The Boy and the Night

Rating: R for sexual imagery, adult situations, and adult themes.

Title: The Boy and the Night

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. Additionally, locations in and around the United Kingdom are used as a basis for "historical reality" or in a purely fictitious manner.

Spoiler Alert: none but defaulted to Books 1—5

Summary: A very Muggle turn of phrase entered his mind at that moment and it took all he was to keep it there and not say it aloud.

Pairings: Harry/Hermione (heavily implied)

Author's Notes: (This was my first NC-17 fic on Portkey, until Anne U kindly mentioned that it might be R, since, hmm, yes. Subtle smut.) Well now. Right, to explain, this story was a present that I wrote for a dear friend of mine a few months back. My friend recently told me that I could and should post this here, so, here we are. By the way, Hermione is out of character, but there is a good reason for that, I assure you...

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THE BOY AND THE NIGHT

[] OR, BE CAREFUL OF WHAT YOU ASK FOR

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Despite the chill in the air, Harry Potter found himself kicking off the bed sheets in an effort to cool down.

Something about the night felt oppressive. Hot. Sticky. Suffocating. He was alone in the dormitory, it being winter break and his roommates away with their families. He had stayed behind at Hogwarts yet again. It was just as well. It was unbearably hot in the room, and he surely would have disturbed any occupant with his tossing and turning.

It was too bloody hot.

He sat up in the bed and narrowed his eyes at the fireplace in the middle of the room. There was nothing but embers in the belly now, faintly glowing orange. The heat couldn’t possibly come from there.

He threw himself back down onto the bed and stared at the canopy above him. It was a crescent moon this night, so there was just enough light for him to see the red velvet folds. He wondered if being surrounded by so much velvet could contribute to the stifling temperature. He roughly sat up again, pulled off his t-shirt, and tossed it onto the floor. He lay back down and was appeased by the touch of the sheets against his bare skin. This was much more manageable. He might even be able to sleep like this.

Harry closed his eyes.

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

The creak of a floorboard startled him. He practically jumped out of bed at the sound. He blinked, forcing his eyes to adjust, and attempted to focus upon the figure standing in the middle of the room.

“Who –” he started, and then stopped. He slowly tilted his head to one side. The shape of the figure seemed very familiar to him. “Who...?” he began again as his voice trailed away.

The figure moved closer to his bed. “Shh,” came a voice. It was a feminine voice.

That’s when it came to him. The figure was that of Hermione Granger. In his room. In the boys’ dormitory. In her pyjamas. “Hermione? But, how? I thought you’d gone home...?”

She quickly stepped over to his bed and lightly sat on the edge. Harry moved himself out of the way, allowing her room. She sat very close to him, close enough to for her leg to touch his.

Harry became acutely aware of the fact that he was not wearing a shirt.

He reached for the coverlet, an attempt at modesty, but Hermione moved in such a way as to place her hand on top of the covers. She turned and leaned her body across his legs as well, effectively trapping him. He felt his mouth run dry and he blinked at her quickly. What is she doing?

“What...are you doing here?” he managed to ask.

Hermione was close enough for him to see her without his eyeglasses. He was able to see the smile that slowly crept onto her face. “There was something that I had to do,” she said to him softly.

“Something you had to do? What would tha—” He was unable to finish his question for the fact that Hermione had leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Though the kiss, their first kiss, had been delicate and chaste, he felt as though every nerve in his body had been touched by electricity. The touch had been ever so brief, but ever so soft. He had been caught so unawares that his eyes were open and he was staring at Hermione. Her face was still close to his; close enough for him to smell her. She smelled like the grass and the water and the sky and everything about the spring. God, I love that smell.

“I had to do that,” she murmured, the smile still on her lips.

“You came back just for that?” he breathed.

“No. Not just for that.”

“Then for what else?”

She gave him a look, one that he didn’t quite recognize, and with her index finger traced a line from his Adam’s apple, down the middle of his bare chest, to the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.

A very Muggle turn of phrase entered his mind at that moment and it took all he was to keep it there and not say it aloud.

“What...else...” he said again, haltingly. Her index finger was now being gently swept from side to side across his abdomen. She was touching him with the pad of her index finger but, occasionally, she would lightly drag her nail along his exposed skin. Ohmigod...

Hermione gave him a feral look, one that put a shiver up and down his spine, and smirked. “Let me show you,” she murmured. She manoeuvred herself so that she could kneel on the bed, and then swung her leg over his, settling herself across his lap. The lap, which, at this point, was sporting a very hard...

He put his hands on her waist and lifted her off of him. “You don’t want to do this,” he said breathlessly. As much as I want you to do this, he added silently.

“Yes, I do.” She placed her hands on top of his and lowered herself back into his lap. Staring into his eyes, she firmly moved her hips into him. “And, I can tell that you want me to do this...”

Despite himself, Harry made a low, guttural sound. “Hermione...” he whimpered.

“Yes, Harry,” she breathed against the side of his neck. She had draped her arms over his shoulders and had leaned her face in close to his neck. Her breath tickled the soft hollow where his neck met his shoulder. Her velvety lips barely touched the skin at the crux, making him want to cry out. Her hands started to trace delicate patterns across his shoulder blades, down his spine.

He shuddered and nuzzled his face into her shoulder. He closed his eyes, indulging in the scent of her. “I want this...”

“Do you?” Now she was very gently, very softly, moving her hips back and forth. Although she was doing this in such a way as to barely touch him, Harry wanted to scream all the same.

“Yes,” he managed, his voice threatening to break for the feelings she was stirring...among other things she was stirring. His hands were on her waist, feeling every move that she made against him, serving to amplifying the sensation.

“What else do you want?” she purred in his ear, her tongue darting out to give it a soft lick.

At that Harry moaned into her shoulder. He pulled himself away from her in order to look into her eyes. She looked at him, desire plainly on her features. “Merlin, you are beautiful,” he sighed. At this she smiled. He stared into her eyes, and then started to kiss her gently on the lips. His eyes closed, and he allowed himself to drift away on the bliss of feeling Hermione.

He kissed her tenderly, kissing her upper lip, her bottom lip, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her chin. He started to kiss her mouth yet again, her soft lips brushing against his, making his heart flutter. Then, he parted his lips to take her bottom lip in. Her heard her gasp, felt her breath in his mouth. He gently sucked in her bottom lip. She responded by forcefully moving her hips into him. Harry moaned yet again and allowed his tongue to trace a line across Hermione’s bottom lip. She growled softly, a noise that aroused him even further, and she licked his upper lip. The feel of her filled his head with such thoughts. His mind reeled with the way his body was responding to her touch. He parted her lips with his tongue, and they first tasted of one another. It was more than and different than he had imagined. She was so warm, so soft...so sweet...he had longed to kiss her for so long and now it was made real. Their tongues met hesitantly at first, tentative, learning the feel and the taste of one another. Then, as their longing grew, the kisses increased in passion. His hands began to wander, feeling her form beneath the fabric of her pyjamas.

She moaned, arching her neck, exposing the skin so that he could kiss her there. He obliged, moving his lips and tongue across her smooth skin. She tasted as wonderful as she smelled, and the sounds coming from her sweet mouth were gradually driving him insane. He slid his hands beneath her pyjama top, caressing silken skin. He felt her shudder at that, felt the raised flesh at his contact. He moved his hands to touch her breasts, holding the supple mounds in his hands tenderly, almost reverently. He had longed to feel her like this, had ached to know the touch of her. She groaned and pressed her body into his hands, against his mouth. She began to move again, rhythmic thrusts of her hips fuelling the fire that was burning in the pit of his stomach. He moaned loudly, his hands massaging her breasts, his lips hungrily moving across her neck. She took his face into her hands and pressed her mouth against his, greedily taking his tongue against hers. Their passion was nearing the limits of their reason. The rhythm of her body against his was driving the fire inside of him out of control. He felt a pressure build within him, a pressure that was making his nerves burn and every muscle in his body ache. He knew that she felt the same for the sounds that were falling from her mouth and the way in which her back was arching more and more with every stroke against him. He found that he didn’t care about anything anymore, nothing beyond the quenching of the fire in his belly and the sating of Hermione’s wishes. She wanted this. She wanted to feel like this. She wanted him to feel like this. And he wanted this for her, this freedom, this loss of control. He wanted it for both of them. The realization of their friendship, their relationship, their attraction... He put everything that he was into his kisses, wanting to alternately drown in and consume her with his passion. So much denial, torn away...her body responded magnificently, grinding into him, the pace increasing, her movements intensifying, until...

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“Oh my God.”

He awoke in his bed, panting heavily, sweat beaded across his chest. Harry was disoriented. He was alone, he could scarcely catch his breath, and his body was either slowly coming in or out of shock. That is when he realised it.

He had...in his dream...he had...

“Bugger,” he moaned to the empty room. “Bloody buggering bollocks.”

He wasn’t certain of what was worse. That it had been a dream, a wonderful, amazing never to be fulfilled dream, or that he now needed a change of clothing....

†