Years and Minutes

simons_flower

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 08/01/2006
Last Updated: 08/01/2006
Status: completed

Five years have passed since Harry and Hermione have spent time alone together, yet every hour they're together is torture for Harry.

Chapters

1. Years and Minutes

1. Years and Minutes

Years and Minutes

He was nervous. There were few things that could make Harry Potter nervous, but not having seen one of his two best friends for two years made him nervous. Add to that the fact he’d only seen her at Christmas for the three years before that and the tension inside him coiled tighter.

He told himself he was a fool for being such a wreck at her arrival, but the self-admonitions did nothing to ease the nervous tension in him, nor the guilt.

All because he’d wanted her desperately for five years.

Given his job as an Unspeakable, he’d not been able to see his friends as often as he’d liked in the last five years. This year, for the first time in far too long, all three of them were in the country on Christmas Eve. Ron, however, had to send his regrets at the last minute: his wife Susan had gone into labor.

Ron assured him he should go ahead with his dinner with Hermione then come to the hospital. Harry readily agreed but only because the idea of having her all to himself was the masochistic torture Ron often accused him of indulging in. He also suspected Ron knew of his unrequited desire for their friend, recognizing the signs from his own suffering in school.

Just as he lit the last candle, the doorbell rang. It made Harry smile–trust Hermione to do something so very Muggle.

He opened the door and felt as if he’d been punched in the gut by a velvet fist.

He’d thought her attractive before but now, after three years without seeing her, she was simply stunning. Her figure had finally finished filling out, leaving her slender but wide-hipped. Her breasts weren’t large but were proportioned to her frame, enticing him even before he’d gotten a good look at them. She’d pulled her hair up into a loose bun with more tendrils escaping than captive.

Harry felt his mouth go dry.

Hermione smiled. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Oh, um, yes, of course,” Harry stuttered.

Hermione’s smile widened. “You have to move out of the doorway, Harry.”

Harry knew he was acting like an idiot–and the blush rising on his cheeks just reinforced it. He moved to the side, allowing her entry. When she shrugged out of her coat and handed it to him, that velvet fist twisted his insides. The red silk dress she wore in honor of the holiday wrapped her figure. His fingers itched to pull it off her.

Hermione shook her coat. “Are you going to be a gentleman or stand there like a horny teenager?”

Harry smiled, taking her coat. “Can I do both?”

She laughed. The sound was torture to Harry. Welcome, but torture nonetheless. She moved into the living room, allowing him the opportunity to watch the way her hips swayed under the silk.

“Dinner smells good, Harry,” Hermione said over her shoulder. Before he could answer, she moved to the mantel to pull a picture frame down. Waving it, she exclaimed, “I didn’t know you got a picture of this!”

He swallowed hard, mustering the courage that seemed to have fled under the delight in her eyes. He crossed the room to her, trying to control himself and his trembling. He felt all of fourteen again and caught staring at Cho Chang. He had hated the sensation the first time but it was now ten times worse.

He reached Hermione’s side, intending to look over at the frame she was holding. Before he could, she turned her back to him and lowered the picture. To view it he had to lean over her shoulder.

The scent of vanilla drowned his senses as tendrils of updrawn hair tickled his cheek. He stifled a moan at the urge to lick her neck, to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well what?” he replied testily, hoping his voice wasn’t as gruff or as strained as it sounded to him.

“This picture,” she said, holding the frame higher once again. “How did you get it?”

When he was finally able to see the picture–only after reaching forward to grab her wrist, pulling her back against him in the process–he smiled. Amusement warred with arousal.

The picture was of the three of them–Harry, Hermione and Ron. Ron’s older brother Bill had made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch the morning after his wedding before leaving on his honeymoon, so Ron and Harry had taken it upon themselves to attempt every glamour and make-up charm they knew. Ron’s repertoire was larger, having dealt more closely with his sister Ginny than Harry had with any girl, but the two of them had managed to turn Bill’s hair a ghastly shade of puce plaid. It clashed with the Weasley red and with the freckles smattered across his nose.

The photographer–Harry thought it might have been Ron’s next oldest brother Charlie–had caught Ron and Harry conferring about their next charm and Hermione actually giggling–all just before Ron’s mother Molly and Bill’s new wife Fleur had caught them. It was one of the few times they’d been able to relax that horrible year.

“Ron gave it to me,” he said softly.

Taking a chance, he took a half-step closer to her. Had he not been intent on her, he would have missed her intake of breath that was nearly a gasp but more like a strangled sigh.

“How did Ron get it?” she asked, taking a step forward so she could turn to face him.

Her pupils were dilated, her mouth slightly open. As he watched, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. That velvet fist tugged all the strings that led straight to his groin.

He took the picture from her. Matching her step toward the fireplace, he was practically pressed shoulder to toe against her. Her breath feathered against his neck, making him bite his lip hard to stifle his reaction.

With deliberate sloth, he leaned forward slightly to put the picture back on the mantle.

His mouth near her ear, he finally answered, “I think Bill gave it to him.”

When he pulled back, her eyes were closed, her lower lip caught firmly in her teeth. Smiling with the knowledge she wasn’t immune to him–despite their friendship–he took several steps back out of her personal space.

“I hope you like pasta,” he said.

Her eyes fluttered open. She took a deep breath as if to steady herself, then said, “Yes, I do.”

He turned away before grinning. He headed into the kitchen, humming softly to himself. His amusement disintegrated when he reentered the dining room with the plates.

Hermione had seated herself at the table, facing the kitchen door, with her ankles delicately crossed. The position made her dress slide to mid-thigh, high enough that Harry wanted to bend his head to the side to find out just how far up that dress he could see. He silently cursed himself for the urge.

Swallowing hard, he worked up enough saliva to say, “Dinner’s ready.” He set the plates down, then pulled the bottle of wine from under his arm. “Would you like a glass?” She nodded. He poured them each a glass, then set the bottle on the table and took his own seat.

Dinner was both tense and exhilarating. They didn’t lack for subjects to discuss, but every laugh, every smile she gave him twisted his insides even more tightly. Passing plates was excruciating for him, the slight touch of hands sending shivers through his body straight to his cock. When she asked for another glass of wine, he was surprised he could stand given how hard he was.

He had just returned to his seat, his glass against his lips, when she asked the question that raised his hopes: “Are you seeing anyone?”

He leaned back in his chair, attempting to relax but feeling quite on edge. “No, not right now.”

“What about Olivia?” she asked, frowning.

That look, complete with the crease between her eyes, aroused him even further. It reminded him of their interactions as teenagers when she would become so bossy that he was tempted to have either Ron or himself snog her out of her snit.

He crossed his legs in an effort to hide his arousal.

“Her name was Ophelia–” he grinned when she rolled her eyes “–and she wanted Harry Potter more than she wanted me.”

Something he couldn’t identify flickered across her face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said softly, standing. The rustle of silk ate away at his fortitude.

When she covered the distance of the table to lay a hand on his cheek, he had to suck in a breath to hold onto some semblance of restraint. The fact she was so close, touching him, her vanilla scent teasing his nostrils was shredding his self-control. He dropped his leg so both feet were on the floor.

The movement drew her eyes downward.

He knew the moment she saw his arousal; her eyes widened, her breath caught and her traitorous tongue stole out once again to wet her lips.

Her thumb brushed against his cheekbone and his control broke.

He stood quickly, startling Hermione. To prevent her from stumbling backward, he wrapped an arm around her waist. She released her caught breath in a sharp gasp as his erection pressed against her stomach.

He met her eyes only long enough to verify she wouldn’t hex him. That done, he slid his free hand into her hair and tugged, sending it cascading down her back. Tangling his hand in the chestnut mass, he pulled her head back and bent his face to hers.

His kiss wasn’t gentle, wasn’t that of a friend trying something new. His kiss was possessive, capturing her mouth to control it. He demanded entrance to her mouth with his tongue and, with a gasp, she parted her lips.

A kittenish whimper escaped her at the touch of his tongue against hers–Harry didn’t even know Hermione could make those noises–as she moved a hand to his shoulder. He pulled her head further back, deepening the kiss, causing her fingers to dig into his shoulder.

As suddenly as he’d begun, Harry ended the kiss and stared down at Hermione.

“This is mutual, isn’t it?” he growled.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his briefly before a mischievous smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

“Very,” she moaned.

Harry flashed a feral grin, set her upright then turned to the table. With a combination of brute force and magical will, he sent the contents of the tabletop flying to the floor.

“Harry!” she exclaimed.

He turned back to her and lifted her high enough for her to automatically wrap her legs around his waist. His breath left in a pained gasp–feeling her rub against his erection was torture. Turning back to the table for the last time, he set her upon it.

“But Harry–”

He cut her off with a kiss, his hands pinning hers to the table. She squirmed underneath him. He attributed it to not allowing her to rant rather than arousal. That aside, the feeling of her under him was maddening.

He broke the kiss and lifted his head just enough to say, “We’ll use cleaning charms.” He silenced yet another of her protests with his mouth.

He could barely think straight, his blood rushing from his brain to his cock. His body was demanding now, now, now! Gathering both her hands into one of his, he pinned her arms above her head. He roamed down her chest with his now-free hand, cupping one of the breasts that had so maddened him earlier.

She moaned into his mouth again, arching upward into his hand when he pinched her hardening nipple. He reckoned it was just as well that he’d had no idea she was so responsive. Had he known, he would have been more than tempted to turn his fantasies to reality long before now.

Releasing her breast, he slide his hand further down. She no longer was making noises of protest. Instead, she was whimpering. A moan vibrated through her when he pressed the hell of his hand to the apex of her thighs. Tugging upward on her dress, he finally managed to ruck it up to her waist.

His mouth blazed a path over her jaw and down her neck, leaving a faint beard-burn behind from his stubble.

“Harry,” she gasped when his hand trailed up her inner thigh.

“Stop?” he asked, lifting his head.

“No!”

“Bossy.”

Her laugh was strangled by a moan as his fingers slid between her slick lower lips. Though he was startled she wasn’t wearing knickers, she was wet, so wet, that it added to his impatience. His body wanted her now, his mind wanted her now, but his stubbornness was testing his willpower. He didn’t want their first time to be rough and coarse.

“Fine,” she hissed, squirming in earnest now. Her thigh repeatedly brushed against his erection, tormenting him. “Now, Harry!”

The command in her words made him nip her collarbone. She moaned and arched her back, pressing herself tightly against him.

“Now?” he murmured, rubbing her clit gently.

She yanked one hand free from his grip, startling him. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulled his head upward and demanded, “Fuck me, now!”

Despite their position, her words startled him. She didn’t swear. In fact, she always roundly chastised Ron for using even mild epithets. Her words left Harry momentarily stunned.

She gave his hair a hard tug, pulling out a few strands. “Did you hear me?”

He jerked his head from her grasp. If she wanted to get fucked now, he’s do it. Pulling his hands free from her–and he could smell her on his fingers–he unfastened his trousers. Lowering them and his boxers simultaneously, he took his cock into his hand.

She saw and smiled. It wasn’t the smile of friendship they’d often shared, or the smile of accomplishment like when she’d helped him learn Accio. This was a feminine smile, one of knowledge and power and seduction.

It made her look absolutely wanton. It made him feel reckless.

He wondered briefly who had seduced whom this evening. Bur as he braced his left hand on the table next to her hip and used his right to guide his cock into her willing body, he decided it didn’t matter.

“Hermione,” he groaned, feeling her tighten around him.

“Harder!” she demanded. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He’d wanted to savor the moment he’d waited five years for, but she was making it impossible.

At her desperate urging, he drove into her hard enough to shove the table across the floor. With each trust it moved, stopping only when it hit the wall. Her heels dug into his arse, the points of her shoes causing pain. Her fingernails dug into his biceps.

He watched her face, watching as her breathing sped and her eyes dilated, watched as a sheen of exertion coated her face to curl the hair at the edges of her face.

Though part of him was still in shock–he’d wanted her but never expected to have her–the rest was mindless with desire. Slowly, as his attention became centered on her and his cock buried inside her, that shock dissipated, leaving behind the sense that he was one of the luckiest men around. It was a welcome change.

“Yes,” she hissed. Her hands scrabbled from his arms to his shoulders. The pain of her nails was welcome, increasing his arousal. “Oh, Harry....”

The sound of his name moaned from Hermione’s lips nearly sent him over the edge. He managed to hold off his climax by thinking of the time he’d walked in on Ron and Susan at the Burrow. He held off until she began spasming around him, clenching his cock with her tight sheath.

He groaned her name, gripped her hips and spilled deep inside her. He body was arched like a bow, her legs holding him in place until she’d ridden out her climax.

They slowly came back to themselves. He swallowed hard at her whimper when he pulled out of her. Embarrassment flooded Harry, making him blush.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” she asked. When her eyes opened, he was caught in the dark brown of them.

He waved a hand over them, acutely aware of his damp cock, which was once again hardening, and the way she was spread open before him atop the table.

“This,” he said feeling he was stating the obvious.

She laughed low. “The only thing you should apologize for is shoving dinner on the floor.”

“But...but...I took advantage–” he stammered.

She cut him off when her laugh became full-throated. “Oh, Harry, it was very mutual.” She reached up to pat his cheek. “I do usually wear knickers.”

Surprised rattled through him. He stepped backward, nearly tripping before kicking off his trousers. His brain was stuck on the idea she’d planned to seduce him–and he’d been more than willing.

He watched as she climbed off the table. He itched to touch her but he wasn’t sure where he stood any longer, where their friendship stood.

Her wicked smile in place once again, she reached behind herself and unzipped her dress. He was still in shock when she unfastened her bra, leaving her only in her red heels.

She walked backward toward the stairs leading to the two bedrooms.

“Are you going to catch me, Harry?” she teased. “Or do I have to be golden with wings?”

the idea of her–wearing the nearly nothing she wore now–in front of him on his broom broke his stupor. A growl escaping him, he struggled to pull his shirt off. Finally ripping it, sending half the buttons to the floor, he followed.

She laughed and ran.

He caught her on the stairs–she can’t been trying too hard to get away.

The urge to possess her, to prove he could seduce her, swamped him.

He pushed her to the stairs facing away from him. When she wiggled her arse, he growled. He lifted her hips with his right arm and drove into her with one stroke.

He didn’t worry about being gentle this time. His fingers bruised her hips as he gripped her. She moaned deep when he bit the cord of her neck.

He let the need to possess her overwhelm him, the need to mark her as his. He laved the spot he’d bitten with the flat of his tongue. She was panting, pushing back against him, clenching so tightly around him that it was difficult for him to thrust.

Reaching down with his left hand, he slid over her clit, feeling it slick and hot under his ministrations. When he nipped her neck again, she shattered beneath him He rode out her climax, ruthlessly driving her to a third one before he came a second time.

Later, after a shared hot bath, Harry murmured, “We should get to St. Mungo’s.”

Since she was nearly asleep, her response was mumbled. “Sus-not-labor.”

Harry sat up, the blankets falling to his waist as he did so. “You mean you told Ron to stay away so you could....” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Just what had she done?

Huffing, she rolled over to glare at him. “To seduce you, Harry. Yes, Ron helped me.”

Rolling his eyes, he laid back down. Despite the fact he was an extremely competent Unspeakable, he felt woefully inadequate when dealing with Hermione.

Hermione disrupted his train of thought by slithering down his body and taking him into her mouth.

~~~~~

Fate played a trick on all of them, though. Victoria Anne Weasley was born at noon on Christmas Day.