Feeling

Feeling

By Amanda

Summary: Based on similar events, though mildly tweaked to fit the Harry Potter world.

Disclaimer: Pfft, if I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't be posting my stories online, but at a publishing company; I wouldn't be worried about paying college, probably wouldn't even worry about college. I'm just a 20 year-old college student with no life at the moment and uses this as a means of escape.

Ok, my last two H/Hr of this nature had a combined total of 20,556 hits and only 81 reviews. So, please, people, any feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Questions, comments, criticism, stories, anything and everything you guys have to say, I'd love to hear about it.

*~*~*

He stared at her shocked as she held the knife to her skin, tears streaming down her cheeks while she sobbed.

He didn't know why she was crying, why she was slicing her wrist. He'd come to pick her up, they were going out for the day, and found her this way, still in her pajamas, still tousle-haired from bed, still in bed.

He knew nothing of why she felt she needed to do this, of what pain she was feeling. He just knew he had to stop her. He had to.

So he did the only thing he could think of that would stop her, the shock alone might be enough to snap her out of whatever she's feeling. He kissed her.

His lips touched hers and all her movement ceased. His hands pulled hers from one another and with deft fingers slipped the blade from her hands. A powerful display of wandless magic transfigured it into a teddy bear. He cradled her face and sat at the edge of the bed, his lips still moving gently against hers.

He skimmed his lips over her cheek to ear and softly said, “Please don't do this, Hermione. Don't hurt yourself.”

“Harry,” she gasped and pulled his lips back to hers.

His surprise at this action was quickly overpowered by the desire to continue what they were doing. He knew they should stop, they should talk about why she was cutting herself. His conscience and his hormones fought, but she was his friend and his conscience won.

“Hermione,” he pulled away gently, “we need to talk - you need to tell me what's wrong.”

“Later,” she bit his lower lip, “I want to feel now.” Her hands tugged at his shirt and he took them in his own.

“Are you sure about this, Hermione?” he asked very seriously.

“Yes, Harry,” she whispered, fresh tears brimming her eyes. “I just want to feel loved.”

He nodded. “I'll make you feel loved,” he promised laying her back on the bed. “I'll make you feel as loved as I can.”

He hovered over her, his hands tenderly caressing every inch of her skin. He said he'd make her feel loved and he would, he vowed it to himself as well as her.

Goosebumps sprang on her arms and she shivered when his hands moved over her bare arms to her tank top straps.

“Are my hands cold?” he asked softly.

“No, hot,” she answered softly as a finger slid under the fabric of her bra.

He met her eyes asking for assurance that he could continue, that this is what she wanted, and she nodded, “Yes, Harry, please.” The pleading in her brown eyes made his heart break and he kissed her to show he cared.

He went slow; tantalizingly slow is what he liked to think. He wanted her to feel as special as she was. To him and in general. He also somehow knew that the building anticipation would make it better.

Her shirt and bra gone, his hands glided over he bare breasts, his fingers tracing her rosy nipples till they were little peaks. Unable to resist temptation, his head swooped down and captured one in his lips. She moaned and her fingers laced in his hair when he swirled his tongue around one and ever so gently squeezed the one in his hand.

Somehow, at some point, his body had slipped between her legs and he was nestled snuggly between her gorgeous, firm thighs. Her hips lifted and pressed briefly into his and if he hadn't already been achingly hard, that momentary contact would've surely done the trick.

He felt her stiffen slightly at the contact. Concerned, he let her nipple fall from his lips and looked up at her. Her eyes were wide with amazement and curiosity as she made the movement again. A groan escaped both their throats this second time and soon a gentle rocking was established.

“Hermione,” he rasped a few moments later, “if we don't stop, this may be over far too soon.”

He sat up so he was kneeling above her, his large, calloused hands sliding down her sides to her pajama bottoms. He always thought she looked adorable in her pajamas. Adorable and sexy, the too large flannel pants hanging low on her hips and the tight tank top always showing that enticing bit of stomach. Her stomach was so soft and feminine yet tone, he loved it, almost as much as he loved her.

She was tugging at his shirt and he reluctantly lifted his hands from her skin for it to be pulled off. When she'd tossed it to the side, her hands went to his chest and trailed down his stomach and he felt rather glad she'd taken off the shirt.

Now to remove the rest of her clothing…

His fingers hooked inside the elastic of her pajamas and he felt the bare skin of her stomach. He'd seen this low on her body once before, when he accidentally walked through the area of forest she was changing in while they'd been hunting Horocuxes. A smile came to his lips at the memory of how angry she'd gotten and the volley of curses she'd sent his way that night. Today, though, he had a feeling she would welcome his viewing.

“What?” she asked, a smile of her own forming.

“Just remembering,” he whispered before kissing her. He sat up again to remove her pants, his eyes following as every inch of new skin was revealed. “You're beautiful,” he told her breathlessly, not taking his eyes from her.

Immediately she shook her head. “I'm not, enough people have made that perfectly clear to me.”

“They were idiots,” he insisted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “They didn't know you, they couldn't see how truly beautiful you are inside and out.”

He pressed his lips to hers before she could protest, his actions proving he meant his words. Acting purely on instinct, his mouth moved down her neck, sucking on the pulse point a moment before returning to her breast. But she was naked now, which meant other, exposed, untouched skin to be caressed and massaged and kissed and tasted.

He had scooted his way down her body where he could see her womanhood, could smell her arousal. It made him want to drive into her like a madman. But he didn't. He wouldn't do that to her; she deserved better.

Acting on instinct, and before he could think of reasons he shouldn't, he stretched his tongue out and licked her. The moan that reverberated through her body and her hands tangling in his hair encouraged him. He moved his tongue, exploring this unknown region of her body, relishing in the groans and squeaks and the squirms her body was making.

He found a little nub and when he circled it with his tongue, she jerked and screamed in pleasure. With a slight smirk at her reaction and feeling somewhat proud that caused that reaction in her, he toyed with her clit some more and inserted a finger in her folds and moving it hesitantly inside her. Her body rocking against his hand and mouth convinced him he could apply more pressure, even adding another finger.

He continued his ministrations, tasting her, feeling her as she became more and more aroused. And then she screamed out his name and literally bucked against his face.

He looked up at her from between her spread legs, amazed and proud that he could do that to her, that he could cause her to come undone like that. She pulled his face rather roughly to meet hers and kissed him urgently and his penis twitched knowing she was tasting herself on his tongue as she sucked in into her mouth.

“Inside me, Harry, now, please,” she said, her eyes begging to make her feel that way again.

He nodded, slightly dazed. Giving his head a small shake, he placed his palm to her lower abdomen and concentrated until a faint glow came and went.

“Hermione, you're a… You haven't…” he stammered.

“No, I haven't, Harry,” she answered. “I've been waiting,” she added almost bashfully.

“For this?” he asked, meaning the situation that led them to where they were now.

“For you,” she said, blushing faintly and he couldn't help but kiss her while his heart swelled with love at her words. She looked so cute when she blushed.

“And you're sure?” He wouldn't be able to live with himself if she regretted this tomorrow.

“More than anything, Harry,” she told him, angling her hips toward him.

He pressed the tip of his member to her entrance and, giving her a gentle kiss full of promise, pushed slowly into her. He could feel her tight warmth stretching to his girth, pressing around him, and thought he'd come right then and there from the sensation.

When he was fully sheathed inside her, he held still, both to calm himself and to let her adjust to his size.

“Harry,” she said after a moment, “you can move now,” while rocking her hips to his.

Slowly, to not cause her any pain, he pulled out and pushed back in, just as slowly, and the two of them groaned in unison. He repeated his motion, sliding in easier with each thrust.

They feel into a rhythm; the gentle, slow rhythm of new lovers experiencing the union of man and woman for the first time. Soon, though, their pace increased as their pleasure mounted and their groans became louder and punctuated with cries of ecstasy.

“Sweet Merlin, Harry, yes,” she panted in his ear, her legs wrapping around his waist and he plunged deeper in her.

He moaned in response as she began to thrust a bit more forcefully and he met her. “Oh, Merlin, Hermione… I can't - I'm sorry.”

“Just let go, Harry,” she told him, cupping his face with her hands before returning to stroke his back.

And he did, pumping into her a few more times before allowing his orgasm to overtake him and spill into her. Her nails dug into his back as she cried out from her climax, falling over the edge with him.

He collapsed on her, careful not to smother her, and laid his head on her breast. The soft beat of her heart soothed him, and made him feel like he was in the safest place in the world.

Remembering who it was that initially needed the comfort, he rolled off to her side and pulled her close to him, his chest becoming her pillow. He hoped she would find the same comfort in that position that he had.

After a few more moments of silence, when their heart rates had returned to normal, he spoke what had been running through his mind since he found her that morning. “Why were you doing that, Hermione?” he asked.

“It hurts, Harry,” she whispered with a small sob. “Too much sometimes I can't help it.”

He looked at her, concern shining in his eyes and thought his chest would burst with love for her. “Does it hurt here, Hermione?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on her bare chest above her heart.

She nodded meekly.

“Why does it hurt there so much that you want to cut?”

It took her a moment to answer, and when she did, he had to lean in to hear her quiet words. “Because I'm ashamed,” she said gazing down across the room, tears still leaking from her honey colored eyes.

He looked at her still, now struggling tears of his own as and he tightened his arms around her. That this beautiful woman before him could feel ashamed of all things nearly tore him in two. And in the pit of his stomach, he thought he had something to do with it. He wanted to ask why she felt ashamed, but knew he needn't. She'd continue in her own time.

“I'm ashamed I couldn't do better,” she said at last.

“Do better when?” he said confused. “In the Department of Mysteries? Hermione, sweetie, that was years ago. I should've listened to you that it was a trap.”

She shook her head stubbornly, tears falling once more. “No, Harry, I fell in battle. I should've…blocked it, moved, anything to not get hit.”

“Hermione,” he whispered desperately. “We still don't know what that bastard hit you with. Who knows what would have happened if he'd actually spoken the curse, and we don't know if you could use a shield charm on it.” He paused to stroke her face gently with his fingertips. “It wasn't your fault, 'Mione. I'm just so thankful you made it through that horrible night, that nothing…that you weren't lost…like Sirius.”

“Harry, please stop beating yourself up over that,” she said softly. “Sirius knew the dangers when he went to the Department of Mysteries.” She hesitated a moment. “And, like Dumbledore told you, he went down in a fight, like he would have wanted to go.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but this is about you, not me. Why else do you feel ashamed?” He knew just the incident at the Ministry in fifth year wouldn't elicit such a reaction from her; and the silence she gave him and her averted look confirmed it. “Hermione, sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything.”

After another moment, she muttered, “Sixth year,” in answer to his question.

“Sixth year?” he repeated. “What about it, honey?”

“I wasn't there for you, at all, all year,” she told him. He opened his mouth, but she continued, “Not as I should have been, not like I was every other year. I was just…so wrapped up in my own thing.”

“Why?” he questioned. Knowing this girl, woman, for nearly a decade had taught him she didn't do things without good reason.

“I wanted distance between us…because I was afraid.”

He looked at her curiously. “Afraid of what, Hermione?” he asked slowly. “Surely not Voldemort, you made that quite clear.”

“No, not Voldemort, Harry, of - of losing you.”

“Losing me? Sweetie, you'll never lose me, I'll never leave you. I'll always be your best friend,” he said softly in her ear.

“I know you'd never leave me, Harry,” she said softly, then added in a normal voice that almost had him laughing, “and quite frankly, I wouldn't let you. I was afraid of him taking you from me, afraid of how much it would hurt me.”

“What do you mean, Hermione?” he asked looking puzzled. “What do you think Voldemort killing me would do to you?”

“Oh, Harry, if killed you, I'd simply die!” she exclaimed near hysterics and sitting up to look at him. “I wouldn't want to live without you in my life! It scared me how much I cared for you,” she finished softly.

His head was spinning. Does that mean…she loves me? “And Ron?” he croaked out.

“Ron I would cry and hurt over his death, but it would be nothing compared to how I'd hurt over your death, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes shining with truth.

He swallowed, his breathing was quick and shallow, he had to be sure. “What are you saying, Hermione?” he asked deliberately.

Her brow was furrowed when she met his eyes. “I'm - I'm in love with you, Harry,” she answered softly, sincerely.

The air in his lungs left in a rush as he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Oh, Hermione,” he whispered, hugging her close to him, “I love you, too, sweetie. So much and for so long.”

“Harry, don't lie to me,” she said in a quiet, strained voice.

“I'm not, honey, I'm not,” he told her. “I'd never lie to you like this.” He tipped her chin with his finger until her eye met his. “I love you,” he said slowly. “I'm completely and utterly in love with you.”

“Since when?” her eyes asked.

“Since forever, it seems,” he answered.

A smile was her reply and he pulled her in for a kiss. “You're so much prettier when you smile,” he said.

“I love you,” she replies. He'll never tire of hearing it.

“I love you, too.” Or saying it. “No more hurting yourself.” It's meant as a statement, but they both know it's a question, a plea. His emerald eyes are serious and fearful as they look into hers.

“Not with you by my side.” And her chocolate gaze held the promise of her words.

He smiles and pulls her close, snuggling into the bed and falling asleep, happy and content in their new found love for each other.

*~*~*

A/N: Okay, let me clarify: NO ONE CUT OR OTHERWISE INJURED THEMSELVES PRIOR TO THE CREATION OF THIS FIC. Basically, I was feeling sad and such and my best friend Jonathan made me feel better in a way similar to this.

And I know, the end kinda sucks and the story line is pretty depressing and I'm sure you all laughed at the title, but I just needed to get this out and finish it and I could not think of a name for the life of me. Anyway, if you want to leave a comment, go for it. If not, I'll live know you read it at least.

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