Feeble rays of sun streaked in through the window and danced across Hermione's eyelids, rousing her mind from sleep. She rolled away from the window and pulled up the covers to her chin. Her body felt rested, but her mind was drained. As consciousness returned to her, she realized that her eyes were puffy and she'd been sleeping on a mat of crumpled tissues. Recollections of the night before played in her mind…crying and, well, more crying.
The only thing that had made it bearable was Harry - stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, listening to her with conviction. For the first time in years she'd genuinely believed the words "everything will be okay."
She pushed herself to a sitting position and looked over at Deirdre's bed. Harry was still asleep, black hair disheveled as usual and the blankets in a tangled mess, hanging off the bed and touching the floor. A warm endearment filled her as she watched him sleep. Being in his arms, hearing the beating of his heart with her ear pressed against his chest, his hands on her -
She had studying to do, but in the spirit of holiday Hermione crawled back into bed instead of reaching for a textbook. She curled up inside the comfort of her little room and savored the newfound feeling of freedom and forgiveness that had come to her in the night. With her eyes closed and her mind empty, she drifted off into a peaceful dream.
Hermione was in the kitchen at the Burrow, chopping carrots alongside Ginny. They were giggling and carrying on, although Hermione wasn't sure what they were talking about. As she finished with her pile of carrots, Mrs. Weasley handed Hermione a bowl of fruit salad to take into the garden for dinner. Hermione headed outside - Harry was there, with Ron and George and Fred - and set the bowl on the table. But as she turned to walk inside, Harry grabbed her hand. Suddenly the boys were gone, and it was just she and Harry in the back field behind the house. It was dusk, and the long grasses were dotted with glowworms. They were sitting side by side, watching the sky, when Harry shifted himself to face Hermione, sunk his hands into her hair, and kissed her. Then he was straddling her, and her shirt was being unbuttoned -
She woke up for the second time with a start. Her heart was racing, and she was throbbing between her legs. The sensation of Harry's weight across her lap was seared into her. It wasn't often than Hermione felt desire; it was something she had barely felt with Ron, even when they tried to be intimate. But it wasn't a feeling she disliked.
And it wasn't the first dream she'd had about Harry that ended this way.
Hermione couldn't remember when she realized she loved Harry, but she couldn't deny the hot pangs of jealousy that flooded over her when he'd recalled his first kiss with Cho. She had always imagined they would share that moment of passion and discovery with each other. Once Harry was preoccupied with other girls, it only felt natural to drift towards Ron for comfort…and before she knew it, she was in too far with Ron to back out. Hermione hadn't intended for that relationship to turn romantic, but without a close friend of the same sex to confide in she'd settled for Ron instead. Looking back, she couldn't blame him for interpreting those late-night confidences as something more than friendship.
By the time Harry and Cho were finished for good, Ron had claimed Hermione for himself. They were never a quite a serious item, but she knew they were too close. Any inkling that she had feelings for Harry would have split the trio into a feuding lot of enemies. Since Harry and Ron were the only real friends Hermione had ever had, she'd sworn off daydreaming about Harry and the relationship they would never share.
Hermione was a determined and strong-willed person, but even so she couldn't stop her unconscious mind from expressing its most deep-seated desire. In fact she had awoken to a heated fantasy the morning she'd left the Burrow…Harry's face only inches from hers, glistening with sweat and lust, as his body moved in a hard rhythm against hers - but she woke before the climax. She always did. This was the prison of lust and unrequited love, she assumed, to feel the tension but never the release. Never the tender affection that followed.
But everything was different now. There was no one to hurt, no reason to feel guilty. Hermione couldn't ignore the flame that consumed her, and now she didn't have to.
Quietly she rolled onto her side so that Harry was in full plain view…his chest bare and wearing nothing but knickers. For once Hermione was grateful for the disorganized covers which, laying on the floor, allowed her a perfect view of his body. She closed her eyes and squeezed her legs together, feeling the hot wetness spread and coat the inside of her thighs. Slowly she wriggled her pajama shorts to her ankles and spread her legs apart. Using both hands, she held herself open and rubbed soft circles over her clitoris. Her body screamed for penetration, but she didn't give in. Lifting her camisole up, she exposed one breast and ran a thumb over her pointed nipple. Hermione looked over at Harry, imagining her hands squeezing and caressing him -
And with a small surge, everything was over. She adjusted her camisole and put her shorts back on. She always finished feeling aggravated...it was just stupid of her to think it would be better this time, just because Harry was in the room. If anything, that had made it worse. Made shagging him for real seem even more of a mockery.
Hermione looked over at her alarm clock. It was barely eight, but she was too cross now to go back to sleep. She got out of her bed and remade it noiselessly, resolved to get her mind off how Harry would feel against her naked skin. In five minutes she was dressed and walking through the crisp morning to the gym. She'd left a note: Back soon, please don't leave because my suitemates don't know you're here. Help yourself to anything in my fridge. Perhaps not the most endearing good morning, but it was the best she could come up with feeling so angsty.
A good run would do it, she thought to herself. Hermione headed for the track; it was empty, and not surprisingly as it was Saturday morning. She walked the first few laps, trying hard to keep her mind empty. One, two, she counted with her breaths, one, two. When her legs felt warm she picked up a jog and steadied her breathing in time with her steps.
Hermione wasn't an athletic person. She never had been, and she didn't intend to ever be. But she liked to exercise, at least when nobody else was watching. Running was a change of pace from studying, and a good run always cleared her head and calmed her nerves. Her studies had taught her that exercise released endorphins, but Hermione attributed the feeling to having given her brain a rest. When she ran, she didn't think. She thought about how much her sides burned, and about the sweat dripping off her nose, and about whether or not she could make ten laps. But she didn't think about class, or worry about her parents, or brood over Ron. It was the only time she didn't try to think about life. And somehow, she always came out of the experience feeling enlightened.
Hermione pulled up at twelve laps. She'd run just over a mile, but she felt rejuvenated. Walking briskly, she let her mind wander back to the present. Immediately she felt excited instead of anxious. She didn't think about Ron, or feel guilty - she thought about how much fun she was going to have with Harry. And she realized that he'd come to visit her because secretly he was in love with her, too.
The last thought wasn't entirely a conscious one. And neither was Hermione's plan to secure Harry's feelings for her. But thoughts needn't be acknowledged to be real, and Hermione's thoughts were forming a plan in the back of her mind.
***
Author's Note: Sorry to disappoint…but we've reached the end of where my imagination has gone so far. I've got another chapter in the works, but it needs a little prodding. So if you've got ideas or suggestions, please send them in. I'd appreciate it! Reviews are certainly most welcome
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