Feel Like Makin' Love

Ravenchick

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 13/01/2011
Last Updated: 13/01/2011
Status: completed

Hermione recounts her first hook-up with Harry. Note: This story acknowledges H/G and R/Hr in dialogue and their past relationships, but ends up H/Hr all the way.

Chapters

1. Feel Like Makin' Love

1. Feel Like Makin' Love

How did I, the bookworm also known as Hermione Granger, end up with Harry Potter, the Chosen One? Well…that’s a good question, now, isn’t it?

I’ll begin by saying that no two romances start exactly the same way, yet everyone has a similar story to how they met the love of their life. Some will say it happened on the platform at the train station, or they’ll say they met up at a lovely little pub with intimate atmosphere. For some it’s a hospital waiting room, at church, matchmakers who set them up on a blind date. It started out as business. A dangerous situation opened our eyes to our true feelings. Best friends turned lovers. Every relationship can somehow start the same way without it being the same way for everyone.

The case of my relationship with Harry Potter was the best friends turned lovers scenario, and not the dangerous situation making us realize that bloody hell, life is short and so easily taken by a maniac with a wand and senseless devotion to some Dark wizard, why are we not shagging right now? It didn’t happen one night in a fit of sudden passion…well, okay, maybe it was a tad bit sudden, but not completely unexpected. Only it was sort of…no, wait, it wasn’t unexpected but it was certainly sudden…

I’m sorry. I normally pride myself on being succinct and well-spoken, so this discombobulating is a tad embarrassing. I want you to understand what happened because frankly…I don’t know why I want you to understand. It’s not like it’s any of your bloody business anyway, is it? You asked, though, and I’m in the mood to tell.

I know you’re all thinking that the very first time I had an inkling that I wanted something more than friendship with Harry Potter, and by ‘something more’ I mean a knee-weakening, mind-blowing shag, was probably during one of the long, lonely nights he and I spent together on our quest to destroy Riddle’s horcruxes. Not so. Looking back, I realize Harry and I wasted a lot of potential orgasms by being oblivious to one another, but then it would have been wrong to indulge then because we both had commitments to other people, friends that we truly love and admire, so it’s best we were so clueless. No, the first inkling I had that anything more was even a remote possibility happened almost a year after Voldemort’s death.

Ron and I were trying to work things out (so were Harry and Ginny). We were doing a right good job of ruining everything. As kids at Hogwarts, Ron was my first real crush. He was the first boy I had a naughty dream about, the first boy I kissed, touched myself to, and the first boy whose bits I groped. He was the first boy I ever let grope me. Cormac McLaggen in my sixth year doesn’t count. He just sort of managed to graze one of my breasts as I made a desperate bid for escape.

Actually, now that I think of it, Neville Longbottom is the first boy to get a proper feel of one of my breasts and that was strictly unintentional and unnecessary to the story. Let’s just say it involved his clumsiness and trying to get into the portrait hole after dark in our fifth year. No, it wasn’t Viktor Krum like many of you think. He was older than me but oddly afraid to touch me, even after I told him it was okay to do so, and that may have something to do with the fact that he’s since come out as gay, but I digress.

Ron Weasley was the first boy to ever properly grope me, and it was all right. Really, it was fun. I look back on every sloppy puppy dog kiss and every clumsy clutch of my bits with the fondest of memories. It was moderately arousing. Hey, when you’ve only been with one guy, you think it’s the bee’s knees when he slips a hand up your skirts.

As far as Harry, I know he had more in the way of experience with girls. There was kissing Cho, firstly, which was pretty innocent stuff. He also kissed Luna Lovegood the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party. Actually, I should say Luna kissed Harry and he allowed it because it was innocent and they were under mistletoe, and it also had something to do with Luna thinking she was saving Harry’s life from some creature in the mistletoe or something…

Then there was Ginny. From what I understood of that relationship Ginny popped Harry’s cherry and vice versa. Thank GOD. That’s not a job I would have wanted. Ron popped mine, in case you’re wondering, and I got his too, so now we’re all clear on the first time shags, yeah?

I thought my relationship with Ron would last forever. You always think that with your first, don’t you? I thought we’d get married, and have children, give them silly and/or ugly names. I thought we’d build the Burrow v2.0. I’d be Molly Weasley, he’d be a copy of Arthur. I was all set for that until…well…this really hot wizard touched me one night while I was getting tipsy at the Leaky Cauldron with some girls from work.

No, it wasn’t Harry, like I know you’re thinking, or maybe even hoping.

No, I didn’t cheat on Ron. I’m not a cheater. Ask any of my professors. I’m strictly by the book on everything.

There was some security wizard from the Ministry at the pub, and he put his hand on my thigh. I’d been eyeing him for twenty minutes because he was really, really, really, really gorgeous. Tall. Blonde. He looked like a younger version of a Muggle actor I’d once seen in some stupid Muggle movie about boxing.

Only this wizard wasn’t Russian like that Muggle had been, but he did have blue eyes and chiseled features and perfect…I mean perfect…teeth; they were straight and snow white. He had lips like silk and a tongue the color of bubblegum. I know this because he shoved it in my mouth while groping between my legs because he thought I was going to go home with him.

So I did what any honorable witch with a boyfriend would do in that kind of a situation: I copped a feel right back, let him brush a finger against my clit and then I stunned him before sliding indignantly out of the booth and went home to sober up and change out of my absolutely sodden knickers. Until then I hadn’t known I could get that wet. I’d read women talking of how a man can make them feel dripping between the legs, but I’d always thought that was an exaggeration.

It wasn’t that I was cheating, mind you—I was experimenting. I was also a little taken aback by how fucking good that one touch made me feel. That stranger inspired as much lust in me with the brush of a finger and the stroke of an experienced tongue than adorable, lovable Ron Weasley had ever inspired during a full on shag. It wasn’t until I saw Ron the next day that I realized something very important. I loved Ron. I just wasn’t in love with him. He didn’t do it for me. I was with him because he was familiar and easy to figure out. I was with Ron because everyone in our lives just assumed that he and I were meant to be forever, so I had assumed that too, without even thinking that hey, my teenage crush doesn’t also have to be my life partner.

I finished with Ron two weeks after this miraculous realization. He was furious. Then again Ron’s always furious with something I’ve said or done and vice versa. That kind of fire burns bright and is fun for awhile, but then it gets old and tiring really fast. Ron has a lot of good qualities. He’s honest, decent, and he’s mostly loyal if the going doesn’t get to rough.

I think what I like least about Ron, though, is that he’s jealous and a tad bit lazy, which was something we rowed about constantly. I’m sure that marrying me took the work out of him having to find a more compatible mate in future. I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just part of who Ron is. I’m sure he had real feelings for me, just like I had for him. Regardless, he was over it few months later. I know he was because I know Ron. I know when something with him is real and when he’s faking, and he really was over me after a few months of moping and complaining.

We’ll always be friends. That much is for sure.

Okay, I know you’re wondering when the hell am I going to get to the part about me and Harry, and I will right now. I’ll skip how Harry and Ginny finished because they couldn’t get along and were, like Ron and me, sexually incompatible.

At this point it’s been eleven months and the first year anniversary of Harry Potter’s Defeat of the Evil Lord Voldemort (that’s how it’s commemorated in the Daily Prophet, I swear) is coming up fast. Harry and I are practicing poisons and antidotes because he has to have this to become an Auror, Chosen One or not. We’ve both been single for about four months now. Ron’s moved on to—you’re not going to believe it—Gwenog Jones. Yes! I mean it, Ron’s some cougar’s little cub and he couldn’t be more proud of the fact. Just ask. She’s still youthful looking, though, and very beautiful, so it’s not like it’s a chore for him. I’m happy for him. I’m happy he’s got the attention from the media he’s always wanted, not to mention plenty of gold at Gringotts, also something I know Ron has always dreamed of. Ginny’s dating Oliver Wood, and they’re a celebrity couple almost always in the papers. Good on them, and I mean that with the warmest sincerity.

So, the first time anything even remotely tense happens with Harry and me occurs when he came to my flat to revise for an upcoming potions exam. He put his books away; I was charming a bottle of wine to cool perfection when he sat down too close. I didn’t say anything, I was comfortable with Harry. Also, he smelled amazing. He was growing into his name, so to speak. He was as tall as he was going to get, and he was getting muscular and harrier, and he had that man scent on him, know what I mean? Musky and clean and just…mmmm…

Anyway, Harry put his arm over the back of the sofa and we drank wine in silence. I was intensely aware of that arm. Then he put his hand on my shoulder as he was saying goodbye, and he squeezed it and looked in my eyes. There was this moment where it seemed to occur to both of us that we were single and young and we could do whatever we bloody well pleased. My heart was pounding and I was wetting my knickers as I looked between Harry’s bright green eyes to and his cherry red lips.

We didn’t do anything, though. He just said goodnight, and it was enough that we acknowledged, even silently, that we could open and then step through that door if we wanted to. There was nothing to hold us back but our own worries about possibly ruining a beautiful friendship.

The second time we crossed that line, however, we went for it.

It was the first anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat and the Ministry was throwing a celebration to honor Harry. We’re on the dance floor, swaying to seventies and eighties music, mostly pop. Why? Because someone at the Ministry thought it would be appropriate to acknowledge that Harry had grown up in the Muggle world. When you consider how horribly the Ministry had treated Muggleborns and Squibs while Voldemort was trying to take over the wizarding world, it shouldn’t surprise you they were trying to make up for it by going overboard with displays of Muggle and Muggleborn appreciation at every opportunity. This meant trying to include Muggle music in the celebration for those witches and wizards who, like Harry and me, had grown up in the Muggle world. Like with Muggle clothes they got it all wrong.

Still, they’d managed to choose, even accidentally, some really good music. It was a decade or more behind, but they played some songs I’d heard my parents listen to as I grew up. Bad Company’s Feel Like Making Love came on, really proving my suspicions that the Ministry had just chosen Muggle music at random to play. Harry’s hand was low on my back from where we had already been dancing very close to some slow number; I don’t remember what it was.

All I know is Harry and I had both been drinking, it was hot on that crowded dance floor, and I felt like I could fly without a broom I was so randy. Harry must have sensed it because he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact he was pressing up against me and now, with this song starting to play, he was groping my arse right good. This song wasn’t one we were really familiar with, but with a beat like that, and lyrics like that, well…

It didn’t take us long to end up rushing through the crowd to the nearest cloak closet. I used my wand to put a repeating hex on the turntable. The song was throbbing throughout that entire floor, and Harry pulled me back into some cloaks. I thought he was going to ask me if I wanted to, if I was sure, or something, but he didn’t. He just shoved his tongue in my mouth and tongue fucked me while he put his hand down my knickers and was rubbing me and fingering me and kissing my neck and…

I was about to gush when he turned me around and pushed me face first into the wall, yanking my knickers down. Harry’d gotten his chap out without me even realizing it (must have been magic or something, can you believe that), and next thing I know he’s pushing his cock in and just thrusting deep and hard and fast. His breath was in my ear, and I remember feeling sweat tickle me as it trickled down my spine.

Harry’s fingers dug almost painfully into my hips as he pounded into me. I remember the sound of his breath and the occasional sound of need as he fucked me. He said my name once in my ear in his husky voice and that made me just lose it. I was coming properly for the first time in my life and it was gushing all over Harry’s trousers. The harder I came the harder he fucked me until I realized that we were making a real racket in that cloakroom, but no one could hear because the song was on its fourth go before Harry pulled his cock out and we slid to the floor in a panting, sweaty mess. I was on my knees, he knelt behind me and pulled me against his chest while we tried to catch our breath.

We wondered if everyone on the floor was confused about why the song was playing over and over. We laughed about that, and we acknowledged that we should go out and accept thanks from the Ministry for Harry’s bravery in defeating Voldemort…In the end we just went back to his flat and fell asleep on his bed.

I never did get those knickers back.