Not a Sister

Bingblot

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 20/11/2005
Last Updated: 20/11/2005
Status: completed

Hermione takes matters into her own hands and shows Harry, once and for all, that she's NOT his sister. One-shot SWS.

Chapters

1. Not a Sister; Not a Sister- Redux

1. Not a Sister; Not a Sister- Redux

Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR, no money is being made, etc etc.

Author’s Note: Inspired by, and written for tome_raider, who made the comment that Hermione should just pull Harry into the nearest broom closet and snog him senseless to make him stop thinking of her as a sister.

A two-part fic, posted together.

Not A Sister

“Pssst. Harry! In here!”

Harry started and turned around to see Hermione’s face peeking out at him behind the door to what he was pretty sure was just a broom closet. “Hermione! What- where--” he began, only to find his words cut off as Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him inside with her, shutting the door.

It was a broom closet. A small one. He could smell some sort of cleaning soap and felt a broom leaning against the wall.

It was also pitch-black with the door closed. He couldn’t see but soon, it seemed his other senses were sharpened so he could smell the faint scent of Hermione’s soap and her shampoo mingled together, hear the sound of her breath, feel the warmth from her body standing less than a foot away from him as she was.

“Hermione- what-” he opened his mouth to ask what in the name of Merlin they were doing in here when she cut him off again.

“Sssh. Don’t talk.”

He closed his mouth. “Uh, ok.”

And then in the next moment, if he could have, he would have leaped backwards—better yet, just run, as fast and as far away as he could.

He was aware that she had moved closer to him; the heat from her body was practically burning him now. She was so close, too close, much too close for comfort—or his breathing and his heartbeat, for that matter. He opened his mouth to ask what she was about but before he could, her lips were on his.

He stiffened in shock as his head jerked backwards only to hit the stone wall. But he didn’t even have a chance to wince because her hands came up to frame his face, holding him there as she kissed him, her lips pressed against his.

His hands came up to her shoulders meaning to push her away but he didn’t; it seemed he’d lost control of what his hands did because they didn’t push her away, just rested lightly on her shoulders.

And all the while, the kiss went on… And on and on…

Great Merlin, this couldn’t be happening. Nononononono,thiscouldn’tbehappening. Hermione couldn’t be kissing him; she couldn’t be but she was and dear Merlin but why did it feel so good… It shouldn’t feel so good; this was wrong; she was his best friend, like a sister to him and- and- and—

He lost his train of thought entirely as he felt her lips soften and then part and then he jumped slightly as he felt her tongue touch his lips.

His mouth opened automatically, his eyes falling shut as his fingers closed on her shoulders, holding her against him—and he forgot what he was doing, forgot where they were, forgot that this was Hermione and she was like a sister to him and he really should not be doing this and kissing her back… But—but—she tasted so good and felt so good against him and this felt so- felt so—right, somehow, more right than anything he had ever felt…

It might have been months—years—for all he knew, before she finally ended the kiss, slowly, just moving her head slightly while her body remained, keeping him pressed against the wall.

Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes and wished, frantically, that he could see her, see her eyes so he could try to understand what had just happened. His trousers felt tighter than they had been and he felt himself blush as he knew that she could feel the hardness of him against her, standing as close as she was.

“Hermione, I…” He began and then trailed off, realizing he hadn’t the slightest clue what he wanted to say. Or he knew what he wanted to say— “wow” or “can we do that again?” or “that was—nice” or something equally inane—but there was no way he was actually going to say that…

“Sssh.” And then she kissed him again, on the mouth, shutting him up—and shutting off his brain—quite effectively.

The next minute he nearly died—or something—as he felt her hand skim down his chest and stomach in what could only be called a light caress, pausing very briefly at the bulge in his trousers.

He sucked in a strangled breath and sensed, rather than saw, her smile—and realized he knew her well enough that he could even picture the exact way her lips would be curving, the expression in her eyes and on her face, the teasing triumph.

She kissed him again, deliberately, her tongue deliberately, tantalizingly rubbing against his lips and his own tongue, before she stopped and stepped away.

And before he found his wits again enough to open his mouth and say her name, she opened the door of the broom closet and left.

Leaving him to stare at the open door in shock—and the certainty that, whatever else happened, he would never, ever be able to think of Hermione like a sister again. He doubted he’d ever be able to look at her again without remembering the taste of her, the feel of her lips against his—and wondering when he’d next be able to kiss her…

He pushed himself away from the wall and left the closet in a hurry, his mind made up—not that there had been that much to think about.

She couldn’t have gone far—and he had a feeling that he and Hermione were going to be getting to know the broom closets in Hogwarts very well in the future…

~*~

A/N 2: Written for junesrose, who asked for a continuation of ‘Not a Sister’. Enjoy the smut!

Not a Sister- Redux

He found her in the library- as he’d been expecting.

And even though he knew she could only have been in the library reading for about a minute, she looked perfectly calm and composed—maddeningly, annoyingly, frustratingly so.

He didn’t even bother greeting her when she looked up at him, with an innocent smile as if nothing had happened—as if she hadn’t just kissed him senseless-- although he could see a teasing glint in her eye and her lips were swollen slightly from their kiss. He just grabbed her wrist unceremoniously, saying “Come here,” curtly, and then half-pulled her along out of the library and into the nearest empty room he could find.

Once inside the room and the door was shut and locked, he turned to look at her.

She gave him a questioning look. “Harry, you look a little flushed. Are you feeling okay?”

She was evil. Why had he never known how evil she could be?

He slanted a meaningful look that was almost a glare at her and she smiled, even as the rising blush on her cheeks gave her away.

He moved to narrow the distance between them until he was standing just in front of her, and just stared at her for a moment, his thoughts whirling.

This was Hermione—and up until a few minutes ago, he’d thought she was just his best friend, like a sister to him—until she’d pulled him into that broom-closet (his new favorite place in Hogwarts, he decided) and snogged him until he’d been hard-pressed to remember what his own name was, let alone the reasons why he maybe shouldn’t be kissing her…

She looked the same as she always had, barring the color in her cheeks—and yet, different too. And he wondered why he’d never really noticed how, well, kissable her lips were, the way her eyes weren’t just brown but a variety of shades ranging from hazel to chocolate to amber…

“Well…” she finally broke the silence softly. “What are you waiting for?”

She had been the one to take initiative and kiss him the last time; it was his turn now…

He didn’t need another invitation.

He flattened himself against her, his arms closing around her, his lips at first teasing her by feathering kisses over her face, her eyebrows, her eyelids, her cheeks, the hollow before her ear, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth but deliberately avoiding kissing her full on the mouth until she let out her breath in something that was half-gasp and half-laugh, her fingers tangling in his hair and bringing his mouth to hers.

He would have grinned but his lips were otherwise occupied, his tongue tracing the rim of her lips and then her teeth before sliding inside her mouth to rub against her tongue.

His hands were happily wandering over the length of her back and down to cup her butt and bring her body arching against his, before pulling her shirt out of the waist of her skirt and flattening against the smooth bare skin of her back.

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, arching even closer to him although a moment ago he would have sworn that it wasn’t possible.

Her body nudged his hardness and he broke the kiss to moan involuntarily.

His hands had been idly caressing the soft skin of her back (dear Merlin, why had he never suspected how soft and smooth her skin was- and how good it would feel to touch her like this?)

She brought his head back down to kiss him again, her tongue engaging in a playful—and incredibly arousing-- duel with his own, and then he could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment as he felt her warm hand down there where all the blood in his body was pooling.

“Oh God” burst in a strangled groan from his throat—but it wasn’t over because then she had undone the button of his trousers and unzipped them and slid her hand inside his boxers to wrap her hand around his hardness.

Why he didn’t just burst into flame right then and there was a mystery he never quite figured out but at the moment he didn’t have any coherent thought left to wonder over that.

His hands stilled on her body and his eyes closed, his jaw clenched involuntarily.

Oh God… He’d died, he decided, he’d died and gone to heaven; there was no way that Hermione, his best friend, his most-definitely-not-a-sister, could be standing here with him, touching him like this…

He grabbed her wrist, opening his eyes to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before—and he really felt as if he hadn’t. He’d thought he knew her—but this was a side of her he’d never seen, a side of her he’d never even dreamed of… Her lips were swollen from his kiss, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming quickly—and there was a sort of smile, a gleam, in her eyes, that he’d never seen before… So familiar—so dear—and yet so new too…

She was beautiful like this…

And with a groan, he covered her mouth with his again, his fingers, clumsy with haste and with lust to say nothing of inexperience, undoing the fastening of her skirt, pushing it down along with her knickers.

His heart was pounding so fast he was amazed it didn’t simply pound its way out of his body as one hand slid between her legs to cup the wet heat of her. She squirmed slightly and moaned against his lips, pressing herself closer to him and he nearly exploded, promptly giving up any vague idea that maybe they should wait, maybe they shouldn’t be doing this here, in a classroom of all places, for the first time…

And he forgot that he’d never done this before, forgot to feel unsure of himself and what he was doing as he might have expected if he’d been capable of rational thought, forgot everything except the heat of Hermione, the wetness of her, how closely she was pressed against him, the sound of her panting breath in his ear, the sound of the soft moans of pleasure she made, the way her hands clutched at him, holding him closer, encouraging him even if he’d had the ability to stop at that moment…

He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her deeply, in a kiss that seemed to go on forever, while she shifted, moved her body somehow, so that the tip of him slid into the tight hotness of her body. How he kept from plunging into her, he never quite knew, but somehow, in some tiny portion of his mind, he retained some thought that this might hurt her; she was so tight…

Her hands moved to his hips as she welcomed him, allowing him further inside her, even as she stifled a cry against his shoulder and he felt her nails suddenly dig into his arse.

He froze, buried inside her as he was, the sound of her soft cry of surprise and pain breaking through the fog of mindless lust. “Are you okay?” he managed to croak out, lifting his head to look at her.

She met his eyes bravely, despite the sheen of tears in her eyes, and even managed a wavering smile. And her answer wasn’t in words but in her actions as she kissed him again, her tongue thrusting inside his mouth and one of her legs wrapping around one of his, urging him in deeper, telling him silently he could continue.

He knew a surge of emotion that could only be called tenderness before he began to move, instinct and sheer lust taking the place of knowledge, as his hips settled into a rhythm, unconsciously echoing the thrust of his tongue inside her mouth.

It seemed like both no time at all and an eternity before her muscles clenched even tighter around him, her hands clutching him convulsively as a sound, half-cry, half-scream, tore from her throat—and he followed her, exploding inside her with a groan that was meant to have been her name but all that came out was an indecipherable sound.

His legs lost their ability to keep him upright and he felt himself sink to the floor bringing her down on top of him where they lay.

He had no idea how much time passed before he finally grew aware of both the cold hardness of the floor underneath him, the fact that his trousers and boxers were down around his ankles and effectively imprisoning his legs—and that he had just shagged Hermione for the first time in an empty classroom.

He tightened his arm around her and she moved her head from where it had been resting on his shoulder to look at him.

He was suddenly, oddly, very aware that they were still half-clothed even though he was still half inside her.

Their eyes met and held—he held his breath, not sure what he was hoping to see in her eyes or what she would see in his, suddenly wondering what had just happened between them, why it had happened, but also knowing that no matter the reason, he’d never be able to think of Hermione in anything approaching a platonic fashion again.

Finally the silence stretched out too long and he had to speak, say something, anything. “Hermione, I…” he began but she cut him off with a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

She pulled back and finally said, very softly in a tone that somehow conveyed absolute certainty, “I love you.”

And he could tell that she was saying it without the smallest expectation of a response. Somehow, he knew it; she wasn’t waiting for him to say it back to her; she had simply said the words to answer his unspoken question of, why. Why, after so many years of purely platonic friendship, had she pulled him into that broom closet what was really only minutes ago but might as well have been months ago for how long ago it felt like and kissed him and touched him… Why had she responded to his kissing her again, indeed, done everything she could to encourage him, to make what had just happened between them inevitable…

Because she loved him. Because she wanted him to know that someone loved him, would do anything for him and would never leave him, no matter what happened.

And he—he didn’t know…

Did he love her in that same way? Did he?

Yes.

He knew it suddenly as he stared at her—and, after the first moment, he didn’t even feel surprise. Of course he loved her… No wonder it had felt so right, somehow, to kiss her, to touch her—even if he could have sworn he’d never thought of her in that way before…

“I- I love you,” he blurted out—and he couldn’t quite keep the note of surprise out of his tone as he said the words.

She caught her breath, her eyes widening as she searched his eyes for the truth of what he’d just said.

And the only thing, in after thought, that he could think to compare that moment to was a sunrise, a brilliant one, that began in her eyes and spread to her face as she smiled a smile that spoke of so much love and happiness, he caught his breath in turn.

She kissed him again—and he knew that, at that moment, he was completely happy…

~The End~