The Next Best Thing

Many thanks to my betas, MPotter77 and ChocolateFrogsforBreakfast. Thanks also to Nancy, Jim, Carrie and Diana for their encouragement while I was writing this.

THE NEXT BEST THING

By Oh_Honestleigh

Part One

She'd never meant to do any of it.

She'd never meant to wander so far down Knockturn Alley during her lunch hour. When thunder pealed and lightning flashed, sending witches and wizards scattering toward the nearest shelter, she never would have thought to enter a sex shop; it was just the closest door, the easiest place to keep from getting soaked. She never thought, entering The Wicked Witch's Wand Shoppe, that something else would get soaked, that place in her knickers that sheltered her most private parts.

The witch behind the counter had smiled coyly at her, waving her wand to make row upon row of sex toys appear. Dildos allegedly shaped like Voldemort's penis, apparently aimed at Death Eater wannabes who wished to impale themselves on a flaming pencil. Cock rings with nubs that whirred and purred as they rubbed against a witch's clit. A soft, squishy pink tube called the Prosthetic Python Strangler; the counter witch said that it felt like a dozen lapping tongues when a wizard slid it over his erection. Whips, chains, and magical restraints. Books full of incantations to increase lubrication, enhance and extend erections, and even simulate the motion of tongues, lips and fingers on one's most intimate areas. Hermione Granger had never been in a Muggle sex shop, much less a magical one, and the wares displayed in this shop turned her on as nothing had in her young life, including living with two attractive young men -- her best friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.

Ron was tall and broad-shouldered, with flaming ginger hair, copious freckles and brilliant blue eyes. During seventh year he had finally succumbed to the loopy charms of Luna Lovegood, and for the past three years, they'd been practically inseparable. When Ron finally realized his own attractiveness, he could have acted like God's gift to witches, but he was totally devoted to Luna and focused his physical energy on making her moan his name as often as possible. Hermione had always thought of Ron as the brother she never had, but she did sometimes envy the look of bliss on Luna's face when she left Ron's bedroom, walking funny, after a shag session that shook the walls of his room.

Why can't I be the one who's walking funny? she wondered. And why can't Harry be the one who makes me walk that way?

Harry. First he was The Boy Who Lived. Three years ago he'd become The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort. But in between, during their sixth year at Hogwarts, she'd realized he was the boy who'd claimed her heart. She had always cared about him, certainly since at least their third year. By the time she turned seventeen, she realized that she couldn't bear to be apart from him. At twenty-one, he was still on the thin side, and his black hair still stuck up at odd angles. But the skinny eleven-year-old boy of ten years ago had grown into a wiry young man, a few inches taller than Hermione (but still several inches shorter than Ron), with lightly sculpted pectorals, a flat belly and an arse that looked firm yet squeezable under his trousers. More than once Hermione had awoken from dreams in which she'd done much more than squeeze Harry's arse. She'd dreamed of drizzling chocolate sauce on those pecs, then licking it off his chest, down his flat belly all the way to the glorious cock she was sure lurked under his too-loose jeans. Then she would lick his cock from the root to the tip, swirling her tongue slowly as she cleaned the chocolate off. Harry would buck and shudder but always - in her dreams - managed to hold back until she enveloped him in her wet heat. Once firmly seated inside her, he would fuck her slow and hard for at least an hour, doing it in every position she'd ever seen in Playwitch magazine.

At least that was how it happened, with minor variations, in her frequent dreams. In reality, Harry slept in the next room, most of the time by himself, while Hermione slept alone in her room. Sometimes when Harry had brought a young witch home, Hermione leaned up against the wall connecting the two rooms and listened. During the three years she'd lived with him and Ron, Hermione had discovered that Harry didn't always cast a silencing charm. Whenever he forgot, she pressed her ear to the wall, her body balanced on her fingertips, her breath catching in her throat while she listened to the moans and sighs emanating from the other room. Sometimes she heard moans and sighs when she knew that no one was visiting Harry in his room. Shagging or wanking, it didn't matter; she'd be at the wall, listening and touching herself, biting her other hand to keep from crying out as her strokes quickened in time with Harry's noises.

‘I've got to stop doing this,’ she thought after she'd listened to Harry tossing off one summer morning. ‘He's never thought of me that way, and he never will. Listening to him get off is wrong. I should find another outlet for my frustrations.’

Later that day, when the thunderstorm struck in Diagon Alley and she stumbled into the Wicked Witch's Wand Shoppe, Hermione took this as a sign that she really could find a different outlet than eavesdropping on Harry's sex life. So when the witch behind the counter pulled out a pearlescent wand about eight inches long, Hermione took it in her hands and examined it carefully.

"Does this have a name?"

"It's called the Make Your Own Magic Wand."

"It's very pretty. What does it do?"

The sales witch's lips curved in a hint of a smile. "Whatever you want it to do. It can be short and thick, or long and slim, or" -- she smile broadly -- "as long and thick as you want. It can pound you hard and fast, or tease you slowly until you scream for release."

Hermione blushed at the descriptions. "Can it make me forget that the man I want to make love with doesn't fancy me at all?" she said ruefully.

"It can do much more than that," the sales witch declared. "It can make you feel as though you're having sex with whomever you most desire."

"How would it do that?"

The sales witch smiled. "You just think about the person you'd like to shag and what you'd like him to do to you."

Hermione blushed. I'll feel much less guilty with this than if I kept on eavesdropping against Harry's wall, she thought. "How much?"

"Twenty Galleons."

Her eyes widened. "That's a bit stiff."

"So is this wand, dearie. And worth every Knut. Believe me, I know. And it comes with a special Resizing Charm so that you can pop it in your handbag and take it along, then expand it whenever you need it."

Blushing again, Hermione said quickly, "I'll take it."

Leaving the shop with her new toy (conveniently shrunk to the size of a lipstick), Hermione noticed that the storm clouds had rolled away. The sun now shone brightly on Diagon Alley.

^*^*^*^

He'd never meant to do any of it.

In retrospect, he was surprised it had taken him so long.

When he'd moved into the terrace house in Muggle London and invited Ron and Hermione to join him, knew it would be hard to live there with her in the next bedroom, so very near and yet so very far away. He'd wanted her in his own bed since the end of sixth year, when he pieced together the jumble of feelings that engulfed him when she was struck down in the Department of Mysteries and he thought he'd almost lost her. But the timing was terribly wrong, even if she had wanted him back -- and he was sure she didn't. She'd never said anything, had she? Hermione was the most direct, assertive person he knew, and she'd never said she was interested in him as more than a friend. Back then, what Harry had needed most was her unwavering friendship and loyalty, and Ron's too. So he'd never allowed himself to think of Hermione as more than a friend. That would have complicated the relationship among the three of them -- and it would have given Voldemort a target Harry couldn't allow. He couldn't let Hermione know how he felt. He couldn't give her a chance either to reject or to reciprocate his feelings. He couldn't have stood the hurt if she'd said no -- or the panic if she'd said yes.

So like the emotional coward he was, he said nothing. Instead he let himself drift into occasional half-hearted relationships with girls who could never mean to him what Hermione meant.

First there was Ginny Weasley. That lasted about three months at school, during Harry's sixth year and Ginny's fifth. Harry was glad he'd never shagged Ginny; she was his best mate's sister, and he could only imagine Ron's wrath if he'd slept with her, then broken it off. No, it was best not to get emotionally involved with anyone. Besides, back then he was still getting used to girls' bodies, their lips and hips and thighs and sighs and ooh Harry you're such a good kisser, I love it when you slide your lips up my throat and swirl your tongue around my ear. Do that again, Harry. And if you're good I'll slip my hand in your pants and--

Harry was positively relieved when Ginny told him their relationship wasn't working out. He liked Ginny, but he'd never fancied her. He didn't want to become serious about anyone while Voldemort was still out there, hunting him. Dating was just too hard. It required emotions he couldn't conjure up, simply because they were already firmly anchored elsewhere. Besides, he was too busy training for his confrontation with the Evil S.O.B., as he'd taken to calling his nemesis. It was easier to be a lone wolf, taking comfort with his own hand when he needed to -- which allowed him to imagine someone else's hand doing those things to him.

And imagine it, he had, so many, many times.

When he was finally free to behave like other young men his age, he imagined it while visiting the bordello on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He imagined it in Knockturn Alley, where prostitutes lined the brick walls like ants at a picnic. He imagined it when he finally started bringing young witches home with him after visits to the Wet Wizard, a Diagon Alley nightclub where the pretty girls jostled to see who would leave with The Boy Who Saved the Wizarding World.

No, he'd never meant to become a slut. And he'd certainly never meant to invade Hermione's privacy the way he had a few months earlier when he was doing the laundry.

"Harry, could you do me a favor today?" she asked offhandedly as she hurried to leave for work.

"Sure, Hermione. Name it."

"There's a basket of dirty laundry in my room, next to my dresser. Could you put them in the wash? Just do whatever's in there. Thanks so much," she finished, waving to him before she Disapparated.

"Okay," he replied, blowing out a breath as she disappeared. Ron was off training with the Ballycastle Bats, where he was playing reserve keeper, so it was just Harry and Hermione in the house right then. Harry was glad Ron wasn't there, because his best mate probably would have noticed Harry's face burning in embarrassment at the thought of doing Hermione's laundry.

‘I'm being stupid,’ he thought as he finished his breakfast. ‘It's just her clothes, after all.’ He found the wicker basket exactly where Hermione said it would be, and took it into the kitchen so he could put her clothes in the washing machine. As he stuffed clothes into the washer, he noticed that Hermione's load of laundry wasn't quite what he'd expected. Mixed in among the various jeans and tee shirts were several items that had to be her undergarments.

What he saw made him light-headed: Silky blue knickers and a matching bra. A lacy white thong. Several pair of cotton knickers with innocuous designs (which rather disappointed him, compared to the other items). Eyes wide, Harry watched as his hands moved inexorably to manipulate his best friend's undergarments. He spread the bra across his hands, noting that the cups stretched from the heel of his hand almost to the tip of his middle finger. The other boys in his dorm had often said that when it came to breasts, boobs, baps, chebs, knockers, tits, etc., anything more than a handful was wasted. Feeling the silky material against his palms, he imagined Hermione's body filling the cups, his own hands palming her breasts through one of her tee shirts. Then he imagined his hands wandering under that tee shirt and under that bra, his fingers sliding across the soft skin until they reached her nipples.

That was exactly the wrong thing for him to think. In less time than it took for I shouldn't be doing this to cross his mind, Harry's cock was hard and straining at his zipper. When all the blood had left his brain, all his common sense exited too. Putting the bra down, he picked up the thong, peered through the openings -- and sniffed the thin strip of fabric that, he thought excitedly, had nestled between Hermione's arse cheeks and probably even touched her pussy.

"Sweet Jesus, I know you exist now," he moaned as he inhaled the intimate scent of his female best friend. His best friend whom he'd desired for the past four years. His best friend who paid no attention to his maleness. His best friend whom he wanted to shag senseless that very moment. If his cock had possessed hands, it would have undone his flies right then, poked its head out of his jeans and looked for something to pump into. But it didn't, so Harry did. He swiped his hand through the still-dry load of washing and dredged up the silky blue knickers. Holding the thong against his nostrils, he unzipped his jeans, pulled out his aching cock and pumped into the knickers, his thrusts growing more fevered as he banged harder and harder into the side of the washing machine.

‘Just another sniff,’ he thought over and over as the knickers caressed his swollen skin, gliding over it like fairy wings until Harry spun out of control and came all over the front of the washer. He staggered backward for a moment, then realized that sniffing and wanking into Hermione's undergarments had given him one of the best orgasms he'd had in the three years since he'd started fucking. It certainly ranked in his top ten wanks of all time. Sniffing her knickers was wrong, he knew that much. Unless, of course, she'd given him permission - and she'd never do that. ‘Because she just doesn't think of me that way,’ he reasoned sadly. Stuffing his half-hard cock back into his pants, Harry zipped up his jeans, tossed the knickers and the thong back into the washer, muttered a quick scouring charm and started the washing machine.

The next time Harry did his own laundry, he told Hermione he'd be happy to wash her clothes too.

"Well, if you're sure it's no bother," she said warily. "I don't want to impose on you, Harry. Just because you're not working outside the house doesn't mean that Ron and I should treat you like a house-elf."

Harry shrugged, hoping he could curb his enthusiasm. "No bother at all, Hermione. You're paying more than your share of the rent; I want to do something to make that up to you." He paused, hoping that his rationale had sold her.

Smiling, Hermione touched his arm, sending an electric shock down to his groin. "Thank you, Harry. That's very kind of you."

Harry hoped she didn't notice the boner growing in his jeans. "No problem. Don't you have a staff meeting in a few minutes?" he said, looking at the kitchen clock, hoping she'd leave soon so he could have his way with her blue silk bra…or perhaps the red silk boy shorts…

"Oh, that's not for fifteen minutes. I can Apparate to work, silly. I'll just separate the clothes for you," she said, as she returned to the kitchen with her wicker laundry basket.

"No, that's all right," Harry shot back, worried she would pull out the delicates and put them in the washer herself before he had a chance to do his sniff-and-wank routine. "Don't be late on my account. You know, I'm an old hand at separating laundry. I did it all the time at the Dursleys'." ‘Little does she know what my hand has been doing with her laundry lately,’ he mused as his jeans got tighter.

Her expression softening, Hermione reached up and touched Harry's cheek. Between her palm lying on his skin and the blood pooling in his groin, Harry suddenly felt a bit weak in the knees. "Just go to work, Hermione," he said softly, his eyelids fluttering closed.

When he opened them a moment later, Hermione had the oddest look on her face. "Okay, I'll see you later," she replied just as softly. "Thanks again."

Then she did something she'd done only twice before. She kissed him on the cheek.

^*^*^*^

Hermione had not failed to notice that Harry had become quite solicitous lately, but in a very odd way. He had suddenly -- about two months earlier -- decided that he would do Hermione's laundry for her as well as his own. This didn't bother her, except that she really didn't want him putting her laundry away. If he wanted to do all the steps up to and including putting the folded clothes in her laundry basket, that was fine. But she lived in terror that he would open her delicates drawer -- because that was where she kept her collection of sex toys, including Harry Junior, the magical vibrator she'd bought at the Wicked Witch's Wand Shoppe.

The sales witch hadn't been kidding; this particular vibrator was worth every Knut of its twenty-Galleon price. Hermione remembered her excitement the night she brought it home. She'd tucked it carefully into the back of the drawer, right next to the tube of lubricant she normally used with her other sex toys. After dinner, when Harry asked if she wanted to watch a film with him and Ron on the telly, she feigned a headache, retiring to her room so she could break in her new toy. Hermione was still technically a virgin, but she'd explored her body for several years with a variety of toys, all of them bought from Muggle mail-order houses. In fact, she'd blushed and said "No" when her healer at St. Mungo's asked if she'd ever had sex. Unlike Harry, who seemed to bring a new woman into his bed at least every six weeks, Hermione had let a few young men go only so far and no farther. She couldn't have sex with someone she didn't care about deeply; it just wasn't in her emotional makeup…She wanted to make love with someone she loved. So if she couldn't have Harry's cock inside her, she'd have the next best thing.

As it turned out, Harry Junior was, indeed, the next best thing to having Harry Potter inside her.

After removing her jeans and tee shirt, Hermione stripped out of her bra and knickers, lay on top of the covers and remembered what the sales witch told her about how to make the vibrator work.

"What does it do?"

"Whatever you want it to do. It can be short and thick, or long and slim, or as long and thick as you want. It can pound you hard and fast, or tease you slowly until you scream for release."

A tiny instruction card came with the vibrator. "Lie back and visualise the man you'd like to shag. Imagine him naked and hard. Keep him in your mind's eye until your vibrator activates."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Sounds too easy to be true.' Still, it couldn't hurt to try. She lay back on her bed and visualised Harry in the swimming costume he'd worn at the Burrow earlier that summer. Despite having just come out of the cool water of the pond, he had an obvious hard-on and blushed when she glanced in that direction. Next she did a mental Evanesco and Harry was standing naked in her mind, his cock at full staff, jutting proudly from a nest of black curls. The sight of this in her mind's eye made Hermione blush deeply. As she continued to imagine Harry's naked body, the vibrator trembled, then the surface became wiggly and almost fluid-looking. A few seconds later, what she held in her hand resembled Harry's hard, naked cock, just as she'd imagined it, down to every ridge and vein -- with one major exception. Instead of a normal head, the head of this cock looked like a miniature version of Harry's head, including the glasses.

"Bloody hell," she muttered. "Now what?" She continued read the instructions. "Your vibrator should now resemble certain features of your lust object's anatomy. Next, speak the name of your beloved and tell the vibrator what you want it to do. Your vibrator will shut off when you stop thinking about the object of your desire."

Hermione stared at the mini-Harry-head on Harry Junior. The hair was messy yet soft and silky, just as she'd imagined Harry's hair must be, if she ever got to run her fingers through it. The tiny nose, chin and green eyes looked just like Harry's. And Harry Junior's head even had a little pink tongue poking out through tiny lips. Taking a deep breath, she held Harry Junior lightly in her hand, parted her external folds and said, "Lick me, Harry."

The vibrator sprang to life, twisting and shuddering in her hand. Putting the little head as close as she dared to her clitoris, she almost jumped off the bed when the tiny tongue began stroking. In and out, up and down, swirling in circles, the tiny tongue flicked and darted, until very soon Hermione was as wet and loose as she'd ever been. Pushing her knees up, she let them fall to her sides, said, "Fuck me, Harry" and plunged the vibrator inside herself. She was barely holding onto it now, but Harry Junior seemed to know what to do.

"Harderfasterharderfasterharderfaster," she repeated as the vibrator plunged in and out, its pace quickening until suddenly every nerve in her body exploded and she came in a gush on her bedspread.

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" she screamed, shuddering as her orgasm resolved.

Ten seconds later, there was a hard knock on her bedroom door. "Hermione, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?" Harry stood outside in the hallway, an edge of anxiety in his voice.

Panicking, Hermione jumped up off the bed, her mind suddenly miles away from the amazing orgasm Harry Junior had given her.

Now Ron's voice came through the door. "Hermione, did you hear Harry? Are you okay?"

The vibrator, she noticed, had returned to its normal pearlescent appearance. Tucking it inside her dresser, Hermione quickly threw on a long sleep shirt. As she opened the door, she tried to look calm even though her heart was pounding and her legs felt like jelly.

"I'm okay," she assured them. Perhaps that truth would make up for the lies she was about to tell. "Really. I'm fine. I fell asleep. I must have had a nightmare, because when I woke up I was screaming."

"You want some warm milk? I can charm some for you," Ron said solicitously.

"No, that's okay. I'm just going to try to go back to sleep now."

Harry looked askance at her. "Are you sure? It's only half-past nine."

"Really, Harry, I'm very tired. I'm going to go back to sleep. Thank you both for being so…concerned."

Ron reached down and ruffled her hair. "You're our best friend. You started screaming for no apparent reason. Of course we were concerned. Night, Hermione."

In her embarrassment, Hermione couldn't meet Harry's eyes. She felt his hand come to rest on her shoulder, where it lingered for a moment.

"I don't like that you're having nightmares," he said softly. "If you have any more that make you scream, please talk to me. Maybe I can…help you. Good night, Hermione." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze then pulled away. Though she couldn't see his eyes, she could tell he was staring at her, and the heat of his gaze made her blush.

‘The only way you could help me,’ she thought, ‘would be to do what that vibrator was doing to me.’ "Thanks, Harry. Maybe I will."

As Harry and Ron went back to the living room, Hermione closed the door and leaned against it in relief. From then on, she always used a silencing charm.

^*^*^*^

Ron soon went off on an extended tour with the Ballycastle Bats. This was good for Hermione because she now had a three-week respite from watching Luna stumble out of Ron's bedroom with a goofy grin on her face. It was also bad for Hermione because now she was now alone in the house with just Crookshanks, Hedwig, Harry Junior and Harry Potter himself. Since Crookshanks and Hedwig were out of the question, and she would never get the chance to make love to Harry Potter, she would just have to fuck herself with Harry Junior more often. She discovered that her Make Your Own Magic Wand was very aptly named. Once shrunk, Harry Junior could be carried quite easily in the pocket of her jeans or her Ministry robes, which made it easy to have a quick wank just about anywhere she could shut the door and be alone.

Meanwhile, the real Harry noticed that Hermione seemed different somehow. She was no longer as moody and irritable as she had been a few weeks earlier. At the same time, though, she also kept to herself more and was spending less and less time in the common areas of the house, where he could see her, talk to her and (he hoped) smell her, and increasingly more time holed up in her room. This was impinging seriously on Harry's sex life, as he had to make sure she was out of the house before he could rummage through her basket of dirty laundry.

Harry thought he'd actually been very patient. He had tried to wait for Hermione to ask him to do her laundry, but after a while he really couldn't. She might go more than a week without needing to have laundry done. That was completely unacceptable. He'd become accustomed to sniffing her knickers while he tossed off. Lately, if he tried to wank without getting a whiff of her juices, he couldn't get off. It didn't matter how he touched himself; not even the Prosthetic Python Strangler he'd got as a gag gift from Ron would get him off unless he was smelling Hermione's soiled knickers. He wasn't asking for much, just one or two pair of knickers bearing the faintest pussy stains (though he had noticed that the more fragrant the knickers, the harder he came). If he couldn't make love to the real Hermione Granger, he would just have to do the next best thing -- bleed his dragon while his sense of smell feasted on her decidedly female scent. If he got to feel something soft and silky against his cock while he wanked, so much the better. He knew he could launder and return her undergarments before she cottoned on.

Hermione had noticed something too. Harry was no longer bringing young witches home with him. In fact, as far as she knew, Harry hadn't been out on the town in at least two months. He'd suddenly become quite the homebody, as well as taking on even more chores in the house. In addition to doing everyone's laundry, he was emptying the dustbins in all the bedrooms, sometimes more than once a week. He was also…she must be imagining this…looking at her differently. There was something in his eyes she'd never seen before. If she didn't know better, she might think it was lust.

^*^*^*^

To be continued…

The Next Best Thing - Part 2

A/N Thanks to those of you who have already left a review. I really appreciate them more than I can say. I hope the second and last part of the story doesn't disappoint. I've lived with this story in my head for a very long time (like, over a year) and I'm still wibbling about whether I did justice to the plot bunny. Speaking of which, I have to blame MollyMoon for the wicked plot bunny (which stewed in my brain for a full year before I started writing), as well as for the names of the Prosthetic Python Strangler and the Wicked Witch's Wand Shoppe. Let no one say I don't give attribution for great ideas. Again, thanks to my betas, MPotter77 and ChocolateFrogsforBreakfast, and to Jim, Carrie, Diana and Nancy for their encouragement.

And now, without further ado, here is the second and final part of The Next Best Thing. - O.H.

^*^*^*^

On a Friday evening in late August, Hermione returned home from work to find Harry lying facedown on the sofa in the front room, his tee shirt drenched in sweat. ‘He looks like he needs a shower as badly as I do,’ she thought sadly. ‘Too bad I can't invite him to take one with me….’

"Hello, Harry," she greeted him, much more brightly than she felt. "How was your day?"

He turned his head and surveyed her with one eye, his black fringe sticking to his forehead. "Too bloody hot," he grunted.

"As was mine," she replied as she dropped her bag in the entrance hall. "It's so hot I've almost lost my appetite. I think I'll take a shower before dinner. It's your turn to cook, right?"

"Yeah, but I'll just make a big salad for the two of us, if that's okay with you." He rolled over on the sofa, leaning up on one elbow.

"Fine with me. I've no appetite for anything heavier."

As she slowly crossed the front room and walked into the hallway connecting their bedrooms, she couldn't see Harry's eyes following her. Entering her own room, she shut the door quietly, stripped out of her sweaty clothing and looked at her naked body in the mirror. Had Harry ever noticed the swell of her breasts or the curve of her hips? Would he ever want to suck her nipples or slide a finger through the curls between her legs? She couldn't let herself think that way, as that road would lead to madness.

Hermione knew what would keep her from going mad right then -- a few minutes with Harry Junior. Pulling open her delicates drawer, she found the sex toy where she'd left it just a few nights earlier, under what was now her last clean pair of knickers. ‘I'll have to ask Harry to do my laundry tomorrow,’ she thought while she imagined him naked and hard in front of her. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she parted her legs and concentrated on her mental image of Harry, all lovely pecs, flat stomach and (at least in her mind) long, slender cock. Then she imagined herself taking him in her mouth and sucking him until he exploded. That was all the vibrator needed. Harry's face appeared at the end, as usual, and his tiny tongue darted out to meet her clit as she placed the toy close to her body. As Hermione leaned back on the edge of her bed, a few minutes of licking and prodding brought her to a shivering orgasm.

‘Better get in the shower now,’ she thought as she tucked the vibrator under the edge of her pillow. She wrapped herself in a turquoise dressing gown that stopped at mid-thigh, then slid quickly across the hall into the bathroom. Hermione didn't notice Harry sitting in the kitchen, his eyes following her into the bathroom, nor did she see him stand up and rub the front of his jeans where his erection strained against the fabric.

Sneaking into the hallway, Harry heard Hermione start the shower, then held his breath while he listened until he was sure she was safely ensconced under the shower head, humming pop songs loudly while she bathed. The coast was clear. He could finally do what he needed to do.

Three steps later, he opened her door slowly (to keep the trick hinge from squeaking) and slid into her room, surveying her domain. He'd been in her room many times before, of course, often under the pretense of emptying her dustbin or her hamper of dirty clothes. This time, though, she didn't know he was in there, and she would probably die of hurt and embarrassment if she knew what he planned to do.

‘But I can't help myself,’ he thought, trying to justify an even worse invasion of privacy than before. ‘She's waited too long between loads of laundry. I can't wait any longer. I've got to do this. I'll go mad if I don't.’

What Harry found a moment later was a treasure beyond his wildest dreams. Lying on the floor next to Hermione's neatly made bed was the pair of knickers she'd removed just moments earlier. "Ohgodohgodohgod," he breathed as he picked up the knickers and sniffed the central panel. ‘The only thing better than this, he thought, would be putting my face right up between her legs.’ Where he could sniff her all he wanted -- or do much, much more.

From one of his pockets he retrieved his Prosthetic Python Strangler, which pulsed in anticipation. When his cock felt like it would burst, Harry knew he needed to act quickly. Leaning against the wall next to Hermione's dresser, he pushed his jeans and pants down, let his throbbing cock spring free, and slid the pink gelatinous toy down his length half an inch at a time. As the toy pulsed around his cock, Harry squirmed, enthralled by the feeling of something halfway between a warm, wet pussy and a mouth with a dozen velvety, swirling tongues. He was so close, so very close, and he knew exactly what would make him come like a rocket…

He draped Hermione's knickers over his face so that the silky, soiled crotch lay in front of his nostrils. As he breathed in her scent, he wrapped his hand lightly around the Strangler, urging it on while it lapped and sucked and squeezed his cock. So close, so very close…he pumped into the Strangler like a jackhammer while the freshly-laid scent on the knickers made him harder than he'd ever been before. Suddenly, as he bit his lip to keep from crying out, a stream of hot come shot out of his cock, through the end of his sex toy, and landed on the edge of Hermione's pristine blue duvet.

^*^*^*^

Hermione entered the bathroom, hung her dressing gown behind the door, and leaned over the bathtub to start the water running. When the bathroom was good and steamy, she stepped into the tub and turned on the showerhead. Despite the heat outside, she wanted to take a warm shower, because she still ached where Harry Junior had licked her. That little interlude had been too brief for her liking; now she could let the warm water run over the areas that still throbbed with desire for the vibrator's namesake.

Resting one foot on the inside edge of the bathtub, Hermione leaned toward the spray and began humming a tune she'd heard on the Wizarding Wireless Network…something by the Weird Sisters. She didn't know the name, but the tune was catchy and upbeat, and it amused her that the same band that played at the Yule Ball in her fourth year was still popular eight years later. ‘Ah yes, the Yule Ball,’ she mused, her mind drifting back to that evening when Harry's jaw dropped as he finally recognized that she was, indeed a girl…not that he figured out what that really meant back then, but at least he'd taken notice.

She twisted the showerhead slightly, and the water fell in harder, sharper bursts. ‘The better to pound me where I need it,’ she thought as a hard, steady stream seared the tender flesh between her thighs. "Yesyesyes moreharderfaster," she gasped, twisting the showerhead even further until the water came out like long, thin needles of liquid heat. As she stood with the water beating down on her clitoris, Hermione's mind drifted to Harry, wondering what he was doing while she showered. Wondering if he was really in the kitchen, fixing a salad for both of them. Wishing he was in the shower with her, kneeling in front of her, licking her clit in time with the pounding of the water….

^*^*^*^

"Oh bloody fuck," Harry muttered as he hobbled toward Hermione's bed, pulling his pants and jeans up with one hand while he fumbled for his wand with the other. Leaning toward the bed, he mumbled a scouring charm - but as he did, something under the edge of her pillow caught his eye. Intrigued, he pushed the pillow aside -- and uncovered the strangest thing he'd ever seen. There on the sheets, writhing and shuddering, was something that looked remarkably like a rock-hard cock. In fact it looked remarkably like his own cock when it was hard…but staring out from the head of this cock was his own face. The tiny eyes were shut tight, as though the little head was concentrating hard, and a minuscule pink tongue darted back and forth between an equally minuscule pair of lips…his lips…just in micro-miniature. On a sex toy. The rest of which looked like his own penis, which was now hardening again at the sight of this toy that looked so very much like him.

It was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen. But why was it in Hermione's bedroom…underneath her pillow? Unless…

‘This…this is…it's what she wants,’ he thought, his mind spinning at the idea that Hermione, his best friend for ten years, might fancy him that way.

^*^*^*^

Refreshed by her shower, Hermione dried off, wrapped her wet hair up in a towel, and pulled on her dressing gown. Crossing the hallway, she noticed that her bedroom door was closed, which seemed odd because she was sure she'd left it slightly ajar. ‘Perhaps Crookshanks pushed it closed,’ she thought as she turned the doorknob and entered.

Her stomach tightened and her legs quivered at the sight that greeted her. Harry was perched on the edge of her bed, the flies of his trousers wide open. Hermione could see a distinct bulge growing in his underpants as he stared at her vibrator, turning it in one hand while his other hand clutched the knickers she'd removed before her shower.

"HOW DARE YOU!" she screamed at him, striding across the room until she stood glowering above him with her hands on her hips.

Harry's face went red. "Hermione, I --"

He stopped, then stared at her as he held up the pearlescent wand. "What the bloody hell is this?"

Hermione stared at the toy, which was writhing and bucking in Harry's hand. She was caught. The ache between her legs vanished almost as quickly as it began in the bathroom. As her desire fled, the toy's face disappeared and its body returned to its normal appearance. Eyes wide, Harry watched this transformation with his mouth agape. Then he looked up at Hermione with confusion in his eyes.

"What is this? Some kind of dildo?"

"Actually it's a magical vibrator, and I'll just have that back if you don't mind," she seethed as she tried to grab it from his hand. With his Seeker instincts, Harry was too quick for her. Rising swiftly, he grabbed her wrist with his other hand. As he pushed her arm away, the soiled knickers brushed against her arm and Hermione remembered the reason for her initial anger.

"What the hell are you doing in my room, Harry James Potter? What the hell are you doing with your flies open and a bulge in your pants and MY DIRTY KNICKERS CLUTCHED IN YOUR HAND?" she yelled into his face.

They were standing less than a foot apart now, and she could feel his slightly ragged breath on her face. She wondered if he could tell that she was breathing just as erratically as he was.

"I'm -- I was -- going to do laundry after dinner, and I-- um, I found your knickers on the floor-- and I -- and I- um"

"Don't give me that line of bullshit, Harry! Your zip's down! What were you doing before I caught you? Why were you -- why are you still-- holding my dirty knickers?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Hermione," he prodded, his voice dangerously low. "Why the fuck did that thing look like me?" He took half a step forward, forcing her to back up toward the wall.

Hermione's blood roared through her veins now; half of it settled in her face, which she knew was radiating heat like the setting sun, but the other half seemed to be spiraling down to her gut, like a spring coiled low in her abdomen. If she didn't control her longing soon, the vibrator would activate again and Harry would know just what was going on in her body.

‘She's so hot,’ he thought, ‘so very hot.’ Whether it was an artifact of the weather or of the way his eyes bored into hers, Hermione's face and skin had a distinctly pink glow. She was almost backed up to the wall now, and her eyes held a glimmer of fear. ‘Is she afraid of me,’ he wondered, ‘or afraid of herself?’

A moment later, the answer to their questions was revealed. The vibrator sprang to life again, twisting and quivering in Harry's hand, and the tiny Harry-face appeared on the head of the engorged artificial cock. Hermione's eyes went wide, her breathing became shallow, and her lush tongue darted out onto her lips as she watched the tiny tongue slide out between the tiny Harry lips. Her turquoise dressing gown clung to her breasts and hips, and all Harry could think of was how much he wanted to untie it and lick his way down her neck and torso until he reached her hot, wet center.

That's when he lost his mind completely and kissed her.

‘Oh God, he wants me too,’ she thought, her body quivering as he dropped the vibrator on the floor, planted one hand on the wall behind her and the other around on her waist. Pulling her body to his, Harry covered her lips with his own and kissed Hermione in a way she'd never been kissed before, nibbling his way hungrily first along her upper lip and then the lower one. This was what she had wanted for almost five years, Harry's lips on her own, his tongue finding its way into her mouth and exploring hers as she explored his, her hands around his neck as she pulled him even closer to her.

Now that she and Harry were finally doing this -- could it really be true? -- Hermione couldn't get close enough to him. As they continued kissing, one of her hands roamed to the back of his head, twining in his thick black hair, while the other slid down the front of his tee shirt, slipped under the hem and palmed the small of his back.

As her small hand ghosted over the skin at his waist, Harry continued to nibble and lick her mouth, backing her up more until he'd pinned her against the wall. This was a moment he'd dreamed of for several years, and he would let himself drown in it a little while longer until he figured out just what had happened and what might happen next. Finally he pulled his lips from hers and, without a word, began to kiss his way slowly down her neck, shivering as a gasp of delight escaped her lips. Surely she had to know what she was doing to him, letting him kiss her this way, letting him taste the soft, sweet flesh he'd dreamed of kissing, letting him slide his hand over her breast and palm it through the thin silk of her dressing gown. Surely she had to know how he would react when she slid her fingers below the waistband of his pants and stroked the downy black hair just below his navel.

Harry threw his head back and moaned. "Hermione…I…please, don't toy with me…"

She kissed her way up the side of his neck, licking the shell of his ear and tugging his earlobe gently between her teeth. "I'm not…toying with you," she whispered, moving her hand to cup him through his pants. His cock was as long as she'd imagined, but a little thicker, and hard as granite. The fact that she had made him that hard almost made her come on the spot.

"I want you, Harry. I've wanted you for years. Isn't it obvious? Didn't the Make Your Own Magic wand prove that to you? Do you know what makes it transform that way?"

His breathing was harsh and shallow as his hands rubbed slowly over her hips through her dressing gown. "No, what?"

"I just think of whomever I want to make love with, really concentrate on that person's anatomy." She arched toward him, her hands on his upper arms. "So whenever I need to…when I feel the urge…" -- she blushed, and Harry kissed her softly --"when I'm randy, it's because I'm thinking of you. So I use the wand and pretend it's you."

Pulling back from her, Harry looked deep into her eyes. "How long?"

"How long have I wanted you? Since sixth year." Blushing again, she turned away demurely, amazed that she had admitted so much to him all at once. The dam surrounding her heart had finally burst; she could no sooner hold back her feelings and desires than she could stop the phases of the moon.

Bending down, Harry picked up the vibrator and held it up so Hermione could see it. "Actually, I meant how long have you been using this?"

"About two months."

He paused to consider this bit of news. So Hermione started wanking with this after I started wanking with her knickers…

Suddenly something clicked in Hermione's mind. Zip down, hard-on, knickers in his hand… "So how long have you been getting off with my knickers?" she asked.

Now Harry blushed. "Maybe four months."

The irony of their situation wasn't lost on either of them.

"We're a couple of bloody wankers, aren't we?" she laughed. "Busy getting off with toys and knickers--"

"When we could have been getting off with each other," he finished.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down into a searing kiss. "Except that wouldn't be wanking," she said thoughtfully when she broke the kiss. "That wouldn't even be just shagging…would it?"

"No, Hermione," said Harry as he kissed her earlobe. "That wouldn't be wanking or shagging. That would be making love."

Hermione's brown eyes shone with tenderness and need. "I want to make love with you, Harry. Please."

"You don't need to beg me, Hermione. I've wanted to make love with you since the end of sixth year."

"Always been a little slow on the uptake, haven't you?" she smirked. "I beat you by at least three months."

She was leaning against the wall, one bare foot crossed over the other ankle, her arms crossed under her breasts. Leaning toward her, Harry gently uncrossed her arms and placed his hands on the tie that held her dressing gown closed.

"Please?"

Hermione nodded, a tiny smile playing on the ends of her lush lips. Not wanting to waste another second, Harry knelt in front of her and untied her dressing gown. As the silky material fell open, his heart caught in his throat. Her naked body was even prettier than he'd imagined all these years. Her breasts were exactly the size he'd imagined - just big enough to fit in the palms of his hands, with large, pink nipples that were hardening as he stared at them. Nipples he wanted to suck and lick until she cried and moaned beneath his mouth. Her smooth belly held just a hint of softness around her navel. At the apex of her slightly heavy thighs, a triangle of soft, chestnut curls guarded her treasures.

He had never wanted any woman more in his life. As he knelt in awe, worshipping her, Harry realized he'd never really wanted any of the other women he'd taken to bed. They'd all been convenient substitutes for what he'd wanted all along. Now that he faced the real thing, he could stop denying what he'd felt for so long. His eyes swept up her body and she trembled under his gaze.

"Oh God," he breathed, his hands splayed on her thighs as he slowly kissed her abdomen in an ever-widening circle. The tremor that shot through Hermione as Harry looked her up and down now threatened to become a full-fledged earthquake as his lips and tongue suckled her bare flesh. When his tongue slipped between her wet folds, she gripped his hair and pushed his head up and down as he moaned her name.

"Hermione…my Hermione…I've gotta sniff you," he panted as he wrapped his arms around her thighs and buried his face between her legs. Hermione braced her feet on the floor and leaned back against the wall. ‘If he licks me like that much longer, I'll float away,’ she thought as guttural noises ripped from her throat.

Glancing up at the edge of Hermione's dresser, Harry saw the vibrator spring to life again. Suddenly he had a brainstorm. He raised his head and looked up at her; the sheen on his face was much more than just perspiration. "Use the wand for me, Hermione. Please. I want to see how it works on you."

She looked down at his darkened eyes and glistening lips and knew she couldn't refuse him. "All right, on one condition. If you get to watch me, I get to watch you."

Holding her hand out, she pulled him up. Harry yanked his damp tee shirt over his head, then gathered Hermione toward him until her pebble-hard nipples touched his chest. She rubbed them over his skin until he began to whimper. Then, placing her hands on his shoulders, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her warm, moist curls rubbed against his bare abdomen, and as she rained kisses all over his face, she ground herself against Harry's skin until he thought he would come all over her room again.

"Hold on…need…Harry Junior," she breathed as she steered him back toward the dresser and picked up the vibrator, which was now quivering and writhing again.

"Harry Junior?" he asked, amused by the tiny copy of his face and the way the shaft resembled his own.

"Yes, well," Hermione giggled, "I never thought I'd make love with you. So when I saw what this toy could turn into, I figured it was--"

"The next best thing!" Harry roared, hurling himself and Hermione onto her bed.

^*^*^*^

"You first," Harry said, rolling off Hermione so she could slide up to the head of the bed. Propped up against several pillows, she smiled shyly, then bit her lip as she reached for the vibrator and held it in front of her. The look of concentration on her face mesmerized Harry, who watched in awe as she scrunched her eyes up and licked her lips.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked, sliding up on the bed so he could get a closer look.

"Shhhhh," she said quietly, "I'm imagining you naked. And hard." She went back to scrunching her eyes and licking her lips.

Harry got off the bed and pushed off his jeans and underpants. "No need to imagine." Climbing back on the bed, he watched as Hermione's eyes lingered on his tackle.

"Oh God, it's even better than I suspected," she breathed, an almost feral look in her eyes. Harry couldn't help smiling at the idea that Hermione liked what she saw. The more she stared at his cock, the longer and harder it became….and the longer and harder Harry Junior became. The toy suddenly twisted and throbbed in her hands, the veins and ridges bearing an uncanny resemblance to the contours of his own throbbing cock, while the toy's head again became a miniature replica of his own face. The tiny eyes were trained on Hermione's pussy, and Harry could swear that the tiny mouth was drooling in anticipation.

He sat naked and cross-legged on the bed now, his left knee lightly touching Hermione's left calf. As her legs dropped to her sides, she took the vibrator in her right hand and lowered it until the little head was between her folds. At that moment Harry wished it were his head going there, about to lick her juices and make her writhe. His cock had become painfully hard, its swollen head now bursting beyond the retracted foreskin, and he knew he couldn't possibly watch her wank without doing so himself. The next words she spoke almost made him come again.

"Lick me," she commanded the vibrator, her head thrown back against the pillows as the fingers of her left hand twirled slowly around her left nipple. She moved the vibrator up, down and in circles between her folds; the faster she moved it, the harder her fingers moved on her breast, first swirling around her nipple then tweaking the hard nub at the center. Eyes shut in concentration, she bit her lower lip; her breasts heaved as her body undulated in time to the rhythm of the vibrator's licks. As her calf brushed against his knee, Harry felt a jolt pass from Hermione's body to his own, a jolt that made him grab his cock and stroke it slowly from root to tip. He prodded the weeping slit with his thumb, drawing pre-come around the head and down the shaft, then commenced stroking again. Hermione's breath became labored and shallow; now she was moaning incoherently as the vibrator's lips caressed and sucked her clit. Watching her writhe next to, but not under, him was too much for Harry. As her moans grew louder, his own hand moved faster, up down and around, up down around updownaroundupdownaround, his breathing harsh and labored, his body shaking as he stretched his right leg out to keep from falling over.

Hermione laid the soles of her feet flat on the mattress as her hips pistoned up and down and her abdomen shook in time with contractions that the vibrator was inducing. ‘She's going to come,’ he thought, his eyes wide as his fingers moved faster up and down his cock, the tension building inside it until he couldn't stand any more. His hand became a blur, his moist palm slapping against his cock until he thought he'd wear the skin off but no, his body was way ahead of him; the milky white come cascaded over his hand as a strangled cry escaped his throat.

Suddenly Hermione arched so high, Harry thought she would fly off the bed. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she gasped, her body shaking from top to bottom. Without warning, she pulled the vibrator from between her folds and slowly, carefully shoved it inside herself. Harry looked on in shock as Hermione moved one hand to her nipple and the other to her clit, while the vibrator squirmed and pistoned inside her on its own.

"Faster," she groaned, and the vibrator obeyed. As it pounded her harder and faster, Hermione's hands moved faster too, the one pinching her nipple while the other fingered her clit. Without thinking, Harry crawled on the bed until he was between her feet, watching the vibrator slide in and out of her pussy. He could feel his cock stirring again, and he could barely keep his hand off it as she finally shuddered and moaned, her back arching one last time, then sank to the mattress, apparently sated.

"That was…" Harry was almost at a loss for words "…unbelievably hot." He wanted desperately to crawl up between her legs, lower himself to her body and slide inside her right then and there. But he was also pretty sure she wasn't ready yet -- not emotionally, anyway -- so he rolled back to her side and lay down next to her, ghosting his left hand along her trembling thigh.

Hermione finally opened her eyes and turned her face to his. "I pretended it was you the whole time," she whispered, then took one glistening finger and rubbed it along his upper lip. Involuntarily Harry's tongue popped out, and he licked her finger. What he tasted made him whimper.

"Oh God, Hermione, I need to make love to you," he moaned, rubbing his cock against her hip as he tugged her earlobe between his teeth.

The feel of Harry's hot, hard flesh against her own gave Hermione goosebumps. Still, she needed to know whether her dirty knickers did the same thing for him that Harry Junior did for her.

"I showed you, Harry. You promised you would show me. It's your turn now."

Harry's hand stopped sliding up and down her thigh and his cock moved away from her hip. Though she'd never felt his skin against her own until that day, it seemed to Hermione that Harry's skin had been made to glide next to her own. As he pulled away she suddenly felt bereft at the loss of contact, almost like going through physical withdrawal.

"Please, Harry. I need to see you." She rolled to one side and patted the pillows where she'd just lain while getting a ripping good orgasm from Harry Junior. "Lie here."

Smirking, Harry leaned back on the pillows and grabbed his aching cock. Hermione raised an eyebrow, then stilled his hand, barely able to resist the urge to grab his cock in her own hand and wank him herself.

"Not yet, Harry. You're not quite ready."

"Hermione," he moaned, "I'm about ready to explode right now."

"But…I want to see what's been getting you off the past few months." She then slid off the bed, onto the floor, and returned a moment later with the knickers she'd worn earlier that day -- the same knickers Harry had wanked with a short time earlier while she was in the shower. "Where should I put these?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Over my face," he said quietly, his cheeks burning. "Right over my nose."

Kneeling next to him, Hermione took the knickers and gently laid them across Harry's face, adjusting them so that the soiled panel was directly over his nostrils.

"Oh God, yes," he sighed as he breathed in her scent. "Oh yeah, oh…oh…" He began to mumble incoherently as his hand slipped up and down his cock, stroking it faster and faster. He was already very hard, again, for the third time in less than an hour, and Hermione marveled at how quickly he recovered (and tucked that fact into her brain for future reference). His hand was moving incredibly fast, and as it moved, Harry squirmed on the bed, pumping into his fist as he took in great, huge sniffs through his nose. As she lay there propped on her elbow, Hermione thought that Harry masturbating was the most erotic thing she'd ever seen. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as his cock ground harder and harder, faster and faster against his hand, and the sight of Harry in the throes of passion -- even if it was self-love at the moment -- left her slick and panting. ‘It's my Harry fucking his fist,’ she thought, ‘fucking his own fist because I wanted to see him do it…’

That thought was more than she could stand. She had to move again, had to feel his skin on hers again, had to get off while he was getting off. His moans were getting louder now, so she had to act quickly. As he continued pumping, his right hand moving at a fevered pitch, Hermione rolled on her side and humped the outside of Harry's leg. He moved his hand frantically against his cock; she moved her clit frantically against his leg, her breasts rubbing up and down his thigh. She came hard, and as she shuddered and panted, he came hard in his hand, the milky liquid running over onto his abdomen. He lay there huffing and quivering like a runner at the end of a marathon. She laid her chin on his stomach and tasted his come.

"Hmmm…saltier than mine," she observed, wiping her mouth with her hand.

His hand fisted in her hair. "D'you like that? D'you get off watching me?"

"I…I loved it," she whispered, blushing. "This has been the most erotic experience of my life so far."

He smiled, a dreamy look on his face, and then suddenly realized what she'd said. "You mean you've never--?"

"No…not yet." She lowered her eyes, her cheeks still aflame. She lay there naked, glistening with a post-climactic sheen, yet she couldn't meet his eyes when he'd asked if she'd ever been with a man this way.

"Why not?" He was genuinely curious. She'd seemed so uninhibited while she wanked as he watched; it was hard for him to believe that she'd not behaved that way with anyone else.

Now that the physical barriers between them were tumbling down, it dawned on Hermione that the last emotional barriers were falling away, too. "Funny you should ask. I never trusted anyone else enough to do this much with them." She cuddled up to his side, her left palm flat on his chest, just above his heart -- the heart that, right now, seemed to be beating just for her. "I suppose I was never with the right man before."

Rolling over toward Hermione, Harry leaned her back gently against the mattress, his face hovering just inches from her own. "Are you with the right man now?" he whispered, his voice so quiet she almost didn't hear him.

Her response was swift and sure, her lips claiming his in a kiss even more passionate than their first few kisses, which somehow seemed a lifetime away instead of less than an hour. "What do you think?" she said, grinning from ear to ear.

"I hope the answer is yes." He began to plant feathery kisses along Hermione's jaw line, then down her neck and on her collarbone. His lips, though, seemed to be running ahead of his brain, which was still processing the idea that Hermione, his Hermione, his best friend, lay pliant and naked beneath him, her skin like butter beneath his lips, her breath hitching just for him as he took one nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it until her entire body clenched beneath him.

"Oh God, yes," she replied breathily. "Please…Harry…again," she sighed as his mouth slid over to her other nipple and sucked at it lustily. A rumble deep in her abdomen began to spread through her like a wildfire. Harry made things worse by spending the next ten minutes kissing practically every inch of her body. When his tongue began to trace an agonizingly slow trail up her inner thigh, Hermione thought she would explode. But Harry was just getting started. His tongue finally found her clit, and he began humming as he sucked and licked, sending new waves of sensation hurtling through her. As he slid his tongue inside her, he felt his own body clench, his cock hardening quickly as his tongue mimicked what he wanted to do very soon.

Moments later, the rumbling in Hermione's gut turned into a roller coaster, as Harry's tongue led her to a high she'd never experienced before. She bucked and rolled beneath his mouth, desperate for more contact. His lips and tongue replied with a sucking, rolling motion and soon her back arched and she quivered as a white-hot light exploded behind her eyes. She fell back to the bed, weak as a Flobberworm. Harry raised his head from between her legs, his face glistening with her juices, his smile as bright as sunrise.

"I love that you're coming just for me," he whispered, sliding up her body and planting a wet kiss on her lips. "I love what you taste like there. I want to taste all of you, Hermione. I want to make love to you. Now. Please."

She licked her lips, tasting her own juices on them. She didn't want to know how he'd learned what he'd just done, but she certainly couldn't complain about any of it. Now, though, she wondered if he would expect her to do the same for him. The thought filled her with fear. She'd fantasized many times about going down on him, but now that it might actually happen, she was terrified she might do something wrong. Harry was silent, his chin resting against her shoulder, but his cock was hard and trembling against her leg.

"Harry, I…I thought you would want me to, um, go down on you first. But I'm just… I'm not very experienced at that. I don't want to disappoint you." Her face burning, she turned away from him.

He gently turned her chin and made her face him again. "It's okay. You'll have plenty of time to learn how I like it," he murmured. "And how could you possibly disappoint me? Please, Hermione, can we stop talking now?"

The import of Harry's words settled on Hermione like a warm, comforting blanket. He wanted to make love to her right now -- and he wanted to make love to her again and again. But while she dearly wished to be swept away by her passion for him, the rational side of her mind chose that very moment to intrude.

"Harry, I do want you to make love to me. But first," she said quietly, hoping he wouldn't be upset, "we need to protect ourselves, don't we?"

"Oh…right," Harry agreed, shaking his head slowly. Trust Hermione to remember what we need to do before things get totally out of control. "I can cast the charm for both of us." He gently kissed the corner of her mouth, then slid off the bed, retrieved his wand, and muttered the contraceptive charm first over his own body and then over Hermione's. Then he tossed his wand aside, climbed back onto the bed and slid up between her legs.

"Ready whenever you are," he whispered, kissing his way up from her nipple to her lips, which opened for him immediately. While his tongue delved into her mouth, searching for the warmest, sweetest spots, his index finger delved into her wet heat. Thumb stroking her clit, he plumbed her slowly as she clenched around his finger, her lips devouring his as she pushed hard and fast against his hand. Breaking the kiss, he returned his attention to her breast; he licked the hard nub, then clamped his mouth around her nipple and sucked slowly and methodically. Hermione writhed beneath him, waves of warmth flooding every nerve as he continued to stroke her, his cock sliding hard and insistent against her right thigh.

"I'm ready," she breathed, her fingers twined in his hair, urging his hands and mouth and fingers onward.

Harry lifted his head and smiled. "I'm glad." Then he repositioned himself, the head of his cock nudging her entrance, and slowly, so very slowly entered her.

"Nnnnhhhhhhh," she panted, "please, just…do it, Harry."

Nodding, he thrust steadily until he couldn't go any further, and then stopped, waiting for her to take the lead. Instead, she lay quietly, astonished by the sheer rightness of how he filled her up. A tiny tear leaked down her cheek.

"Did I hurt you?" he muttered, trying not to be alarmed.

She swallowed and shook her head. "No, I'm just amazed…and unbelievably happy."

"I'm glad you're happy," he replied, flinching, "but I really have to move."

‘More proof that, yes, Harry really is a guy,’ Hermione thought, unable to suppress a giggle. "Be my guest," she smirked.

"Thanks," he grunted as he began to take long, slow strokes in and out. "No more talking, okay?"

She nodded, hoping that her eyes and body could tell him everything she wanted to say.

Harry picked up the pace, stroking more quickly, weight resting on his forearms, which were pinned against her upper arms. At each stroke, she rose to meet him, her hands wrapped around his waist, her fingers stroking his lower back. He had no idea how she could have known how much the touch of her fingers right there turned him on, but he didn't care. He was finally, finally making love to her, surrounded by her slick, velvety warmth, and he wished he never had to leave. If he thought he could last more than a few more minutes, he would have gladly stayed inside her forever, reveling in the scent of her skin, the texture of that tiny mole behind her right ear, the way her inner muscles clenched around his cock.

Once Hermione adjusted to having Harry inside her, she let her legs fall open, giving him deeper access. The harder and faster he stroked, the more she panted and moaned. Her skin was on fire and her blood roared through her veins toward her clit, like freight trains bound for a collision. Unconsciously she wrapped her legs around his waist; he responded with a guttural moan and a deep, piercing thrust that drew incoherent sounds from her throat. Twisting his trunk slightly, Harry rolled his pelvis and began to pound Hermione in quick, frantic bursts. Her head rolled back against the pillows as he reached his climax, his cock pulsing and twitching as his hot come spilled inside her. He shuddered and collapsed against her breasts, muttering words that she couldn't quite understand.

"Are you done?" she asked, immediately feeling foolish for having to inquire.

He nodded. "But you haven't come yet, have you?"

She shook her head, averting her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Harry touched her face again, insisting that she look at him. "Don't be. I'll help you finish," he insisted, then began to move inside her again. His cock was still mostly hard; with another two minutes of stroking, she felt the familiar prickle of white light behind her eyes as her brain and body overloaded on the sensation of Harry slamming into her.

Satisfied that Hermione was finally satisfied, Harry slumped onto her again and lay there panting for a minute while she stroked his hair. He then slid out and lay on his back next to her. His fringe was plastered to his forehead and his body shone with sweat. But most of all, he looked happy.

"Hey," he said finally, rolling onto his side and twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers as he watched a wave of emotion wash over her face.

Breathless, she took her time answering. "Hey, yourself. That was really wonderful," she said finally.

"Only wonderful? Not amazing?" he smirked, teasing her.

"Not quite amazing, no," she smirked back, kissing his fingertips. "We have plenty of time to get to amazing, though, don't we?"

Huddling closer, Harry draped his arm over Hermione's waist and pulled her tightly to him. "We have all the time in the world."

^*^*^*

Harry and Hermione never did eat dinner that evening. Endorphins overtook them soon after they made love, and they spent the next few hours asleep, wrapped in each other's limbs atop Hermione's duvet. Shortly before midnight, Hermione awoke, her stomach growling. Having shed her inhibitions toward Harry some hours earlier, she got up and went into the kitchen to have a nosh, clad in only her silk dressing gown. Harry apparently had even fewer inhibitions left; a few minutes later, he strolled into the kitchen in the buff. She quickly lost her appetite for food and developed one for something else. Harry discovered that he enjoyed leaning against the fridge while Hermione sucked him off; the coolness of its steel skin was a pleasant contrast to the heat of her mouth. She fretted vocally about her inexperience and lack of technique, but he assured her she'd do fine as long as she stopped talking and just hummed.

The second time she blew him, just after dawn the next morning, he'd followed her into the pantry; she shoved him up against the shelves, dribbled chocolate sauce all over his cock, then licked it slowly from root to tip. Once she'd fulfilled that fantasy, Harry fulfilled one of his own. When Hermione accidentally knocked Ron's favorite coffee mug off the pantry counter, it occurred to Harry that perhaps shagging her against the pantry shelves wasn't safe. With her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, Harry carried Hermione back to her bedroom and spent the next two hours showing her exactly what she meant to him.

‘If Ron makes love to Luna even half as enthusiastically as Harry makes love to me, I'm surprised she can walk at all,’ Hermione thought a few times as they made love slowly and teasingly. Harry didn't know what she was giggling about, but he assumed it wasn't his technique. Finally, all those nights shagging nameless girls he'd picked up in the Wet Wizard were worth something. It was during those nights that Harry had learned what he was now doing to drive Hermione wild.

^*^*^*^

Shortly after noon on that muggy Saturday in August, a day sooner than expected, Ron Weasley Apparated with a crack into the small kitchen of the terrace house he shared with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The apartment seemed oddly quiet, especially for midday on a Saturday. No one was puttering around the kitchen making lunch or doing laundry. The telly wasn’t on, nor was the Wizarding Wireless Network. Ron noticed that the pantry door was wide open, revealing an odd disarray. There was a small trail of chocolate sauce on one wall -- and his very favorite Chudley Cannons mug lay in pieces on the floor. Ron Weasley was not pleased. He'd get to the bottom of this one way or another.

"Harry? Hermione? Anybody home? Why the fuck is my best mug on the floor in pieces?"

Silence. Were they both out? Ron traversed the kitchen, then moved into the hallway connecting the three bedrooms. Suddenly, he heard sounds he hadn't heard in the flat since…well, not since the last time he and Luna had…Oh, Merlin…oh, Christ on a cracker… Giggles. Sighs. Moans. Something that sounded like a roaring lion. More sighs. Even louder moans. And finally, in a voice that was unmistakably that of his female best friend, "Ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhhhh HARRY!!!"

Ron found himself blushing and grinning simultaneously. This turn of events was more than he'd bargained for, but still, not totally unexpected. He just couldn't resist giving them a bit of a hard time about it.

"Hey, you two! Keep it down! I just got back from Ballycastle and I need to sleep. Oh, and congratulations. Luna and I almost thought you'd never figure it out."

Hermione tossed a slipper at the bedroom door, then let Harry pull her back under the covers.

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