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Despite the cold, rainy weather outside, it was stifling in the tent; not because of the temperature, which was at a pleasant magic-regulated level, but because of Ron’s absence. It had been weeks since he’d left, Apparating out of Harry and Hermione’s lives. Neither of them knew if they would ever see him again.
Hermione had cried practically non-stop for a week, and even though she was no longer crying in front of Harry, he knew that she still was sometimes, when he wasn’t there to see. Their stop at Godric’s Hollow, and the close encounter with Voldemort, had only been a momentary distraction from her misery. As if Harry didn’t have enough to feel guilty about; he knew how his two friends felt about each other, even if they were both too scared to admit it openly. Harry knew that Ron’s hot temper, brought to boil by the Horcrux, had been what ultimately made him leave…

And yet, Ron hadn’t been wrong. Harry knew it—he’d tell Ron so straight off if he were still there now. Ron had had every right to believe that Dumbledore had given Harry more to work with in their hunt for the Horcruxes, and his anger over their grasping for straws was completely justified… as justified as Harry’s anger was, and perhaps even moreso, since Ron had taken it on blind faith—on Harry’s word.

Hermione was on guard duty that night; Harry had suggested that she not wear the Horcrux for a while; although she hadn’t answered directly, they’d silently agreed to hang it up in a specific place so it wouldn’t be lost, in order to spare them the horrible thing’s contaminating touch. Hermione had hung the chain over the nail, and walked slowly to the tent’s door without looking at Harry.

Now Harry was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. Insomnia was becoming a problem for him. His dreams, when he did sleep, were dark and unsettling, so he wasn’t inclined to hunt them down, no matter how tired he was. But he knew he needed his sleep; if he was exhausted he would be unable to help Hermione when they broke camp, or set up the new one, and that was unfair. He’d been unfair to her enough already.

Tossing the sheets off, Harry sighed. Thinking about Hermione missing Ron just made Harry think of how much he missed Ginny. That snog Ginny had given him on his birthday had been—

It hadn’t even been the most they’d done together. They had gone a good bit further over their short relationship the previous year, although never that—Harry was too nervous to bring that up. But when Ginny’s lips had touched his that day in her room, he’d remembered every stolen moment with her, every kiss, every caress, and had wanted it all again. He was almost grateful to Ron for interrupting them, because if he hadn’t then Harry might have tackled Ginny onto her bed, and they’d definitely have forgotten locking and silencing charms and then they’d have had much more serious trouble.

Harry groaned as his body responded to his thoughts of what he might have done to Ginny. His hand slipped inside his boxers and circled his hardened cock; closing his eyes, his vision swam with images of Ginny—her hair, her smile, her small, pert breasts and slim hips. The freckles that were sprinkled across her chest, and (as he’d discovered one magnificent evening) even lower.

He pushed his boxers down to free his straining cock. His breathing grew rapid as his hand increased speed, feeling the pressure building at the base of his spine—Ginny’s eyes, her smooth skin, the sensitive spot right at the base of her neck where she liked it when Harry—

He came with a huge exhalation of breath, spurting into his hand. But the release was… unsatisfying, Harry thought glumly as his breathing returned to normal. It just reminded him of how he was alone…

Well, not completely alone. Hermione was still there—not exactly the sort of company he was craving, but at least she was company, even if she was upset with him. Harry rolled his head toward the tent door to see if he could see the light from Hermione’s wand, and gave a strangled yelp.

Hermione was standing just inside the door to the tent. She was staring, Harry realized, at Harry’s softening cock, her mouth wide open and her eyes wide, as though mesmerized.

Harry’s yelp startled Hermione out of her trance; her eyes met Harry’s for a split second, and by the light of her wand Harry could tell that she was blushing as deeply as he’d ever seen. Without a word, Hermione spun around and raced out of the tent, dropping the flap without looking back, leaving Harry to clean himself up.

He felt completely mortified. Ginny hadn’t even seen him naked like that—all the touching they’d done had been above the clothes, although she had brought him off like that even so. But for Hermione to—and she and Ron—how long had she been watching?

Harry couldn’t bring himself to mention it again, and neither could Hermione. He feigned sleep when she finally came inside later, and the following morning they both pretended that it hadn’t happened. Harry felt—well, relieved that Hermione was willing to not mention it, but also guilty all over again. He knew from the way that Ron and Hermione always danced around each other that they’d never even kissed, let alone done anything like that. Hermione had almost definitely never seen a naked man before. Harry shouldn’t have been the first—Ron should have. Just one more thing that Harry had done wrong where Ron was concerned.

The next day was very awkward; Hermione was talking to him again, but in a stilted, falsely cheerful sort of way that betrayed both her unhappiness over Ron’s departure and her discomfort from the night before. Harry responded by withdrawing slightly, and they ended up packing the camp up in silence. There was another deeply uncomfortable moment when they had to hold hands to Apparate to their new spot; they both let go very quickly.

Harry went about casting the protective Charms, while Hermione set up the tent. When they were through it was still very early. Hermione stood staring off across a field of swaying grass, her arms wrapped around her in the cold. To distract himself, Harry looked around; they were at the edge of a thick woods, with sweeping hills all around. If the sky hadn’t been so grey, and the fields so dead-looking, Harry suspected that the spot would be beautiful. “Er… where are we?” he asked.

For a moment Harry wasn’t sure if Hermione had heard him, but just when he was about to ask again she spoke; “Mrs. Weasley showed me a photo of herself and Mr. Weasley at this spot a couple of years ago. She said that it was one of their favorite vacation spots before they started having children. We’ve just come at the wrong time of year.”

Harry nodded. “I wouldn’t mind seeing this place during the summer,” he offered.

Hermione turned to face him and smiled slightly—the first smile she’d given since Ron had left. “Nor would I. Maybe we could surprise the Weasleys with a trip out here.”

“That’s a great idea.”

They both fell silent again; Harry felt the awkwardness creeping in. He needed to say something, anything…

“Harry?” Hermione asked, “where are we going to go next? What’s our next step?”

Seizing onto the offering like a lifeline, Harry threw out the first thing he could think of: Hogwarts. Hermione immediately countered with objections, and they began another of their long conversations about how to proceed with the Horcrux hunt. Harry welcomed it, not just because it helped disperse the awkwardness that had lingered over from the previous night, but also because he missed talking to Hermione; with Ron gone, they only had each other, and if they weren’t speaking then things were going to get awfully lonely on their mission.

They went inside, had a makeshift breakfast and went right back to arguing. Not that they came up with anything new—they hadn’t had any really new ideas for a long time. But it was good to try, and by that evening Harry thought that he might have worn Hermione down a bit more about Hogwarts; with any luck, he might be able to convince her to go there soon.

Sunset came and went, and the dark of true night settled over them. Harry borrowed Hermione’s wand to light some lamps, and smiled when Hermione covered a huge yawn with her hand. “You didn’t get much sleep at all last night, did you?” he asked.

Hermione looked up at him in shock. “What? I…? What do you mean?”

“Er… just that you were on guard most of the night,” Harry said nervously, not wanting to mention what had happened. “So you’re probably tired… right?”

“Oh—yes,” Hermione agreed, looking oddly relieved. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Go ahead and get some sleep,” Harry said, standing up. “I’ll take watch tonight.”

Hermione stood up too and smiled her thanks. “If you get tired, wake me and I’ll take over for you,” she said.

“I will,” Harry agreed, and ducked out of the tent flap.

It was impossible to get comfortable. The little chair that they used while keeping watch was wobbly, and too small for Harry. He eventually ended up like he always did while on watch: slumped down with his back and head resting against the tent. Harry was still pretty tired, not having slept much the night before, but he found it hard to care whether he fell asleep while on guard duty.


Harry jerked awake. He’d been asleep a while—the first hints of pre-dawn sunlight were creeping over the hills. Straightening, Harry winced as several muscles protested wildly—he hadn’t fallen asleep in a comfortable position.

He wondered what it had been that had woken him. He was a bit on edge, so almost any sound might have done it; he listened carefully, trying to pick out any sound that might not have been a natural ambient noise in their surroundings…

Then he heard it. A soft moan, coming from inside the tent. Hermione sounded—

Like everyone tells me I sound when I’m having a nightmare, Harry thought. Was Hermione dreaming of Ron? Was she worried that he was hurt? Harry certainly was—they’d had no news from anyone in the Order since well before Ron had left. They really had no idea how bad things had gotten—which was enough to give anyone nightmares.

Harry stood up and, after a moment’s hesitation, ducked back into the tent. Hermione, as well as Ron and the rest of Harry’s friends, had helped him when he’d had nightmares in the past—he should at least try to help her.

But the thought was driven from his mind—as was every other thought—when Harry got inside and saw that Hermione was most definitely not having a nightmare.

Hermione was in her bed, naked from the waist down; her jeans and knickers were bunched at the foot of the bed. Her nipples stood out sharply through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. Both of her hands were between her legs, and Harry could clearly see three fingers of her right hand were buried up to the second knuckle inside of her. The fingers of the other hand were moving rapidly back and forth over a spot that seemed to be driving her wild.

Ginny had explained, she’d even let Harry bring her off through her knickers, but he’d never seen. And Hermione was—and both her hands were—Harry’s mouth was completely dry. Hermione, bossy know-it-all Hermione, half-naked Hermione, was wanking right in front of him.

As Harry watched, Hermione’s breath grew shorter. Her fingers, he saw, were moving in and out of her cunt, and they sped up, plunging over and over, and her other hand was a blur as she rubbed on that spot until she gasped; her whole body went rigid and her breath caught, and Harry realized that she was coming.

It took Hermione a bit longer than it usually took Harry to come back to herself. When she finally did, she sighed—and then, to Harry’s shock, she began to cry, softly. It was probably the last thing he’d have expected, although it made perfect sense—who would she have been thinking of while wanking other than the one person who could really make her cry?

Before Harry could react, or decide what to do, Hermione, sniffling, rolled over to reach for a tissue on the nightstand by her bed—and saw Harry. She froze, looking exactly the same as when she’d caught Harry in just the same way the night before. Their eyes met, and Harry realized that there was absolutely nothing to say—just the conclusion which Hermione had undoubtedly come to. Spinning, Harry yanked the tent flap open, and dropped it behind him as he stumbled out into the open air, his cheeks burning.

The night before, had Hermione felt the way he did at that moment? Had she been as aroused as he was? Harry’s cock was so hard it hurt, and if it hadn’t been so cold that night he might have just had a wank right then, and be damned what the squirrels or the birds saw. Instead, he collapsed into the tiny chair, closed his eyes and thumped his head against the side of the tent. But the image of Hermione, legs spread, her fingers penetrating her own body, sprang into his mind and wouldn’t leave. It’s not right, Harry told himself sternly, thumping his head harder. I don’t—I don’t want to think of Hermione that way! It’s not my place! And besides, Ginny—

The moment he thought Ginny’s name, the young redheaded girl took Hermione’s place in his mind. He could see her in the same position; though he’d never seen her naked in person, his imagination—and his newfound understanding—created a vivid picture. Ginny’s fingers were slimmer than Hermione’s, but in Harry’s mind so was just about every part of her—her legs, dangling loosely over the edges of the bed, her hips, which writhed as her fingers crept over and into her most intimate place. Harry could see Ginny as if he really had, as if she was there; his hand was inside his jeans, and never mind about the cold, because if Harry didn’t relieve himself he was going to burst. Ginny’s taunting image in his mind, far more intimate than ever he’d imagined before, drove him over the edge again, and he had to make judicious use of cleaning charms before he could relax again. And relax he did, for the orgasm had a far greater effect than the one the previous night had; Harry felt a surprising satisfaction from it that hadn’t been present the night before.

Harry stayed on watch all night. Hermione never came to offer to relieve him, but Harry didn’t mind—he wasn’t sure he could look her in the eye just then. When the sun was high enough he couldn’t put it off any longer, so he slipped back into the tent.

Hermione was already up, cooking breakfast. She turned and looked at Harry, but returned her attention to the stove before their eyes met. “I think we should move on again,” she said in that same falsely cheerful voice. “We’ll need to find a spot that’s a bit more hidden, where we can stay put for a while. Or at least until we decide for certain what our next step is going to be.”

She was going to behave exactly as she had after the first night. That suited Harry just fine, since the previous night had been even more awkward than the night before it. “Okay,” he replied. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

“I think I know a spot,” Hermione confirmed, grabbing some toast from the toaster and laying it on a tray next to a jar of jelly.

“Good. Let’s eat quickly and get moving.”

Neither of them said anything else for the rest of the morning. They went through their usual process of packing up their camp and eliminating all traces of their having been there, and were ready to go very quickly. Harry took Hermione’s hand, trying not to think of how it was the hand that had been—he drove the thought from his mind just before Hermione Apparated them to their new location.

The forest of Dean, where Hermione had taken them, was beautiful, if barren. Hermione told Harry that she’d been camping with her parents at their new spot some time ago. Harry felt wretched, knowing what Hermione had done to her parents in order to protect them. It was bad enough not having parents—he couldn’t imagine how terrible it felt for Hermione, knowing that they were out there, but that they didn’t even remember she existed, and wouldn’t even recognize her face to face.

After they’d reset the camp, they both stayed outside. It was still cold, and there was a good bit of snow on the ground, but neither of them wanted to go inside the tent. So they stood outside, occasionally stamping their feet, and debated about what their next step should be.

Around midday, they still hadn’t covered any new ground. Harry sighed; at least the weather had warmed up a bit. “I still think—”

“That we should go to Hogwarts, yes, I know, Harry,” Hermione said wearily. “But we need to focus! If we lose sight of our ultimate goal—”

“Then what? Voldemort will win?” Harry snapped. “I’ve got news for you, Hermione—he already has!”

“No he hasn’t!” Hermione gasped. “Don’t say that!”

“But it’s true! He’s won! He’s taken over the Ministry! His people are running wild, with no one to challenge them but a handful of dissidents with no real power!”

“We’re opposing him, Harry!” Hermione said. “What have we been doing all this time, isolated from our friends and families, if not giving everything we have to try and bring Voldemort down?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said wretchedly. “All I know is that right now, the only thing I’ve accomplished is to ruin the best friendship I ever had.”

He regretted it the instant he’d said it. Hermione’s face twisted, and she turned away from him, running back to the tent. Harry stood there cursing himself silently for being so stupid. Hermione had chosen to help him, because she’d promised; she let Ron walk out of her life, when she could have followed him, and Harry wouldn’t have blamed her for it, but she hadn’t, and now Harry was pouring salt on her wounds.

It was almost sunset by the time Harry finally got up the courage to poke his head in the tent. Hermione was sitting in a large stuffed chair, flipping through some notes. She looked up when Harry appeared, and smiled shyly. “You missed lunch.”

Harry shrugged. “There’s always supper.” He dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For all of it. What I said, what I’ve gotten you into…”

“You haven’t gotten me into anything, Harry,” Hermione interrupted gently, standing and walking over to him. “I admit that sometimes, when I’m feeling unfair, I do think that, but—well, it’s not true. If I’m being honest, I got myself into this. I could have let you push me away, like you were trying to do so much. I decided not to. Maybe I’m just stubborn, but that wasn’t in me. Anything about what’s happened these last few months that I don’t like, I’m more to blame than you are.”

Harry sighed. “I’m still sorry.”

“I know. But try not to be, okay?” She smiled when Harry nodded sheepishly. “I don’t think we do have anything for supper, you know. Unless you want to try and find a supermarket?”

They did eventually choose to track down a little supermarket, and picked up enough food for a week of good meals; Harry felt guilty that Hermione was spending her money, but she dismissed it, saying that they needed their strength to keep going. Harry didn’t argue further, especially once they’d cobbled together their first really complete meal in weeks. Neither Harry nor Hermione was a very good cook, but what they managed was like a feast compared to their recent fare.

Harry felt himself drifting when he heard Hermione giggle. Startled—since he hadn’t heard her laugh or giggle in a long time—he looked over at her. “What?”

“Oh, you just look all in,” Hermione said with a smile. “You reminded me of my dad for a moment, actually… he always got drowsy after a really big meal.”

Harry grinned. “Well, let’s hope your mum’s a better cook than you are!”

With an indignant hmph, Hermione threw a pillow at Harry. “Oh, go on,” she grumbled.

“I’m just kidding, Hermione. That was really good—seriously. I feel a lot better now.”

“So do I,” Hermione admitted, accepting Harry’s half-apology. She smirked when Harry yawned. “And just like my dad, you want to go right to sleep after stuffing yourself. You’re just lucky it’s my turn to take watch!”

After a moment, Harry and Hermione looked away from each other awkwardly. Hermione glanced at the clock, which read almost nine-thirty. “I suppose I’d best get out there, it’s well past dark,” she said, standing. “If you can sleep now, you probably should—I’m rather tired myself, and I doubt I’ll last through the night.”

“Do you want me to—?”

“No,” Hermione said firmly, pulling on her warmer clothes. “You were out there all last night; we’re taking turns, it’s only fair. Goodnight, Harry,” she said, and stepped outside. Harry smiled in spite of himself; that had been the first time since Ron had left that Hermione had said good morning or good night to him.

Harry got undressed and climbed into bed. He was tired; very tired. His sleep the night before hadn’t been nearly sufficient, and it was bliss to climb onto the rather lumpy mattress, flop down on his back and just let his muscles relax.

However, after about half an hour, Harry was still awake. It wasn’t the usual insomnia… it was more the fact that the last time he’d tried to fall asleep in this bed, he’d made the mistake of wanking first, and Hermione had walked in and saw everything…

Harry’s cock twitched. He couldn’t help it—thinking of two nights ago meant thinking of last night as well, ad that meant thinking about Hermione’s naked form, and that meant thinking about Ginny’s naked form, and that led to Harry’s cock growing stiff. He wasn’t even touching it—just the images in his head were enough. Harry groaned, throwing his arms over his head, and tried to will his body to stop.

The tent flap lifted, and Hermione stepped in. Harry sat bolt upright and made to cover himself as Hermione’s eyes fell on him again. Oh Merlin, not again… he thought.

But Harry stopped when Hermione’s eyes met his. There was something there, just behind the slight surprise of seeing Harry with his boxers tented like they were—something that hadn’t been in her eyes the previous time. Something.. longing.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their eyes locked, until finally Hermione broke away. But her gaze simply drifted down Harry’s body until it rested on his crotch, where his still very stiff penis was clearly evident. Without taking her eyes off of it, Hermione reached out, grasped the back of a wooden chair, and swung it around behind her. She s down gingerly, with her hands resting on her thighs, and simply waited.

Harry didn’t know what to do. it was fairly obvious what Hermione was expecting, but… when he wanked, he fantasized about Ginny. As much as he cared for Hermione, and as much as seeing her wanking had aroused him, it wasn’t her naked image that drove him to completion. To let her think that it was would be wrong—doubly wrong, considering how he hoped Ginny still felt about him, and triply wrong, considering how he knew Ron felt about Hermione.

Nevertheless, Hermione’s gaze made Harry act without thinking. He pulled his boxers off, revealing himself completely to Hermione for the second time. She obviously wasn’t as surprised as the first time, and her expression didn’t change; Harry still noted that look in her eyes, and thought that he recognized it as hunger.

Harry lay back down, closed his eyes and grasped himself. The only way he could possibly wank was to forget that Hermione was there; he brought to mind the image that had gotten him going—Ginny, her legs spread wide, thrusting her fingers into her hot, wet cunt. Harry pumped his hand and imagined asking Ginny to let him and having Ginny say yes, imagined feeling that heat, that wet tightness himself, as he thrust into her, her lean, strong arms around him, her legs pulling him in, urging him on…

He came with a groan, too lost in the fantasy to remember to cover himself properly, and come shot up over his stomach and chest. Panting, Harry came back to himself, and recalled where he was—and who was there with him. He turned his head just in time to see Hermione stand up. She was still looking at his cock, now softening in his hand, covered in sweat and come. Then, without looking directly at Harry, she turned and stepped outside.

Harry cleaned himself up and pulled his clothes back on. He was deeply confused; what had been the point of that? He almost felt like he hadn’t just wanked off at all. And the look Hermione had been giving him—he didn’t know what to make of it. As he lay back down, he stared at the ceiling again, feeling guilty and mystified, and certain that he would be even more awkward around Hermione the next morning.

When he did drift off to sleep, his dreams were vague and disturbing, weighted with emotions of hurt, shame and betrayal. He woke up sweating, feeling even worse than when he’d gone to sleep.

It was still early, but Hermione was already making breakfast. “Er… I could have done that,” Harry said nervously.

“You were obviously tired, you needed the sleep,” Hermione said shortly, not turning around. “I’d like to try and find some news today—maybe see if we can get hold of a copy of The Daily Prophet.”

Harry bit back a comment about the uselessness of the Prophet. “You mean you want to move again? But…”

“No, I think we should stay here,” Hermione countered. “I’d just like to get a paper.”

“Are we very far from London? Or Hogsmeade?”

Hermione frowned slightly in thought. “Fairly far,” she admitted. “But we may be able to Summon a paper all the same.”

Harry offered to try; he pulled on some clothes, laced up his shoes and stepped outside; it was very cold, even colder than the day before. Shivering, Harry tried several times to Summon a newspaper, but nothing happened. He was grumbling when Hermione stepped outside as well. “It’s no use,” he said, thrusting out the wand to her. “I can’t do it with your wand. You’d better have a go.”

Hermione dropped her eyes, looking as though she might cry, and Harry kicked himself again; Hermione still felt guilty about breaking Harry’s wand. He didn’t blame her—escaping Voldemort was worth almost any cost. Although he did feel disturbingly vulnerable without it.

It turned out not to be a matter of whose wand Harry was using—Hermione was unable to Summon a copy of the Prophet either. Eventually they decided to Apparate to a nearby Muggle town and pick up a few things, including all the Muggle newspapers they could find, just in case there was some wizard activity reported.

Unfortunately, it meant packing up the tent and the site, since they couldn’t leave it without the magical protections, and if they left the protections up and left, they’d never find it again themselves. Fortunately, by that time they were quite adept at the entire process, and it didn’t take them very long.

They returned to the location well after noon, laden with a stack of Muggle papers and magazines. After a quick lunch they started sifting through the stories. It didn’t take much for them to tell what was magic-related—the Ministry under Voldemort’s control wasn’t taking much care to disguise magic from the Muggles.

They had a brief dinner, at Hermione’s insistence; they’d only gotten halfway through the stack of papers and she wanted to get back to them. Harry found the whole thing frustrating; ironically, he’d much rather have had the Prophet—at least they knew all the stories were magic-related, and all they’ have to do was read between the lines for the truth.

Harry tried to return to the papers after eating, but his heart wasn’t in it. All they’d found so far were “accidents” that were most likely hate crimes performed by Death Eaters, which wasn’t exactly comforting reading. He found his mind wandering; he thought about the Order, and wondered whether they’d managed to accomplish anything since the fall of the Ministry. He wondered, oddly enough, about Kreacher, and whether the house-elf had managed to survive the influx of Death Eaters into the House of Black.

Mostly, though, he wondered about Ron. In a moment of indignant anger, he hoped fervently that the rest of the Weasleys—Ginny in particular—were giving Ron hell for abandoning Harry and Hermione when they really needed him. But then Harry felt guilty for even thinking that.

He stood up abruptly, making Hermione look up in surprise. “I’m going outside,” he said. “We’ve been in here for hours—I just want a bit of fresh air.”

To his surprise, Hermione nodded. “All right,” she agreed, also setting aside her paper and standing up. “I could use a break as well. Reading about deaths isn’t exactly a pleasant way to spend an evening.”

But when they got outside it was already dark, and it had turned even more cold. Despite the many layers of clothes they were both wearing, it was too cold to stay outside for long. “Go on,” Hermione said, gesturing towards the tent. “I’ll take watch tonight.”

“No, it’s my turn—”

“I don’t mind, really,” Hermione said, her cheeks very pink.

Harry frowned. Hermione had taken watch the entire previous night—except for the time she had been inside, watching Harry… “Hermione, forget it,” Harry said firmly. “It’s my turn, and you’re tired and you’re clearly freezing.”

Hermione’s teeth were chattering, so she could hardly refute it. “Y-yes, but—”

“But what?”

Hermione looked up at Harry, and he thought he saw a flash of something in her eyes—the same something he’d seen the night before… and a dawning understanding. Of what, Harry had no idea. “Nothing,” she said abruptly. “Here.” She handed Harry her wand. “Thank you,” she said softly, and turned and went back inside.

Harry stepped back into the entryway, where a small, localized heating charm kept the worst of the cold off. After a few tries, he transfigured the chair he’d been sitting on into a fairly comfortable cushion. Mildly pleased with himself, he sat down and tried to get comfortable.

But with nothing to do, he ended up dwelling on Hermione. Her insistence on staying outside was odd… very odd. She hadn’t slept since two nights earlier, she was clearly very tired, and it was freezing out. And yet she’d been very firm about being the one to stay out. At least at first, and then all of a sudden she changed her mind. It was bewildering.

I mean, what is there out here? Harry wondered, glancing around at the dark, snowy woods. Nothing. I wonder what she did out here last night?

I wonder if she… got off, he thought with a blush. After all, she did walk in on me, and sat down and watched while I—

And then it hit him. He knew exactly what Hermione had been thinking, offering to let him be the first inside. And when he’d refused, she’d gotten that look in her eyes, and changed her mind, because that meant that things were reversed…

Harry stood up. He turned to the tent flap. Then he turned and walked a few paces away before stopping again. The cold cut at him, but he was oblivious as he glanced over his shoulder at the tent. If he went inside, was he going to find what he thought?

I can’t, he thought bitterly, closing his eyes. It’s not right. I don’t even—it’s not fair to her. If she’s… she doesn’t even want me that way, she’s just thinking about Ron! Just like I’d only be thinking of Ginny!

Was that why she was doing it? The night before, when Harry had—performed for Hermione, he’d had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t doing it for himself—he was doing it for her. He’d been certain that she was looking at him and seeing Ron… was she trying to return the favor? Or had he been mistaken, and she really was seeing him? And if so… what did that mean?

Harry waffled for over ten minutes before deciding. Even so, his hand hesitated; he took a deep breath to steady himself, and pushed the tent flap aside.

Hermione looked just as she had two nights earlier; her legs were stretched out straight on the bed and she was propped up on her elbows, but otherwise she was in the same post, and just as—unclad. Her hands were resting on her bare thighs, and she was staring at the tent flap. At Harry.

The chair that Hermione had sat in was still next to the door. After staring for a very long moment, Harry reached out without looking, pulled the chair over, and sat down. Hermione didn’t smile, or frown… but there was a definite look of gratitude in her eyes. Licking her lips, she lay back on the bed, closed her eyes, and slowly spread her legs.

This time Harry got to watch from the beginning; the circumstance had Hermione already aroused, but it was still from the first touch, the first gasp, that Harry saw. He saw her fingers grow slick from her own wetness, saw them spread her open, saw the first curl down and inside her. He heard each gasp, each whimper and sigh, until that familiar stutter came; her breath caught, her limbs stiffened, and Hermione came.

Harry waited until she opened her eyes before standing. He didn’t look up at her, though; his gaze was fixed on the openness of her sex. Swallowing, Harry stayed just long enough to be certain that Hermione saw him; then he turned and swept the tent flap aside, stepping back out into the cold.

His legs only supported him as far as the cushion. He collapsed onto it with a thump; his hand was already undoing his jeans, slipping inside and grasping his aching cock. With his eyes closed, it was easy to imagine those legs, those hands, that cunt… and almost as easy to imagine Ginny’s. In his head, Ginny stroked herself for him, and watched him watching her, and said the most unbelievable things… Harry came within moments, groaning softly.

He cleaned himself up and readjusted his clothes, and then sat staring out into the darkness. He waited for guilt to wash over him—guilt that he was hurting all three of the people who mattered most to him in the world. But nothing came—nothing, except a lessening of the loneliness he’d felt growing steadily worse over the last few months. He felt calm—truly calm and relaxed, like he hadn’t felt since… since before he could remember.


Harry woke with a start. His neck was stiff from the odd position he’d fallen asleep in, and he flexed it to try and loosen the muscles. Judging by the moon, he thought he’d been asleep for a few hours already. Amazingly, he didn’t remember dreaming—just a sound sleep that left him feeling deeply refreshed in spite of its shortness.

It was incredibly dark. The moon was no more than a few bits of hazy silver light glittering through the snow-covered branches, and the sky was empty of stars. Harry was reminded of the old expression “can’t see your hands in front of your face”.

He was about to put the adage to the test, when a brilliant light blossomed out of nowhere, right in front of him. Scrambling to his feet, Harry pointed Hermione’s wand. He opened his mouth to shout for Hermione, but stopped himself when the light took form. Harry squinted… and gasped when he saw its shape.

After a long moment the silvery doe turned and walked away. Harry thought he spoke, but he didn’t recognize his own voice. There was nothing he could do… no way he could not follow.


Once again, Harry was staring at the ceiling. It was already dawn, and he was more tired than he ever remembered being. Coming from the next bed over, Ron’s snores were oddly comforting, reminding him of the six years of school and summers in between that Harry had had to get used to it.

Harry thought briefly of the sword—Godric Gryffindor’s sword, securely stashed away in Hermione’s special bag. It was a miracle that they had it—a number of miracles, considering the circumstances by which they’d gotten it. But Harry found himself having trouble really caring, because none of that stuff mattered even a little compared with having Ron back.

It was almost like a dream. Harry remembered breaking the ice in the pond, stripping his clothes off and jumping in; he remembered the feel of the locket’s chain constricting around his neck; he remembered strong arms heaving him above the surface, remembered screaming at Ron to strike the Horcrux, destroy it, as a piece of Voldemort’s soul almost destroyed what was left of his best friend’s self-worth. But it was all like a dream, like some distant yet vivid memory that he couldn’t even be sure was really real.

The only part of it that was solid in Harry’s mind—the only part that he wanted to cling to, to make certain that he would never, ever forget it—was what he’d said to Ron after. In Ron’s weakest moment, when he was most likely more vulnerable than he’d ever been, Harry had managed, somehow, to say exactly the right thing, managed to give Ron exactly what he needed. Harry didn’t feel proud of himself for it—it wasn’t a matter of pride. But when he thought of everything that had happened that night, that was the moment in which he believed a miracle had occurred.

And part of what he’d said had been a lie. I reckon she feels the same way about me…

Or…might have been a lie. Harry wasn’t sure. That was why he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to think that Hermione had grown fond of him, assuming that what they’d done was anything more than a substitute for what—for who—Harry really longed for. But he didn’t know for certain.

Hermione had gotten up, dressed and gone outside hours ago. Harry had feigned sleep when she did, but now he knew he had to talk to her. Slipping out of bed as quietly as he could, he dressed quickly and headed for the door.

Hermione was sitting on the cushion just outside the tent, her wand draped across her knee. She looked up and smiled weakly at Harry when he came out. “Don’t tell him,” she said, “but I am glad that he’s back.”

“I figured that,” Harry admitted, sitting down beside her; the ground was very cold, but he didn’t complain.

“Did you do this?” Hermione asked, plucking at the cushion. Harry nodded. “A good job, Harry! I thought you had trouble with such advanced Transfiguration!”

“Yeah, well… it’s amazing what you can do when your arse is so sore,” Harry said wryly. Then he realized what he’d said and blushed. “Um…”

“I know what you meant,” Hermione said with a soft smile.

She turned and looked out at the forest; the sun was just visible through the trees, and it reflected off of all the snow, making the forest brilliantly bright. They were both silent for a while, but Hermione finally spoke; “He can’t ever know, Harry.”

Harry looked over at her in surprise. “What?”

“He can’t know,” Hermione repeated. “Or her. Even if nothing ever—I don’t want to make things worse. And I just don’t think they’d understand.”

There was no need to ask who “he” and “she” were. “So you—you did know, then?” Harry asked hopefully. “That I wasn’t—”

Hermione looked around and smiled sadly at him. “I never deluded myself into believing that you were thinking of anyone else but her,” she told him. “And I wouldn’t have wanted you to. We—we have enough to worry about without that much complication.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, relieved more than he could believe. “We do. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings in the process. You’ve had them hurt enough recently.”

Nodding, her eyes definitely wet, Hermione looked back out at the forest. “Sometimes,” she said thickly, “sometimes I wonder… I wonder why I—”

Harry took Hermione’s hand. She looked around at him, utterly shocked, and he knew why; it was the first time they’d touched, except to Apparate, in days. “I don’t,” Harry said with a grin.

Hermione sighed. “Well… yes, all right,” she agreed reluctantly, making Harry grin wider. “I—thank you, Harry. For everything, even—well, I’d never—”

“I know,” Harry said. “Me either—not that, at least.” His grin widened. “He’s a lucky man. Or at least, he will be.”

Hermione went scarlet.

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Cho Chang, Harry & Dumbledore

Cho Chang was fast asleep in an unfamiliar bed. Her black silky lucious hair flowed the side of her tan toned body. Cho’s bra was laying on the floor-the white lacy cups askew on the carpet. Her matching thong was drapped over the bedpost, hanging over her as she slept.

She suddenly awoke from her dream, her chocolate watery eyes flashing open as she gazed at her surroundings.

She was naked, and sore. What happened

She remembered drinking a LOT of Fire Whiskey with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They were celebrating New Years’ Eve. She clearly had sex with someone. But who

Her answer groaned next to her in bed. Harry Potter. His built arms and chest were exposed, a tribute to the amount of Quidditch he played. His waist was warpped in a towel. She could tell he had no boxers on. She tried to remember what had happened. She remembered her and Harry going into his room to get a deck of cards to play a drinking game.

They were both already terribly drunk at the time. Harry kept his cards in his room, right next to his bed. She remembered looking at the huge bed, wanting so badly to fall asleep on it. She recalled climbing up into it, she remembered accidentally exposing her barely covered ass as she climbed on. Harry must’ve seen her white lacy thong. She suddenly remembered everything that had happened.

Harry climbed onto the bed next to Cho. They looked at each other, both in the moment. Ginny was still at the Burrow. She was staying up there one extra night.

“God Cho, you’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry had said, extending his hand to place on her thigh. “I’ve wanted you sooo badly for so long. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. So sexy and god you make me so horny,” Harry admitted. He couldn’t believe he had just said that� to the girl of his dreams. He finally admitted it.

And moments later, Cho was riding his cock, thrusting herself up and down his monstrous shaft, screaming in pleasure at every impalement.

She remembered him cumming inside her, both of them sweaty and drunk, still fucking just because it felt so good. It felt soooo good.

Cho had remembered EVERYTHING now. She remembered how full she felt with him inside her. She wanted him again. Right now. She had to have him fill her up like he did last night.

“Harry, wake up,” she said, tapping Harry gently. “Ughh,” he moaned as he woke up. “What the hell happened” Cho explained to him the sequence of events from the night before. “Oh God Cho, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I didn’t even realize what I was saying. Please forgive me, ” Harry pleaded, bright red from embarrasment.

“Harry, it’s fine. I’ve wanted you for a while now too. And I want you again.right now,” she said, licking her lips.

Harry got hard right away when she said this. She went down on him, licking the huge mushroom head that was oozing with precum. He was throbbing from such a hardon. He was so muscular, his penis stood strong and powerful, waiting for her sweet smooth lips to slurp on it. She obliged, opening her mouth to swallow his huge cock. She warmth emitting from it started to get her wet as she licked and sucked on his rod.

“Oh God Cho, he began to moan, grabbing her head and pulling her down further on his cock. She easily opened her mouth more and took down the last few inches of his swollen throbbing meat. “Choooo! OH GOD OH MY FUCKING GODDDD,” he screamed as he released tons of cum down her throat. She gagged on the milky cream but eventually swallowed all of it. Little bit dribbled out of her mouth and landed on her B breasts. She licked it off her breast, savoring Harry’s taste.

“Mmmmm,” she cried with glee, cherishing the taste of cum in her mouth. “Oh Cho, you were so good. So amazing,” he panted, recovering his breath from the amazing blowjob that rocked his world. Thats when he reached forward and kissed her, right on the lips. His tongue was in her mouth moments later, and he climbed on top of her so that she was pinned down on the bed.

Holding her arms above her head with one hand, he spread her legs with another and slammed into her. She screamed in shock as he plunged into her so quickly. Her tight pussy began to milk his cock, gushing with juices of her own.

“Ohhhh HARRY! HARRY! FUCK ME HARRY FUCK ME HARD!” Cho begged as he pounded her harder and harder. “Youre too big for me. Too big. I can’t stretch anymore. AHHHH!” The last few inches disappeared into her fuck hole, pleasure rippling through both of them.

She loved the feeling of his huge HUGE cock in her. SO big. She was absolutely streched to the maximum. She felt so good. His thrusts got harder and harder as she began bucking wildly against him, both of them screaming in pleasure. Her boobs were jiggling hard as he pounded into her. It turned Harry on more to see her getting so violently fucked by him. She looked in pain, but her screams were of sheer pleasure. She felt amazing. Like his little whore.

“YESSSSS HARRY!” She shrieked as she orgasmed all over his cock. That sent him over the edge and he filled her up with his seed. They were both moaning deeply, calming down from the sexual override both of them had.

He collapsed off her to the side, his right hand kneading her breast. She was moaning quietly as he kept squeezing and jiggling it in his hand. She felt the cum leaking out of her. He had coated her to the extreme, just how she liked it.

She had a tiny orgasm as he continued to play with her tits. He stuck a few fingers in her which really got her going, but after she cummed, she had to go. Her roomate would be wondering where she was, and she really needed to clean herself up.

She thanked Harry for all his time and promised to sleep with him again next time Ginny was out of town.

Hours later, Cho was in her Potions class, trying to keep her mind off of Harry’s huge cock. She fantasized about it all class, trying to remember just how he thrusted into her, satisfying her to the extreme.

“Miss Chang,” Snape said, awaking her from her daydream. “I got an owl from Dumbledoor. He wants to see you in his office right away.”

Cho got up and left Potions classing, tugging her skirt down a little lower as to not be inappropriate for the Headmaster. The skirts at the school were already short enough, it was hard not to expose some leg in them.

“Miss Chang,” Dumbledoor greeted her. “Please sit.” The door locked behind her. “What can I do for you, Professor” She asked sweetly. “Well, I see youre failing Herbology. Why is that” He asked, a sparkle in his eyes. She knew why she was failing. In the back of the greenhouse, she had to give Draco Malfoy blowjobs. Crabbe and Goyle held her down and he stuck his cock in her mouth. She secretly loved it, but would never admit it. She shrugged her shoulders sheepishly.

“You’re an extrememly intelligent girl, Cho. You’re beautiful, witty, clever, and young. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don’t let anything bring you down,” he comforted her, as he came around the side of his desk and sat in the chair next to her. He put his hand on her knee, a sign of friendship. “You know, instead of retaking Herbology next year, you could just do a little extra credit.” He smiled as his hand moved up her thigh. She looked down at his obvious move on her.

Taking advantage of the situation, she opened her legs a little. “What kind of umm extra credit” She asked, a certain knowing tone in her voice.

“Just some extra practice. To make you a pro.at Herbology, of course,” he grinned as his fingers reached her cunt. “I promise it’ll be painless, and you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

“Oh yes, Professor. I’m sure I will,” she moaned as he stuck a finger into her awaiting wet pussy. “Please, teach me a lesson, Headmaster. I must learn.”

“How good are you at oral reports, Cho I’ve heard from Mister Malfoy that you are quite talented,” he chuckled. She didn’t say a word as he inched another finger into her.

She moaned and dropped to her knees in front of him. She unwrapped his robes and found his massive cock. “Oh goodness, Headmaster. How big is your cock” Hey eyes widened at the site.

“Eleven and a half inches, Cho.” He said, pushing himself forward to her gasping mouth. She licked around his shaft gently, sucking on the tip ever so rigorously.

“Ahhh so this is what Mister Malfoy told me about. You’re one of the best I’ve ever had, Cho,” he explained as he pushed his dick into her mouth. Several inches entered easily, Cho was amazingy at handling cock in her mouth. She had had so much practice from Draco. He surpassed her mouth and headed straight down her throat. She gagged at the massive intrustion but quickly recovered, slurping and nibbling so much down that she could barely breathe.

“Ohhh CHO you naughty naughty girl,” he moaned, pulling on her silky black hair, making her throat open even more to let him enter. When he felt the last of it slide into her mouth, he began thrusting. In and out, in and out. So quickly that she couldn’t keep up. She just let him guide her through the gurgling. Dumbledoor slapped her ass hard and squeezed it so that pain was beginning to throb throughout her body. The pain kept turning her on. She was soaked between her legs, her thong catching her juices as they seeped out of her. She felt more horny than she had ever been. She then felt him tense up and increase his tempo, which meant he was about to cum. She moaned onto the cock in her throat, tiny pulses rippling up and down his penis. Thats when he lost it and eploded deep inside her throat. It flew down her throat, not even giving her a chance to gag on the cum.

She blacked out for only seconds as he pulled his limp cock out of her violated throat. She quickly regained consciousness, now able to breathe properly. “Ohh god Headmaster, I didn’t think I was going to make it,” she cried, barely able to talk.

“The pain has only just begun Cho,” he told her. “Wait til you get it up your ass. Then you’ll feel real pain.” He cackled to himself as he began to unbutton her Hogwarts blouse. Her B cups burst out, barely contained in the lacy white bra she had on. “Jackpot,” he smiled as he looked at his sexy young schoolgirl.

She shivered at his touch. She was actually afraid of the pain he could inflict on her. She was so exposed, he could see the little goosebumps form on her body. He kept her skirt on, but rolled it up so it barely covered her ass. Her bra also remained on, but her thong was off in moments. So now the only thing she was wearing was her white bra, her short slutty schoolgirl skirt, and her black heels that she had decided to wear that day, unaware of what she was going to be involved in.

He shoved her against his huge desk, her breasts dangling above his desktop, her ass in the air. She felt the rush of cold on her ass, and she knew that she was completely exposed to him now. She whimpered as she felt the huge cock at the entrance of her pussy. Eleven and a half inches. She could barely keep it in her mouth. But in her pussy She did NOT think she could take him.

With one sudden thrust, she felt him enter her. No lube. No condom. Nothing. Just pure dick in her damp pussy. She was screaming in pain as he continued to enter her pussy. The pain was unbelievable. She felt like she was being ripped in half. She began crying as he kept pushing in harder and harder. “PLEASE HEADMASTER STOP! PLEASE STOP!” She sobbed as he continued to enter her. “Pleaseeee Headmaster, stop. You’re too big for me. I can’t handle your huge cock in my tight pussy. It hurts too much,” she was trembling from the pain and felt completely at the mercy of this enormous cock.

“You’re my slut and you will do as you’re told, ” he shouted at her, slapping her on the ass. She screamed at the abuse, but felt the heat inside her build for some reason. Being punished was getting her so hot. Sooo fucking hot. “You don’t get to make any decisions, cunt. I’m your master,” he barked, slapping her ass til it got red. It took some of the pain away from her pussy and got her so unbelievably horny. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the pain began to diminish.

Something new came over her. Euphoria.

She never felt so good in her life before. Pleasure was crashing into her from all sides as he slowly began to pump her. Her ass was still straight out in the air, which he was now fingering gently as he thrust into her repeatedly, getting harder every time. She was now thrusting back against his huge cock, her tits jiggling madly in the air as he continued to fuck her over his desk. Pound after pound, she kept moaning and screaming for more cock. She felt amazing. The heat was building, his cock� was throbbing inside her, making her feel amazing.

“OHHHHHHHHH HEADMASTER!” Cho cried in bliss. “Fuck me harder, Professor. I’m a naughty girl for failing Herbology. Fuck me harder, harder, harder! I’m your slut. Punish me as you see fit, Headmaster. I’m your prisoner. Do me hard, without mercy. Keep fucking me til I scream and scream,” Cho moaned, gasping with every penetration.

His hands retreated to her waist, pulling her in closer to him with every thrust. She was now shrieking in pleasure. He wanted to fuck the living daylight out of her. She was his property now. He could do whatever he wanted to his little cum guzzling whore. Her tiny waist looked so sexy and fit, he had no idea how she was fitting him into her. She was so petite. And yet she was bucking him from the desk, gasping for more.� Her breasts were bouncing around in her bra, looking so juicy and firm. He would have those next. When he took her in the ass.

“Cho you little slut, I’m gonna cum into you. You’re gonna have so much cum in you, you’ll drown in it. You are getting drenched my little naughty school girl,” he warned and then proceeded to absolutely cover her in cum. It quickly filled up her pussy, and he pulled out, letting it splash all over her face and tits, splashing a little into her hair. It was running down her body now, pooling around her. She kept moaning and moaning as she felt the cum splatter all over her. She instantly began licking up the pools, desiring cum in her mouth once again.

“How am I doing, sir” She asked, as she scooped more cum into her mouth. Some dribbled down her full lower lip, which she quickly licked off. “So good, Miss Chang. You are truly earning your extra credit,” he panted, catching his breath.

“Am I dont yet, headmaster” She asked, rubbing the cum along her thigh.

“Not yet. You have one last project. I’m taking your ass,” he said. She was too overwhelmed in the pleasure to notice him lift her up and take her behind the desk with him. He sat in his huge chair, his cock exposed and erect. She looked at him puzzled.

“You are pushing it up your ass, Cho,” he explained. Her eyes grew wide. “Pretend you are sitting on my lap. Except make sure your asshole lands right on my cock. Then you just ease yourself down.” Cho gulped in fear. She had never taken anything up the ass before, except for a few fingers and one time a hairbursh handle.

“Do it, you whore. You know you want to feel good like you did before. It’ll get you an A in Herbology.” he teased her, spreading his legs more. She sighed nervously, and began to climb onto him. She slowly lowered herself down onto him, but she turned and faced the opposite way, so he was just looking at the back of her head, not at her face. She felt it begin to enter her ass, and she tensed up. “Relax Cho, let all your muscles loose. Be a good cunt and just sit on my dick.”

She continued to lower herself, screaming in pain every inch. She was breathing heavily, beads of sweat covered her exposed body. Dumbledoor, growing impatient, grabbed her by the hips and slammed her down onto his erect cock. She let out a huge scream of pain, followed by multiple gasps of agony. She was crying again, sobbing as he began to lift her frail figure up and down. His cock slid in and out of her ass, each time her shrieking in torment. “HEADMASTER OH OH OH OH!” She screamed as he began pulling her down harder and faster onto his cock. “You’re too big sir. You’re way too big. It hurts so badly. Please let me go. Please Headmaster! PLEASE UGH UGH AHHHH!” She screamed as he slammed her down onto his cock over and over again. His hands reached up and found her bouncing tits as he continued to thrust her down onto him. She was crying profously now, the pain overriding the pleasure. No matter how much pain she was in though, it kept building her up. She felt so horny, all she wanted was him to be back in her pussy to fuck her hard again.

Streaks of pleasure began to surface in her ass suddenly. Admist the pain, she began to enjoy the huge cock in her ass. She felt so full and happy. She began bucking herself against the huge cock. She was moaning and crying out in pleasure as his cock continued to pound her ass full and hard. He continued twisting her sensitive tits, feeling them bounce up and down with each thrust. She was enjoying his fondling and urged him on with moans. One hand continued on her tits while the other crawled down to her pussy. She felt him stick something thick inside her. She knew it couldn’t be his cock, since that was buried in her ass.

Whatever it was, it felt smooth and thick, and got her pussy fired up bigtime. “You like my wand in your cunt, you little slut” Dumbledoor figured by her expression of ecstacy. “Groweth! Vibratio!” He cried as his wand began to grow in size and vibrate quite violently. This got her screaming again, this time in nothing but pleasure. She didn’t feel the pain of a cock in her ass anymore. She was so overwhelmed by Dumbledoor’s vibrating wand in her twat. She bucked wildly and orgasmed over and over again, each time sobbing in pleasure.

He cummed deep inside her ass, she felt it fill her up and coat her insides. It got her more excited. She felt him lift her up off his limp cock. She was totally spent. She felt her legs give out as she fell onto the stone floor of his office. The cool stone felt excellent against her steamy skin. Cum was pouring out both her holes now, pooling around her cunt.

“Headmaster, thank you for teaching me such an important lesson. I am a naughty slut who deserved that completely, I learned my lesson, Professor,” she said between pants for air.

“Yes I think you did learn your lesson, you dirty little cock sucking school girl,” he agreed. running his fingers through her silky raven hair. “You learned that you will get punished for your actions,” he continued, stroking her tan legs. He reached up her skirt, ran his hand across her tight ass. “If you behave, I promise next time you will only feel pleasure, little cunt. You’ll just scream and scream in bliss. It’ll be a lesson you won’t forget.” He said, slapping her firm ass and then getting up from his master chair.

He pulled his robes back over, told her to clean up in his private bathroom, and to hurry because he was expecting another student soon.

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Hermione Granger sat alone on the bed, waiting and thinking. It all seemed so long ago now. In a way, it was; it was near the end of the summer holidays, just before the start of fifth year at Hogwarts.
Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had wasted no time after learning from Harry late in their fourth year, at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, that Voldemort had regained his body. He had immediately begun to recall the old members of the Order of the Phoenix, reforming the group and planning a strategy. But then the year ended and the students returned to their homes, most of them getting their only information from the Daily Prophet, which was more useless than usual, as the Minister of Magic had plainly refused to accept from Dumbledore that Voldemort was back, and so, used his influence to keep any news about Voldemort, or his Death Eaters, out of the wizarding world’s premiere newspaper.

Hermione had been rather surprised, and a little alarmed, by Ron’s owl, so early in the summer holiday, telling her that Professor Dumbledore had asked that she go to the Burrow as quickly as she could, and remain with the Weasley’s for the rest of the summer. Ron’s parents were members of the original Order, and had pledged their support once again to Dumbledore the same night Harry witnessed Voldemort’s return. Hermione feared Dumbledore’s request must be something to do with this, and she was very worried that something might have happened to Harry since there was no mention in Ron’s letter of him going there as well.

On her arrival, Hermione was almost relieved to learn that Harry was still stuck on Privet Drive with his wretched Muggle relatives. The Dursleys were awful people, at least from what Harry had told her and Ron, and they resented everything about Harry, particularly the fact that he was a wizard. So even though Hermione was relieved, she was still worried for Harry at this news as well. She knew that Harry was safe, but she also knew that he was miserable with the Dursleys, and he would be angry that she and Ron were together at the Burrow, while he was stuck with the Muggles.

Having already had the first couple weeks of summer to grow accustomed to being left out of adult conversation, Ron and Ginny offered to help Hermione settle into Ginny’s room, where she’d stayed the summer before when visiting at the Burrow to go to the World Cup. As she unpacked, Ron and Ginny told her what little they knew of what was going on, and how their two oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, had joined the Order, but they cautioned her not to mention Percy because he’d had an awful row with their dad over what Mr. Weasley deemed was a “suspicious motive” behind his son’s recent promotion at the Ministry. In the end, Percy had moved out and was no longer speaking to their parents. Ron said Order members came round to the Burrow quite often, but always clammed up whenever he, Ginny or the twins were around. About the only useful thing they did know was that Professor Dumbledore had found a place to be used as Headquarters for the Order.

It was to Headquarters, ultimately, that Dumbledore planned for Hermione to go, along with the Weasley family, and where eventually, Harry would join them, although Dumbledore seemed to think it was important that he stay on at Privet Drive for a while longer. Hermione found it very frustrating that Professor Dumbledore told her and Ron very little, and insisted that they not communicate anything at all to Harry about where they were or what they were doing, as long as Harry remained with the Dursleys. Professor Dumbledore seemed in no hurry to remove Harry from what Harry often referred to as “Holiday Hell,” but he wasn’t particularly forthcoming with any information about why Harry needed to stay there, or for how long.

By the time everyone settled in to sleep that night, Hermione’s mind was buzzing with thoughts about all that was going on in the wizarding world, none of which was particularly pleasant, and she worried that she would never get to sleep. She tried to focus on Ginny’s steady breathing behind her in the bed they shared. It was comforting to know she was not alone, with Ginny sleeping peacefully behind her. She giggled inwardly thinking it would be nice if it were Ron there instead of Ginny. She’d had a crush on Ron ever since they were first years, although she’d never actually admitted it to anyone, but she thought Ginny might at least suspect she fancied him.

When Hermione finally slept, it was nearly morning. She awoke reluctantly as the sun came pouring in through Ginny’s window, and she realized Ginny was cuddled against her back with an arm thrown casually across her waist. Hermione closed her eyes again and drifted softly back into a comfortable sleep. The next time she opened her eyes, the sun had shifted slightly and was less glaring. Ginny was still behind her, her breath warm on Hermione’s neck, and her hand, which had somehow found its way through the loose armhole of Hermione’s gown, was resting softly atop her right breast, causing Hermione to moan softly.

The sound woke Ginny, and her eyes widened in shock and embarrassment when she realized she was pressed against Hermione with her hand on Hermione’s bare breast. For a moment she was too stunned to even move, then her brain engaged and she quickly sat up, taking her hand away abruptly, but nearly choking Hermione with her own gown, since her hand didn’t slip out nearly as easily as it went in. She murmured an awkward apology to Hermione, blushing spectacularly.

Hermione simply laughed at Ginny, smiling at how vividly her red hair clashed with her now crimson face. “It’s alright Ginny, you’re used to having your bed all to yourself. Don’t worry about it. Just go back to sleep.” But there was no going back to sleep, for there was a knock at the door just then, followed by Ron’s voice telling them his Mum had breakfast ready.

The girls spent most of the day sitting in a shady spot of grass in the field outside the Burrow, watching Ron play Quidditch with the rest of the Weasley boys, or at least, all of them except for Percy. Ginny liked to play too, but Hermione hated flying, particularly on broomsticks, and when she finally gave up her attempt at playing as a bad job, Ginny quit with her so she wouldn’t feel so left out. Ginny was a year behind Hermione and Harry and Ron at school, but they’d always got on well since Ginny started at Hogwarts in the trio’s second year, and since Ginny was Ron’s only sister, it kind of led to an automatic friendship between the two girls. They chatted about school, giggling and gossiping about some of their classmates, which Hermione rarely got to do since she was always with Ron and Harry at school and had very few female friends. Eventually the conversation got around to boys, and all the couples at school, or the suspected couples, and the girls talked about their own love lives, or rather lack of them, since Ginny’s crush on Harry was thus far as fruitless as Hermione’s crush on Ron, although Ginny did tell Hermione she was pretty certain Ron fancied her, but was just too thick to admit it even to himself. Hermione’s blush at the mention of Ron merely served to confirm what Ginny had long suspected; Hermione fancied her brother.

Neither girl spoke about how they’d woken up that morning, until time to go to bed that night. When Ginny caught herself watching Hermione undress to put on her gown, she told Hermione if she was uncomfortable sleeping with her after what had happened before, she would kip on the floor and Hermione could have the bed.

“Don’t be silly. It was an accident,” Hermione said in her most practical tone, “Besides, if I waited on your brother, no one would ever touch them.” Both girls giggled and blushed. Then they snuggled into the small bed next to each other, this time with Hermione pressed up behind Ginny, and fell into peaceful sleep.

The next morning, Mrs. Weasley woke them early with a rare surprise. She said Arthur had managed to take the day off work and they were going to visit a nearby lake for a picnic and to go swimming, because they’d be moving into Headquarters the following day, and from what she’d been told, the place was a mess and they’d have their work cut out for them making it livable. Mrs. Weasley packed a huge lunch and several blankets since there were nine of them, and they set off on foot for the lake, just a mile or so away.

As soon as they’d arrived, clothing started to fly as everyone, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, had worn swimsuits underneath their walking clothes in anticipation of a refreshing dip in the cool lake water. Hermione held back a little, sort of embarrassed to take off her clothes because her swim suit was a two piece one from the year before. It fit her pretty well at the time, but her breasts had started to develop a little more since then and her hips had gotten a bit fuller, and she was suddenly very aware of how little fabric there was in a two piece bathing suit.

The older boys didn’t bother her so much – well, maybe Fred and George a little since you could always count on the Weasley twins to tease you about something – but it was Ron who made her the most uncomfortable. He and Harry were her best friends, but somehow without Harry here, she felt more like a girl, like she was staying with her friend Ginny, and just happened to fancy one of Ginny’s brothers.

“Hermione, come on,” hollered Ron, barely evading George’s playful attempt to drown him in the shallow water. “It feels great out here!”

Hermione turned her back towards the boys and pulled her t-shirt over her head, then pushed down her shorts, stepping out of them. She hoped if she moved quickly enough she could get into the water before anyone really noticed her.

“Wow, Hermione,” said Fred, smiling at her, as Ron stood looking at her with his mouth slightly open. “You really look good!” added George, making Hermione blush nearly as pink as her swimsuit. Ron opened and closed his mouth a couple times, but no sound came out, and he soon realized it was best just to close it.

Overall, the day was wonderful, although Hermione was much less self-conscious in the water than she was out of it. But she did eventually give in to Ginny’s plea to lay with her on a blanket on the shore and soak up some of the plentiful sunshine, a concession she thought later might have been best avoided, as she looked in the mirror after her shower at her brilliantly red, sunburned skin. She jumped when Ginny knocked at the bathroom door, barely pausing to hear Hermione’s soft “who is it?” before opening the door.

“Goodness, Ginny,” Hermione said upon seeing her friend, whose skin was even redder than her own, and probably looked even worse because of Ginny’s plentiful freckles. “You’re even more sunburned than I am!”

“I know, and my red hair makes it look even worse. We should have listened to Mum and got in the shade sooner, but she’s given me a potion we can put on each other to take the burn out. It should even stop us from peeling if we put it on soon.”

Hermione didn’t even bother to dress since she’d have to take her clothes off again in Ginny’s room to let her apply the potion. She just got Ginny to check the hallway for stray brothers, then ran the short distance to Ginny’s room wearing only her towel.

Hermione shivered slightly as she lay face down on the bed. The room was far from cold, but she was very conscious of her lack of any clothing. She was both uncomfortable with the idea of Ginny’s hands on her body, and a little excited by it. No one else had ever had their hands on the parts of her that were usually under her clothing, but the idea of another girl touching her like that wasn’t supposed to excite her. She supposed it was just from having spent the full day marveling at the masculinity surrounding her with all the Weasley boys wearing nothing but swim trunks; every last one of them was gorgeous, lean and muscular and, Hermione blushed as she thought it, very sexy. Mr. Weasley was balding a bit, and his job at the Ministry didn’t keep him quite as fit as his sons, but he wasn’t exactly hard to look at either. Hermione shook her head slightly trying to clear the thoughts of Weasley men from her mind as she was beginning to tingle in places not touched by the sun.

“Mum said we’re supposed to apply liberally and allow the potion to remain on the skin a couple minutes for the healing to start before rubbing it in,” said Ginny. “This may be cold.”

And with that, Ginny began to drizzle the potion across Hermione’s shoulders and back. It tickled as it ran across her skin, but surprisingly, it was not cold at all. In fact, it had almost no temperature and it was very soothing. Since it was supposed to soak in a few minutes before rubbing, Ginny slowly worked her way down Hermione’s body, pouring potion onto her friend’s lower back. Ginny smiled a little to herself as she realized how little unburned flesh there was on Hermione’s bum, and as she remembered how warm she’d felt watching the seductive sway to Hermione’s hips as she’d run from their blanket on the beach into the lake to cool off. She continued to pour the potion across Hermione’s hips and down the length of each leg, noticing how it dripped intimately into the crevice between Hermione’s upper thighs. Ginny bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly, wondering why she was beginning to tingle in places not touched by the sun.

“Umm, let me know if I hurt you at all. I’ll try to be really gentle while I do this.”

And then Hermione felt Ginny’s hands on her shoulders, softly rubbing the potion into her sore, sunburned skin. The feeling was quite exquisite; the softness of Ginny’s touch and the silkiness of the potion, plus the relaxing feel of a massage. Hermione allowed her mind to wander, scarcely noticing as Ginny moved downward, until she felt Ginny’s fingers graze her inner thighs, and Hermione couldn’t help but suck in a deep, steadying breath. “Am I hurting you?” Ginny asked, alarm in her voice.

“Umm, no. It’s okay, it feels good actually,” Hermione said, not really sure what else to say, but allowing her legs to fall a bit farther apart to give Ginny better access to the runny potion, then shaking herself mentally. Girls weren’t supposed to make her want to spread her legs. Her mother would remind her, of course, that at her age, neither should boys.

As Ginny rubbed in the last visible traces of potion on the heels of Hermione’s feet, she was a little surprised at herself when she realized she was thinking more about how much she was enjoying herself and less about the healing effects of the potion. ” This isn’t Harry you’re rubbing,” she silently told herself, very aware of how much she wished that it were.

Hermione was surprised at how good Ginny’s touch felt. The potion must be really good because there was no pain or soreness left on her backside, and she blushed slightly when she realized she was getting warm in places the potion had not touched. Again she told herself, girls were not supposed to create those feelings in her.

Ginny whispered, sounding as if she were nearly out of breath, “Why don’t you roll over and I’ll do the other side.”

Without thinking, Hermione obeyed, feeling only slightly uncomfortable as Ginny looked at her naked body, wondering if Ginny’s wide-eyed stare was concern over the burn, or interest in the view. Ginny said nothing, but stood at the foot of the bed, this time pouring the potion from foot to shoulder, never taking her eyes off Hermione’s bare skin. Hermione thought she may have noticed her friend blushing slightly, but it was hard to tell with all the sunburned skin.

After a couple minutes, Ginny began her gentle massage with the toes on Hermione’s right foot, lovingly caressing each one, while moving at a pace that was both agonizingly slow and tantalizingly erotic, working her way up to the crease where Hermione’s thigh joined her body. The anticipation was almost too much for Hermione, and she almost cried out in protest when Ginny moved again to her feet to repeat the massage on her left side. At the juncture of left thigh and body, Ginny stopped and moved herself up onto the bed, even with Hermione’s bum, and leaned over her slightly to resume her work.

“Why don’t you just sit on me?” suggested Hermione. “It can’t be comfortable leaning across me like that without your hands free to support you.”

And so Ginny straddled Hermione’s naked body, the red curls that escaped from the edges of Ginny’s knickers tangling against Hermione’s brown curls, causing both of them to tingle inwardly, each of the girls trying hard not to let her reaction to this new sensation show to the other. Ginny resumed her massage, although her hands trembled slightly this time as she touched the tight skin on either side of Hermione’s navel. She wondered what was wrong with her; girls weren’t supposed to make her feel “that” need.

Ginny worked more slowly this time, a small battle going on in her brain as she wondered what she should do as she moved upward. She wondered if she should avoid touching Hermione’s breasts and just go between them where the fabric from her suit narrowed, leaving sunburned skin there, but then she rationalized she couldn’t really avoid Hermione’s breasts because the potion was on them as well. She ignored the relief she felt at talking herself out of skipping that part of Hermione that she was now so anxious to touch.

Hermione’s heart was pounding so hard by the time Ginny’s hands neared her breasts that she was sure Ginny would feel it. She tried to remain stock still and look perfectly calm, as if the two of them were doing nothing more personal than painting a wall, but the anticipation of Ginny’s hands on her tits, fully awake and intentional this time, was almost too much for her to bear. When Ginny finally caressed the swell of Hermione’s breasts, her thumbs brushing lightly across her nipples, Hermione couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips or resist “that” need to push her hips toward Ginny’s body, nor could she stop the feeling of shame that swept through her immediately upon doing so.

If Ginny was shocked or upset, she hid it well. Instead, she simply asked, “Hermione, have you ever been with a boy before? Or a girl?” and she continued to knead Hermione’s breasts until the last traces of potion disappeared.

Hermione’s heart was racing from the physical contact, and from Ginny’s question, and probably from knowing it would be her turn to do Ginny’s body next. She was sure Ginny could feel her heartbeat considering the location of her hands.

“Of course not! I’ve never actually told anyone, but I kind of fancy Ron, only he clearly doesn’t want me. In fact, the twins were the only ones who even noticed I was a girl today, and there I was worried about what Ron might think.”

“They weren’t the only one who noticed, Hermione.”

Not sure really what to say to that, Hermione kept silent, but watched intently when Ginny’s weight lifted off her as she rose to remove her own clothing so Hermione could heal the damage the sun had done to her that day. For some reason, it never occurred to Hermione to put her own clothes back on, and when Ginny stretched out across the bed, Hermione began to dribble the potion slowly onto Ginny’s freckled red skin.

When Ginny was fairly well covered in the healing liquid, Hermione began massaging it into her friend, starting with her feet, one hand for each of them, and working her way upward across ankles, calves, knees and thighs. She allowed her fingers to follow the curves of Ginny’s legs around each side, being sure not to miss any area of burned skin, and she didn’t bother to be extra careful as her hand slipped between Ginny’s upper thighs. She could feel the heat against her hands as Ginny’s pubic hair tickled her fingers. It was Ginny’s turn to moan softly, and Hermione took a very deep, slow breath, before sitting on her friends legs as she moved her hands across Ginny’s bum and worked slowly up her back and across her shoulders. Ginny automatically rolled onto her back when Hermione lifted herself off Ginny’s legs.

Following the same route from foot to head, Hermione suppressed a small twinge of guilt, wondering if she’d given Ginny’s legs sufficient treatment in her haste to once again straddle her friend’s body. ‘Girls aren’t supposed to make me feel this way, to feel “that” need,’ Hermione thought as she pressed her triangle into Ginny’s so she could apply the lotion to Ginny’s tummy.

At this point, Hermione’s movements slowed; she was reluctant to finish and thus end her reason to have her body and hands on Ginny’s body. Ginny thought Hermione was bashful about touching her breasts, which were still a little smaller than Hermione’s, but at the moment seemed to be aching with need. “It’s okay,” she whispered throatily, “I did yours.” And so Hermione put her hands on Ginny’s breasts, feeling their roundness and perky little reddish nipples. She didn’t know what made Ginny reach up to touch hers again, but she was suddenly very glad of the contact, somehow making it seem right that she should bend and kiss Ginny at that moment.

Ginny’s lips parted willingly as Hermione’s weight pressed against her and their tongues met for the first time, both shyly and boldly, neither sure what they were doing, but both sure what they wanted. Their breasts pressed together making their hands suddenly in the way, so they began to explore of their own volition, seeking out the yet uncharted territory behind red curls and brown.

Ginny’s hand found its way first, her fingertips dipping into Hermione’s wetness as her thumb rubbed against the little nub at Hermione’s opening. Hermione’s heart felt like it would burst from the heat of Ginny’s touch and she sought quickly to share the feeling, tangling her fingers in Ginny’s curls, then plunging a slender finger, then two inside her friend. Instead of her thumb, Hermione slid her dripping fingers out of Ginny to tease her secret spot, then disappear again inside. They continued to kiss furiously while their hands worked between one another’s legs until they both came, panting, at nearly the same moment.

Neither girl moved for several long moments, both feeling blissfully satisfied but rather unsure of herself at the same time. “What’s come over me? What was I thinking?” each wondered to herself, but Ginny, being the least bashful of the two with six older brothers, was the first to speak. “Well, I feel better now, how about you, Hermione?” she asked. They both laughed and snuggled together, barely remembering to pull the sheet over their naked bodies before falling asleep.

Hermione was first to wake in the morning, and she lay next to Ginny, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together, skin on skin. When she sensed Ginny was awake from the change in the rhythm of her breathing, she rephrased Ginny’s question from the night before, “Ginny, have you ever been with a girl before last night? Or a boy?”

“No, but I’ve thought about it sometimes,” Ginny said honestly. “I know I’m probably too young to think like that, but Mum and Dad were married right after they left Hogwarts because everybody was scared about You-Know-Who, and he killed Harry’s parents when they were just twenty-one, and now he’s back.” Both were silent for a moment, then Ginny went on, “I always wondered what it would be like for Harry to touch me the way you did last night, and I was jealous sometimes wondering if he’d already touched you that way, I mean, the three of you are so close.”

Hermione smiled at her friend, “I’ve never even thought of Harry like that, well okay, maybe I have a few times. He does look pretty hot in his Quidditch Robes, particularly when he comes off the field all sweaty and looking all happy because they’ve won. But it’s Ron I’ve always fancied. At least it was a Weasley who got to me first.”

Ginny laughed, “Does last night count? Are we still virgins?”

From that moment on, Ginny and Hermione shared a special bond. Being in different years at school, they shared neither classes nor a dorm room, but somehow when either began to feel “that” need that only a special friend could fix, they found time to be alone together.

On Hermione’s advice, Ginny worked her way through a handful of boyfriends while trying to put Harry out of her mind. It wasn’t that Hermione didn’t think Ginny had a chance with Harry, but Ginny was uncharacteristically shy around Harry and Hermione thought it would do her prospects with him good if she loosened up a bit around him. So, Ginny learned a great deal about snogging, and according to Hermione, became quite good at it, as well as at other things, but the other things she practiced only with Hermione. She still wanted to give her boy/girl virginity to Harry if he ever noticed her, but even if he didn’t, she knew she hadn’t found the right boy to give it to yet anyway. Dean Thomas had been the best kisser, she’d told Hermione, but he still wasn’t “the one.”

Hermione had fewer boyfriends, probably – she suspected – because of her close friendship with Harry and Ron. Not many boys were open minded enough to want a girlfriend who only hung around with other boys. In fact, Hermione had only dated one boy, Viktor Krum, a seventh year from Drumstrang, who’d visited Hogwarts during Hermione’s fourth year. He was a Champion in the Triwizard Tournament, and he actually played professional Quidditch. He’d invited her to be his date for the Yule Ball, and they’d spent several chilly afternoons in the library and sunny afternoons by the lake together during the remainder of the school year. They still corresponded, even though Hermione never let Viktor do more than kiss her a few times, having to hold his hands on some occasions to make them behave. But Hermione was still hopeful that Ron would eventually come around, and it would be difficult enough making him accept her intimacy with his sister. She didn’t want to have to explain having allowed “the enemy” to take her virginity. (That was what Ron had called Viktor at the Yule Ball; claiming he’d only asked Hermione to be his date so he could spy on Harry, who was also one of the Triwizard Champions). Although there were times when Hermione had been tempted to give in to Viktor, as he was rather good looking, it was Ron she really wanted.

And so Hermione sat, anxiously waiting for Ginny to arrive. The older they’d all gotten, the harder it was for a girl to be the best friend of the two hottest guys in sixth year (at least, that’s how Hermione saw Harry and Ron). And today, even though the Quidditch season had ended, the weather had been so gorgeous that her three favorite players – Harry, Ron and Ginny, who were now all on the Gryffindor team – couldn’t resist a little post-season practice. Hermione had been quite content to sit in the stands and watch, since she still hated flying, but seeing “her boys” come off the field, skin hot and glistening with sweat, had always turned her on. It was worse, of course, after a real game, because she’d hug them both to congratulate them on their spectacular win, then lose herself in thoughts about them and even some of the other male players hitting the showers, stripping down together and reveling in their victory. She wondered sometimes if Harry and Ron ever shared anything like she had with Ginny, and the images her mind conjured of the two of them made Hermione ache with “that” need between her thighs.
It was different with Ginny. Hermione always gave Ginny a hug of congratulations as well, but their public physical contact was just that of two friends, and had little actual effect on either of them since a sweaty girl really wasn’t particularly sexy unless you were having sex with her at the time, and because they had a better means of celebrating victories in private.

Hermione was about to give up her evening rendezvous with Ginny as a lost cause when her friend suddenly burst into the room, still wearing the smile Harry had undoubtedly put on her face. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly, “Harry and I were down by the lake and I guess the time got away from me.” And with that, she moved toward Hermione on the bed, undressing as she went. Hermione was glad Ginny hadn’t given up their special time when she’d started going out with Harry, but she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that what had once been so right between them was now somehow quite wrong.

“Ginny are you sure? I mean, you have Harry now. How did you even get away from him to come here?”

“Yes, Hermione, for the tenth time, I’m sure,” Ginny said. “Besides, Harry had to see Snape tonight about rescheduling his detention since Snape couldn’t make it this morning, and kissing him all day has gotten me really horny. I didn’t think it would look too good if I jumped him on the school lawn, and I always thought the boy was supposed to make the first move, and Harry hasn’t, so if you don’t get out of your clothes and help me out, I think I’ll explode!”

Hermione beamed at her and began stripping off clothing as fast as she could, but then she looked a little sad. “I don’t guess Ron will ever come around, but at least he’s not snogging “Lav Lav” all over the place anymore. Maybe if you keep Harry occupied now, Ron will have to notice me.”

Ginny put her arms around Hermione, tenderly embracing her because she sensed Hermione’s poorly hidden depression. Hermione turned to face her and they kissed, softly at first, almost shyly, then their tongues met and the kiss grew bolder, as did their touches. Hermione pushed Ginny backwards onto the bed and began to kiss her way down from Ginny’s pouty lips (probably swollen from so much kissing with Harry that afternoon), across the hollow of her throat and into the valley between her full, round breasts. Ginny had developed quite a bit in that area since their first encounter, and Hermione loved to squeeze them one by one, teasing and sucking the nipples until Ginny begged for more. Hermione continued to suckle her friend, one hand still caressing a breast, but allowed her other hand to explore lower, searching for Ginny’s center. As always, she could feel the heat building within Ginny before she actually touched her, and as always, she slid a slender finger, then two inside her friend, before using one of those dripping fingers to tease Ginny’s secret spot, then disappear inside her again.

Hermione and Ginny had matured in their ability to pleasure one another over the past two years, and soon, even Hermione’s very intimate massage was not enough to satisfy “that” need in the lusty redhead. Hermione knew her well enough to know when that time came and she moved silently lower on the bed, pushing Ginny’s legs farther apart to give herself better access. She smiled to herself as she thought about Harry, and wondered if he would know how to please Ginny. “Maybe I could offer to give him lessons,” she thought wickedly to herself.

Hermione once more thrust her fingers inside Ginny, making them slippery from Ginny’s wetness, then she withdrew them and stroked the sensitive flesh between Ginny’s openings before gently slipping one of them into Ginny’s behind. At the same time, she lowered her head between Ginny’s thighs and alternately plunged her tongue inside Ginny then worked her swollen nub with that well-practiced tongue, causing Ginny to moan loudly and press her bum against Hermione’s invading hand. Hermione found her own little nub with her free hand, and began to tame “that” need building within herself from pleasuring Ginny.

Ginny panted and moaned for several glorious minutes, gripping the pillows with her hands as she pressed against Hermione’s mouth and hand, fighting the urge to let herself go, so she could prolong the feeling. When she could stand no more, she wound her fingers in Hermione’s hair, signaling her friend that release was imminent, causing Hermione to increase the rhythm of her finger in Ginny’s bum, while slipping her thumb into Ginny’s pussy and suckling frantically at her clit. Ginny came furiously, and only when the tension in Ginny’s thighs relaxed did Hermione lift her head, a tiny bit of Ginny’s creamy fluid still dripping from her chin. Ginny sat up immediately to kiss the cum from Hermione’s lips and lick it from her chin. She wondered absent-mindedly whether Harry’s cum would taste anything like hers and Hermione’s, and when she might get the chance to find out. “Harry’s too much of a gentleman for my own good,” Ginny sighed inwardly.

Her mind settling back in the present, Ginny rolled Hermione onto her back, resting her own weight on top of her friend as they kissed. Hermione’s breasts were still perhaps a little fuller than her own, but softer, Hermione being the less athletic of the two girls, and Ginny liked the way they felt when they were pressed together like this. She also liked the way Harry’s cock felt through their clothes as they pressed together when they kissed. She felt her own nipples harden slightly at the contact with Hermione and her thoughts of Harry, but sacrificed her own pleasure to give Hermione the attention she knew her friend had undoubtedly needed since Ron and Harry had come off the Quidditch pitch with her earlier in the day. Male sweat and hard muscles were always such a turn-on for Hermione. She wondered if her brother would have any idea how to pleasure Hermione if he ever managed to pluck up the courage to ask her out. “Maybe I could offer to give him lessons,” Ginny thought wickedly to herself.

Ginny continued to lay on top of Hermione, but moved down so she could nibble a breast while exploring Hermione’s twat with her fingers. She’d become quite adept at teasing the nub with her thumb while pumping and wiggling her fingers inside her friend, and soon Hermione’s center was a pool of heated wetness. Ginny pushed herself up to a sitting positing, pressing red curls to brown, and grinding herself against her friend, while fingering herself with one hand and Hermione with the other; she loved to watch Hermione’s face as she did this, enjoying the sight of her friend with eyes closed and cheeks flushed with “that” need.

Finally, before Hermione actually had to beg for it, Ginny lowered herself again and breathed in the scent of Hermione’s need. Hermione raised herself to her elbows and finally opened her eyes, wanting to watch as Ginny’s head disappeared between her thighs, and it was only then, as Ginny’s practiced tongue made contact with her sensitive nub, that Hermione realized Harry and Ron were standing just inside the doorway watching them, Ron’s eyes wide and round, mouth slightly open, as if in complete and utter shock.

“Oh…my…God!” exclaimed Hermione as Ginny’s mouth found her center, mortified at the sudden presence of her two best friends, and wondering just how long they’d been watching her and Ginny.

“I know, Hermione,” murmured Ginny, as her tongue worked Hermione’s clit and her fingers slipped inside her friend. “It felt the same way when you did me.”

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