Rising Red Lights

magpie_igraine

Rating: R
Genres: Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 12/07/2005
Last Updated: 12/07/2005
Status: completed

Probably the goofiest and most self-parodying fic I've ever written. One-shot about a prophesy. A different, more Harmony-centered prophesy.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

There’s a Harmonious prophesy at work. Something about a second ‘coming.’ Heh heh.

Yeah. I’m bored. Hurricane Dennis is long gone but my cable’s still out. “Cable” meaning my prescription drugs… Bwahahahaha. No antipsychotic medicine for me!!! Hah. Fools! All of you…

Anyspoo…seventh year, Hogwarts. ‘R’-ish (but we’re talking the diet coke of smut here)

Rising Red Lights

(Somewhere on Mt. Olympus)

God#1: (Looking very self-important with his beard and toga): Well, better get cracking on that Boy Who Lived Prophesy. That Other Prophesy that is. (Paddles his cloud over to the Acropolis to speak to his brother/lover/father: Fellow God).

Fellow God: What do you mean the Other Prophesy? (Waves to cabana boy for more peeled grapes) That’ll be the second prophesy this year. Is that allowed?

God#1: (Shrugs) Dunno. But I’m bored. So, yeah. (In booming voice as smoke rises and chorus swells) The Time for the Other Prophesy Has Come!

Fellow God: (Coughs at dramatic smoke and motions for chorus to quiet down) So what does this Other Prophesy involve, exactly?

God#1: Sex.

Fellow God: What, right now? Great Cosmic Knockers man, I just ate.

God #1: No not you. The Boy.

Fellow God: Sorry mate. Don’t think you’re his type (gives a supportive pat on back). You’d have better luck with that gaping red-head he hangs around.

God#1: No. Not with me. With Her. The Girl.

Fellow God: Oh. The Girl. Right. My mistake. Well, by all means (gives Other Prophecy go-ahead the thumbs up) So tonight we’ll engineer this sex thing, and tomorrow we’ll go back to ignoring the prayers of the sick and needy.

God#1: Yeah. You’re right. We can’t keep putting that off…

-----------

As the stroke of twelve, as promised, a blinding light streaked through Harry’s Head-Boy room.

The Boy Hero sat up in his bed and glanced wildly around. Prepared for the worst, he dove into a duck and cover under the end-table.

Waiting for another attack, he clutched his wand and gave a put-upon sigh, wondering who was trying to kill him this time. As he crouched, stealth-like in the near total darkness, he recited his list of Known Enemies.

He was still on the C’s when he started to doze off.

Merlin, he’d never realized just how many people wanted to kill him. Luckily, whoever put on tonight’s little light show wasn’t trying too terribly hard.

“Amateur,” Harry sighed as he crawled back into his bed, relieved to be going back to only dreaming about his death and dismemberment.

He’d just pulled the covers around him when he heard the door creak open.

“Harry?” Hermione called softly from the doorway.

Harry froze when she stepped into view.

Speaking of dreams… he trailed off. She was wearing a short, white night shirt that barely covered her bare thighs as she shifted from one foot to the other.

Gods he whispered, unable to move. His eyes were dark and piercing as they followed the curve of her slender waist up to the exposed nape of her neck.

“Harry, are you all right?”

Her voice brought his attention to her soft, perfect lips. She took a step forward and fiddled nervously with the hem of the shirt. The hall light illuminated her form as he sat up and stared open-mouthed at her.

“I thought I heard something.” She lowered her eyes, blushing as she spoke. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Harry recognized that look: she was embarrassed.

Ha. Her embarrassed. Funny that, since she was the one who had him in the palm of her hand. Here she was, slowly retreating into the shadows, worried that, what? Her standing half naked in his bedroom would bother him?

Yeah, if only she’d bother me more often, he thought, swallowing hard as she shyly tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

He licked his lips as she approached, almost light-headed as he caught her clover scent. He was too busy running his eyes over her to notice an unusual feeling taking hold. An almost crippling sensation that made the room spin and the walls melt. His eyes took on an unearthly glint as he grew dizzy with a pulsing Need that would culminate with one, not so confusing thought: Merlin I want her.

He found himself struggling to keep from simply crossing the room and seizing her to him, from backing her against the wall and wrapping her legs around him and…well, he couldn’t help but groan aloud at all the things he was keeping himself from doing to his underdressed gal-pal Friday.

He gripped the bedcovers beside him, clutching the material as he fought for control.

Whoa…down boy was his last, coherent thought as she took a seat on the bed next to him.

-----

“Harry?” Hermione asked as she padded towards him. Her state of undress forgotten, she crept to his bedside and stroked his arm sympathetically. “Harry, what’s wrong?” Concern clouded her features as she studied him. Dear Germanus, let him be okay…

“Harry,” she repeated with a false calm. “What is it?”

Apparently, Harry was too fascinated by her hand to answer. He was staring at it like it was made of Snitches as it rested on his forearm. She drew back, wondering if she really was bothering him…because, goodness knows, that never happens…

She cleared her throat, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over them. She started as Harry’s feral eyes suddenly found hers. Usually Harry’s expression was easy and open as any library book. But this look…this dark, piercing look, she couldn’t place.

What in the world…?

The room began to spin as she stared into his unnaturally bright eyes. She felt a raw pull that made her inside clench and coil as she felt a craving she’d never known. An ancient and animalistic need to… what?

What the hezpah is happening to me? She thought as a thick, heavy fog suddenly made coherent thought awfully hard. Her breathing became ragged and her pulse quickened as her hand began running up his and down his arm of its own accord.

“Harry,” she purred in a voice she didn’t recognize. She shook off the heated sensations coursing through her, but the play of his muscles under her fingertips only made her increasingly aware of the delicious proximity of a shirtless, sleep-ruffled Harry beside her.

Wow. Um. Maybe I should leave, she thought as she lowered her gaze from his suddenly lickable chest to the lovely, large hands gripping the covers under her. Or maybe I could stay, she quickly amended. Just to be sure. Safe and sure… about his hands…No! Forget about his hands…

“Are you okay?” She asked in a strangled voice as the strange new desire pulsed through her.

“I’m fine love, just….” Harry stammered, trying to get a hold of himself. Whoa, down boy. No touching. She doesn’t want you to touch her. Or to run your hands over her perfect, tight little body. Nope. No way. There are definitely strange magics at work here. Touch her now and you’ll never get to again…and again…over and over until she screams and… No! No touching…

Meanwhile, Hermione was back to admiring his hands. Lovely. Large hands. On me. Definitely should be on me, not on some ridiculous bedcover.

Stupid bedcover…

“Harry,” she sighed. She shifted closer to him, letting the hem of her oversized shirt rise a bit, revealing the length of her thigh.

“Yeah love,” Harry asked, hungrily eyeing the bare spanse of skin.

“You look pale,” she whispered as she leaned forward and nuzzled his neck. “Maybe you’d better lie back.”

“Lie back…?” he trailed off, his eyes drifting shut as her lips brushed his throat.

“Mmmm.” She eased him onto the bed and stroked his cheek. “Poor darling…”

“Darling…?” Harry echoed absently as he settled against his pillow.

“My darling,” she cooed as she snuggled up to him. “Mmm. You smell nice.”

“Thanks, um, you do… as…well,” he stammered, as she began a trail of open mouthed kisses up along his jaw.

“Taste good too,” she whispered as he gasped under her caresses. “Yum. Tasty-Harry.”

She nipped at his lob as he merely moaned his response. St. Germanus, where did dirty-talking Hermione come from, and what god do I thank?

“You, wait, what?” He sighed as she crawled over him, muttering as she settled flush against his chest. “Wait…what?”

“Harry,” she begged. “Touch me.” She planted whispered kisses along his neck. “Touch me please” she sighed as she shifted her hips snuggly over his.

“Um. Okay. Just. A. Second,” he said through gritted teeth. No touching…none…Merlin, that feels nice… little to the left luv…No! Wait, no touching…

“Now Harry. Please.” She kissed the corner of his mouth and ran her hands over him. She was desperate for release. No not release, just Harry. Her blood was singing and the new forces at work within her were relentless. ‘More’ was her only thought as she sought skin and contact and him.

Hermione began licking nibbling down his torso, past his ribs, along his abdomen, running over the soft skin just above the waistband of his boxers. Wide-eyed, Harry looked down at her, hoping/guessing what she would do next. She met his gaze, her unnaturally bright eyes narrowing as his unnaturally dark ones bore into her. She slowly ran her hand along his waist and gently cupped him through the material.

Oh Merlin, Sweet Morgana yes, he thought as her fingertips pressed against him, circling and massaging him. “Hermione” her name escaped his lips as he thrust into her hand.

“Hermione” he hissed again. “No, don’t…” don’t stop…Merlin, don’t stop… “Please…Don’t.”

“Please, luv, don’t, please, stop.” He babbled as she drew back and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

…

His struggle came to her suddenly: him, unable to fight back, unwilling to touch her, his pained expression…

Wait…Wait no…he doesn’t want this. She realized through the prophesy-induced fog. He doesn’t want this.

The coursing lust that had taken over her faded fast as her blood ran cold with the realization. She backed away, and settled on the chilly floor He doesn’t want me…He doesn’t want this…He doesn’t want me…He doesn’t want this …

She drew her knees up to her chest until they both regained control over themselves. The room stopped spinning, and Harry began feeling like his old, frustrated, self again as he sat up and shook his former haze off.

“Well,” he said shakily. “That was, um, unexpected.” He looked up at the dent in the headboard he’d somehow made. “Wow,” he rubbed the back of his head, impressed.

Hermione didn’t answer him. She was staring absently into the darkness, hugging herself as she rocked back and forth in place. She studying the neglected fireplace, her bright eyes strangely dull as she gazed into the dark ashes.

“Hermione? Luv?” He hesitantly climbed off the bed and knelt in front of her. “Hermione…please sweets, look at me.”

He tucked his hand under her chin. Her eyes were watery, and blank, lacking their usual luster as he took her in. “Hermione?” He asked nervously.

She stared sadly at him and didn’t answer.

“Hermione, please.” He shook her gently. “Sweets? Are you all right?”

“Hermione?” Her silence continued. “Come on. Stop it luv, you’re scaring me.”

She turned away, worrying her bottom lip as she felt his hold tighten on her shoulders.

“Hermione…” he said sternly.

She swallowed back a sob. “I’m sorry,” she whispered at last.

“What luv?” His expression softened as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” she looked away again. “I didn’t…I’m not…” she stammered, refusing to meet his eye.

“Not what sweets” he prompted, cupping her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to touch you like…that…I know you don’t want me to…”

“To what Hermione?” He whispered gently.

“To touch you.” Tears were running freely down her face as she tried to free herself.

“To…?”

“I’m sorry Harry.” She was pleading with him now, pushing away his hands, wanting to leave, not wanting him to look at her.

“No, Hermione, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he insisted. Knowing my luck it was probably some megalomaniacal madman intent on ruining my love life. Some other megalomaniacal madman. There’s a list I could run through…but it’s long.

He ignored her protests and gathered her to him, rubbing circles on her back and whispering in her ear as she softly cried against him. He cradled her to his chest and ran his hand through her clover-scented hair. “Gods stop crying please stop crying love, Hermione please stop love.”

He brushed her hair back from her face and smiled at her as she stilled. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This wasn’t your fault.” He kissed her forehead and shook her gently.

“Hermione, look at me. This wasn’t your fault.”

“No?” She said, trembling as she chanced a look at him.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

She gave a small smile as she stared up at him.

“In fact,” he added shyly, “it was the most fun I’ve had all year.”

She wiped her eyes. “That’s disgusting Harry.” She gave a thoughtful pause and bit back a grin. “All year? Really?”

“Really really sweets.” He studied her and he leaned in slowly, planting another kiss on her forehead.

“Better than Quidditch?” She asked as she tightened her hold on his collar and sighed her approval.

He searched her upturned face, smiling as their noses brushed. “No contest,” he muttered as he began a soft trail of feathered kisses along her jaw and cheek. The light caresses became less and less hesitant as she planted several soft, open kisses of her own along his throat. He gave a guttural growl and pulled her into his lap as she nipped at his collarbone and ran her hands through his messy raven locks.

“Well, then, maybe we could,” she said, gasping as his hand found its way under her shirt, “do it again sometime.” She bit her lip as he began kneading her, and buried herself against collar to keep from crying out.

“Sounds like a plan love,” he said gruffly as she gave a kittenish mewl. Merlin I loved that noise. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Oh the usual…” She whispered what her ‘usual’ involved and how he could play an active role in it.

“Dear Gods,” he muttered against her. “Where do I sign up?”

----

(Exchange between the gods, by way by an epilogue)

God 1 (looking very omnipotent in his toga and beard): Wow. Guess they didn’t need a prophesy. Next time we’ll just lock them in a broom closet or something.

Fellow God: (looking similarly omnipotent): Yeah right. Whatever. Anyspoo…that killed, what, a good fifteen minutes? You still bored?

God 1: Yeah.

Fellow God: Hmmm. Well, we could always make other people have sex. Other, uglier people. Then we could make fun of the ugly children they have.

God 1: Sounds like a plan.

(They hold hands and frolic off into a rainbow sunset.)

The End