Better

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to JKR, blah blah. You know the drill.

Author’s Note: Inspired by myrafur’s lovely (and very hot) fanart of Harry After Quidditch: http://www.livejournal.com/users/myrafur/53906.html#cutid1.

For Anne U because she’s to blame for this. ;-P

And danielerin because reading her wonderful fic, “Labels”, somehow put me in the mood to write this.

Enjoy!

Better

Oh God. Of course it had to happen like this, Hermione thought, biting her lip worriedly as she hurried to the Quidditch locker room.

The first time she didn’t go to watch Harry’s Quidditch practice this year, he got hit by a Bludger. Not just one Bludger either, two of the bloody Bludgers.

She shuddered slightly at the thought. She could only be thankful that he hadn’t fallen off his broom or anything because of that. Ginny and Ron had both assured her that Harry was fine, just a little bruised and cleaning himself up a little in the Quidditch locker room.

She had barely waited to hear that he was fine before she was gone.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them. She did. (If he hadn’t been ok, he would be in the Hospital Wing right now.) And rationally she knew that he would probably be back in the Gryffindor Tower himself within fifteen minutes where she could see the extent of his bruises for herself. But her worry over Harry rarely had any rationality about it and right now, she just needed to see him. She needed to make sure, doubly sure, reassure herself that it was nothing beyond the usual minor injuries that happened in playing any sport let alone one as dangerous as Quidditch.

Of course it had to happen like this.

If there was one thing about life, it was that things like this always happened on the one time she didn’t go to watch practice. Harry got hurt- the one time she wasn’t there.

She was at the Quidditch locker room now and she let out her breath trying to calm down. Harry was fine; Ron and Ginny had both sworn he was fine. She really shouldn’t worry. She- she, who prided herself on her logical mind- was being ridiculous. It was Quidditch and Bludgers, not Voldemort and Death Eaters—but she still shuddered at the thought of him getting hurt.

She opened the door silently, slipping inside.

And then abruptly stopped, all thoughts promptly fleeing her mind, as her mouth went dry and a jolt of heat settled into the pit of her stomach.

Oh God…

Harry was standing, stretching a little to ease his undoubtedly tense and probably sore muscles, one knee up on the bench. He was wearing only his Quidditch trousers and shin guards, with a towel slung around his neck. He was bruised, she noticed through the haze of desire her thoughts had become on seeing him, on his left shoulder and on his right side. But otherwise, he looked fine.

Better than fine.

He looked good enough to eat.

As she watched, he raised one hand and ran it through his hair with a little sigh. The movement caused the muscles in his back to flex and shift in the most fascinating and distracting manner. She automatically licked her lips and then could hardly believe she’d done it; it seemed so clichéd a reaction to have. But she couldn’t help it.

She really couldn’t help it. She knew his body now, had learned it in the past month since their relationship had, well, changed. She knew his body and she also knew just how he could make her feel…

Silently she moved in closer to him, slipping her hands around his waist, her lips dropping a light kiss on the bruise on his shoulder, before tracing her lips around the bruise and then moving to trace his shoulder blade with first her lips and then her tongue. He smelled, and tasted, of sweat and fresh air and grass and the subtle indefinable essence that was Harry.

She smiled slightly as he tensed instantly at her touch, letting his breath out in a long sigh of pleasure, his foot slipping off the bench as he straightened.

“Mm, Parvati, you shouldn’t. Hermione might see,” he murmured huskily, a thread of laughter in his voice.

“Ha ha,” she responded as tartly as she could manage through her own growing arousal. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” she asked, trying not to let her own amusement be audible in her voice, as she bent her knees slightly to kiss his other bruise and then letting her lips and tongue leave a rather damp trail of kisses from his side up to his other bruise-free shoulder, allowing her teeth to oh-so-gently nip at his shoulder blade. He shuddered slightly with a soft “Mmmm,” rumbling from his throat.

Her hands which had been idly caressing his chest and stomach started to inch lower and he grabbed them, stopping their descent.

He turned to face her and she smiled at him.

“Can I kiss your bruises and make them better?” she asked, trying to sound innocent, but her voice came out breathlessly rather spoiling the effect.

The fire in his eyes seemed to burn even brighter at her question and she shivered from the sheer heat of his gaze.

He smiled slightly. “I think you already did, but feel free to keep on doing it.” He sobered, sincere tenderness suddenly mingling with the desire in his eyes in a look that made her catch her breath. “You always make everything better,” he said softly, meaningfully.

And she smiled. Oh, she did love him so much and she loved the way he needed her and the sweet little things he sometimes said that told her he did.

She stepped closer to him, closing with the one small step the distance remaining between them until she was pressed firmly against his body, her arms going up around his neck to pull his head down to kiss him.

She kissed him teasingly at first, her lips brushing gently back and forth over his, until he let out a sound, halfway between a groan and a laugh, and deepened the kiss himself, his arms tightening around her, molding her body even more tightly to his. His hands slid down to grasp her hips, bringing her in to feel the hard jut of his arousal more definitely against her.

Her hands roamed freely over his shoulders and back, feeling, caressing, loving the heat of his skin and the way he shivered slightly at her touch. Her hands moved down to his butt (Merlin, she could never get enough of his butt), bringing his hips in closer to press his arousal yet more firmly against her body, although a second ago she would have sworn it wasn’t possible.

His own hands were doing their own exploring, slipping under her sweater and lifting it over her head, causing them to pause in their kisses. He made equally quick work of her bra and then his hands were cupping, kneading her breasts. She let her head fall back, her eyes closing, her mouth opening on a gasp of pure pleasure, feeling her nipples harden. His thumbs paused, flicking gently over the puckered points and she arched against him.

And then his mouth lowered to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently, and she cried out, his name leaving her lips in a breathless rush, her hands moving to tangle themselves in his hair, holding him in place. His teeth grazed the sensitized skin of her breast oh-so-gently and she jerked automatically from the jolt of heat the simple action sent through her body and the added wetness soaking into her knickers.

His mouth had moved onto her other breast and her hands now pushed his Quidditch trousers down impatiently. His hands also moved to help her and he kicked them off in what was probably record time, even as his hands returned to caress her breasts.

Her hand slipped between them to cup his arousal, eliciting a gasp from him. His lips which had been trailing kisses along her neck and up her jawline, paused in its track, his breath coming hot and fast against her skin.

She wrapped her hand gently around him, squeezing lightly and he groaned. Her hand moved to stroke him and he shivered, her name spilling from his lips in a sound that was part moan and part cry.

She smiled to herself and then felt his hands lowering her to the ground—the oddly soft ground—and it was only then she realized he’d still had the presence of mind to cast a cushioning charm on the floor.

She met his eyes, her smile softening, becoming tender, feeling a rush of emotion to mingle with the lust.

He met her eyes and shrugged off her silent thanks. “Can’t have you getting bruises on your back too,” was all he said, his voice husky.

And her heart warmed.

She reached up for him, bringing him down to her, kissing him deeply, her tongue first tracing the outline of his lips before sliding in to caress his. He made a sound deep in his throat, returning the kiss.

He unfastened her skirt, sliding it down past her hips, his fingers hooking into her knickers and sliding them off in the same quick movement, leaving her completely bared to his tender and desire-filled gaze.

She felt a blush spreading from her face and down her neck. Even now when she knew he’d seen all this before, she wasn’t entirely comfortable. She didn’t have the best body, wasn’t voluptuous or very sexy or slim and sensuous… But with him, somehow, none of that ever mattered. He looked at her as if she was lovely and perfect—and with him, because it was him, she felt beautiful…

One of his hands squeezed her breast gently, his palm brushing teasingly over the hardened nipple until she arched into his touch, desperate for more contact. His other hand slipped down between her thighs to touch her, first simply cupping her and finally, finally sliding one finger inside her.

And she cried out. “Oh, God, Harry!” More, more, she wanted more… The one word repeated itself in an incoherent refrain in her mind. More…

Her hands roved over the muscles of his back, careful not to put pressure on the right side of his back or his left shoulder, somehow managing to cling on to that one thought even through her lust-induced haze. Don’t hurt Harry; remember his bruises…

He shivered from her touch and shifted upwards, entering her smoothly. And for a moment he thought he might come right there and then. She felt so good, so warm, so wet around him. It was amazing, he sometimes thought, just how hot she could make him. Hermione, his Hermione…

Hermione…

Her name echoed in his fuzzy thoughts as he began to move, withdrawing and then thrusting inside her, at first slowly, but she lifted her hips, her hands moving to his butt, and he quickened his pace. He pushed forward, losing himself in a primitive rhythm. She met his every thrust, responding with the honesty that was so much a part of her.

He was boy; she was girl. They were meant for this. Harry. Hermione. They were complete together…

He could feel the tension spiraling inside her, growing, building, along with the tingling in his own body. He thrust ever deeper inside her, and then slipped one hand down to touch her at the point where his body joined hers. And she screamed, her muscles clenching around him, her eyes closing. And as usual, the sight of her in ecstasy pushed him over the edge and the world exploded around him as he spilled himself inside her with a cry in which her name was barely recognizable.

He collapsed on top of her, feeling tiredness overtake him, and it was something of a minor miracle that he remembered, and managed to, roll onto his side so as to avoid suffocating her with his weight after a few minutes.

He lay there, spent, his every muscle feeling about as limp as a wet noodle.

Hermione… Dear Merlin, Hermione…

He opened his eyes to look at her, feeling some sanity slip back into his thoughts. “What-” he cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t be so hoarse, “why’d you come in instead of waiting in Gryffindor Tower for me?” He paused, the corners of his lips lifting. “Not that I don’t appreciate that you did come inside this time.”

She smiled slightly, her gaze moving to his shoulder where he knew the beginnings of the bruise from where the first Bludger had hit him would be visible. “Ron said you’d been hit.”

He shrugged a little. “They’re only Bludgers. I’ve been hit before, no doubt will be hit again.”

She shuddered slightly. “Don’t say that. I hate to think of you getting hurt, even if it is only from a Bludger.”

He moved his hand under her chin to lift it so she had to meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine, love.”

She managed a smile. “For now,” she said softly, her eyes darkening and he knew she was thinking about Voldemort, worrying about the final confrontation, worrying about him and how he might be seriously injured, even ki—he cut the word off, refusing to even think it. He would be fine. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t- not survive. He had too much to live for. He had to live for her… And he would…

“I’ll always be fine… as long as I have you. You make everything better, remember?” The corners of his lips lifted into a reassuring smile, but his tone was completely serious.

And she knew he was talking about much more than simple bruises. He was talking about everything, all the dangers he would be facing, all the darkness, the worry and the fear…

She slipped her hand behind his neck to kiss him in response; she didn’t know what she could say to such a statement. She could only be glad, with a gladness that touched her very soul, that she could help him.

“We should get back to the castle. It’ll be dark soon,” she finally said, some minutes later.

He nodded, getting up and giving her a hand to help her up too.

They dressed again quickly, although the process was somewhat slowed down by kisses, and left the locker room together.

Harry slipped his hand into hers as they walked in comfortable silence. Sometimes he thought he loved her best in these moments when they were simply quiet together, with no need for words.

He remembered what he’d said to her in the locker room and knew it really was true, in the simplest and yet the most profound sense… She really did make everything better. Just by being there, just by being herself, just by loving him… she made everything better…