Head Over Feet

MmeFleiss

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 10/06/2005
Last Updated: 10/06/2005
Status: completed

Hermione’s monotonous after work routine is shaken by a wandering hand with wicked intentions.

Chapters

1. Head Over Feet

1. Head Over Feet

Head Over Feet

by MmeFleiss

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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

You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience

- “Head Over Feet” by Alanis Morissette

*~*~*~*~*~*

January

Despite popular belief, magic didn’t always simplify life’s little annoyances. A case in point was the Ministry’s set of lifts. While normally perfectly adequate in their assigned function, a trip up to the Atrium during quitting time could drag well up to a half hour as it stopped at each level and admitted enough personnel to fill a Quidditch stadium. Enlarging charms only helped so much, and despite the numerous spells woven into them--including a cushioning charm on the opulent wood paneling for just such instances--Hermione inevitably found herself flush against a mass of bodies with someone’s elbow jabbing at her stomach.

The first break in her routine occurred on a Friday right after Christmas hols. The lift had been crammed with office mates getting re-acclimated to the rush hour crush: a fact which Hermione attempted to ignore as she’d stared blankly at the enchanted ceiling while she ran through her mental checklist of what needed to be accomplished the following week. Nibbling on lips chapped from the cold and mulling over how best to propose her plan for closer ties with the goblins’ ambassador during an upcoming conference; she nearly bit hard enough to draw blood when a hand deliberately brushed up against her bum without warning.

Hermione’s head whipped around so fast that the witch standing to her immediate right complained as a lock of frizzy hair poked her in the eye. Hermione apologized profusely to the older witch, her face hot with embarrassment as further thoughts of staring the culprit down were derailed.

But the next Friday it happened again, and the Friday after that, and so on. Intellectually, Hermione knew that the easiest solution would be to just take one of the lifts farther away from her office instead of her usual; however, she was determined not to let some criminal inconvenience her from her routine. Further attempts of catching him in flagrante delicto merely resulted in finding herself surrounded by a crowd too absorbed in their own lives to take any notice of her. Once, she even went as far as to make the mistake of catching a former roommate’s eye. All the Firewhiskey in the world wasn’t enough to grant her the mercy of forgetting that encounter.

“You mean someone actually chose to feel you up even with all these other women here?” Hermione must’ve reacted despite her best efforts, for the taller girl amended her earlier statement with, “Not that you’re ugly or anything. In fact, you look loads better than you did at Hogwarts. It’s just that… well… it’s you….”

Despite the lackluster attempt at reconciliation, Hermione gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to tell Lavender what she really thought of those god-awful fuchsia lace cuffs peeking underneath the blonde’s robes. She was a mature woman of twenty-four, dammit. She was adult enough to analyze her ex-roommate’s comment objectively and conclude that it was a natural observation from someone who managed to look gorgeous even while looking at her gobsmacked. It didn’t make her look less of a fashion victim, though. “So I’m guessing you haven’t heard anything then.”

“Well, you know I’m not one to gossip…” Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and prayed that Lavender wouldn’t notice the inevitable glaze of disinterest already forming. “…but I hear a lot of news over at our department since everyone is required to go there for any new supplies. Something like this would’ve been big news. Want me to pass it along to the other girls?”

Hermione suddenly had the horrifying thought of hundreds of Lavender-like creatures discussing her lack of merits as a sexual harassment victim and felt a migraine forming. “Er… no thanks. I’m sure I can handle this just fine on my own.”

The topic soon shifted with Lavender expounding on just how much more interesting her life had become since they last saw each other--an account that was mercifully cut short twenty minutes in by their arrival to the Atrium. “Blimey! I’ve forgotten what a great listener you are, Hermione. We should talk more often.”

Maybe when Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are proven to exist, Hermione thought rather uncharitably. Aloud she’d merely made noncommittal noises, her much-too-long conversation with Lavender serving as a good reminder of why they’d lost touch in the first place.

February

By the end of the second month, the hand had become bolder and begun to conclude the touch with a light squeeze on her bottom. Avada Kedavraing herself on the spot suddenly took on a new appeal after that first time, when she’d squeaked loud enough to become the center of attention. To make matters worse, Harry and Ron turned out to have been standing a couple of feet to her right and began chuckling after seeing her mortified expression.

“You wouldn’t think it was so funny if it was your arse getting felt up every week,” Hermione muttered under her breath as both men bulldozed their way through the wall of people between them to stand on either side of her. With a more audible tone, she added, “Where have you two been, anyway? I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here in ages.”

“Big case,” Ron replied with a grimace as he bent down at the waist to be able to converse with her without yelling, his hands restlessly running through his bright red hair until it rivaled Harry’s in unruliness. “Practically everyone at the Auror department has been out doing field work on the missing dark magic artifacts case. The only reason we all come back in at the end of every week at all is to keep our reports up to date; otherwise, Kingsley’ll have our necks.”

“Is that so?” Hermione replied as her amber-colored eyes narrowed. “And it’s only the Aurors, is it?”

“What’s with that expression?” Harry asked as he looked down at her from a decidedly lower level than their lanky best friend, his scar-free forehead creased with worry. “Is there something you haven’t been telling us?”

“Well…” She briefly recounted the reoccurring incident, watching in morbid fascination as Ron’s face turned into an even more unnatural shade of purple with each word.

“And so you think it’s one of our own? If that turns out to be true, I’ll kill him. Hell, I’ll kill him even if he isn’t.”

“Now, Ron, it isn’t really that bad,” she said, nearly laughing at the absurdity of actually defending her assailant. The things she did to keep her friends somewhat sane and out of Azkaban. “Most likely the Friday thing is just a coincidence. Besides, I suspect very much that he’s nothing more than a more physically mature version of those boys in primary school who used to think it great fun to follow around ants with magnifying glasses. He’ll get tired of me soon enough.”

“While I’m glad you’re taking this whole thing in stride, haven’t you ever thought of the possibility that perhaps he’s doing this because he genuinely thinks you’re pretty?” Harry asked as he pushed his forever-slipping spectacles higher up on the bridge of his nose, the furrows on his brow etched even deeper.

“Don’t be daft. Men only show interest in girls like me when they have an ulterior motive.”

“We’re not all like your ex, you know.”

Ron nodded and looped his heavily-freckled arms around her shoulders, the sparse red hair tickling her neck slightly. It took all of what little social graces Hermione felt she possessed not to flinch away from the malodorous combination of wet dirt, sweat, and dried dragon’s blood that clung to his skin. “I, for one, think you’re extremely pretty. Never a truer rival for that Helen of Troy woman as far as I’m concerned. In fact, if it wasn’t for that traumatizing date in seventh year combined with the fact that Mandy would kill me, I might consider shagging you silly to prove it to you.”

“Ugh, Ron,” she replied with wrinkled nose. “That’s a mental image I could’ve lived without.”

March

The next week another change in the routine occurred, with a slight brushing against her right hip succeeding the usual. It happened mid-conversation with Ginny about the recent thefts involving the dark artifacts smuggling, with the older witch theorizing on the ramification of the recent inclusion of a Muggle museum on the list. Despite the extra set of eyes looking out for just such an occurrence, her assailant’s reflexes proved too swift as he was far gone by the time both women turned around to look.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Hermione growled, her face flushed with anger as she shoved her wand back into its holster.

“You still haven’t got any clues who it is?”

“Nothing concrete, I’m afraid.”

Ginny poked at Hermione’s standard black Ministry robe with the tip of her wand and gave it an accusing glare. While most of their office mates looked the worse for wear at the end of the day (especially a nearby group of Aurors who’d come in after a shift in surveillance with their distinct scarlet robes covered in questionable burns and stains), Hermione’s stickler nature ensured she looked no less neat than when she came in to work that morning. Even her hair, bushy as it was, managed to remain neatly plaited without a strand out of place. “Maybe you should try looking less attractive. Perhaps some shapeless robes combined with a hideous pair of glasses would do just the trick.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the lift grounded to a halt, leading most of the building’s occupants to stampede past the altered Fountain of Magical Brethren and towards the row of gilded fireplaces on the right side of the Atrium serving as the employees’ exit. Really, the Weasleys were lovely people, but sometimes their leaps of logic left much to be desired. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Ginny merely let out a long-suffering sigh as they paused by the golden fountain and waited for the crowd lined up for the exits to thin out. She then proceeded to tie her thick mane of bright red hair into a messy bun and secured it with her wand, fully ignoring the disapproving tut from her companion. “You sure dated a right bastard.”

“And what suddenly brought that on?” Hermione inquired as they stared at each other’s reflection through the water’s glimmering surface.

“Because even after four years, Jean Pierre still has the power to affect you like this. I should have made you accept Fred and George’s offer of revenge after what he did.”

“Well, it wasn’t as if he’d said anything untrue, did he? I’m just not the type of woman to incite passion in men.”

Ginny sighed again. “For a smart witch, you sure do miss a lot, you know that?”

There was a brief pause while Hermione avoided the younger girl’s pointed gaze by pretending to look through her briefcase for a Knut to throw into the water. She barely stopped herself from uttering an oath of relief aloud once she realized how much shorter the line of ministry workers leaving the building had become.

It wasn’t until just before her turn in line to Floo out of the building that Hermione found a slip of paper in her robe’s right-hand pocket. It read “You’re my one and only” in bold, block lettering, causing a very different blush to rise up on her cheeks and leading Ginny to speculate on its cause aloud right until Hermione popped out of sight.

April

The week-long downpour continued unabated if the enchanted ceiling was to be believed, enveloping the lift in a dour mood as many a weekend plan sunk under its force. Hermione’s expression quickly changed into a relieved smile as the familiar caress began sometime while the grumbling workers of the Department of Magical Catastrophes filed in. A small sigh escaped her lips as her admirer’s right arm circled around her waist and brought her body flush against his.

Despite its odd start, this weekly occurrence had gradually become one of the highlights of her week. For despite the humidity wreaking havoc to her already unmanageable hair and the faint dark circles forming under her eyes from too many hours working overtime, she’d never felt any more desirable. There was something heady about being appreciated for her femininity for once, and she hoarded each of these moments close to her heart for the inevitable winter that would follow.

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind of the ephemeral nature of these interludes. Signs of his discontent with the status quo were already beginning to mar their time together. Just last week, Hermione had felt him try to turn her around as their office mates shuffled past towards the Floo exits, his intent of irrevocably changing their relationship horribly clear.

She’d promptly bent her head, her gaze landing on his muddy black loafers and the unraveled thread from his bright red robes before squeezing them shut. “It’s not fair of you to try changing the rules now,” Hermione had said, hating the way her voice sounded so young as if she was fifteen again and talking with a boy in that way for the first time. “I can’t give you any more than this.”

Hermione wasn’t often considered the brightest witch in her generation for nothing. Always a quick learner, she only needed to get her heart broken once to know it was an experience she never wanted to risk feeling again.

Her earlier rejection of him was apparently forgiven if the familiarly maddening way his fingers were inching up to her knickers were any indication. Hermione had to bite her lower lip to keep from moaning aloud as they reached their destination, his nimble fingers rubbing the soaked fabric against her sensitive flesh.

Perhaps even more surprising than having a man showing interest in her at all was how easily she accepted his advances. Hermione had grown used to thinking of herself as frigid after the disaster that was her first serious relationship. It never ceased to amaze her how her wantonly her body reacted to her new lover’s caresses; how easily her damp thighs would spread wide whenever his fingers drew near. She hadn’t refused any of his advances since March despite the burgeoning risk of exposure by their coworkers; a fact alone that should’ve sent her normally sensible self running in the opposite direction. But Hermione was honest enough with herself enough to admit that her recklessness as of late was as much a verification of her womanhood as it was about the explosive chemistry that she shared with her faceless admirer.

A particularly hard flick sent her arching forward, her excitement spiraling further as he somehow managed to grind his erection to her bum while barely moving at all. A casual observer would only see two fidgety people standing one-in-front-of-the-other instead of the reality of her wanting to turn around and wrap her bare legs around him until the hard ridge on his trousers could mesh with the junction of her thighs.

Without warning he shoved her knickers aside and plunged two fingers into her wet heat, his thumb continuing the frantic rhythm on her clit until Hermione feared that she’d passed fidgety long ago and entered apoplectic. If so, their coworkers either didn’t notice or care, for not a one paused in his grumbling about the uncooperativeness of Mother Nature with the Quidditch Semi-Finals.

Another hard flick, followed by another that barely grazed the surface set for a maddening rhythm. Hermione instinctively began to roll her hips with the tempo he’d created until he, too, began to pant softly against her ear and became flustered enough for his fingers to falter momentarily. Hooray for equality.

“Hermione, are you feeling okay?”

Their movements stilled for a heartbeat before Hermione frantically looked down to see if their illicit activities had somehow become evident to the rest of the lift’s occupants. Mercifully, her heavy wool robes remained closed and gave no indication that her skirt was bunched up around her waist or that the back of the robe was lifted high enough to barely cover her arse.

That narrowed the cause of Anthony Goldstein’s concern to something other than the physical, and she concluded the most likely culprit to be an escaped moan from when lust momentarily overpowered her senses. Luckily, it apparently hadn’t been loud enough to cause too much of a stir, for only the out-of-sight former Ravenclaw appeared troubled. “Just remembered that I left something behind in the office,” she somehow managed to answer.

With her heartbeat petering off to normal and her earlier mood long gone, Hermione leaned bonelessly back into her lover’s arm and waited for him to slip his hand away from between her thighs. Unfortunately, he didn’t take the hint and merely buried his face farther into her curls until the cool metal of his spectacles skimmed the top of her neck, his fingers continuing their earlier ministrations. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed as she attempted to trap his forearms between her thighs; a move that might’ve been effective had they not been still slick from earlier activities. Instead, she barely held in a shudder as the hair on his forearms rasped against the underside of her bum with each stroke.

Her second plan of simply moving away failed barely out of execution as his other arm tightened its grip around her waist; Hermione silently thanking what little luck she had remaining that Anthony never quite hit his growth spurt and was thus unable to muscle his way to her side, instead forced to settle with having to continue their conversation sight unseen.

“…so I reckon this means that Susan’s finally interested,” he was saying.

Hermione somehow managed to form the occasional noise of assent to assure the former Head Boy that he still held her attention despite the irritation and rekindled lust battling for dominance within her. It was all that was really required once Anthony warmed up to his favorite topic of Susan Bones’ future as the mother of his children; the fact that the woman in question had never shown a whit of interest did nothing to deter his enthusiasm.

Hermione bit her lip to prevent another moan from escaping as her faceless lover bent her over slightly, his invading fingers plunging into her even deeper and hitting the one spot that swept aside all thoughts of anger. Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.

Distantly, she heard the golden grills clang open and the crowd began to shuffle out. Hermione looked up just in time to catch Anthony’s confused stare before she felt her muscles stiffen and experienced the most intense orgasm of her life.

May

Despite her earlier resolve to not let the faceless stranger change her routine, her shame over her perverse reaction a month before prevented Hermione from riding her usual lift as each workweek wound down to a close. Instead, she found herself dawdling over inconsequential paperwork until the normally hectic building settled down for a long weekend.

Unfortunately, her admirer took her refusal to continue their tryst as a sign that it was now acceptable to woo her openly. Not a day had gone by since two weeks after the incident occurred when a gift of some sort didn’t arrive on her desk, causing speculations to run rampant in her department. The first day it’d been a dozen roses with an attached card simply saying ‘I’m sorry’ in the inscrutable blocky script her admirer favored, a gift that she secretly found pleasing despite its status as a generic woman gift. Nobody had ever thought to give her flowers before.

But lest she be lulled into discounting his presents and believing that she’d been chosen simply because she’d been oh-so-willing, he surprised her the next day with a first edition of Wizard/Muggle Relations Through the Ages, a very expensive book she’d been waiting till her birthday to buy herself as a treat. The rest of his presents volleyed back and forth from these two extremes, so that by the end of that week her anger had been muddled by a feeling of both flattery and curiosity on how he knew her well enough to choose correctly on the more personal items.

By the third Thursday, curiosity finally won over and she wrote a message on the paper airplane he’d enchanted to bring her present, asking why he did what he did that fateful Friday afternoon. His succinct reply the next morning of “I just couldn’t keep my hands off you” left her giddy and distracted enough to actually spend the hours after quitting time finishing up her day’s quota of paperwork.

Preoccupied as she was and having expected everyone else to have been long gone to enjoy the remains of the glorious May sunshine, Hermione backpedaled and nearly fell on her bum at the sight of a half-asleep Harry leaning on one side of the otherwise empty lift.

“What are you still doing here?”

Harry opened his eyes just enough for a hint of his emerald eyes to appear through his sooty lashes before letting them slide back shut. “I could ask you the same thing.” He sighed softly before shifting until he could rest the back of his head more comfortably on the dark cherry paneling, and in the process exposing the pale skin of his throat. “I lost a bet with Ron and now I’m stuck doing all our paperwork for that last case.”

Hermione blinked as she realized she’d been staring, half-heartedly cursing the note that had put her so out of sorts even as she tried to cover up her faux pas with her usual badgering. “Oh honestly! I can’t believe you two would bet on something as important as work.”

The mischievous smile he gave her in reply was reminiscent of the ones he’d given her over the years after she’d caught him in more than one foolhardy venture. Of course, until just then it hadn’t crossed her mind that it was the sexiest damned thing in creation. Stupid hormones. And stupid of her, too, for ending up alone with a man in the one place where the memory of what happened a month before still managed to both mortify and arouse her at the same time. Hard as she tried to block the memory, she couldn’t get rid of the erotic image of her in that one corner, bent over while her mystery lover mercilessly teased her.

Hermione closed her eyes and frantically tried to think of another topic to distract herself with. "So the case you've all been working on is almost wrapped up, then?" she asked, wincing as her voice squeaked at the end.

Instead of responding to her question, Harry took one of her hands between his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Is everything all right? You've been so tense the past couple of weeks."

Hermione frowned down at their entwined hands as she haltingly relayed her confused feelings concerning her admirer, nearly choking when she realized his thumb was tracing a circular pattern on the back of her left hand that brought up sensations she'd never associated with him before. It’s just Harry, she tried to reassure herself. You’ve held hands without incident plenty of times.

But that apparently didn’t matter as there suddenly didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the lift. Her knees gave way as life as she knew it careened into freefall, leaving her stomach hollow and queasy at the same time as just Harry transformed in front of her very eyes into someone with other possibilities.

"Hermione!" Harry said, his hot breath tickling her ear as his arms wrapped tightly around her waist to hold her up. She shivered and resisted the urge to move away lest he get the right idea about how he was suddenly affecting her. Good Lord. What was wrong with her? How did she come from having no man in her life to suddenly lusting after

two of them?

Having him so close to her made her hyper aware of the strength she knew to be hidden beneath his wiry frame, and she found herself wondering how it would feel to run her hands over his lightly muscled arms and pull him closer. Unbidden, the image from a month before sprang to mind yet again, but this time with her best friend taking the place of her phantom lover. Desire curled low in her belly at the thought, mixed with a good dose of apprehension. Bloody hell. If she didn’t stop thinking of him like that soon, she wouldn’t be able to look Harry in the eye ever again.

Hermione speedily extricated herself from her best friend's inviting warmth, deciding that giving him an inkling of this new awareness she had of him was infinitely preferable to him knowing for sure after she jumped him. “T-Thanks,” she managed to stammer. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself too much again, haven’t you?” Harry said with uncharacteristic perceptiveness as he looked down at her with brows furrowed. “When’s the last time you had a decent meal?”

“I’m fine, mum,” she replied, but couldn’t help from smiling at the role reversal. Hermione was gratified to know that lust for one of her best friends hadn’t turned her brain into complete rubbish; and that despite the recent appeals to her womanhood, she could still feel the familiar rush of pleasure from the dark haired wizard’s friendly concern. In fact, instead of being diminished in comparison to the decidedly heady attentions of her secret admirer, Harry’s reaffirmation of their friendship was more like the other half of the puzzle coming into place. It left her with a sense of completeness that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Besides, I wouldn’t talk. You look like you could use a good meal yourself.”

Harry placed a hand on his heart and pretended to stumble back. “That’s harsh! And to think I’ve spent years trying to live up to your meticulous standards of beauty!” Hermione rolled her eyes as he straightened up, the grin he’d been trying so hard to conceal much in evidence. “Takeaway curry at my place sounds good, then?”

She grinned back. “It sounds lovely.”

June

Before Hermione knew it, her Fridays had fallen into a new routine of receiving whatever gift her admirer came up with in the mornings--never failing to make her feel as if a swarm of Cornish pixies had been let loose in her stomach--followed by those moments alone with Harry in the lift that would occasionally become charged with the possibility of something more. It made her wonder if it was possible to be half in love with two people at the same time; especially from a heart she long thought incapable of it.

Even the briefest reminder of her secret admirer never failed to leave her wet and wanting. More than once, she found herself wondering how it would feel to finally be filled by him, the hardness of his bare chest beneath her fingertips as she rode him to oblivion. But more so than their explosive chemistry, she loved the way he made her feel beautiful in a way no man before ever did. His adoration continued uninterrupted even though she knew that on at least one occasion she’d proven herself far from the Aphrodite he claimed her to be. Some days being closer to Medusa, not only physically with her hair defying gravity, but in bad enough temper to give the goblins pause.

With Harry… it was like coming home. Hermione disliked the use of clichés, but honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting way to describe her relationship with him. Twelve years of friendship had bred an easy familiarity between them, so that every so often they’d been able to finish each others sentences and had even shared whole jokes with a mere glance. But unlike their previous dealings, their recent encounters had been charged with a heightened awareness that made her conscious of the desirable man her best friend had become. More than once she found herself staring at his mouth, hey eyes tracing that delightful curve of his lower lip and wondering if he would taste like the peppermints they’d shared extensively in childhood.

The last Friday in June marked the height of a week-long heat wave so powerful that Magical Maintenance, in an effort to assist the struggling cooling charms to beat the heat, had the enchanted windows portraying a winter wonderland scene complete with a moving snowman that would occasionally peer inside as far as its crooked carrot nose would allow to give the overheated workers a self-satisfied grin.

Not that Hermione ever noticed any of it, of course. More than one of her office mates commented with no small amount of awe on her ability to keep to task despite the grave physical discomfort. Certainly commendable, if it hadn’t been so far from the truth.

In all honesty, Hermione had spent the past hour staring at the same line on the parchment before her unseeing. Her admirer’s usual gift failed to arrive that morning; a fact which left her so out of sorts to not be bothered for once that she was idling during work hours.

By eleven o’clock, she gave up even that pretense and announced her plans for an early lunch. Everyone had been too shocked at this unexpected turn of events to do any more than stare wide-eyed as she headed towards the nearest lift without another glance back.

Hermione, lost in thought as she was, nearly ran face first into Harry’s chest just as the golden grills clanked open to allow her entry. “I was just about to come see you,” he said with an oddly nervous smile as he all but stumbled back to give her room. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“I-I hope not.”

A hint of a smile appeared on Hermione’s face as she turned her head to fully face him, long-practiced habit enabling her to set aside her own worries to focus on her best friend. “You’re not sure?”

His response was cut off as the lift chose that moment to pause on Level 5. Harry turned to the interloper--a young man carrying a box poked with holes streaming with smoke--and gave him such a scowl that the other man dropped the box on the ground, eliciting a suspicious roar from its contents before a corner caught on fire. “Go find some other way to head up,” Harry practically growled before slamming the grills on the younger man’s face and hitting the stop button so that the car hung suspended between levels.

“Harry! What on earth...”

“Blast.” He ran a hand through already unruly hair and began to pace. “This isn’t at all how I planned this to go.”

“What plan?” she demanded as she grabbed his arm. “What are you on about?”

Before Hermione could utter another word, the gap between them vanished in one step. Then, moving slowly--as if in a trance--Harry cupped her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb, his eyes almost black with wanting. “What are you doing to me, Hermione?” he murmured as he leaned in closer. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to touch you again until you’re ready. But I just can’t seem to help myself.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her for the first time; his warm lips barely brushing hers—almost chaste. Hermione was still trying to decipher the meaning of his last words when he was suddenly devouring her, overwhelming her senses so completely until she wanted to do nothing more than give him her complete surrender. Her fists tightened on the lapels of his white dress shirt, urging him closer even as Harry attempted to push himself back a bit, his gasps for air fully audible in the otherwise still room. “I think we need to stop. I want to make sure you’ve a clear head when I get my answer.”

“And I think you think too much,” she muttered as she arched her body against his, eliciting a moan to mingle with his low chuckles.

Unfortunately, Harry didn’t take the hint and merely continued speaking as if he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes getting to know the insides of his best friend’s mouth better than her own dentist. “You know my birthday is coming up….”

Hermione groaned and laid her forehead on his right shoulder, savoring the familiar musky smell of his cologne even as she fought with annoyance. “Please tell me you didn’t just interrupt that to talk about what present I should get you. I may be forced to kill you.”

“Perhaps that wasn’t quite the best way to broach the subject,” Harry mused aloud as his left hand twined with hers and lightly pressed into her palm the unmistakable feel of a ring. “Your gift for this morning. I thought it would be more appropriate to give it to you in person.”

Hermione let out a sharp exhale of breath, her heart pounding loudly in her ears as she titled her head up to face him. It was too good to be true. And yet in hindsight, she really couldn’t imagine the situation resolving itself any other way.

Harry cleared his throat and attempted his aborted speech again with a grin. “So for my birthday this year, will you let me have what I want most?”

Hermione looped her arms around his neck and grinned back. “Only if you show me how much.”

And he did.

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

You're the best listener that I've ever met
You're my best friend
Best friend with benefits
What took me so long?

- “Head Over Feet” by Alanis Morissette

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

AN: This originally started out as a PWP that snowballed after Harry made that comment about Hermione’s ex in the second scene. I swear I’ll prove that I’m still capable of writing fluff one of these days >_<

Thanks to Jenn over at AFFBetaReaders for going over this for me. Any mistakes left are mine (Especially the smut since this is my first try at it). Also, since neither of us are British, corrections on that front would be highly appreciated.