Out of Control

Author's Note

Just one of those “moments” that popped into my head and refused to go away until I wrote it down. Really just pointless pumpkiny fluff - but hopefully sweet and funny enough to put a smile on your dial!

Janie xoxo (*Waves to the wonderful Kirsti*)

Also, a special hello to two reviewers who can “talk” as much as me (and that's saying something!) and I love it! Hi Tim and Gaby! Hope you get around to reading this and have a laugh. Janie xoxo

OUT OF CONTROL

By JanieB

`Self-control, Harry, is very important.'

Harry looked across the table at his favourite female - his best friend, Hermione Granger, and smiled.

`Self-control, eh? Are you referring to the fact that I am not currently employing self-control because I'm having a few more drinks than I should?'

Hermione resisted the temptation to roll her eyes and instead tried to look patient and understanding.

`Harry, there must be something bothering you if you're so intent on getting smashed.'

Harry laughed. If only you knew, woman, if only you knew!

`Harry, listen -'

`Nope! Don't wanna listen. Let's dance.'

Harry suddenly stood up, his chair almost falling backwards. He held his hand out to Hermione who looked scandalised.

`Harry!' she hissed, glancing left and right. `I am not going to dance with you! You are drunk!'

`Pissed, actually,' said Harry amiably.

`Harry!' Hermione frantically gestured for him to sit down.

`Better dance with me, Hermione or I'll have to do it by myself!'

This time she didn't resist the urge to roll her eyes - on top of which she not only gave Harry a look of disgust, she “tched” very loudly and disapprovingly as well.

`All right,' she said ungraciously as she stood up, holding out her hand, even now unable to say no to him. Of course, she told herself that it was only so he wouldn't make a scene.

Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her to his side, putting his arm around her waist and smiling down at her.

`You smell like an old bottle of Butterbeer,' she told him scathingly.

`You smell delicious,' he told her.

`What did you say?'

They'd reached the dance floor that the Burning Broomstick put in place in their central courtyard each Friday and Saturday night; the Burning Broomstick was a wizard pub that served cheap, but good, food and had great music on Fridays and Saturdays. Harry and Hermione, who were sharing a flat in London with the other member of the infamous trio, Ron, had decided to go out for tea as neither of them felt like cooking and Ron was away with his girlfriend, Luna Lovegood. It was late May, summer was just around the corner and seemed eager to make an appearance; it was a lovely warm night and while Hermione had devoured her meal, Harry had pushed his food around on his plate, hardly touching it, preferring instead to drink bottle after bottle of Butterbeer laced with Ogden's - although Hermione didn't know this.

Harry, holding Hermione in the traditional dance hold, dipped her slightly backwards, smiling down at her as he repeated his words.

`I said that you, Hermione Granger, smell delicious.'

Hermione pulled herself upright. `Harry, really!'

`Really what?' he asked, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel the warmth of his breath. She shivered involuntarily.

`You are being really naughty, Harry, that's what! You shouldn't drink so much.'

Naughty? Oh, Hermione, you would be shocked to the soles of your sensible shoes if you knew how naughty I'd like to be…

`A little of what's bad for you is occasionally good for you,' quipped Harry, burying his face in Hermione's wild, fragrant mane.

`Harry, you're smelling my hair again, aren't you?'

`Mmmmm…smells as good as always.'

`Look, I think we should go home.'

Yes please, Hermione. Take me home. Take me. I'm yours.

`Harry?'

`Hmmm?'

`We should go home.'

`To bed.”

`What did you say?'

Harry's head left Hermione's hair and he look wildly around. `Say? Did I say something?'

`Harry James Potter!'

`S'me.'

`You are being - being - lascivious!'

`Is that good?'

`Harry!'

`What?'

`You are drunk!' she repeated, the words an accusation.

`So punish me.'

Hermione gasped. What on earth had gotten into Harry? He'd never been this drunk or this cheeky that she could recall. Or this unmanageable.

`You will suffer tomorrow - that'll be punishment enough,' she told him tartly.

`I want to suffer tonight. Delicious Hermione.' He was once more burying his face in her hair as they swayed on the dance floor.

`Harry, you've lost control of your senses. You are obviously not responsible for your actions. Or your words for that matter.'

Oh, Hermione. If only you knew, if only I could tell you. How much. How very, very much…

`I like dancing with you, Hermione.'

`You hate dancing, Harry.'

`Not with you. I hope this song never ends.'

`Thankfully, it will.'

Harry pulled Hermione tightly to him, the Ogden's laced Butterbeer making him feel reckless.

`Harry! What are you doing?' Hermione squirmed, which Harry found to be quite a delightful side effect.

`Dancing with you.'

`You're crushing me, Harry - let go a little for heaven's sake!'

`But you feel so nice.'

`Harry!'

`Hermione?'

Harry refused to loosen his grip and Hermione resigned herself to the inevitable, knowing she was no match for his strength - or drunken stubbornness. Nor would she dwell on how good it felt being pressed up against Harry.

`You are being quite objectionable, Harry.' Hermione told him. `And what is it you think you're doing now? Harry!'

Harry had released his tight grip and grasped both of Hermione's wrists, pulling them up and around his neck, obviously wanting her to clasp her hands behind his head; his hands slid down her arms and sides to her waist, then he wrapped them around her and pulled her to him once more, his cheek resting against her temple.

Hermione was speechless for a moment. But only for a moment, before, `Harry, I think you're having delusions. You think I'm someone else, some girlfriend of yours, don't you?'

She felt him shake his head and was suddenly afraid to say any more. She told herself Harry was drunk and that he didn't really know what he was saying or doing. Then she felt his head turn and the next instant Harry's lips were pressed against her temple. Hermione was far too shocked to say a word and decided the best course was to ignore it. It had to be a result of all that Butterbeer. But then he did it again. Now the only course was to ignore it. That's if she wanted to maintain any semblance of self-control. Which of course she did.

They continued to sway in time with the music, Hermione, in nervous desperation, wishing for the song to finish, Harry just as desperately wanting it to go on and on.

When it did finally end, Hermione thought for a moment that Harry wasn't going to relinquish his hold on her but he did - reluctantly - and followed her meekly back to their table where he caught the eye of the barman and indicated he'd like another drink.

`Don't you think you've had enough?' asked Hermione, trying to glare at him, but failing. She wasn't truly angry with him. She never was. But she was worried about him.

`Last one,' said Harry, giving her a lopsided grin which Hermione couldn't help but return; Harry could always make her smile.

On impulse, when Harry's drink arrived, Hermione asked for a glass of wine, causing Harry to raise a quizzical eyebrow at her.

Hermione shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. `One glass won't hurt - I've only been drinking gillywater all night.'

More's the pity, thought Harry.

When Hermione's glass of wine was put before her, Harry lifted his Butterbeer towards her.

`A toast! To my favourite lady.'

Hermione delicately arched one eyebrow. `Me? No girlfriend at the moment, then?'

`Don't want one.'

`Turned over a new leaf, then?' Harry, since leaving Hogwarts, had had a continuous stream of girlfriends - none of them lasting very long.

Hermione suddenly found herself staring into Harry's intense, green eyes and saw something unreadable in their familiar depths.

`I was just trying to find a replacement.'

Hermione frowned. `Replacement? For what?'

Harry shrugged, grinning at her. `Never mind. Your turn to toast.'

Ignoring Harry's comment, Hermione leant forward. `I think perhaps we're getting to the root of your problem Harry and why you're overindulging this evening. Girl problems?'

Harry groaned inwardly. He knew only too well that Hermione, once she sank her teeth into a problem, wouldn't let go.

`Yeah, girl problems. Problem. Singular. One girl. Nothing anyone can do. I'd rather not talk about it. Now, your turn to toast.'

As though Harry hadn't spoken, Hermione, her brow furrowed in thought, continued.

`Harry -' but before she could utter another word, Harry stood up, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

`We're dancing again. I am not discussing any girl or problem.' His tone brooked no refusal and Hermione, her mind still feverishly going over Harry's words, followed him.

`One girl, one problem?' she murmured as Harry pulled her into his arms on the dance floor.

`Hermione, drop it. Please.' He couldn't trust himself on this subject in his current condition.

`But -'

`I know you want to help and that you mean well - but believe me, there's nothing you or anyone else can do. I really don't want to talk about it.' And if you say another word about it I'll kiss you to shut you up, he thought vexedly. Then thought about how nice it would be to kiss Hermione.

When Hermione maintained a dignified, if slightly indignant silence, Harry found he was a little disappointed.

Despite what he'd said earlier, when the dance finished, Harry ordered another drink.

When he'd downed half of it, Hermione, still with the same glass of wine in front of her, leant over and placed her hand on Harry's. `Please Harry, let me take you home.'

Hermione's voice was soft and pleading and Harry, feeling very light headed, smiled and nodded, giving in to her, as he always did eventually.

`Good idea, Hermione. Take me.'

`Home, Harry. I'm taking you home.'

Take me anywhere you like, Hermione.

And here they were, home. The familiar surroundings of the living room of their flat coming into focus after they Apparated.

Harry had one arm slung across Hermione's slight shoulders, his other pushing through his unruly locks. He was wearing his favourite old blue jeans with a crisply ironed (thanks to Hermione), white linen printed shirt. Hermione was wearing one of what Harry thought of as “Hermione's Uniforms”. She had a uniform for every occasion. Tonight it was the “casual night out with friends” uniform - black, flared jeans with a snug fitting aqua t-shirt that still managed to scream “demure” only because it was adorning Hermione.

Without dropping his arm, Harry smiled down at Hermione, wishing he could unearth the courage to kiss her. But she was so self-possessed and self-controlled and proper he didn't think he could ever make an impression on her. Even Ron had given up on her. `She's not giving out, mate. I need to move on,' he'd told Harry back in their seventh year. Harry had wondered exactly what it was Hermione wasn't giving out, but was afraid to discuss such things with one friend about the other; it just didn't seem right.

`Come on,' said Hermione, taking his hand and tugging, `I'll make some coffee.'

`Don't bother - come and sit down.' Harry waved his hand and two steaming cups of coffee appeared on, appropriately, the coffee table in front to the couch.

Hermione sighed as she dropped Harry's hand and sat herself primly at one end of the couch, her legs characteristically tucked up under her. `Harry, you shouldn't do that when you're drunk - you might make a mistake.'

`Like what?' Like kissing you. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He wondered idly if she'd hex him if he actually did kiss her…

Harry sat down next to Hermione and she wriggled back a little, coming up against the arm of the couch.

He was too close. Why? She felt inexplicably nervous all of a sudden. Harry was staring at her. His left arm was draped along the back of the couch - right behind her. She could see the suggestion of a five-o'clock shadow along his jaw and shocked herself when she wondered how it would feel if she ran her fingers over it - and how that roughness would feel against the softness of her skin. Her composure was completely shot when her eyes drifted downwards and were caught by the sight of Harry's chest - the second button on his shirt had come undone and she found herself staring at the smooth hardness revealed, peppered with dark hair.

Her eyes shot back up to meet Harry's, hers wide and unblinking with bewilderment at the sudden intrusion of thoughts about Harry that simply had no business being in her head. She gasped as she met his gaze. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. The look of longing - of lust!

`Harry?' It came out as nothing more than a frightened whisper.

Harry leaned closer. `I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you. I just want to kiss you…just once…please…' his voice was low, warm and husky and sent white hot rivulets of some unnamed emotion to every extremity of Hermione's body.

She hardly had time to register this when Harry's arm dropped from the back of the couch to encircle her shoulders, pulling her closer to him, his other hand sliding into her hair and around her neck. Hermione instinctively put her hands on Harry's chest but once again she was no match for his strength. And now her heart was racing painfully, her lungs didn't seem to be working - she couldn't breathe properly - and Harry was so close and he smelt so good - even the Butterbeer on his breath - and then his lips were on hers, softly at first, quickly becoming firmer, and more demanding.

Hermione's fingers curled into fists where they rested against Harry's chest. She felt as though a burst of intense electricity had exploded inside her, reaching every molecule of her being. It seemed to momentarily burn away all her inhibitions and she pushed her hands up between them, entwining them around Harry's neck as she moaned uncontrollably, opening her mouth and pressing her tongue against his lips. Then it was Harry's turn to groan as devoured her mouth.

Suddenly, as though ice cold water had just been poured over her, Hermione pulled back, gasping, staring at Harry, not sure whether she was more horrified or shocked. She let go of Harry's neck, her hands flying to her own face. `Oh my God!' she whispered. She couldn't believe herself.

`Hermione -' Harry's voice was a hoarse croak, his hands moving to grip her upper arms sensing she would try to escape and he couldn't allow that.

`No! Harry, no! This is - is - lunacy! I don't - you can't - we never - '

Harry didn't argue. He just kissed her again, pulling her to him, Hermione's hands instinctively moving to cup Harry's face as she found herself once more drowning in the most pleasurable feelings she'd ever experienced. This time it was Harry's tongue that demanded entrance, Hermione who willingly gave it. One part of her mind was numb with shock - but the other part didn't care; it just wanted this to last forever.

As they parted once more, they both looked at each other, dazed. Harry couldn't believe his luck - Hermione just couldn't believe it.

The first cups of coffee Harry had conjured grew cold as they talked - consequent ones being drunk as they talked through most of the night.

It transpired that Hermione didn't “give out” when it came to Ron because, well, she just didn't feel like that with Ron - the way Harry had made her feel. `I wondered why I never saw you two snogging,' he remarked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. `We tried, but, well, definitely no fireworks. Not for me, at any rate. I think Ron would've snogged anything in a skirt, starting with Lavender.' She gave him a measured glance. `You, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any problems snogging Ginny wherever and whenever you were.'

Harry shrugged, smiling. `What can I say? I was sixteen. She was pretty. And she liked me. It was exciting and flattering at the time. We didn't last as long as you and Ron.'

`So, all those girlfriends - because of me?'

Harry ran his fingers through his hair.

`Basically. Any port in a storm. But you! Only one other boyfriend since Hogwarts!'

Hermione smiled, colour rising in her cheeks.

`I thought it was something with me, you know - that I didn't really enjoy kissing or -' she shivered - `or anything else.' She glanced up at him, her eyes shining. `Now I know it's a matter of who you're kissing or -' she didn't finish.

Harry leaned down and gave her a light kiss. `From now on, you're going to always enjoy kissing - and anything else.' Harry gave her a wicked grin, making her blush.

`Harry!'

He began to nuzzle her neck, a muffled, `What?' barely audible.

Hermione sighed happily, her eyes closing as she tilted her head - all the better for Harry to reach every bit of soft, responsive skin. `Nothing.'

`Nothing is good. Hermione?' From just beneath her ear.

`Mmmm?'

`I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you to bed.' From the side of her neck.

`Oh?'

`And make love to you.' From the hollow behind her collar bone.

`Oh!'

`Is that “oh yes” or “oh no”?' From her cheek.

Hermione took a deep breath. She wondered how long she'd actually wanted Harry and managed to ignore it. Right now that didn't really matter, though, she supposed. The corners of her mouth curved up slowly.

`Oh yes. Please.'

`Now?' From the corner of her mouth.

She couldn't answer, at least not with words. Because he was kissing her again. But every second of that kiss screamed “yes”. And because he still disliked Apparating and because they were really in no condition to walk and they didn't want to waste a second, the first time they made love was on that couch in front of the fireplace. But of course it wasn't the last. *She wrote, grinning*

Merry Christmas!

FINIS

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