leaning towards him as one of her hands slipped under his robes and trailed along his inner thigh. A smile quirked the corners of her mouth and her eyes began to smoulder as her fingertips brushed the bulge that was already straining his trousers. “No, that’s definitely not nothing…”

Harry growled and pulled his minx into his arms, hungrily covering her mouth with his. As their tongues intertwined he once again tasted the flavors that were delightfully, uniquely Hermione’s; the tartness of strawberries that flavored her lip gloss, the crispness of mint that flavored the toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommended, and under it all, the faintly acidic touch of gall ink from the quills she suckled on when she was nervous.

It was this last that had exploded in his mind the first time he really kissed her, that made his hindbrain realize that the girl/woman he was kissing was Hermione, and that his best friend was now and forever going to be something far more. Now, whenever that combination of flavors struck his tongue, his libido kicked into overdrive as his brain shut down and all the blood in his body rushed to points south.

Stifling a groan he lifted her from her chair and laid her across the table, grateful that for once there were no piles of books or stacks or parchment to push out of the way. More than once he’d been forced to rely on the ability of their black robes to hide the telltale splotches of spilled ink from overturned bottles. Hermione giggled against his mouth, sending little shivers up and down his spine as her fingers tousled his already wild hair to new levels of messiness. “Mmmph, Harry, this table’s…ohhhh…awfully hard….” she murmured, wiggling a little in an effort to get comfortable. Ever the gentleman, Harry drew his wand and cast a quick cushioning charm, eliciting a pleased sigh from his girlfriend as he resumed his explorations.

There was the usual brief moment of awkwardness as the mechanics of divesting themselves of their robes interrupted the spontaneity of their snogging, but the muffled fwump of the heavy material striking the floor reminded them of their goal. Harry’s hands sought out the tails of Hermione’s blouse, tugging them free of the waistband of her skirt. Fingers made nimble by Quidditch practice made short work of her blouse’s buttons, the small nubbins of pearl providing good practice for the other nubbins that awaited him.

The white fabric drifted open, exposing the pale, creamy flesh of her taut stomach. Hermione moaned as his lips traveled down her neck, along the valley separating her small, pert breasts where they still nestled within the shelter of her brassiere, and across her abdomen to the little button that was her navel.

Harry loved that Hermione had an ‘outie’; suckling and nibbling at it drove her almost as crazy as his attentions to the button that hid between the folds further down. When his ministrations had her arching her back and shivering, he moved back up to the metal clasp at the front of the white cotton bra that she wore for propriety’s sake. Her small breasts, high and proud with pert, pink nipples that hardened at his touch, certainly didn’t need the support. They nestled in the palms of his hands, warm globes of creamy flesh that throbbed slightly to the beat of her racing heart.

She gasped as he leaned forward and sucked a puckered nipple into his mouth, the tip of his tongue trailing maddeningly over the pebbly arousal of her aureole. “Oh, Circe,” she sighed as he worshipped at her teat, laving the heated flesh with his tongue. Back and forth, right, and then left, and then right again, he gave their perfection their due while her nails clawed at his back through the thin material of his shirt. Allowing one hand to support his weight, the other slid up the underside of her thigh, waiting until the arching of her back gave him the chance to slip forward under her skirt to cup and squeeze a firm, white cheek.

With a snarl Hermione suddenly pushed him back and tore at his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor in her need to reach his skin. “Too many clothes,” she growled, yanking the fabric free of his pants, leaving his torso naked under her burning gaze. She ran her fingers over the lean, flat muscles of his stomach, trailing them lightly through the scattering of hair in the center of his chest. Her hands snaked up around his neck, her fingers interlocking so she could draw him towards her. As he lowered his mouth towards hers she suddenly shifted; a yelp escaped Harry’s lips as her even, white teeth tugged at his nipple, sending a jolt of arousal to his core. He groaned as she repaid his earlier treatment with interest, adding pressure bordering on the edge of pain to her exploration of those little nonfunctional buttons of flesh. Satisfied at last, she worked her way downward, darting her tongue deep into his navel before following the snail trail downward.

Harry felt a tug at his waistband drawing his consciousness back to his surroundings. Hermione leaned back, her hands holding the end of his partially unbuckled belt. “These. Off. Now,” she commanded, her eyes locked imperiously with his. Smiling, he slid off the table, coming to his feet long enough to reach down and slip off his trainers and socks. Hermione hungry gaze never left his waist as he slowly unbuckled his belt and let his pants drop to the floor, leaving him clad only in the black silk boxers she’d given him for Christmas, their fabric tented by his straining erection.

Hermione leaned backwards, biting her lip as Harry teasingly slid his hands along her calves to her feet. Moving with tortuous slowness, he slipped off first one shiny black Mary Jane, and then the other. He ran a thumb along the underside of the arch of each foot, grinning at the shiver this pressure produced. Then his hands glided back up her calves to her knees and down again, taking with them the white cotton socks of her uniform.

Naked except for his boxers Harry moved back onto the table and between Hermione’s legs, the only thing still protecting her modesty her pleated, grey wool skirt and the knickers beneath. Harry measured his length against her, supporting most of his weight on his arms as he allowed his chest to press against hers, the intensity of their kisses magnified by the sensations emanating from where their hardened nipples brushed against each other’s.

Finally, when oxygen was becoming an issue, Harry broke the kiss and began moving southward, his hands trailing along her sides as his lips worked down the taut column of her slender neck, nuzzling at the sensitive hollow where it joined her shoulders. His clever fingers sought out and released the catch that secured her skirt’s zipper, and the distinctive sound as it slid open sent shivers of fire along his nerves. At his urging she lifted her hips just enough for him to tug the fabric down, unconsciously moving out of the way as she wriggled her legs fee of the encumbrance.

With Heaven finally within his grasp, Harry’s eyes left Hermione’s face to travel downwards and discover the first of several surprises. The white cotton knickers he’d come to expect were nowhere in sight; in their place was a skimpy pair of cherry red knickers, complete with a small appliqué of the suggestive fruit on the front panel. Amused, Harry glanced up at his girlfriend’s face, unsurprised to see a wicked gleam in her eyes. “A bit late for that, isn’t it?” he teased slyly.

Hermione just smiled mischievously. “You’d be surprised just how many ‘firsts’ we still have to experience, Harry,” was all she said. “Besides, these are much nicer than my old knickers, don’t you think?”

Harry couldn’t argue with her there as he returned his attention to the scrap of fabric that was concealing paradise. It was gossamer thin, clinging to her flesh like a second skin. He smiled at the way every cleft and valley of her nether lips showed clearly through the dampening fabric, and then gasped as realization struck him. “Hermione, you shaved!” he said, amazed and pleased that she’d tried his suggestion.

“Mmmm, I noticed you did, too,” she replied, caressing his chin. Harry had made a brief attempt at growing a goatee in the current Muggle fashion, but after one encounter with the harsh, scratchy bristles, Hermione informed him briskly that while she was willing to put up with a lot of things for his love, stubble burn on her inner thighs was not one of them. It had taken Harry all of about three seconds to decide that, after all, relationships were really all about compromise, weren’t they, and had shaved the damned thing off.

Now, faced with the prospect of a return to this particular slice of Heaven, he was quite glad he had, especially since he could already see the tantalizing dampness of Hermione’s arousal soaking through the thin fabric of the cherry-coloured knickers. Settling in for a long, experimental lick, he received his second surprise of the morning, as he tasted, “Cherries?! Hermione, what…?”

Hermione, who had squirmed deliciously at the first touch of his tongue, laughed seductively. “Go ahead, Harry; I promise you’re not imagining things. My knickers are made of a very special material now, one I created with you alone in mind.” Suddenly she began to sing, very softly:

“Take a trip, Come with me,

To a World of Pure Imagination…”

Needing no more urging, Harry returned to lavishing his attentions on the transfigured material of her knickers, swirling and lapping his tongue into the fabric that hugged her sex. At each stroke the taste of cherries grew stronger, yet it never masked the underlying flavor that was Hermione herself. Rather the two merged into fabulous ambrosia of which Harry found he could not get enough.

Carefully gripping the fabric with his teeth so as not to pinch the sensitive flesh underneath, he started to tug the knickers aside, only to have a long strip peel away like the licorice whips of his youth. Experimentally he sucked the piece into his mouth and chewed, delightedly discovering the true nature of Hermione’s marvelous, edible underwear. “Mmmm, Breakfast of Champions,” he murmured, and fell to with a will as Hermione giggled and squirmed.

In short order all that was left was the narrow elastic band that stretched like a decorative belt around Hermione’s waist. The sugary taste of the knickers combining with the flavor of his girlfriend’s arousal drove straight to his hindbrain and made Harry’s erection harder than it had ever been in his life. Sliding up Hermione’s flushed skin, he covered her mouth with his, allowing her to savor the mingled flavors for herself. She moaned at the taste, writhing against his body. “Time for the main course,” she gasped as she shifted their positions, rolling out from under him and forcing him onto his back.

Harry’s breathing hitched in anticipation as with a savage tug Hermione stripped his boxers away, freeing his cock at last. This was his wicked witch of the stacks at her finest. The Hermione he knew by the lake, or in the Astronomy Tower, or even in the private rooms that were granted them as Head Boy and Girl, was one woman, caring and sensitive, the Hermione that was unleashed by the library was another. Here she was dominant, empowered and demanding, insisting on seizing the initiative as her due. Harry loved this side of her, loved feeling her passion joining and merging with his own as he relinquished control.

Hermione’s hand stroked his shaft to even greater attention, eliciting a groan from Harry as she rubbed his crown along her moist folds, pressing the eye and its weeping bead of precum against her swollen clit. “What do you want, Harry?” she demanded fiercely. “You have to tell me what you want from me…”

“Please, Hermione,” he begged, knowing it was part of the ritual. “I want, I need to be inside you…”

“Is this what you want?” she whispered, allowing just the crown of his straining cock to slip into her heat, restraining him as he instinctively tried to buck up into her. “Is this where you need to go?”

“Ohhh, Merlin, yesss,” he hissed as he felt her tight, moist heat begin to surround him. “Please, Hermione, I can’t wait to feel you…”

“I can’t either, love,” she purred, and suddenly slid downwards, impaling herself on his manhood with a cry of completion. For just a moment she stayed perfectly still as she accustomed herself to the feel of him stretching her, and then slowly she began to ride him, rising up until he was almost free of her and then sliding down again, using one of her own hands to guide him and make sure he didn’t slip free. Harry felt her slip into the rhythm they had achieved after much practice, the one that would build their climaxes together to incredible heights. His hand slipped along her outer thighs to her hips, steadying her as she arched her back, her ribcage becoming clearly visible under her taut flesh as she achieved the stimulation she sought so passionately. One hand rested behind her, joining with her knees to create a stable tripod supporting the center where their universes merged.

As her movements became more frenzied Harry began thrusting upwards, slamming his pelvis into hers with every downward stroke of her sex. He felt the fingers of her free hand join his cock in plundering her slit, adding to the tremors already radiating outward from the swollen pearl quivering at her apex. Suddenly Harry felt it start, the tremors of her vaginal walls signaling her impending orgasm. At the last instant he took control, using his grasp of her hips to accelerate their frenzied pace, pulling her down as pounded into her. Then her muscles clenched, locking him in tight as the little death took her, dragging him over the edge with her as he felt his seed pumping into her depths.

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When his vision cleared, Harry found the smiling, sweat-streaked face of his lover next to his, her hand gently playing with his own perspiration drenched hair. “I think I just died,” he joked, and she chuckled.

“That’s all right, I raised you up again…no, not like that, you perv!” she laughed as she felt his spent member twitch against her.

“I’m a perv?” Harry asked in mock astonishment. “Excuse me, which of us spent weeks of extracurricular study time creating edible underwear? And how the heck did you come up with that idea, anyway?” he asked, truly curious.

“I don’t recall any complaints at the time,” Hermione pointed out cheekily. “As for the idea, well, Muggles have had something like that, but from what I can tell they aren’t very practical. Mine are charmed to remain just knickers unless very specific conditions are met.” At Harry’s lifted eyebrow she continued primly, “They only become edible when they come in contact with a certain green-eyed seeker’s… ummm… saliva. That’s the catalyst for the transfiguration.”

“Fascinating,” Harry said dryly. “So, are you going to turn in the scrolls to Flitwick or McGonagall?”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped in surprise, her face bright red as she slapped his chest.

“Ow! What, I just thought that with all that work, you should get some extra credit from it as well.” He paused as if thinking about it seriously. “Now Flitwick would be impressed by the charms, but he might not survive reading it, and one ghost professor is quite enough. McGonagall isn’t going to drop dead, but I can do without the thought of her wearing a pair for Dumbledore’s amusement. What do you think?”

Once she got past the initial shock, Hermione found herself fighting to bring her giggles at the images Harry was conjuring under control. When she trusted her voice she said firmly, “I think you need to get yourself off to the Great Hall before breakfast is over, that’s what I think.” She slid off the table and, recovering her wand from her robes, casting a quick cleaning charm on herself and Harry. “I’ll tidy up a bit and then follow you.”

“Sure you don’t want to go together?” he teased, knowing how easily flustered she could be once Library Hermione’s appetites were sated for a while.

Sure enough, he saw the beginnings of a blush creeping over her ears as she pulled a fresh pair of safely cotton knickers out of her bag. “No thanks, just make sure you and Ron save me some breakfast; I’m famished!”

Harry frowned for a second before casting a quick Reparo on his torn shirt, and then smiled as the missing buttons reassembled themselves from their scattered locations around the room. After all, it wouldn’t do for Madam Pince to find one of the incriminating bits of clothing lying about. That done, he picked up the thread of Hermione’s words and continued the conversation as he struggled into his clothes. “Well, I’ll meet you there, Hermione, but I seriously doubt I’ll be eating much breakfast. For some reason, I have the oddest feeling, like I’m stuffed…”

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~Fin~