Harry Potter & the Terrible, Hideous, All Better Day

Lynney

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 06/05/2006
Last Updated: 06/05/2006
Status: completed

I lost the bet. The price was a one shot of Jazzy Georgie's choice. She came up with One of Them Under The Table. Not my usual style, and I'm utter pants at one shots... but here goes. Harry has a VERY bad day. Hermione makes it ALL better. Smutty Fluff. Enjoy! **ducks and runs**

Chapters

1. The One and Only

1. The One and Only

Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The following characters are the official product of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. I just like to let them out to play.

A/N: Okay, I admit it. Lost the bet. And you're the ones to pay, dear readers, because I STINK at the fine form of the one shot. But I have kept my word and fulfilled my bargain. The prompt was Jazzy Georgies ~ she wanted under the table. I don't do under the table - I'm typically more of an R than an NC-17 kind of girl, so it was a stretch to say the least. The characterizations here are not my usual ones, but it DOES have its funny parts. I just hope they are the intentional ones! Enjoy.

Harry Potter and the Truly Terrible, Really Rotten, Suddenly All Better Day

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Harry Potter was having a really bad day. Total crap. Complete rubbish. He was closing in on twelve hours of absolute, utter buggery in which everything that possibly could go wrong had. Even Hermione, who tended to scoff at superstitions, was started to wonder what otherwordly demon he'd offended.

He'd apparently woken in a cold sweat on the cold floor of the boys' dorms after having endured a hellish night spent dreaming he couldn't find the final horcrux anywhere. Voldemort had been laughing so hard the Crucio actually missed. The first one, anyway.

Waking to utter humiliation with a side order of pain was never the best augury for a days' outcome, and Harry's had continued apace. By the time he and Ron joined her in the common room to head for breakfast he'd also had his shower ruined; Myrtle'd been lurking for a peek in the hot water pipe and all had suddenly gone cold. To add insult to injury, he was now going to have to find time to work out a painful retribution with which to pay Seamus back for actually explaining to her in graphic terms specific to Harry's anatomy why she might enjoy the view better if she tried her pipes the other way round. Stupid git.

He'd gone on to break his comb trying to tame his resultantly even less cooperative hair, slammed the lid of his school trunk on his fingers while searching desperately for clean socks that even remotely matched and managed to top it all off by discovering he'd misplaced (he refused to consider the merest idea of lost, which meant he'd have to do the whole bloody thing over) his transfiguration essay, due first thing this morning.

Breakfast had seen Lavender spill scalding tea down his arm while flirting with some Hufflepuff and Hedwig arriving with a mysterious message that (based upon his worn and dejected air) Hermione was fairly certain had negated his hopes of yet another possible horcrux hiding spot.

Things had failed to improve on the way to class. Peeves had been retaliating against several Second years who'd failed to properly appreciate his efforts tying their shoe laces together in the loo by hurling purloined exploding pygmy puffs at them in the hallway in front of the Transfiguration classroom.

The puffs were a brand new item in the Weasley twins' inventory; they looked remarkably like the real thing, they even made the same happy little noises… until they burst apart into a veritable cloud of minute, static-charged fluff that was almost impossible to completely remove, particularly from black Hogwarts robes. Harry, Ron and Hermione had all lunged forward and blocked off a gaggle of horrified, shrieking first years who thought they were real. In total keeping with the quality of his day thus far, Harry was the one to take a puff in the back. He was so covered in fluff that his even his hair appeared orange.

“Oh look, Scarhead's finally turned Weasley,” Draco Malfoy had sneered, pushing past him into the classroom.

And despite his absolute certainty that he and Draco were exact opposites in literally everything, attempting to wandlessly reverse his own polarization at that particular moment did not cause the orange puff-cloud to fly Draco-ward.

Apparently Harry's personal brand of magic produced a sort of static electricity of its own; despite several discharging charms eventually even Professor McGonagall had admitted that a shower and a change of clothes were the only remedy. It was no easier to admit to her that he had lost his assignment while coated in pygmy puff, and despite a suspicious curl at the corner of her lips, Professor McGonagall took no pity on him. Detention it was.

And this was just first period.

The rest of the day had followed suit; one disaster after another, and so it was a sorry and dejected Harry Potter whose chin slumped to the table edge as they packed their book bags at the end of study hall and prepared to follow the rest of the lowing herd toward the Great Hall for dinner.

“What's the point? The house elves will just accidentally apparate a hot steak and kidney pie directly onto my lap; or the entire Gryff bench will break as soon as I sit on it, or the enchanted ceiling will sprout enchanted pigeons to enchantedly crap on me,” he moaned. “I might as well just go to bed, so my own pillow can turn on me and suffocate me as I sleep.”

“Buck up, mate,” Ron coached encouragingly. “It could have been worse. No Potions today.”

Harry shuddered silently. He was finding it rough enough going already, trying to live up to Slughorn's expectations of him after Sixth year without Professor (may he rot in hell) Snape's old book.

“You're luck's bound to change soon,” he continued. “Perhaps it will go the other way and start being as good as it was bad after being normal, excepting the whole You Know Who thing.”

Harry rolled one green eye at him.

“I know, I know, I'm starting to sound as barmy as Luna. Made perfect sense to me though,” Ron said, and shrugged.

“Not eating isn't going to help anything,” Hermione told him briskly. “Come on. Ron's right. Believing in bad luck is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“And I've got such an outstanding track record with those,” he grumbled miserably. Still, he loaded his books into his bag and the strap didn't break (although she wasn't going to mention that big ink stain seeping through the back just yet. A quick drying-up charm should do for now and they could deal with the mess inside later.) Off they headed for the Great Hall.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

The long and short of it was that Harry had had a horrible day, and as one of his closest friends, Hermione thought she ought to do something about it. Particularly since this year the closeness of their friendship had come to include an element known only to the two of them, and this element offered a potential comfort and distraction that their previous footing had lacked entirely.

Harry and Hermione had discovered sex. With each other. And with a sense of wonder that they had either of them ever been so incredibly thick as to even contemplate not doing so with each other before. Brilliant didn't begin to describe their revelation.

It had happened entirely by accident, as love sometimes will when it has to resort to such things to get one's attention. They had traced Slytherin's locket to a Muggle jewelry shop in London, following the trail of Kreacher's magpie instincts to retrieve it from the trash, Mundungus Fletcher's thievery from Kreacher's hideout in Grimmauld Place and Aberforth Dumbledore's able salesmanship (and fifty-fifty split) selling stolen goods too hot for the magical marketplace on to unsuspecting Muggles. So it was that they had gone up to London to pose as sweethearts in an attempt to examine and purchase said locket.

Once they determined exactly where it was and Hermione had come up with the plan for how they would get near it, Harry had finally put his foot down.

“You and I will do it, then,” he'd told Hermione. “No offense, but no one in their right mind who hadn't known you for ages could possibly think you and Ron could agree on what to have for dinner, let alone an expensive bit of jewelry.”

Hermione and Ron had glared at one another until they realized they were only succeeding in proving his point entirely. It was then fairly quickly decided Ron would remain behind at Hogwarts and cover for them while Harry and Hermione slipped out the Shrieking Shack tunnel and apparated to London.

It had all gone surprisingly smoothly, but the real surprise had been how much fun they'd had doing it. How easily they had slipped into their roles as lovers, how smoothly they fed each other lines and supported each other's little stories for the muggle sales person who helped them. How natural it had felt for Harry to put his arms around her from behind and rest his chin on her shoulder as they surveyed the cases, or shyly grin and say `anything she likes' with a little squeeze of her hand. Hermione felt herself loved, cherished even, and entirely swept away by the game. It had been the right locket; they'd recognized it at once as the one they'd found cleaning out Grimmauld Place Fifth year. They'd given their names as Neville and Sarah Longbottom, and Hermione allowed herself a little squeal of pleasure at the ornate “S” that marked it.

“Meant to be, then,” Harry-as-Neville had said. “It's yours.”

It hadn't come cheap; Harry had changed a good bit of money through Gringotts and it took almost all of it to secure, but still they'd managed it. They walked arm and arm from the store and exchanged a thoughtless, gleeful kiss just beyond the glass doors. It had been the first time she had kissed Harry in any manner other than a brush of lips to his cheek, and the first time he had kissed her in any manner at all. It had felt right somehow, enough to make her dreamily half wonder why they hadn't done it before. He was… comfortable. No stretching or straining to reach; he was just the right height for her and felt lovely against her. His lips moved with the perfect pressure, neither overbearing nor teasing, and his arms were warm and reassuring somehow as they held her.

She'd told him he was fanciable back in Sixth year and as usual, she'd been right.

And then she had relaxed her usual reserve just the tiniest bit at exactly the same time he seemed to, as if they had both realized at the exact same point just what they were feeling. She was painfully aware of that poised, hesitant moment when it all could have gone either way; but just as she was certain they were going to break the spell and fall back to their normal selves a gentleman in a great hurry bearing a watch in his hand jostled into Harry on the pavement as he pushed past to enter the shop. Harry stumbled, struggling to keep his feet and severing the contact between them.

That should have marked then end of it right there, and yet it had somehow managed exactly the reverse. Had Harry's lips merely slipped away from hers, Hermione was sadly convinced things might have ended differently. But they didn't slip away, they were pulled forcefully from hers and the sudden shock of losing that amazing new connection to him felt like more than she could possibly withstand.

She'd thrown herself back at him then, enormously relieved to find him only too ready to catch her as well. They'd kissed again, this time with enough desperation to make up for years taken for granted; years of having the most perfect person in the world just for them right under their noses and yet still missing them entirely. Their lips had parted, tongues entwined, arms embraced, and they had carried on until oxygen depravation left them both shaky and grinning at each other like mad. Still holding tight to one another, they'd slipped into an alley and apparated back to the Shrieking Shack.

And so the Shack had shrieked once more.

Now the Shrieking Shack in fact did so on a fairly regular basis. The word in Hogsmeade was that the ghosts sounded much… happier nowadays. Once they had drifted down from their rather pent up and explosive first post coital high, Harry and Hermione had both agreed that they'd be more than happy to engage in similar behavior as frequently as possible on an entirely exclusive basis, but that given the events of the previous year and the volatile state of affairs where Voldemort was concerned, perhaps it would be best to keep their new relationship to themselves.

Of course, their conversation had actually gone more like:

Hermione: “I can't believe that you and I, that we… I never even dreamed it could be like that. Lavender's wildest fantasies never touched that. No wonder they discourage it up at the school, I can barely remember my own name, let alone a spell.”

Harry: “Hmmm.”

Hermione: “Harry, I… what does this mean? Are we together now? Do you think you can love me as more than a friend?”

Harry (enthusiastically, but still basically comatose): “Hmmm-hmmm.”

Hermione: “I think we'd best keep it just to ourselves, then. At least for a bit. I mean, of course we'll have to tell Ron, but I don't think anyone else should know just yet.”

Harry: “Unh nah. Hmmkay. Oh, bloody fucking hell! Ron!”

Hermione: “Leave Ron to me.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Ron had, of course, been told that very evening and took things rather well once he found out they weren't going public. Hermione had cottoned on to his reasoning there only too quickly.

If Harry and Hermione were to carry on with each other only in secret, no one would know she'd (a) left him (b) for Harry (c) of her own volition. Leaving him wide open to exploit his already blossoming relationship with (d) Luna Lovegood. Hermione actually thought they got on well.

“Go ahead, dump me as publicly as you like,” she'd informed him. “Let it all out. I'll sob my eyes out in the Great Hall for all to see if it'll make you feel more wronged and manly.”

“No one would believe you if you cried,” he'd shot back. “Just make sure the parting hex has nothing to do with my bits.”

And, while the temptation had in fact been almost overwhelming on the day they'd done it, Ron's bits had emerged unscathed and their friendship was now actually stronger than ever.

“You're good fun now I'm not seeing you,” was how Ron put it.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

On the one hand Hermione had never been happier. Harry turned out to have truly untapped depths in the more physical side of things once he got going, perhaps because it was the one area in which he had no past and the Dursely's had had no misery-ensuring involvement. Since Hermione was well beyond `boy-who-lived' baggage and expected Harry only to be himself, he was finally entirely free to figure out exactly who that was. Boxed in as most of Harry's life had been by the weight of heavy expectations, his freedom in the Shrieking Shack with Hermione was heady stuff indeed. He admitted easily his complete lack of experience, paid close attention (when it was at all humanly possible given the fact he was a healthy seventeen year old boy) to her requests and reactions and was completely willing to try anything, at least once.

The other hand was thus forced to admit it felt pretty damn empty the rest of the time. They might have leaped into each other's arms in a fit of reactionary passion after securing their first horcrux, but the fact of the matter was they got on well together. So well, in fact, that it was a tremendously hard secret to keep. Every day was full of a hundred little moments when Hermione so easily might have touched him, smiled just for him, held his hand or whispered some little endearment in his ear. She was hyper-aware of his presence; his very scent intoxicated her and there were times when just the tiny breeze of his quill as he wrote while sitting beside her in class was enough to fan the flames of her desire until she was sure that if she couldn't have him right then, right there, she might well go up in smoke like Fawkes on a burning day.

All of which brought her to where she was now. Poor Harry had had a really bad day, and the last time Hermione had a day of it (which in comparison to his no longer even deserved the term `bad' and had been downgraded to simply `sub par') Harry had done something really outstanding to cheer her up.

He'd snuck her out to the Shrieking Shack and taught her a whole new way to make it shriek.

They'd been sprawled across the bed, mostly divested of their clothing and kissing like they'd invented the whole concept when Harry's lips had begun to wander. Though tempted at first to call them back, their method of achieving their downward trajectory had been so enjoyable that she had entirely dismissed the idea by the time he cleared her neck. She'd laid back and unpatriotically thought of nothing at all to do with England while he'd worshiped every inch of her skin from the points of her collarbones to her oh holy heaven above where in alchemy's name had he learned how to do that?

The center of her physical universe had suddenly become intimately acquainted with Harry's extremely friendly and curious tongue. Broad, slightly rasping swipes enflamed her. Gently probing gyrations perpetrated by the very tip of it explored her thoroughly. The silky swirl of the underside slicked and soothed her just when it all seemed too much. The sheer flexibility and tender strength of his ministrations had amazed her and when he'd put it all together; the soft, insistent pressure of those lips, the licking and sucking and humming all had added up to Hermione coming completely and utterly undone. She had been so sated afterwards that she would have been hard pressed to come up with much that had bothered her in the last year, let alone that day. He had spooned undemandingly and contentedly against her back and slept while her heart reestablished a human rhythm. If it wasn't for the fact that she already loved him, that night would have sold her right then and there.

When it was time at last to head back to Hogwarts she had asked him where he had learned what he'd just done for her.

What she'd been asking, exactly, was how he'd gotten into the restricted section of the library when Ron had been borrowing his cloak to visit Luna.

He'd smiled shyly and admitted it wasn't a book or magazine, he'd heard Seamus and Dean talking about it and how girls were meant to be over the moon for it, so he'd just thought he'd try to wing it to cheer her out of her bad day.

“I love you,” he'd said simply, probably entirely unaware he was actually verbalizing what he'd only thought in his own mind a thousand times, at least fifteen to twenty of them now while burying himself deeper and deeper inside her. “I thought it might make you sort of forget your day.”

All that for an A instead of an O in Arithmancy.

Hermione had been thinking about returning the favor to Harry ever since. She, too, had heard tales in the girls' dorms; what she lacked was Harry's simple confidence to just give it a go. She'd planned to research her methods and make sure she knew everything there was to know about it before she undertook to attempt it on Harry because… well, because that's how she did things. Here, however, was a shining chance to put aside books and cleverness and just wing it for Harry. Since he had detention with Professor McGonagall this evening, there would be no time to escape to the Shrieking Shack. Still, Harry wasn't exactly much of a shrieker; he tended to be fairly quiet actually. More of a heavy breather with a heart grabbing little moan at the end. This suddenly favorable trait meant that Harry could actually take part in her little pick-me-up-and-blow-me plan almost anywhere she herself wouldn't be visible.

Like detention. Under the table.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

Professor McGonagall's detentions were now held in the library, since as Acting Head Mistress she barely had time to teach, let alone administer after-class punishments. Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way there after dinner. Hermione and Ron went on to their favored table in the back while Harry headed reluctantly over to the one designated for disgraced Transfiguration students.

It was good sized oak library table with solid sides and a bookshelf down the middle; it shouldn't be difficult to secret herself underneath it if she exercised the right distraction. If she went under from the opposite side, he wouldn't even see her do it.

Hermione settled into her chair and forced her way through twenty minutes of Ancient Runes, her blood singing with desire like a finally tuned instrument. Harry worked quietly across the library, reluctantly re-creating his essay. Ron was, predictably, fast asleep.

She got up and moved purposefully to the shelves; selecting a book, examining it, returning it and moving further on toward her goal for the next. When she was close enough she turned and met Harry's eyes watching her. He smiled, briefly but warmly, and returned to his essay. She moved along two stacks down, bringing her around to the far side of his table and hiding him from view behind the dividing shelf.

Only to find Ginny Weasley there, moping over a transfiguration assignment as well.

Hermione thought resolutely of the ecstasy of Harry's warm, gliding tongue. She owed him. She alone had the potential to redeem this day for him, and dammit, she was going to give it her best shot.

“The view is better from the other side, don't you think?” Ginny said quietly, her eyes never leaving her paper. “He's still got that nice Seeker's bum even though he hasn't played at all this year.”

A thousand retorts flooded Hermione's mind, but she was saved from sorting through them by the one simple thing that had eluded Harry all day. A stroke of luck. Because there, standing directly across from her near Harry, identifiable over the bookshelf only by his distinctive hair, was none other than Draco Malfoy. Conveniently also a Seeker, and a subject whose presence provided a perfectly a believable reason for why she might be stalking Harry.

“Really?” she said pointedly. “Malfoy's? How nice can it really be when he always seems to have a stick up it? He must feel safer with an extra wand or something now.”

Ginny had the decency to flush. “What's Dra…erm Malfoy doing talking to Harry? Does he have Transfiguration detention too?

“No idea,” Hermione told her darkly, “but I thought I'd keep an ear out incase Harry needs help. He's having kind of an off day.”

Bloody pest. He's all Harry needs right about now.

Still, there was no further reason not to disappear under the table now. Hermione gave her wand the tiniest of flicks and a stack of books reshelving themselves just barely clipped the edge of Madam Pince's desk, knocking over her personal stack of chosen volumes. The resultant chaos was just enough to make everyone stand up and turn and look, but not enough to make anyone think something truly strange was going on.

Except for Hermione, who was now under the table.

Face to face with Draco Malfoy.

“Lose something, Granger? You are at least nominally a witch, aren't you? I presume you know the accio spell,” he hissed.

“Likewise, Malfoy. Do tell, why are you crawling around under Harry's table?”

He gave a wolfish grin. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

“Not near as much as I'd like you to go,” she retorted.

“Perhaps I've got down on my hands and knees for the Boy Who Lived at last,” Draco sneered.

Wouldn't that just be ironic.

“Well you'll have to get on line then,” she said coolly. “And I know you don't like to be second at anything.”

His silvery eyes widened and then just as abruptly narrowed in the gloom under the table. Both Harry and Ginny had sat back down now, and both seemed to have started back to work without incident.

Ginny…

She stared at Draco and felt her own eyes widen.

“You and Potter!” he whispered triumphantly.

“You and Ginny?” she whispered back, not bothering to hide her own amazement.

They glared at each other for a moment.

“Look,” she whispered, “I don't expect you to care or anything, but Harry's just had a really, really bad day and I sort of owe him one, so if you wouldn't mind…”

“Yes, well Potter's pathetic disappointment's got nothing on the Weaslette's temper if she doesn't get what she expects. Forget it.”

“Then you're not… you don't… wait, why are you down here?”

“Lost a bet,” he said simply. “You? Do you actually fancy yourself in love with the Scarhead, or are you just best friends with benefits?”

“None of you business,” she told him primly, edging closer to where Harry's blue jeaned legs poked through his robes. “I was here first. Maybe you could just come back later.”

“So it was you who set the book thing up. Nice diversion by the way. Won't be as quite as believable the second time, though, so I think I'll stay,” he responded, edging closer to Ginny as well.

They circled around each other like boxers in a ring, warily exchanging places. Being so close to her goal and yet so far away was really starting to affect Hermione's control.

“So what… you expect me to wait while you do whatever it is you're doing to Ginny? What was the bet?”

Draco grinned at her, and she was forced to admit that even though he could be a vile, evil little cockroach, he had a sort of attractive grin.

“Well, I'm not exactly here to tie her shoelaces to the chair leg, if that's what you were thinking. Although that could be fun, too. The fact of the matter, though, is that I'm willing to bet that I'm probably here for the exact same reason you are, although I'm finding it absolutely mindblowing to discover perfect prefect Granger about to very knowingly break a school rule.”

“Nowhere in the Hogwart's Rules of Conduct does it specifically state…” she started, her cheeks flaming.

“That you can't blow the Boy Who Lived under the detention table in the Library? I think that it's implied, though,” he sniggered back.

Ginny shifted restlessly, and her foot struck Draco's shoulder. It froze for a moment and then probed forward again. Having felt something solid, it slid down Draco's arm and gave a swift, meaningful prod to his midsection.

“She knows I'm here now,” he pointed out. “No help for it. You'll just have to get on with it or come back later.”

Hermione felt for a moment that her head was going to explode. This was so not the way she'd envisioned things.

“You think that I'm going to… with you here… doing that?”

“Poor pitiful Potter. What happened to his horrible day?” Draco sneered.

“You vile….”

“Nasty evil little cockroach. Yeah yeah yeah. Been there, done that, had my nose fixed. So what's it going to be?”

A piece of folded parchment wafted down under the table, dropped from Ginny's side. Draco picked it up, read it, and passed it to her.

It read “Hurry up and get to it, Loser.”

“My mandate is clear,” he said solemnly. “You can do what you like. However, as I trust you about as far as I can throw you under this table, don't think I'm exactly turning my back on you or anything.”

He crawled over to Ginny and began to hike her robes up over her knees. Hermione turned hurriedly away and crawled over to Harry, not entirely turning her back on him, either. She reached up and ran her hand experimentally up one thigh.

The muscles twitched under her fingers and she drew back hurriedly as he sat up a little straighter, shaking it out as if he'd thought perhaps his leg had fallen asleep from sitting still so long. His foot rocked forward onto the toe of his trainers and he gave it an experimental bounce or two, then settled back to work.

She ran her other hand up the inside of the other leg and this time cupped him gently through his jeans. Both knees shot up and cracked into the bottom of the table and a strangled “bloody fucking hell” issued from above.

Malfoy snorted. A strangled squeal came from the other side of the table.

“Mr. Potter! What was that?” Madam Pince quavered.

Harry's voice responded with a shaky, “Erm, Lovely! I'm doing so well?”

Madam Pince eyed him disbelievingly. “Contain yourself, Mr. Potter, or I assure you the Head Mistress will find time for you to finish in her office. You too, Miss Weasley. Am I understood?” she reproved them both. `She must be reading something really good,' Hermione thought. `Thank goodness. She didn't even get up and come over here for a look.'

Common sense told her she probably ought to stop now, but she'd be damned if she was listening at this point. Harry's quill dropped rather deliberately, but she be damned if he got a good view of Draco doing what she thought he was doing over there, either. She grabbed it almost as soon as it hit the ground and placed it on his lap almost before he had time to bend over. He retrieved it, and a folded scrap of parchment replaced it a moment later.

She opened the parchment to see her name in his familiar scrawl, with a question mark. Good thinking Harry! What if it wasn't me? Although I suppose I should be grateful he's at least checking…

She kissed his knee in answer, hoping he'd interpret that as an affirmative to his question. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and undid the button of his jeans, then slowly drew down his zipper. The noise it made seemed endless, loud and painfully obvious in the quiet library. At least to her.

Draco sniggered. Ginny stamped her foot.

“Nice one, Granger,” he whispered.

“Piss off!” she whispered furiously back. “Keep your mind on… whatever it is you're doing over there.”

“Well, right about now is when I usually like to take the very tip of my tongue and…”

“Ngh! Enough! Shut up.” Hermione hissed.

Harry had, quite predictably, become interested in the proceedings and she had to extract him carefully, taking into account his eager, upward trajectory and the open zipper teeth.

It had all been bloody awkward enough already and she could sense imminent disaster waiting to happen there. She eased them down further and then gave a little pull.

Harry might not always be the first to arrive at most mental destinations, but he got this one right enough. He scooted forward in his chair and lifted his hips just enough for her to pull down his jeans and his boxers with them, blocked from casual view by his long black robes.

There.

She heard a strangled swallow from behind her and turned to find Draco staring at Harry.

“Stop that! Shoo! Go on!” she said helplessly, hugely glad of the drape of Ginny's robes and feeling a total traitor. The bar had been raised now. She had to be good enough that Harry would get over the fact that he'd been… unknowingly exposed, to his worst enemy.

“Holy crap! He is hung like a horse. I thought that was just a rumor,” Draco spluttered.

On second thought, maybe he'd owe her one!

“Feeling a little…little, Malfoy?” She purred now, smugly. Who knew? Harry was the only one she'd ever been intimate with. She'd thought him perfect, but had nothing to compare him with.

Perhaps his luck was starting to change already.

“It's all in how you… ah, forget it,” Draco snarled as Ginny's pale fingers snaked into his hair and shoved him encouragingly back to his former occupation.

Not a problem! She could forget him anytime.

She let her finger tips move softly up one thigh while her lips made their way up the other, rising to her knees and pressing herself between his legs. They literally fell apart in their eagerness, and she almost ended up face first in his lap. Which, while the point of the whole endeavor, she'd hoped at least to achieve in a slightly more graceful manner.

She took him in her hand, thought of what had felt best to her, and settled following a long, slow swath all the way up the underside.

His hips inched down and closer; the scratching of his quill above stilled. Hermione smiled. Piece of cake!

She let her tongue curl around him, let her lips press and slide and purse. Her fingers cupped and caressed him, and she realized that as well as she'd come to know the feel of him inside her, she'd never yet been quite on these same terms with what pleasured her before. Her brain began to make all sorts of involuntary sensory connections. As her lips closed round him she sensed again how the very shape of him was made to stimulate her, she could almost feel it for herself. She realized how little she had understood about the power of her feelings for him; how important it was that being able to please him could please her as well. She thought of how his unquestioning willingness to let her take the lead sometimes and his only too evident desire for her when she did gave her a precious sense of pride in herself and her abilities. She loved him. She wanted to shout it from the top of Gryffindor tower, wanted the whole of the world to know. It wasn't fair to have to keep it secret.

She noticed him trying to hold himself still, and thought of the way he moved with her. She tried to mimic his instinctive rhythm back for him with her hands and lips and tongue and felt him shudder and shift in his chair. One hand reached beneath the table and began to stroke her hair, trembling with the power of what she was doing to him but gentle still.

There was a sudden explosion of sound from across the table that started like a cat fight and ended as a very forced series of sneezes.

“Gracious, Miss Weasley. Perhaps you should see Madam Pomfrey,” Madam Pince said. Hermione could easily picture her expression of distaste; she despised people who dared to cough or sneeze around her books. If only she knew the rest; she might actually have to retire.

Unfortunately, once Draco's mouth was no longer occupied, it had to find something else to do.

“I could give you some tips, you know,” came a voice behind her.

“Muffomffuu!” said Hermione, motioning him away with one hand behind her back.

Who knew telling Draco Malfoy to fuck off would be what finished it for Harry?

She heard him inhale once, slow and shaky, and his hand slipped from her hair to her cheek, trying to ease her away from him. She was confused for a moment, than realized he was trying to tell her he was about to…

She heard the soft thunk as his forehead came to rest on the desk and swallowed contentedly, able to focus for the first time entirely on him and his release. He was panting softly into his sleeve like he'd run for miles; she could feel the blood pounding in his veins. She'd done that. It was lovely, he was lovely, boys were lovely, really.

“Mr. Potter,” came Professor McGonagall's distinctive tone from above. “Are you quite alright? You do seem to be having a very bad day. Perhaps you should finish your essay tomorrow.”

Hermione felt him straighten in his chair. All she could think was McGonagall! Pants! Ankles! Wipe mouth! She turned to Malfoy and hissed “One noise and you're a ferret in heat. Permanently. In a pet shop somewhere nasty.”

“Like I want to be caught with you,” he mouthed back.

“No Ma'am,” Harry managed from above them. There was a brief rustle and his jeans were suddenly back in place. Just like magic, that. He was brilliant. “Best day ever, really. The ending, erm, totally retrieved it. Oh, and I'm er, finished, actually.” There came the scratchy sound of rolling parchment.

“Thank you. You are excused. I trust you will not let it happen again.”

“I'll, um, do my best,” said the happiest boy to serve detention since… well, since the last time one had a mindblowing experience doing it. He grinned widely.

Because landing Hermione Granger her first ever detention (all right, second, but no one was likely to take them out to the Forbidden Forest these days) was going to be fun.

He could hardly wait.

><><<<<<<<<<

Fin.

-->