Disclaimer: Same old same old. I don't own a thing, or make a cent of change. *sighs*
Author's Note: I love you Linz! You just magically appear whenever I need you. It's really quite odd…
*~*~*~*~*
"Where'd Hermione go?" he asked casually, fearing that everyone would immediately hear the fake casualness in his voice, and that Ron would stand up and cry "Aha! You've been shagging her all this time!"
Fortunately for him, Ron wasn't so clever.
"I believe she went for a shower," Ginny answered from her perch behind Witch Weekly. She had been lying on the floor for the past hour taking all the quizzes for that summer's Get to Know Your Inner Witch Quiz-fest! "She said something about not being able to stand the bloody heat…"
"The heat is terrible," Ron agreed, sticking out his tongue slightly as he bubbled in an answer with his quill. He too was taking magazine quizzes, only his were not from Witch Weekly, but from Which Broomstick. (What type of broom is most compatible with your personality?) "Can't understand why mum refuses to cast a cooling charm."
"I think mum doesn't want what happened last time to happen again," Ginny said distractedly.
"What happened last time?" Harry inquired.
"Oh, she caused a snowstorm at the Burrow," she replied offhandedly, as if this sort of thing happened everyday. "Took dad a good part of an hour to get it to stop. Ever since then mum has been very suspicious of cooling charms."
Harry groaned. He had been sitting in the drawing room for the past hour in a slight stupor, trying to get his mind off of the night before. It had been simply heaven. He was quite certain that the spot on the floor currently occupied by Ron was exactly the spot where he had shagged Hermione the previous night…though of course, he wouldn't dare mention this to him.
He yawned. It was such an obvious yawn, he was sure that they'd notice how fake it was. But they didn't. Bloody morons didn't notice anything. He and Hermione had been at it for the better part of two weeks now…he was quite nervous that any day now they'd realize what had been recently happening during the nocturnal hours at Grimmauld Place. But still, nothing.
It was all very ridiculous when you thought about it.
"I think I'll be heading off for a nap," Harry said to no one in particular. "Wake me in an hour, Ron?"
"Yeah, sure," Ron answered, not at all concerned about Harry or his nap. He was bloody compatible with a Silver Arrow? That excuse of a broom? No sodding way…
Seeing his best friend thus occupied, Harry got up and made his way towards the hallway. Hmm…which bathroom would she most likely be using?
He knew he was being naughty. Besides the first time, they had only ever done these things at night…and right now, to go after her and initiate it in broad daylight, when all the members of the household were wide-awake…
He was mad!
Or rather, not mad. But infinitely randy…
To his great pleasure, he heard the shower running in one of the hall bathrooms. It would have been quite unfortunate if she had been showering in the bathroom she and Ginny both shared in their room, as Ginny could walk into her room at any moment and then she would see both of them come out of the shower…
Wouldn't that make for a lovely spectacle?
He turned the knob of the door, only to find it locked. The prude. With a great, big, melodramatic sigh, he took out his wand and Alohamorad! his way in, silently thanking Voldemort for his return. The ban on underage wizardry being temporarily lifted on his account…
He was quite surprised to find the room stifling hot, full of steam…why was she taking a hot shower on a warm day? He was suddenly jolted by a memory of his Uncle Vernon yelling at Dudley.
"I know it's hot! But have you seen the electricity bill lately? There is no way I am turning that thing on! Go take a warm shower! When you come out, you'll feel quite refreshed…"
How exactly did that logic work? Wouldn't a cold shower make you feel refreshed? He made a mental note to ask Hermione later, because right now, he couldn't help but feel grateful that the shower wasn't cold…
Very quietly, he stripped himself of all his clothing. He was surprised she hadn't heard him come in, but then again, how would she, what with all that racket---she was humming something. He didn't know what it was exactly, as he was not necessarily all that well versed music wise. Though he was quite certain of one thing: a singer, his Hermione, was definitely not.
He was quite pleased with the surprised shriek she let out when he suddenly invaded her shower. He took even greater pleasure in putting his hand over her mouth to shush her.
Shh…this is quiet time...
Well, as quiet as they could manage it.
When he took his hand away from her lips, he was quite frustrated when she started laughing hysterically.
He had forgotten to take off his glasses.
Without even asking him, she snatched them off and threw them behind the curtain.
"Hey!" he exclaimed.
"Shh…I'll fix them later…"
Without his glasses, and all the water running, he couldn't see a bloody thing. This bothered him quite a bit, as half the fun of it all was watching her. But that didn't mean he couldn't feel her.
Her first order of business was to snog him. It made her laugh, because as he couldn't see well, he turned his cheek right at the moment she made for his lips. She ended up kissing his jaw instead.
"Stop laughing! They'll hear us!" he said, laughing himself.
She rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it, and cupped his cheeks. Otherwise, how was she ever going to manage this?
He felt her lips on his. They were wet. He remembered once before feeling a wet kiss…what a completely different circumstance. He felt secure here. Not like the other time…he was meant to be here. Of that he was sure of. He trusted her completely.
He kept repeating that to himself silently as he let her take control. He was in no position to be dictating the outcome of events. He really was blind…it was quite embarrassing. But that didn't mean he couldn't relax and enjoy himself. That was the reason he had snuck into her shower, right? To enjoy himself, right? To forget…
Right?
As if trying to prove this to himself, Harry placed both hands on her smooth, slick back and pressed her harder against him. He was only here for this, and for no other reason at all. Just for this.
He felt her trace a hand down his spine, to his bum. He squealed when she squeezed. She laughed. God how he loved her laugh. Not that her laughter had anything to do with why he was there of course, he was there for only one reason…
Her laugh had nothing to do with it.
She seemed to be enjoying his incapacity. She took pleasure in taunting him…she would inch out of his grasp when he tried to kiss her lips. She luxuriated in exploring places she was normally too shy to explore…the running water was a bonus element. So when he felt her lick his shoulder, sucking all the water…the sensations burned him more than the scalding water.
That was when she finally developed the courage. He was quite surprised when he reached a hand out to touch, and found no body there at the end of his fingertips. That was when, to his great amazement, he felt something hot and wet envelop his penis…
Was she-? Was that her…was she doing what he thought she was doing?
He groaned. Oh my yes, that was her tongue that he just felt. Her tongue had just…licked him…down there. And oi! There it was again. Did her teeth just lightly graze him? Damn, what she was doing now, the sucking thing; that felt damn good…
He stuck his hands out trying to find something to keep him from falling. Because his knees were buckling, and the shower floor was slippery, and he was about to die of pleasure any moment now and it would be quite a shame if he fell on top of Hermione and hurt her…
*~*~*~*~*~*
Harry smacked the wall of the shower stall with his fists. Would he ever be able to take a shower without remembering that? Without being able to relive those amazing moments…her hands on his thighs…the smell of her soap-covered body…
Taking a towel, he stepped out of the shower and stood before the mirror. He hated what he saw there; it was a reflection of his life. His eyes had dark circles under them, and for the life of him, he could not muster enough energy to get that eternally dejected look out of his eyes. It was his fault, after all. Everything was his fault…
She wasn't speaking to him. But it wasn't as if he made that much of an effort to speak to her. She avoided him whenever possible, and he, resentful of this maltreatment, avoided her in turn. They had gone from being best friends, to having a torrid affair, to hostile amicability, to jealous passive-aggressiveness…to nothing whatsoever. Nothing. They didn't even try to feign the normal Harry and Hermione relationship. What for? Everyone knew. The Gryffindors even had a running bet going…who would make the first move?
It sure as hell wasn't going to be him. He told her he bloody loved her for Merlin's sake! Wasn't that enough humiliation? And what does he get in return? Nothing.
Wow! He really hated the melodrama of being sixteen…
It wasn't like he could really blame her, though. It was not supposed to happen like this. The arrangement had been built on two simple rules…and he had broken both. Granted, these rules were of the unspoken kind--though sometimes, silence can be the loudest sound of all…
*~*~*~*~*~*
He stepped out of his and Ron's bedroom, closing the door carefully. He didn't want anyone to wake up and find him there, loitering about in the dead of night. With growing anticipation, he walked towards the drawing room and peaked in.
She wasn't there.
He grinned. Half the fun of the…arrangement, was figuring out where the hell she decided to hide herself this time. It was kind of ironic actually, doing very mature things, but going about them in a completely immature manner; it was the paradox of their age.
Always up for a challenge, he decided--for some strange reason--that she was most likely not at all on this floor. So that left him two options: she was either downstairs, which was also quite unlikely, (unless she stuck to the kitchen, because otherwise Sirius' mum would start screaming at the top of her lungs) or, she was upstairs…
Upstairs. Something about the word upstairs was pawing at his mind. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley slept upstairs. If she were indeed upstairs, that would be sort of risky, no?
Risk always added a bit of fun.
But no, that wasn't it. Upstairs…what on earth was upstairs…oh bother! Sometimes he wished that he listened a bit more when she spoke; half the time he was sitting there wondering how everybody would react if he just shut her up by snogging her madly. That was the only way to properly shut her up sometimes…
"You know, I just discovered the most magnificent library…" she had announced the other day, looking completely elated.
A library. Of course she would go off and hide herself in a library. But which room could it be? He couldn't very well go peaking into every room. What if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in one of those? Or worse, what if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in one of those, doing the same things he hoped to be doing to Hermione in a little bit…
They did have 20 billion kids. The thought wasn't at all far-fetched.
Ick! he thought to himself as he skipped up the stairs two at a time. Get the mental picture out of my head, please dear Merlin…
Once upstairs, he turned to look up and down the corridor. It was a very long corridor. With many doors. Doors that led to rooms that he had no clue about.
He was going to murder her.
With a sigh, he began contemplating in which direction he would most likely find a library. Why would they add a library on the left side of the stairs? A library was full of books, with factual information, which meant that all the information was correct. Or rather, right, so of course the library would be found to his right…
Fortunately for Harry, his rather flawed logic was proven correct, when he noticed a bit of light under the door to the very far right. On the right side. Worried this might be the Weasley's honeymoon suite, he looked around to see if he could find some light under any of the other doors.
All the other doors were dark.
Of course they would be! The Weasleys would be asleep by now! That was, unless of course they were, you know…
He approached the room with trepidation. If it did turn out to be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room, he could always say he was sleep walking, or he had a bad dream about Voldemort, or something equally ridiculous. But then he'd cause undue panic. The worst case scenario, of course, would be walking in on them having…
Oh blast it all! He wasn't going in! Sex or no sex! Sex was not worth this agony!
Ok, so all right. Perhaps it was.
Oh well, he thought to himself as he turned the knob to the room with his eyes shut. Here goes nothing…
Thankfully, when he opened the door, (and his eyes) there were no Weasleys present. It was just a big, dusty room full of books, and a fire. He found this kind of odd…why would they put books near a fire? Then again, these were wizarding books--they were probably fire proof…
But then, all the absurd thoughts about Weasleys making little Weasleys and books and fires completely evaporated when he saw her curled up in front of the fire. She was asleep. She was asleep, and had a book for a pillow. She was in the sort of position that he had seen Crookshanks use many many times…it was kinda cute.
A battle began waging in his head. It would be rather mean of him to wake her up just because little Harry was in need of some exercise. But then, he couldn't very well leave her to sleep on the floor with a book for a pillow. That would mean she wouldn't rest properly, and that she'd wake up with a stiff neck and a sore back…
Though he could have a little fun if she asked for a massage the next day…
Levitating her to the couch in the corner would be the best thing. If not the best, then perhaps the most chivalrous thing. Now that the ban on underage wizardry was temporarily lifted, he wouldn't have to worry about ending up at a Wizengamot hearing just for levitating his best friend to a couch.
He took out his wand, and trying to be as gentle as possible, he levitated her to the couch. He smiled at the little connection: she was the one that had helped him perfect the charm. He was afraid that she would awake during the process, and that he would then lose his concentration and cause her to crash to the floor. But luckily, nothing of the sort happened. His brow furrowed a bit when she started squirming around on the couch…but she didn't wake up.
At a loss of what to do with himself, he sat himself before the fire, right on the spot where she had been asleep before. He wanted to watch her sleep…he didn't understand why. It was a sudden compulsion, quite unnatural…what did he care what she looked like while she slept? Don't all people look the same way while they sleep? Their eyes are closed, their breathing becomes regular…they might snore a bit…but did they all sigh like that? Because she just started to sigh, and squirm again…do all people look that fetching while they squirm? And her hair looked sort of heavy and thick with curls, as if she had just taken a bath before going to bed…naturally, hair isn't supposed to look that inviting while you sleep. Its supposed look odd. Not tempting.
He wanted to leave. He suddenly wanted to leave. Because he was suddenly aware that merely watching her sleep was making him feel all kinds of things…dangerous things.
Because the arrangement was something that was to be strictly platonic. In the Plato kind of platonic. As in, complete commune of body and mind, but free of emotional entanglements…
The unspoken rule.
He sprang up from the floor, suddenly feeling very confused and distraught. He had to leave. These ridiculous thoughts were just…completely ridiculous! They had no place in his head. It was just the damn sex. The sex was so good it was turning him into a bloody sap. He had to leave…
When he reached the doorknob of the door, he stopped. He couldn't help himself. He just had too.
The compulsion to touch her…not wake her…but just feel her, was too strong.
He walked over to her and put his hand on her cheek. So warm. He brushed the hair from her forehead, and bent down to kiss her. He didn't want to wake her, just touch her…
Perhaps it was because his lips lingered too long, or he breathed in the scent of her too deeply, but when he raised his head, he saw that her eyes were open wide.
She smiled at him. It was a long, lazy smile, coupled with an indolent stretch.
It made him feel guilty.
She sat up, and he sat himself on the floor before her feet, pulling at her, trying to get her to join him, but she smiled and shook her head. He looked confused. As an answer, she pulled off her well-worn purple t-shirt over her head; she was wearing no bra.
Now he looked really confused.
She smiled again. She twisted around slightly so that she could show him something on her lower back. He stared hungrily at all the lovely skin displayed before him, until he saw the raw-red patch of skin that she was lightly touching.
Rug burn.
He felt his own cheeks burn bright red, and image of her sprawled under him as he thrust into her wildly on the Persian rug in the drawing room playing out in his mind. Sometimes, he really was an animal. He wasn't aware of how his own eagerness could be hurting her…and she didn't help matter much. She was very quiet and long-suffering when it came to these things.
But he would make it better. He got on his knees, slowly. She gave him a quizzical look. He replied with a grin. He brought his lips to the nape of her neck, and kissed her delicately. He could feel her shiver. Good. He liked it when she shivered. Eager to repeat the reaction, he worked his way a bit down her spine, and kissed her again. His hands were on her shoulder blades, caressing her gently, and he could see her muscles twitch. He worked his way some more down her spine, until he moved his head a bit so that his lips grazed the raw patch of skin. He kissed her there. She arched her back. He opened his lips and used his tongue. She gripped the edge of the couch. He brought his hand down to her hips, and moved his head a bit so that he was now lightly suckling her side…
Enough was enough. She twisted around, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him up to her. He laughed. She was in complete Amazonian mode. Attack! Attack! Tear that shirt off, claw at his back…press him to you harder and harder…
The knowledge of it all was wonderful: he could drive her as insane with desire as she could him. It made him feel all smug and manly. She liked him smug and manly.
With a wicked glint in her eye, she pushed him off her, and told him to stand up. He narrowed his eyes at her. But then he soon realized that all she wanted was to finish undressing him. She reached for the sides of his pajama bottoms, and pulled them down. He stepped out of them gingerly. Next--though hesitating for one very long and excruciating moment--she tugged his boxers off. Then she stood up before him, gave him a quick kiss, and threw him back onto the couch.
It was his turn.
He wasn't as patient about the undressing as she was, however. He wanted it all gone now! So he tugged both her knickers and pajama bottoms down together-in a rather ungentlemanly manner. But she didn't seem to mind. He brushed his fingers over her bare belly, seeing her flesh quiver delightfully. He brought his hands down, between her thighs, and tested the wonderful damp warmth that would soon envelop him in the most delicious of ways…
She moaned. And he couldn't very well take it anymore.
He pawed at her, and she readily obeyed, setting herself on him so that she straddled him. She sat up on her knees, blatantly shoving her breasts in his face. He took the hint. He brought her left breast to his mouth, and he watched in fascination as she threw her head back in pleasure. It appeared she wanted to reciprocate, as she brought her hands down to touch his erection, and he moaned into her breast. She had her hands wrapped around him, and her mouth was on his shoulder. Biting. She couldn't stand it a second longer! She lowered herself onto him, and he delighted in the feel of her surrounding him. She began to move her hips around in slow, languid circles…a move surely invented by a secret society of evil women bent on leisurely driving men to insanity.
Before long they were both sweating. The room was stifling. The way the fire reflected on her skin…almost made her seem like she was on fire. Within, without…he was quite certain that she was. And she continued the lazy circles with her hips, almost as if they had all the time in the world to finish this…
Though always thoughtful that in the grand scheme of things, all they would ever have together were moments.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Harry, hurry up and eat your breakfast. Dumbledore's Portkey is waiting for us," said Ron, stuffing a fat wad of bacon into his mouth.
He looked up, surprised to find himself sitting in the Great Hall, eating breakfast. Any minute he'd be off with Ron and Ginny to spend winter hols at Grimmauld Place. Hermione wasn't coming…she opted to spend this time with her parents.
He cast a furtive glance in her general direction, and noticed that her face had a rather queer look to it. It was rather flushed, and confused-expressing a sort of wonder. It rather resembled the look she had that day at the Three Broomsticks…
And then he saw that she was looking at him. Their eyes met. The Gryffindors all waited with bated breath.
She was the first to look away.
Blast him! He really did need to learn to control his Legilimens subconscious! Just because half of him wanted her to relive these moments with him, it didn't mean that the rest of his brain had to go along and rebel…
What was even more humiliating was that, every time he went over everything, the more obvious it became to him. He had been in love with her from the beginning, from the very first…is that why she insisted on the second rule? To keep their hands off each other at Hogwarts…because she knew that the more they shared these moments together, the more he fell deeper into his own trap?
The longer they left these questions unanswered, the wider the gap between them grew.
And soon, all the time in the world would never be able to help them.
*~*~*~*~*
A/N: The thing about warm showers…completely true. I live in California…I can attest to this fact.