Learning Curve

Hermione glared at the group of third years who were having an animated, whispered conversation as they walked by her table. There was only two weeks left before the huge Arithmancy project worth almost a quarter of her mark was due, and the library was ridiculously busy. Hermione had been hoping to turn in her project at least a week early, but as another gaggle of girls came around the corner, this time squeaky first years chattering on about a hidden room they'd heard was filled with chocolate custard, she wondered if she'd even manage to get it in on time.

“This is a library!” she snapped, slamming her quill down, and as the children rushed off like a school of frightened fish, Hermione saw Dean Thomas detour three tables out of his way to avoid her wrath. Satisfied that she might have at least a few minutes of peace, she picked up her quill again and resumed taking notes from the open book in front of her.

“Psst!”

Hermione continued to record the ways in which the magical properties of numbers interacted in everyday life compared to use in spellwork, absently waving her free hand near her ear. She hated it when flies got into the library.

“Psst! Hermione!”

Hermione whipped around, feeling vaguely murderous, but there was no one near her table. She frowned, and was about to turn back to her work when a hand appeared out of nowhere, closing around her wrist.

“Harry,” she hissed, looking down at her arm. “What are you doing?”

“I have to show you something,” came Harry's voice, above and to the left.

Hermione shook her head. “I'm very busy right now,” she said, hardly moving her lips.

“Please,” Harry asked hoarsely, and the barely-controlled panic hidden in his tone drove all thoughts of homework from Hermione's mind. She stood, letting Harry lead her by the wrist to a dark corner in the very back of the stacks.

“What is it?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were alone.

Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak, and Hermione was struck by how very pale he was, how his hands were balled tightly and his shoulders hunched. “I don't know what to do.”

She was at his side immediately, pushing his fringe back from his forehead. “What is it? Is it your scar? Let me see it. Are you okay?”

Harry shrugged her off and took a step back, scanning the alcove over her shoulder. “Hermione, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Hermione nodded automatically and closed in on him again, already reaching for his forehead. “Of course not.”

“Not even Ron,” Harry said, catching her hand in mid-air.

Hermione gaped at him, then nodded mutely.

Harry looked over his shoulder, though there was only a wall behind him, then over Hermione's again, before leaning forward and whispering against her bushy hair, “I—I got turned into a girl.”

***

Hermione burst into the girls' dormitory and rushed over to her bed without sparing a glance at Parvati or Lavender, who were sitting amidst a sea of magazines, jewelry and robes on Parvati's bed.

“She's in one of her moods,” Lavender muttered just before Hermione cast a two-way silencing charm and closed the curtains about her bed with a flick of her wand.

“Lumos...you can come out now, Harry,” she said, and Harry appeared on the bed beside her, flushed and rumple-haired after his dash from the library under the invisibility cloak.

“I thought boys couldn't come up here,” he said, rather awed.

“That's right, and you're not a boy at the moment,” she replied, sitting on her knees in front of him. “When did it happen? And where?”

“I don't know—one minute I was walking down the hall, and the next I had—these.” Harry gestured helplessly at two bumps beneath his robes, which were obvious now that he wasn't hunched up in the darkened library.

Hermione leaned closer, the lighted end of her wand casting shadows behind Harry. She examined his chest closely for a moment, then reached for the clasp of his robes.

“What are you doing?” he asked skittishly, swatting her hands away.

“I want to see them, of course,” she replied, as if it were the stupidest question in the world. She reached for his robes again.

“You can't see them!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest and scooting away until he was at the very end of the bed.

“Oh, honestly, Harry, they're just breasts—it's not like I haven't seen them before,” Hermione clucked, sitting back on her heels. “It might help me figure out what happened to you, if I can see them.”

Harry tightened his hold on his robes. “How in the world could they tell you anything?”

“I won't know until I've seen them,” Hermione said, impatiently. “Come on, now...” She crawled toward him, and Harry's face took on an expression Hermione had seen long ago on her grandmother's old cat, Muffers, when Hermione had decided to find out if cats did, indeed, always landed on their feet.

“No!” Harry nearly toppled off the bed, and he grabbed a bedpost to catch himself, his eyes huge and bright behind his glasses. “I—I won't let you see them unless...unless I get to see yours!”

Hermione plopped back on her heels once more, her mouth hanging open as she gawked at Harry, who visibly relaxed against the foot of the bed as though he'd only narrowly escaped death. Hermione closed her mouth, her lips thinning dangerously, and promptly spelled her wand to float in mid-air.

“Now what are you doing?” he asked.

“Fair is fair, Harry,” Hermione said, swiftly undoing the clasps on her robes and shrugging them off her shoulders.

“What? Wait—no—nevermind, I'll just go see—McGonagall—” Harry stuttered, scrambling to his knees to leave.

“Nonsense,” Hermione replied briskly as she began unbuttoning her blouse with practised ease. “I'll show you mine, and you can show me yours, and we'll be on our way to figuring out what happened.”

“You don't have to,” Harry said desperately, still half on his knees as though about to bolt. He was very studiously avoiding Hermione's eyes.

“Where were you, when it happened?” she asked as she loosened the last of the buttons.

“What? Oh, I was—” he glanced at Hermione and just as quickly snapped his gaze away. “I was, um, by the statue of the one-eyed witch.”

“Perhaps someone was hiding in there and cast a spell on you,” Hermione said, holding her breath as she let her blouse fall to the blanket with her robes. “Did you hear anything, an incantation, perhaps?”

Again Harry glanced over at her, but this time he was much slower about prying his gaze away. “I, um, I—no.” He darted another look, his cheeks glowing a deep, deep red. “I don't think so?”

“Well, did you or didn't you?” Hermione reached behind herself to fumble with the snaps on her bra, and she swallowed hard before sliding the straps down her shoulders and tossing it aside.

“It, uh, it, that is, no, I didn't hear anything...” Harry trailed off, staring openly at Hermione's naked breasts. “Wow.”

Hermione flushed despite herself, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Now you show me yours,” she demanded.

“What?” Harry dragged his eyes up to Hermione's, then started as though she'd hexed him. “Oh!” He wasted no time stripping off his robe and t-shirt before he went back to eagerly staring at Hermione's chest, though it was mostly covered by her arms.

Hermione tossed her bushy hair over one shoulder and kept her face carefully blank as she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward to examine Harry's breasts in the wandlight. They were smallish but pert, with large, light brown aureoles wreathing good size, dusty-pink nipples that were growing erect before Hermione's eyes.

She looked up from Harry's chest to find him watching her intensely, his eyes simmering with something unfathomable .

“You can touch them, if you want,” he whispered.

Hermione turned her gaze back to Harry's lovely breasts, but they were no easier to face than his eyes. “I should make sure they're not an illusion,” she said, hesitantly.

Harry's chest, which had been gently rising and falling with his breath, stilled as Hermione brought a hand to his breasts, and he shuddered when she cupped one in her palm. She squeezed once, very gently, and the dainty heft of Harry's breast in her hand was so different from the feeling of her own: her breasts were heavier, and didn't lace her pulse with an extra, fluttering beat when she touched them.

Harry exhaled a long breath into Hermione's hair and eased her back a few inches by her shoulders. She looked up questioningly, but he dropped his hands to the mattress and whispered, “I want to watch.”

Hermione took Harry's other breast in hand and gave both another experimental squeeze, captivated by the way Harry's eyes were devouring the sight of her touching him, the way he arched almost imperceptibly toward her, the way his breath seemed to be coming from deeper inside him the more she fondled him.

But soon she was engrossed by the texture of his skin as she kneaded Harry's breasts harder, her attention settled fully on his chest once more. She traced her thumbs over his nipples, slowly, and he broke out panting as he twisted the blanket in his fists.

“Hermione...” he mumbled, and he released the blanket to glide his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt until the fabric was bunched near her hips, his fingers splayed over her bare skin. “Can I?”

Hermione nodded, too enthralled to speak, but he didn't move, and when she tipped her gaze up to his face, she saw his eyes were closed, a trace of sweat standing out on his forehead.

“Yes,” she rasped. The word hadn't fully left her mouth and his hands were moving behind her, skating over her arse and up her hips, lifting the sides of her skirt to expose her white knickers. She inhaled sharply as her skirt dropped back down, and at some point Harry had opened his eyes; he was watching himself trace the curve of her waist with stumbling fingers.

He stopped his exploration just beneath her breasts and met her eyes, a question clearly waiting on his parted lips, but he didn't ask again. Hermione was certain he was afraid she'd tell him no.

Instead, he slid his hands upward, one uncertain centimeter at a time, until he was cupping her breasts exactly as she was holding his. Hermione automatically pushed her breasts further into his hands.

“Do this,” she whispered, flicking her thumbs over his nipples, and they moaned together when he obeyed.

“Again,” Harry pleaded, and Hermione flicked his nipples once more, pinched them, and Harry groaned, pinching her nipples in return.

“What does it feel like if you—suck?” Harry asked.

Hermione went pink as she mumbled, “I don't know.”

Harry's eyes lit up and went dark at the same time, and before Hermione knew what was happening he was leaning down, shifting his hand to cup the underside of her breast as he drew her nipple between his lips, and the wet hot pressure of his mouth coaxed a keen breath from her lungs.

“Oh!” Hermione tipped her head back as she abandoned Harry's breasts to twist her fingers in his hair, and Harry sucked sloppily, grasping her hip. “Lick it, too,” she begged, pushing against his mouth.

Harry drew back just far enough to take up licking her, his tongue clumsy on her nipple, but it was wonderful, better than her fingers had ever felt late at night. “Yes, now bite it, but not hard,” she breathed, and she whimpered at the sharp pleasure of his teeth.

He moved his lips to her other, neglected breast, and Hermione was proud of what a fast learner he was: he sucked her breast harshly, but he used his tongue as he did, swirling it around her hard nipple before drawing back to lick her languidly with the flat of his tongue. He had her moaning and squirming against the blankets as he nipped at the exquisitely sensitive peak, and he looked rather stunned as he pulled away to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Harry, it feels so good,” Hermione gasped, and she leaned down to return the favor.

Harry braced himself on the foot of the bed as Hermione began sucking his nipple, massaging his other breast as she did, but by the time she grazed her teeth over the perky nub his fingers were tangled up in her hair and he was tugging her closer, the heat building rapidly in the enclosed, curtained-in space.

She had just begun attending to his other breast when Harry stiffened with a groan.

“What's wrong?” she asked, concerned, as she straighted up on her knees again.

“Hermione, I'm—something's happening, I'm getting—but I don't have—” Harry floundered, gesturing vaguely to his trousers.

“Oh...you're getting aroused, but you don't have a penis, so you're not getting an erection like you usually do.” She said this all matter-of-factly, but knowing that Harry was turned on by what they were doing woke some base desire in Hermione, and she reached down to undo the fly of his trousers, concentrating on keeping her hands from trembling.

“Spread your legs,” she told him, and wide-eyed, he did, crouching awkwardly with his knees apart. Hermione sidled up next to him and took his hand, and Harry's eyes got even bigger as she slid their joined hands into his boxers. She guided him down through sparse curls, probing his folds with their fingers.

“You're wet,” she explained, her voice catching on that last word. “This is what it feels like for a girl.”

“It feels good,” Harry said unevenly.

Hermione had spent more than a few late nights exploring her own body, and the distinct warmth of his cunt wasn't exactly unfamiliar, but it was nothing like touching herself.

“Lay back,” she whispered, drawing their hands from his trousers and urging him forward. “I'll show you.”

Harry laid back against the pillows, kicking off his shoes, socks, and trousers as he went. He pulled Hermione down next to him and slid his hand up beneath her skirt.

“You're wet, too,” he said quietly, fingering the outline of her cunt through her damp cotton knickers, and she instinctively parted her thighs further as she whimpered at his teasing. Harry apparently took this as a sign that she wanted more and eased her knickers down, though he only had the patience to get them around her knees, where they were stretched to the seams as he propped himself up on his side and pushed her legs farther apart.

“Tell me what feels good—” Harry shoved her skirt up over her belly and stared down at the slick, exposed flesh between her legs before timidly tracing the swollen curves of her entrance with a fingertip. Hermione groaned and arched up against his finger, even as she groped over, trying to tug his boxers down.

“That feels good,” she whispered, and Harry somehow managed to pull his boxers off, and propped his knee up so Hermione could slide her hand up his inner thigh. He returned to teasing her, smiling lazily down at her as she sighed his name, but when she slipped her fingertip along his folds, his smile disappeared and he bit his lip.

“That does feel good,” he groaned. She snuck a finger inside him and Harry gasped, then slid his own finger into her. He leisurely pulled out and pushed back in again, wiggling his finger inside her, and Hermione tipped her hips up with a sigh.

“I like that,” she said, before dragging her wet finger up to Harry's clit and rubbing alongside it lightly. “And this, too.”

“Hermione—” Harry choked out, rolling his hips as he stared incredulously at her.

“That is the clitoris, Harry,” Hermione told him, grinning. “And it's every girl's best friend.”

“You're not kidding.” Harry blew out a heavy breath as Hermione stroked his clit again, and he mirrored Hermione's actions, rubbing her tentatively.

“Oh, yes, just like that,” Hermione moaned, her grin dissolving as Harry touched her just the way she liked it.

“That feels—yeah—” Harry was starting to pant now, and he grabbed Hermione's hand, changing the angle so her finger lay flat atop his clit.

“Like that,” he mumbled, and took up rubbing her clit again. Their little curtain-draped world was full of the wet sounds of thrusting fingers, and their moans grew louder, spaced with incoherent mumbles as they sped up their pace. Harry rubbed her clit frantically, his slick fingers so fast, feeding a taunt pressure in her that was like a string being plucked, the vibrations reverberating all the way to her fingertips.

Hermione was nearly over the edge when suddenly she wasn't stroking Harry's clit, because Harry didn't have a clit. Her eyes snapped open even as her hips still bucked furiously, and she was shocked to see an erection between his legs, her finger rubbing the head with the same rhythm she'd worked his clit.

“Please,” Harry begged, shamelessly arching his hips, “please—Hermione—more—”

Hermione couldn't control the loud cries rising up out of her as she writhed against the blanket, and she grabbed his cock, pulling once, twice—Harry yelped beside her and Hermione's arm was spattered with come as she jerked with her own orgasm.

Breathing raggedly, Hermione's eyes fell shut as she lost herself in the divine lack of tension in her muscles and the heat riding over her skin. She could hear Harry panting, and gradually she became aware of his slack fingers, resting between her legs, and of the fact that she was still loosely holding his softening cock. For one horrible moment, she had absolutely no idea what to do.

Then Harry kissed her.

Her eyes popped open just before his lips brushed hers, and Hermione yanked her hand from his cock and pushed him away.

Harry was propped up on his elbow next to her, looking at Hermione as though she'd just tossed his broomstick to the Whomping Willow on a lark. “What—”

She didn't give him a chance to finish his question as she sat up. “I don't think we should be kissing each other.”

“Why not?” Frustration was plain in the words, and he gestured between them. “We just did stuff!”

Acutely aware of her naked breasts, and the fact that Harry didn't have his own set anymore, Hermione sat up and realised that his come was cooling on her skin. He seemed to notice at the same moment, as he shot up to his knees and started rooting through his discarded clothes, mumbling, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...do that...”

He found his wand and turned to Hermione, and she resisted the urge to take his wand and do the spell herself. Instead she pulled up her stretched-out knickers and waited stiffly for him to cast Scourgify, then crawled to the end of the bed. She slipped on her blouse, grabbing her wand from where it hung in mid-air, and turned to find Harry still naked, a brooding expression on his face as he opened his mouth to speak.

“We were just experimenting,” Hermione blurted, cutting him off with a speech that was perhaps a bit too hurried. “It's perfectly natural for people to explore sexual activity with others of the same sex, and for awhile you were a girl, so there's really nothing wrong with what we did, technically, but we shouldn't be kissing.”

Harry gaped at her as though she'd lost her mind. “What are you on about?”

“It will change things,” she said, nearly pleading.

He glared at her and reached for his boxers, but his expression changed as he paused with his hand in midair, and he looked inquisitively at his wet fingers, hesitating before bringing them to his nose. His eyes on Hermione, he inhaled slowly, as though savoring what he'd discovered there. She flushed a dark, blotchy red as he ran his fingertip along his lower lip, following the same path with his tongue, and he leaned forward and kissed her, tenderly, letting her own taste linger on her lips.

“Things have changed,” he whispered, searching her eyes for something that he must have found, because he brushed his lips across hers once more. Then he pulled away, slid on his boxers, flicked his wrist to end the spells she'd put on the bed curtains, took up his invisibility cloak and was gone.

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