Disclaimer: Nada me pertenece. Gracias. Y que galán que recibiera dinero por esto!
Author's Note: Sorry for the odd thing with the last chapter. Yeah, I have no clue there. And then for whoever emailed me and told me one of my PG-13 fics was displaying a very very naughty one…thanks. What is wrong with the world these days? I blame Anakin. Yes, Anakin. He's my computer. And although I love him, he goes mad sometimes.
Thank you Linz and Shannon for being ganz toll and beta-ing.
Have a nice day! J
*~*~*~*~*~*
"We have fifteen minutes," she said, taking her shirt off matter-of-factly.
His eyes went wide. Usually he was the one that initiated things. That was why he was completely surprised when she suddenly announced that it was time Harry fed Buckbeak.
They had been in the drawing room, Ginny and Ron immersed in a game of Wizard's Chess, Hermione reading something or other, and Harry daydreaming about what he was going to do to her later on that night.
"If you want some company, I'll go with you," she had said, not looking up from her book. It was a very Hermione thing to suggest, and she suggested it in a very Hermione way. Ron and Ginny were completely oblivious to the undertones of it all, but he sure wasn't.
Translation: "If you want some company, I'll go with you. And shag you."
He didn't need to be told twice.
That was why they now found themselves up in Buckbeak's room, completely forgetting to fulfill the pretext they had gone up there with. She was removing her clothes as if they caused her an allergic reaction; Harry could do nothing save stand there, dumbfounded by the entire situation, and completely enthralled by the sight of her undressing.
"It's impolite to stare," she whispered with a grin, taking the initiative and unzipping his jeans.
They had fifteen minutes. If they were gone for more than fifteen minutes, people would come up looking for them. Fifteen minutes did not leave a lot of time for foreplay. Though, considering the current state of his…wand, foreplay wasn't really necessary…
Buckbeak looked very intrigued by all the commotion that was happening in his room. If he were Buckbeak, he decided that he would also be very intrigued. After all, it wasn't every day that a Hippogriff got to see a girl straddle a boy and have her mad, lusty way with him. Which was exactly what she was doing.
She stripped herself down to her bra, which unfortunately for him, she decided to keep on due to time constraints. She had a no frills attitude about her; this was just a shag. A quickie. They were about to have their first quickie. What was the date? This was quite an important milestone.
She had him sprawled on the floor, clothes completely gone except for the jeans he had bunched up around his knees. And then she straddled him. She gripped his upright and ready penis and lowered herself onto him.
Only she stopped after an inch or two. Harry, who was readying himself to lazily enjoy the ride, sat himself up on his elbows. What was wrong? Why'd she stop? But then he realized she was not stopping; she succeeded the first shallow thrust with another, and another, and another…
They had not been doing this for a long time, so he was certainly no expert, but he liked to think that he understood at least something about female pleasure. Shallow thrusts would bring her a quicker orgasm. And hey, they weren't all that bad from his perspective either.
He was very engrossed by the way she took the initiative. Very. He loved to watch her. Watching her was amazing. Watching her was an experience in and of itself. The expressions on her face…how did it feel for her? Was it possible that he could make her look and feel like that?
She came quickly, which had been her intention all along. He didn't mind being used this way; he bloody loved it. Before getting up and scurrying away, she had the presence of mind to bring him to fulfillment. It was only a quickie. Just a quickie. Nothing sweet or romantic about it. Well, except for that look that she gave him again, before lowering her lips to his, and melting him into a puddle on the floor…
*~*~*~*~*
"Mr. Potter! If you are going to spend the entirety of my class daydreaming, I suggest that you kiss your grandeur illusions of becoming an Auror goodbye! For I will throw you out of class the instant you continue on with this impertinent behavior."
Instead of looking penitent, he glared at Snape for interrupting his fantasy. He was vaguely aware that everyone in the dungeon was starring at him, the Slytherins looking very pleased, the Gryffindors looking very fearful. They couldn't afford to loose any more House points. But he didn't care. He was the one that ended up winning the dratted cup every year anyway. He didn't even have the decency to blush and look abashed; Hermione was doing a great job of it for him.
Of course she knew what he had been daydreaming about. She daydreamed about it too.
How he hated Hogwarts! He hated everything about it! He hated Snape, and Dumbledore. He hated Quidditch, and the delicious meals the elves cooked. He hated his dormitory; he hated the common room and the lake and the nosey portraits, and the teachers that supplied a never-ending stream of homework…
If he had thought that their summer arrangement would help him escape from his problems, well, weren't they wrong? It seemed to have made everything much worse, at the same time that it made everything better.
He was actually thankful for Voldemort. Because if it hadn't been for Voldemort, he wouldn't have been sent to Grimmauld Place so early in the summer. And if it hadn't been for that, he would have never developed the arrangement with Hermione…
And if it hadn't been for the arrangement, he would've never had had that quickie in Buckbeak's room. How he wished he could turn back time and make it summer. He loved summer. It was like a beautiful in-between place; he didn't have to worry about the dreaded past, he didn't have to dwell on his bleak future. It was a momentary nothingness. A nothingness that she filled with everythingness. And he wanted it back…
More than anything he wanted her back.
Of course, he tried to get her to change her mind. He used logic and reasoning, a language that she understood. But she understood those too well, and therefore, was immune to them. So he then resorted to petulance. He decided that he was going to purposely fail everything until she gave in. He'd get Trolls in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Trolls in Charms…even a Troll in Care of Magical Creatures if that's what it took! But instead, all he got was frustrated anger, and a promise to never touch him again if he even tried such a thing.
So that didn't happen.
Then he tried seduction. A slow, painful seduction.
It started out one day during Care of Magical Creatures. They were outside, waiting for Hagrid to bring out his latest pet (A Demiguise named Lawrence. Where on earth did he get these beasts?). She had been talking to Neville about something or other, and then turned around to walk back to where he and Ron were. She had a big smile on her face…the kind that stopped time. Maybe she should've just smiled the entirety of third year instead of using the dratted Time Turner. Her smile would've been enough.
She was smiling as she walked towards them, eyes fixed on Harry. There was nothing self-conscious about the blatant starring that was going in that split second, though everyone must've surely been daft not to notice it. It was due to her rapt attention on him that she wasn't watching where she was going…a stick, slippery mud, he had no bloody clue what it was that made her stumble. The point was, she stumbled, and he caught her; he had great reflexes when it came to her. And Quidditch.
But he caught her. The whole episode resembled an elaborate tango more than it did an accident. But he caught her. She was in his arms, in a way that she hadn't been since summer. And his reaction was instant. And from the look on her face, the widening of her eyes, the flush on her cheeks…so was hers.
He decided that that was the best way to get to her.
So from then on, he would find any reason possible to touch her. No, not just touch her in the regular Harry and Hermione sense. This would be completely secret…and spiteful. He would touch her in ways only she would understand. Touches that no one else would be able to see. Like rubbing his legs against hers during Advanced Potions. Or starting a tickle fight in the common room that would lead to his hands wandering over places where best friends don't tickle each other. He would grab her from behind, pretending to scare her, only to pull her close…completely up against him…just so that she would feel how much he needed her…
Because of course it was she that he needed, and no one else. There were plenty of girls ready to jump at his beck and call if he ever wished it, but he couldn't even entertain the thought of anyone but her.
She was it.
At first the plot seemed to be working. Everyday he would see her more and more on edge…snapping at everyone, at everything. The first years were seriously afraid of her. McGonagall called her aside to speak about her temper. She even got sent to Detention for giving poor Professor Flitwick an earful!
She looked completely frustrated and resentful. And disheveled. It was very sexy. But Hermione wasn't an idiot. She wouldn't let herself be the only one turned into a maniac…
She would fight fire with fire.
The first time he felt her hand caress his thigh whilst studying for Transfiguration in the library surprised him. They were sitting next to each other, Ron across from them. He didn't think much of it at first. But then the hand sneaked down to his inner thigh, and a little bit higher, though not quite reaching the goal…
He looked up at her. She seemed for all the world engrossed in her Transfiguration text.
He wanted to kill her.
But not as much as he did one day during dinner. This time she was sitting across from him, sandwiched between Ron and Ginny. At first he was confused that someone kept kicking him; he was about to tell Ron to cut it off. But then the foot stopped kicking him, and started moving up his leg, playing with his inner thighs. This time, when he looked up at her, she had the most pleased of expressions on her face. Any observer would've attributed it to the delicious caramel éclairs the elves had prepared as a treat that night, but he knew. He had seen that look many a time as he drove into her over and over and over…it was his reason for breathing.
And this little game kept going. He would whisper something in her ear…slowly...in a tantalizing manner. He would let his lips graze her ear, and she would be begging with her eyes. But she would always retaliate. And oh, she could retaliate…
"Harry, would you please be a dear and go reach that book for me," she whispered to him one day in the library. She was standing behind him, her breasts pressed to his back, her hands on his shoulders…her breath on his neck…that naughty smile on her lips…
Curse her.
He likened the whole thing to a leisurely burn in hell. Or heaven. He couldn't decide which.
As a result of this unabashed campaign of retribution, Harry also became irritable and snappish. (Could you blame him?) It was fifth year all over again, only worse. The whole situation became so awful…Ron got sick of it….
"You know what?" roared Ron one morning in the common room, snapping his books shut. "I'm going down to the Great Hall with Ginny, Neville, and Luna until both your tempers improve!" He picked up his things with a look of abject scorn, and stormed off, leaving them both stunned.
He had a point.
If they didn't stop this little game they were playing, they would drive all their friends away. Either that, or cause them to spontaneously combust.
He thought this would happen one day during a DA meeting. Yes, he had kept the DA going, but only because it was a further distraction from Hermione. Quidditch and the DA were his only distractions now, as what had started out to be just another distraction had now become his obsession.
Ironic, no? To need a distraction from a distraction…
They were dueling. Harry was directing, until finally, everybody got sick of hearing him barking orders, and decided to make the whole event a lot more interesting.
"Say Harry," piped up one Zacharias Smith with his usual smug look. Harry didn't think there was ever a day that went by in which Zacharias did not have a smug look. "So far, you have defeated everyone in a duel…except Hermione. Chicken? Are you afraid of being dethroned by a girl?"
Now, he wasn't in a particularly good mood with her that day, as she had spent the majority of breakfast using her feet to play with the zipper of his jeans under the table. So he didn't really fancy the thought of being publicly defeated by her in a duel. Because of course, there was no doubt that she could, and most likely would, beat him.
He sighed, and did not answer Zacharias' challenge. Instead, he half-heartedly walked to the center of the Room of Requirement, and beckoned to her with his wand. She rolled her eyes, clearly displeased in the manner in which he had called her forth, but instead of making a scene about it, she merely walked forward. And by merely, it is meant that she walked forward with all the haughtiness she could muster; complete with hair-flipping and arrogantly raised eyebrows.
This was going to be fun.
The duel started off rather normal. They both tried to disarm each other, hoping to end the situation as quickly as possible. Neither wanted to be in any sort of a position where they would both be scrutinized. Together. They were really rather obvious…it was astounding that as of yet, no one had been able to guess what they were on about…
Or so they thought.
Disarming proved futile, however. They were both too quick. Too clever. Too good. Frustration rising by the second, they instead decided that it would be best if they just tried to kill each other outright.
But that didn't work either. You see, they had this annoying little thing where they could read each other's minds. Usually, this had worked to their favor in the past, as many an inauspicious predicament had been abated due to this particular skill. But on that day, it was completely revolting; they knew exactly which spell the other was going to use, and exactly how the other would cast it, and exactly how best to duck it…
In the end, they both had their robes cast aside; Hermione's bun had completely come undone, and Harry had ripped a sleeve from trying so hard to keep them rolled up. They were both completely livid! He wanted to destroy her, for making him suffer like a sick puppy that longs after its master! And she…she wanted to beat him for the very same reason…
They wanted to tear each other apart.
In more ways than one…
When they finally called a draw, they were surprised to see the uneasy and uncomfortable faces on all the other members of the DA. The feeling was similar to the one you get whilst watching a film that takes an unexpected semi-erotic turn. In the company of your parents.
The poor kids really didn't know what to do with themselves; they just stood around in a circle, watching Harry and Hermione silently have it out. Except, by the end of it, they had ceased using their wands. They were relying on their eyes.
"Umm…Harry, can we go?" Zacharias asked tentatively. He suddenly regretted asking Harry and Hermione to duel.
"You're dismissed," Harry replied distractedly. His entire focus was on Hermione; they were both seizing each other up, as if intending to continue the duel.
"Uh…Harry? Hermione?" Ron said timidly. He got the distinct impression that he was interrupting some type of nonverbal communication that they didn't want interrupted. And he was right. "It is getting rather late; maybe we should go back the Tower? We have Quidditch practice tomorrow morning Harry, you don't want to fall asleep while going over strategies with us, you know, like last time, when Fred and George sent you those Drowsy Drops-"
"What?" Harry asked, hearing the word 'Quidditch' and breaking out of his trance. "Yes Ron, of course. We're going." He turned around abruptly, as if he feared any continued eye contact in that direction would keep him rooted to the spot for all eternity.
"What are you lot still doing here?" he snapped at the loitering DA members who, although 'dismissed,' were far too interested in…whatever was going on. "Didn't I tell you to go?"
He knew that he was being mean, but he couldn't help himself. Sexual frustration and exasperation did not become him well at all.
The DA, normally a feisty bunch, would usually put Harry in his place. But at that moment, they all remembered that he was the only wizard powerful enough to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named.
And frankly, they didn't want to cross him in this temper.
*~*~*~*
After the spectacle that was that particular DA meeting, he decided that he could no longer stand for this nonsense. She would succumb, if it took every ounce of his magical power to make her do it!
It was with this resolution in mind that he followed her out one night as she did her Prefect rounds. He didn't even bother with an invisibility cloak. He didn't bloody care. He knew that without the cloak, he could only afford to spend a couple of minutes with her without getting caught. But he didn't care if he got caught; all he wanted was to confront her.
And maybe snog her, but he would settle for a confrontation.
So he followed her, silently stalking her until she got to the statue of the one-eyed witch.
Once she got to the statue, she stopped, and turned around. She had an "I-know-you've-been-there-all-along" smile on her face, which didn't surprise him at all. Of course she had known he was there all along.
The moon was highlighting her face, her smile. And with the brown hair and warm eyes, she was Artemis. She was perfect.
No words were necessary. He just went at her with a crazed energy; he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her against him. He smashed his lips against hers, forcing her lips open, and snogging her madly. He didn't care that he might be hurting her; he didn't care that he might bruise her lips because he was crushing them so hard, biting them with brute force. He didn't care that he was holding her too rigidly…all he cared about was being as close to her as possible.
His mouth was working faster than his brain; before he had gotten accustomed to her lips, he was already kissing her neck, her forehead…his right hand was on her lower back, crushing her to him. She was gasping heavily, opening and shutting her eyes, luxuriating in the attention. He felt her body go heavy, and grinned.
"My knees are weak," she said quietly, without a trace of embarrassment.
He kissed her again, and she had no choice but to stumble along backwards, reaching her arms behind her in search for a wall to lean on. Luckily, there was a niche in the wall behind them; a perfect spot to keep hidden from prying ghosts, or whatever might be lurking the castle at night…
The niche had previously held a statue of Ulrich the Oddball, but had since been removed on account of the salacious obscenities it encouraged the first years to yell during exams.
Once in their little corner, Harry wasted no time in making clear just how wicked his intentions really were. He sneaked a hand inside her robes, brushing his hand along her inner thigh, up her skirt, when suddenly-
"We can't do this," Hermione whispered breathlessly, stopping Harry's hand midway.
"What?" Harry asked, completely out of it.
"I have Prefect duties…"
"No you don't. Ron does. Tonight is his night, only he wheedled you into taking his shift because he promised he would study for Transfiguration, when he is actually enjoying a nice game of Exploding Snap with Dean Thomas. So, if someone happens to be caught out of bounds tonight and there is no Prefect there to discipline, it will be Ron's fault. Not yours." He said this in such a well-versed and calculated manner, that she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He had either been waiting for such an opportunity to arise, or he had staged the entire thing himself.
"You know very well I can't let Ron get in trouble."
He sighed. "Yeah, I know." He looked so crestfallen, that for a split-second there she was about ready to flout morality and shag him there in the middle of the corridor! But only for a split second. Because before she knew it…
He was on his knees. Before she could uncloud her mind enough to stop him, his hand had already parted her robes, hiked up her skirt, and had pulled her knickers down to her knees.
Prefect duties. Pfft!
He wasted no time with taunting, or teasing. He went straight for the goal, letting his tongue flicker over her clitoris with quick, successive motions.
Hermione, bless her, did not know what to make of the situation. Moments of complete euphoria were interspersed with moments of complete anger and shock that Harry Potter would ever do such a thing to her in a corridor, where they could be caught! What excuse would they give Dumbledore if he happened to walk past, searching for a toilet?
"Hmmm…you see, Professor, Harry was quite convinced an imp had hidden itself inside my robes, and he decided that the best way to inspect me was…with his tongue?"
Yeah. That wouldn't go over to well. Then again, they could always say they were under Imperious. But Harry could deflate that curse…
Who bloody cared anyway? It felt it so good…
But before Hermione could experience just how good it could get, Harry abruptly stopped.
"What?" Hermione asked, annoyed at the apparent interruption.
"Oh, nothing," Harry said smugly, standing up and biting on his lower lip. "Its just that…well…your shift is over in a couple of minutes. Perhaps you wanna get back to your Prefect duties…?"
She glowered, and Harry's grin grew so wide that Hermione was tempted to see if she could charm the statue of the one-eyes-witch to shove itself into his mouth.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Harry whispered in her ear. He tried to kiss her lips, but she turned her cheek. He didn't care. He had won.
So with a lighter heart, and step markedly more upbeat then it had been in previous weeks, he walked away, leaving a fuming Hermione behind him.
Their time was definitely not up.
At least, not yet.