Oh, Harry

A/N: Pointless smut. Really, there's not much of a plot. Set after the 7^th book, but disregards the epilogue completely. I had this written since last year, but forgot XD, and yesterday I saw it there on my folders… The idea came from a discussion over the forums here in Portkey, can't remember where exactly. Anyway, I just HAD to write it… don't know if someone's done this before. Anyway! Enjoy the fic!!

Disclaimer: The usual…

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“Oh, Harry”

(Post-DH. AU. EWE. // Harry thinks it was about time that Hermione's catchphrase gained a completely new meaning.)

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“Oh, Harry…”

She moved slowly (up and down, back and forth), riding him tentatively, as if this were her first time doing anything of the like—which was not, he'd made sure of that months ago. And as he watched mesmerized how her breasts bounced lightly (up and down, up and down), he couldn't help but remember the first time Hermione uttered those words to him, way back in their first year. It was right before he went off to face Voldemort, and after the first hug she gave him and the first he received since his parents' death.

(He remembered. Oh, he remembered all too well each and every time she uttered those two simple words to him. Whenever he was sad or troubled, whenever he was about to face a potentially mortal danger, and even when he was happy she was there, saying those words. They had been said, however, only in a platonic way… until last year.)

He hissed in pleasure when he felt Hermione tighten her inner muscles, squeezing him harder as she rotated her hips. The pressure began to build up slowly in his groin, begging for release, but he fought it back. He was determinate to make her reach her orgasm first this time, and then let himself go. In their last encounter, he had been in such a rush, so desperate to be one with her, to hit his climax that he didn't stop to consider about her needs. And although she had been understanding, he felt bad about not letting her find her release.

(Last year… was an eventful year, that was for sure. The hunt for the horcruxes, the death of beloved people, the final battle with Voldemort. And Hermione's sudden confession.)

She had had his hands pinned at each side of his head from the very beginning of their encounter, and only now, by the amount of pressure she was putting on her grip, he could tell she was getting bolder with every second passed. She would tighten her inner muscles around his cock as she moved up, leaving only the tip in, and then slam back down with as much force as she could muster, trying to take him as deep as he would go. And in their current position that wasn't near enough of what they wanted.

(It had been a complete shock, Hermione's confession. Mainly because he had thought that, with Voldemort gone, she and Ron would finally be together as they wanted to. They didn't need to worry about him anymore. And when he saw them, slightly apart from the cheery crowd, talking in hushed tones in the middle of the battlefield… Well, he thought they would be a happy couple from then on. So, yes, it had been a great shock when, once they were gathered in the Great Hall, celebrating, she pulled him aside to a secluded area and kissed him, passionately, and after whispering those three little words that knocked the air out of him, she walked away.)

Her movements became erratic, growing steadily faster with each second. She was very close to her climax, he could tell… in the way her moans were getting louder, in the way her movements (up and down, back and forth) became rougher, in the way she pleaded (gasps of harder! and faster! and oh, Harry!). Her body started to tremble, the beginning of an orgasm building, but her legs could barely help her move, so, freeing one of his hands, he moved it to where their bodies joined and rubbed her clit with his thumb.

“Oh, ohh… oh, yes—oh, Harry!”

(It took him several minutes to snap out of his shock, and by the time he did, Hermione was already gone. According to Ron, who cornered him not long after he started to look for her, Hermione had gone to Australia, via portkey, and Harry didn't waste time in asking someone for a portkey to go after his best friend. He didn't know why, but he felt he needed to find her. Everything he'd achieved meant nothing if Hermione wasn't there with him.)

After a few seconds of thrusting into her (in and out, in and out), and pressing and rubbing at her clit, Hermione was sent spiralling over the edge, her orgasm overwhelming her. Harry grabbed her hips with both hands, and flipped their positions, not being able to hold back anymore as her felt her inner muscles clutch him tight. Fast and hard, he began to pound into her, chasing after his own climax. At that moment, their lovemaking was wild, and rough, but it didn't matter because it was building up another orgasm for her and nearing the breaking point of his. And he loved the sounds that came out of her mouth as they moved against each other.

“Fas/ter! Har/der! Oh/Ha/rry!”

(Once in Australia, he didn't need to look far, since Hermione and Ron were as well known as he was to the Wizarding World now, he only had to ask the right people and they told him gladly where to go. She was shocked to see him outside the room she'd rented, but after he returned the favour of kissing her silly, she didn't complain much, too happy to have him there. They talked a lot that night, about their relationship, about their feelings, about possible consequences, and finally settled for letting things follow its natural flow. They kissed a lot that night too, he remembered, and it was probably then when Hermione's famous `oh, Harry's' began to acquire a new meaning.)

Funny how each word was cut into syllables marked by his thrusts, he thought, and complied, speeding up. Soon, he felt the oh so familiar white hot pleasure growing in the pit of his abdomen, and he knew it was almost there and all he could think of was Yesyesyes, comeoncomeoncomeon, Hermione…

“Say it again,” he grunted suddenly, lowering his face to nuzzle her neck, “Say it again, Hermione, please, say it again.”

She understood his request, of course, she always understood, “Oh, Harry. Oh, Harry. Oh, Harry.”

(He was there for her when she restored her parents' memories, just as she was there for him when he visited his parents' tombs at Godric Hollows. And maybe that's what made them so right for each other. They'd both seen the other at their most vulnerable time, and had somehow managed to keep each other from falling apart. No words needed, just their ever present presence, and that was enough.)

By the time he hit his climax, her words had merged, coming out of her mouth in short pants of ohHarryohHarryohHarry only to end in a high-pitched scream as she found her release, again. Collapsing on top of her, Harry struggled to catch his breath, resting his cheek on her chest, where her heart was. Merlin, how he'd missed this, snuggling up with Hermione until both were fast sleep. With great effort, he managed to pull off her and rolled onto his side, bringing her body close to his. He felt her sigh contently as she snuggled up even closer to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Honey, I'm home…” he said suddenly, and smiled when she laughed lightly in response.

(The months that followed the summer after Voldemort's fall went by rather smoothly. And he finally felt like he was living; he had his best friends with him, and was falling steadily in love with one of them —the right one, mind you—, plus his surrogate Weasley family. Harry could finally said life was good and worth living.)

He had only been gone for two weeks, his first assignment as an Auror that had him tracking down one of the few Death Eaters that managed to escape after Voldemort's demise. After spending the last two years almost joined at the hip, two weeks apart from her were torture, only the knowledge of being able to go back to her, go back home, kept him going. It was nice, he knew, having a place to call home after Hogwarts. But, then again, after all that's happened between them, wherever Hermione were it was home to him.

“Yes, you are…” she replied, placing a tender kiss on his chest.

Having recently started an official relationship, the world already labelled her as Harry Potter's girlfriend, but… but she was more than that. Hermione… she was his best friend, the person who knew him best, his confident, his lover, his… His Hermione.

The only one who needed only say oh, Harry and he'd be putty in her hands.

(Now, if he could spend the night listening to Hermione's catchphrase non-stop in that sexy, throaty voice of her, he'd die a happy man.)

“Say it again, Hermione…”

She giggled softly, but complied, leaning up, she breathed wantonly into his ear the two words that could have him up and ready for another go anytime.

“Oh, Harry…”

(Happy man, indeed.)

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End.

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