All Our Firsts

NatiFcs28

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 02/08/2005
Last Updated: 02/08/2005
Status: completed

Hermione’s writing a letter to someone, explaining her relationship with Harry, recounting a few memories. Harry/Hermione, Ron/Luna (not featured very much in the story), fluffy, smut. Rated NC-17, one shot—very long one shot. Somewhat of a plot, nothing major.

Chapters

1. All Our Firsts

1. All Our Firsts

Summary: Well, I'd hate to ruin the surprise, but ok. Hermione's writing a letter to someone, explaining her relationship with Harry, recounting a few memories. Harry/Hermione, Ron/Luna (not featured very much in the story), fluffy, smut. Rated NC-17, one shot—very long one shot. Somewhat of a plot, nothing major. Note: I realize Harry planned to leave Hogwarts after his Sixth Year, but for the sake of making writing easier, they attended their Seventh Year, ok? Great.

Disclaimer: I've got seven dollars on me. Sue me if you'd like, but I don't hardly see the point. I don't own Harry Potter—no one at this site does—and I'm not making any money off of this. This is another one of my insomniac one-shots. Sorry, heh heh.

*~*~*_All Our Firsts by Natali_*~*~*

It was weird, at the beginning, to think of myself as Harry Potter's girlfriend. We got followed a lot—I've had people follow me into public toilets. He was shy, I was even more so (if you could believe that). The first few kisses were so… totally innocent that it almost makes me laugh now.

It was a relationship of obligation more than anything. He'd take my hand when we went from class to class, and I knew it was because he felt that's what my boyfriend was supposed to do—say “Good morning”, kiss me goodnight, and hold my hand in public. I hated our public relationship then. I still do now, but it's not his fault, or mine. It's everyone who takes our picture's fault, people who won't give us two minutes of privacy outside of our house.

I got to know the private Harry more. I learned he would hum after a long silence before he spoke, to warm up his voice. I know when he's thinking, and usually an inkling of what he's thinking about. I know what it's like to feel his hands sliding up and down my body… and never want it to stop. I know what it's like to be insanely, disgustingly, mercifully in love with him.

Somewhere around the fifth month into our newfound relationship, Harry turned to me with what I like to call the “Harry-Is-Hornier-Than-A-Village-Full-Of-Only-Teenage-Boys Smile” on his face. We'd been in the common room, near one of the corners, studying lightly for our approaching N.E.W.T. exams (all right, I was studying, he was running his hand up and down my arm), and it was nearly two in the morning. Ron was off with Luna (yes, I know. I can't believe are actually dating, and they tend to fight more than anything… Well, not true. They suck face more than anything, but that's beyond the point), and it was just a bit chilly.

“Lean closer, I can see you're shivering,” he whispered sweetly against my ear, tugging on a lock of my hair.

I did, and I could feel his smile against my temple. We'd become so comfortable with each other lately…

“Do you… want me to warm you up?” he asked, making circles on my palm with his thumb…

*~-~*

June 6, Seventh Year

Hermione glanced up into Harry's face. “That sounds quite delightful, actually.” She shut the book, laying it to the side.

Harry grinned, putting one hand under her chin so that it tipped up. “I wish you'd left your hair down today.”

“Shut up and do what you're supposed to do,” she smiled, leaning towards him when he bent his head. Their lips met.

Harry angled his lips, running his tongue along her bottom lip, requesting entrance. She opened her mouth slightly, and he delved in, tentatively touching her tongue. She drew breath, shutting her eyes blissfully and boldly entering his mouth. Her mouth opened more, as did his. She scrambled to get closer.

They'd kissed before—really, they were teenagers, let's be honest, they'd kissed several times—but they'd never had a chance to make out. Between Ron and Luna, and everyone following them everywhere, there wasn't any time.

Harry groaned, grabbing her waist and lifting her so that she sat on top of him, straddling his waist. He didn't move his hands, only gripped her tighter. The kiss became more intensive, tongues swirling around each other, her hands running amuck in his hair. His glasses kept bumping into her face, and she snatched them off his face and set them atop her book, clearly irritated with them.

“Relax, they're just glasses. Don't get so upset,” he chuckled, nibbling her lip. “Mmm, you're delicious, Hermione.”

“I'm in love with you, that's what I am,” she whispered into his ear. She felt him tense with shock. “No, didn't know that, did you?” she inquired with a smile.

“Nope.”

She shrugged, capturing his mouth again.

“'Mione?”

“Hmm?”

“Love you too.”

*~-~*

Sweet story—and I'll never forget just how hot that make out session was. There's nothing like the first time…

…First time for everything I mean. First “I love you's”, first kiss…

Oh, yeah. That first kiss was… not hot, not sexy. It was so cute, really, because it was so unintentional for him. Completely intentional from my side, though.

Christmas break of our Seventh Year, we'd both gone over to Ron's house. One night, just before Christmas, we'd both been up and in the kitchen, sitting next to each other on barstools.

He'd come out in just his boxers. Just his boxers! I was nearly hyperventilating. He was so bloody gorgeous, topless and with his muscles so toned. Quidditch wasn't completely useless after all…

*~-~*

December 22, Seventh Year

Harry fumbled with his cookie, nibbling on it. He glanced at Hermione, who was wearing one of her dad's old t-shirts and the tiniest shorts he'd ever seen. She'd been standing when he'd walked in, and he thought she was just wearing her knickers underneath, because the shirt covered the shorts. She wasn't—to his consternation—and the shorts were revealed when she had bent over to get some cereal.

He hadn't expected anyone to be in the kitchen at this hour, since most anything anyone wanted in the house could just be conjured with a wand—Ginny was sleeping over a friend's house. With this in mind, he hadn't bothered to put on a shirt and was feeling slightly self conscious.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked, dipping her own cookie in a glass of milk.

“Nothing,” he answered hurriedly, tearing his eyes away from her and stared out the window. “Can't believe we'll be leaving Hogwarts in just a few months.”

“Well, it's just going to get worse. We'll go out into the world and have to study for the jobs that we want, and have to get up every day and work, and—” She broke off, frowning and grabbing another cookie.

“And what?” Harry asked.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“You have to tell me what you were thinking about earlier first.”

He grimaced. “Fine. I was thinking about how short yours shorts were. There, happy?”

Hermione grinned flirtatiously at him, coquettishly cocking her head. “Oh, really now? What about them being short?”

“Never mind that. You have to tell me what you were going to say.”

She accepted that, and hung her head. “Well, we'll leave Hogwarts and eventually have to settle down, won't we? We'll date around, get engaged, get married, and have kids. Life is going to change drastically once we step out of those doors for the last time as students, Harry.”

“It's changed drastically every year,” he reminded her.

“Be that as it may,” she sighed, getting up to refill her glass of milk, “this will be it. We'll be adults, responsible for ourselves. We might even lose touch with each other, who knows?”

She turned around in the process of pouring to emphasize what she was saying. Harry's eyes strayed to her chest, and he almost panted when he saw her nipples tighten up. It was cold, in December, in the kitchen, without a fire. But all he felt was suddenly hot.

Hermione didn't seem to notice his new state, and she put the milk away, walking back to sit next to him.

“I… Er, are you cold, Hermione?” he asked, clearing his throat when his voice broke off.

Immediately, her eyes glanced down at her chest, and she flushed. “Oh, sorry. Forgot I wasn't wearing a—”

“I didn't notice anything,” Harry said with a high pitched voice. He took a large sip of milk.

Hermione chuckled a purely seductive chuckle. The pain in his crotch increased. He would have to make sure he avoided standing up…

“Sure you didn't… Harry.”

The way she had hesitated before whispering his name was astoundingly sensual, and Harry really did fight the urge to grab her and shag her senseless on Mrs. Weasley's spotless kitchen table.

Wouldn't have bothered him in the least.

This is Hermione, he reminded himself.

She turned in her chair to face him fully, and he avoided her eyes, as if she would somehow be able to tell the very un-platonic thoughts he was having about her.

“I've known you for a long time, Harry.”

“Yes, I know that. Seven years.”

“Mmm hmm,” she nodded, cocking her head once more. “I think I can tell what you're thinking by now, don't you?”

He shrugged, meeting her eyes to show he was fine. “I think you can.”

“Do you know what I'm thinking, Harry?”

Harry broke out in a grin—he couldn't help it—and leaned towards her. “I think you're messing with me, Miss Granger. Not a very `you' thing to do.”

She smiled too, facing forward again. “No, it's not, is it? Sorry.”

He nodded, thinking of all the possible things that would help his erection to go down. Voldemort was his first thought, but that just made him angry. Malfoy and Snape had the same effect. Then Ron popped into his head, and it worked.

One did not think about one's best friend when one was as randy as a rabbit.

“Good night, Hermione,” he proclaimed, deeming it safe to get up without revealing just how turned on he'd been. “See you in the morning, try to get some rest, alright?”

“Same here.”

He rose and set his cup down in the sink. He turned around and found her right behind him, leaning over to do the same with her cup. Her thigh had rubbed against him, and he found himself holding onto her wrists.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, just before brushing a clumsy kiss on her lips. “Sorry,” he repeated, doing it once more. “Good night.” He gently pushed her aside and he headed for his room.

Hermione stood there, smiling to herself. If it took him awhile, that was fine with her. Those two, short, innocent kisses would be enough for tonight.

She picked her shorts out of her ass and grimaced. They might have served their purpose, but why anyone would sleep with shorts so tiny was beyond her. They kept riding up her arse…

*~-~*

Shortly after that late night interlude came New Year's Eve. I was slightly tipsy on champagne (as I'm sure was every other person there) and I'd stepped outside for some fresh air. Harry was there, looking dashing in his dress robes. The party was still raging inside the Weasleys' house, and didn't seem to be ending soon, even though it was already near to two in the morning.

They always were such party animals, especially after Ginny hooked up with Neville.

I'd brought a coat out for him—it was below freezing and the twit didn't have anything to warm him up—and stayed with him. We went back inside one of the happiest couples that new year.

The reason I'm telling you this, sir, is because this is also a “first”. The first time that we forgot who we were—Harry “The Boy Who Lived” Potter and Hermione “Always Reading A Book” Granger. We finally let our hearts tell us what to do, not what society deemed right.

It took us longer, I think, to realize that we were meant to spend our lives together because of that little thing with Ron in Sixth Year. I really did fancy him—I'd given up hope on Harry—and I thought it would work out. During that following summer though, it was easy to see that it would never work out between us.

Then there was that whole thing between Ginny and Harry, which put me off a bit. But that, in the end, turned out the same as me and Ron.

And so, Harry and I finally—with the help of some champagne and firewhiskey—did what everyone who knew us and loved us was pushing for us to do…

*~-~*

January 1, Seventh Year

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, shrugging into his coat. “I was just beginning to think how cold it was.”

“Only just?” Hermione smiled, teetering a bit. “Ah, champagne always does go straight to my head.”

“You have a disgustingly low tolerance for alcohol, Hermione,” Harry chortled, obligingly grunting when she punched his stomach. She ended up hurting herself more than anything though, because his stomach was rock solid with muscles. A vision of him that night over a week ago without a shirt swam into her head.

“Ouch.” She massaged her hand, wincing.

“Come here,” he laughed, grabbing her hand and massaging it. She sighed with pleasure. “You fool,” he said fondly.

“Go ahead, make fun of me. Oh, don't stop, that feels so good,” she whispered, leaning on him. His hands slid up her arm and to her back, where he continued to massage her.

Her coat was getting in the way, so he slipped his hands under it, only one layer of thin silk separating his hands from her bare body.

“Hermione.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

In reply, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. He was shocked by how warm and soft her lips were. Shocked when her mouth opened under his. He cautiously touched his tongue to hers, thrilled when she met his in a kiss.

She broke away, their lips still touching, and smiled. “Don't be sorry.” On second thought, she added, “At least, you should be sorry if that's all you intend to do—kiss me. Make an honest woman out of me, Potter.”

She felt rather than heard his chuckle, deep in his chest. It was then that she realized that her body was pressed up against his and her arms were around his neck.

“I find this somewhat pointless to say, but at the risk of being rejected, I'll ask it anyway. Would you like to go out sometime, Hermione?”

“You're right. It was pointless.” She licked her lips and prepared for another kiss when Ron stumbled upon them.

“Oy! What's the matter with you two? My eyes! My eyes!” he whined. “Would you two get a room or something.”

“We were here first,” Harry growled.

“Yeah, but don't do things like that out in the open where everyone and their bloody mum can see you, mates!” He turned and ran for the house.

“Ugh,” Hermione snorted. “Let's go in. It's rather cold out here.”

“You know what this means, right?” he asked, not budging. “We're going to be followed like crazy.”

She shrugged. “At least Rita Skeeter won't be hounding us. She always was one of the worst.”

*~-~*

Turns out that I would've preferred Rita Skeeter to follow us, because at least then she would've written the truth. In total, Professor, I've been pregnant 7 different times, three of those times with someone other than Harry's child (I think once it was even Ron's), a drug-addict 5 different times, and committed to a mental institution 18 different times (makes me wonder, if that's how everyone views me, since that's the most popular).

The next “first”, I suppose, is the first time… we made love. You'll understand, won't you, that it's very difficult for me to explain this to someone who has known me from before I even knew what sex was?

But you asked me to tell you all about our “firsts”, and so, here I am. Really, you asked us, but Harry couldn't write something like this. But don't worry, he's paying for it as he should, by cooking me dinner. It's ridiculous, really, we're grown and everything, but he blushed like I haven't seen him blush in years when he read your letter.

You'll be delighted to know, I'm sure, that it was under your roof that he and I… you know. It was after we left Hogwarts. In his flat (we didn't live together, for that very reason. Had we been living together, I probably would have been pregnant. Besides, all the cameras were on us, and we didn't need that unwanted attention), where we'd spend a lot of our free time. Ron had more liberties to go out and not be bothered, though he did get the occasional reporter hounding him.

As well as our first shag (forgive me for the crude term, but it's how it really is, isn't it?), this was the first time I'd slept over Harry's place…

*~-~*

February 21, First Year Out Of Hogwarts

“Pass me the popcorn,” Hermione said, taking a handful when Harry handed her the bowl. She set it on the floor beside her, watching the television intently.

They were in Harry's room, Harry on his stomach on the bed above her, with her on the floor sitting cross-legged. A suspense movie was playing on one of the Muggle channels, and they both were caught up in it.

“Oh, he's going to die, isn't he?” Hermione asked, munching on the popcorn. “Shouldn't have gone into that house alone.”

“Yeah. Good bye Mr. Flayier.”

Hermione nodded, grabbing some more popcorn.

Twenty minutes later, she'd joined Harry on the bed to hide as the movie had gotten scary. It was finished, however, and they both smiled at each other.

“You're a wimp,” Harry said impishly.

“Shut it,” she snapped, looking at her nails. “It was scary. You jumped during that part when the thing jumped out at poor—”

“Yes, but you were the one trying to get under me, you were so scared,” he laughed, turning onto his side. “I always did like that movie.”

“Me too.” It was a benefit for both of them, having come from Muggle homes and knowing nothing but what the Muggles knew until they were set to go to Hogwarts. They could relate a lot more than many of their friends.

“Come here, gorgeous,” he whispered, pulling her closer and kissing her. She stretched against him and wound her arms around his neck, playing with his hair like he liked her to.

He placed his hands on her stomach, one going up to her breasts, where he gently squeezed them. After a pleasing moan from her, he slid his other hand down to her hip and then down to her thigh. He let it rest there, and continued to fondle her breast. First one pebbled nipple, and then the other.

“Harry,” she gasped. “If you're going to do something, then do it. But don't start what you can't finish.”

Harry put his weight on his elbows, looking at her. “Are you sure, Hermione? I mean—”

She reached up and brought his head down to hers, kissing him passionately. That was all the answer that he needed. He slid his arms under her, lifting her easily and positioning her at the head of the bed.

He took his glasses off reluctantly. He would've liked to see her clearly, but they only got in the way. He made a mental note to look into some contact lenses or something. Turning back to her, he set his fingers to her shirt, unbuttoning it with clumsy fingers. Her own hands were pulling his shirt off of him, and they broke the kiss momentarily as he threw off his shirt.

By then, he'd finished with the blasted buttons (of which there seemed fifty, not just six or seven), and her breasts were exposed, covered in a white lace bra. They were swollen already, and she was breathing rapidly, causing them to rise and fall quickly. He pulled his lips from hers, and his eyes locked onto the soft white mounds. Reverently, he kissed first one and then the other, Hermione shuddering.

“How do you take off this blasted thing?” he grumbled, fighting with the clasp of her bra. She laughed, reached one hand behind her back and easily snapped it off.

“Easy as pie.”

“I can kill the world's darkest wizard ever, but a bra clasp is beyond me,” he muttered, his head resting in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. He shook with laughter. “That's so fucking funny.”

“Don't curse.”

“But it was funny, wasn't it?” he asked, still shaking with laughter.

“This is great. We're in bed, and you're here, laughing.”

“At myself!”

“That's my job!”

He nipped her shoulder in a reprimand, and she chuckled. He lifted himself, kissing her breasts in hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses. He slipped his hands under her skirt, making soft circles on her inner thighs. He slipped a nipple into his mouth, just as his fingers caressed her over her knickers. She bucked, back arching and his name escaping her lips in a soft whisper.

“Harry…”

He tugged down her underwear, making sure not to touch her where she most wanted him to. His mouth was still busy on her breast, suckling and rasping.

“Harry, please,” she begged. “Please.”

He raised his head, smiling. He lifted her hips and tugged off her skirt, throwing it to the floor with his shirt, her shirt, and her knickers.

“If you plan on backing out, love, I'd suggest you do it now while I still think I can stop,” he informed her.

“I don't want you to stop.”

That was all the permission he needed. With a wicked grin, he placed his lips on the inside of her left thigh, just inches from his ultimate treasure. Her muscles tightened and her hands flew to his head, raking his hair.

Harry parted her folds with one hand, slipping one finger in slowly. He was pleased that she was so hot and wet, rewarding her by circling her clit.

After about a minute and a half, Hermione lifted her hips, taking his finger in deeper, but it wasn't enough.

“Harry, I need you in me… Now.” She put her fingers on the buckle of his pants, and she managed to get them unzipped. Between them both, they managed to get his pants off.

He climbed over her, poised at her entrance. She felt the tip of his staff prodding her and nearly expired.

She wasn't exactly sure if she would be able to fit him. Had she not been so desperate and needy, she might've rethought it. Thankfully, she was beyond all real rational thought.

“Erm, Herms, you've never…? Uh, you're a…? Ah.”

She nearly started laughing, but she was too nervous to do that. “Yeah, Harry,” she replied. “You're my first.” Twining her arms around his neck, she brought him down to kiss her, grinding her hips with that part of him which was protruding so proudly.

He groaned into her mouth, positioning himself and carefully pushing himself into her.

It felt glorious, and Hermione began to relax. Maybe it wouldn't hurt, maybe—

“Harry, that hurts,” she gasped, but he didn't stop and didn't talk, only pushed more. With one sharp jerk, something inside her broke and she cried out in pain.

Harry was breathing raggedly, still inside her. He didn't move. She tried to get more comfortable, but that only hurt worse.

“Stop… moving,” he commanded hoarsely. “Let the pain recede. God, you're so bloody tight and hot…”

She did as he instructed, and eventually there wasn't any more pain. She opened her mouth to tell him, but he seemed to know, and began to move within her.

It was a strange sensation, having him inside of her and moving. A strange but delightful sensation. Hermione closed her eyes and relaxed, wrapping her legs around him.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, covering her mouth.

Later, as she shook with her climax, and he released his seed within her, they collapsed and fell into a deeply sated sleep, spooned next to each other.

*~-~*

There it is. I can't, of course, give you any details, but they're fresh in my mind as if they happened yesterday. I know you weren't there for much of it (though I get the impression that you always know what's going on anyway), but we never forgot you.

Our first anniversary (New Year's Day, hard to forget) was beautiful. Nothing out of the ordinary—really, we didn't want to get bothered by everyone—and we were slightly hung over from the festivities the night before. A quiet evening, with my first jewelry ever given to me by my boyfriend: a beautiful gold chain with a charm in the shape of an apple. I tried to get him to explain it to me, but he refused. He only told me to wear it, that it would protect me.

I, of course, looked into it. That was the first time that I realized Harry was afraid for me. He might have killed Voldemort, but there were still any number of people out there who would have absolutely no problem harming the people he loved. Draco Malfoy, as you know, got off free. There was never ever any evidence that he was a Death Eater, as he didn't have the Dark Mark. But that might just simply be because old Voldy had anticipated that.

We'll never know.

There was my first proposal, and thus my first engagement. My first marriage, and my first honeymoon (both being my last as well, I might add).

Our first house (his parents'), my very first rose garden (which is blooming to this day, thanks to your careful advice), and our first wedding anniversary.

I've never known any love better than his, sir, and sometimes my throat gets so tight, just thinking about life with him.

It's now been nearly six years since we left Hogwarts, seven since we thought you died. It was always hard for me to accept that you had actually gone. Little did we know that you, much like Voldemort, had found a way to stay alive, even if your mortal body was harmed. How did you do it?

We'll never know.

I hope this answers what questions you may have had about the relationship between me and Harry. A 17 page letter is quite enough, don't you think? And now you're all caught up.

Now you just have to get Ron or Luna to tell you about their courtship. I wish you the best of luck. Neither like to write much, and are still too busy sucking face to do much else.

(By the way, expect an invitation to their wedding by owl within the next four or so months. Ron proposed just last week!)

And now, another “first” has presented himself into my life, and I believe that's him calling for his food now. Harry's also complaining that the food is getting cold.

You're always in our thoughts, Professor Dumbledore, and I was wondering if Harry and I could talk to you about potential godfathership? Only if you're willing. Do drop by when you can.

Yours,

Hermione Potter

P.S.: A “second” is on its way.

*~-~*

Present…

“Are you all done, Hermione?” Harry asked, walking into the sitting room with two-year-old Alex holding onto his hand. “Alex says he wants you to feed him, that I don't do the Choo-Choo Train right.”

Hermione laughed, lifting Alex up into her lap. “You're just a little mamma's boy, aren't you, love? Give Mummy a kiss.” She turned her face while the black-haired boy kissed her cheek.

“Come, I made chicken parmigiana, and if it gets cold, I absolutely refuse to heat it up,” Harry told her matter-of-factly, heading for the dining room.

“Daddy's just jealous,” Hermione whispered to Alex, setting him down on the floor. “Let's go eat, shall we?”

They walked hand in hand to the dining room, where Harry was pouring wine into his cup. She glanced over and saw an empty wine glass at her place.

“Harry, I can't drink, remember?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me what you wanted,” he explained. “The table just looks better if I use the same glasses.”

She giggled. “That's a wine glass. You're only supposed to pour wine in there.”

“Yes, well, deal with it.”

“It looks delicious.”

“I know it does.”

“…You can't cook, Harry.”

“Ah, well… I owled Mrs. Weasley and she cooked it up for me quickly. I made sure you weren't paying attention,” he admitted.

She shook her head, placing Alex at his chair with his food in front of him. “Try not to make a mess, dear. I'll come help you if you need me to.”

“How long was your letter to Dumbledore?” Harry asked, cutting himself a piece of the chicken.

“Seventeen pages,” Hermione winced, massaging her hand. “But I finally got the story out.”

Harry nodded. “Did you ask him about being godfather?”

“I did.”

“I don't think he'll accept.”

“Me neither. He's getting a bit old, isn't he?”

“Well, Ron will be happy,” Harry smiled. “When should we tell Ginny?”

“We see her next week. She's coming over with the baby. The hubby too, of course.”

“Delightful!”

There was a short silence (except for Alex's eating noises) as they ate in peace.

“Harry?” she asked softly, looking at him lovingly. “I love you.”

He looked at her. “Is something the matter? That was really rather random.”

She shook her head. “No. I've only just spent the past two hours reminiscing about our life. Just wanted to say that I love you.”

He nodded. “I love you, too.”

“Mummy… something bad happened.”

“What, Alex?”

“I think I dirty the rug,” he said in his small voice. “Oops!” he giggled, covering his messy face with his hands.

Hermione grinned, getting out her wand. “No problem. Here, let me feed you.”

Later that night, once Alex had been put to bed and they were in their own, Harry leaned over his wife.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

He kissed her passionately. “I want you.”

“Will you always want me? Even when I'm old and shriveled up?” she asked in a whisper, wrapping her arms around him.

“I'll be just as old and shriveled up. I might not even have teeth. Of course I'll want you,” he answered, kissing her neck. “You were my first everything, after all.”

“First and last,” she smiled.

*~*~*_The End_*~*~*

A/N: Ok, this took me two days to write, and it was fifteen (almost sixteen) pages on Microsoft Word. It had started as Hermione writing in her diary during her Seventh Year, but then escalated to this. I think I like this better. I don't think I've ever written a chapter that was so long. And, just in case you're wondering, she didn't actually explain everything about the first time they slept together to Dumbledore. In the least, actually. Most of the scenes were not explained in as much detail to Dumbledore, but I inserted them just for kicks. Now, I can't wait to read all the reviews!! (Hint, just maybe? Lol.)

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