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It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not like this. For either of them. But the winter was cold and harsh and Harry was sick of listening to Hermione cry. Probably as sick as Hermione was of crying. The first time they slept in the same bed, it was innocent. They huddled for warmth. The warming charms always failed halfway through the night. And prior to Ron leaving, all three had stayed in their own beds. Hermione insisted on it, to not leave Harry out.
But now that Ron was gone? The only thing she had to cling to was Harry. And day by day, Harry felt like he was losing his grip on reality. So he clung to the only thing he could: Hermione.
So the first time, it was innocent. It was innocent for the first week, really.
It was the second week when Hermione woke up to Harry’s hand on her breast and his length pressed into her bum. She stiffened, not knowing what to do. Harry’s hips shifted, his hand clenched and Hermione knew that the feelings she was experiencing were just hormones. It had been so long since she had even felt normal enough to feel arousal. When her body relaxed into Harry’s she told herself it would just be for a moment. When Harry’s fingers twitched around her nipple, causing it to harden beneath the jumper and bra she’d worn to bed he told himself that it was just a dream. When he smelled her hair and it smelled so much like Hermione that he couldn’t even attempt to fool himself into thinking it was Ginny, he told himself that it was just for now.
Halfway through the second week, Hermione didn’t wear a bra under her jumper when she crawled into bed with Harry. Really, they should have had someone standing guard, but it was hard to find the will to care with the locket whispering in their ears. When Harry’s hand found her breast braless beneath her jumper he gasped. Just a small, quick intake of breath. Hermione ground her bum into his burgeoning length. Daringly, Harry’s hand drifted down to the hem of her jumper and he slid two fingers beneath it, skin-on-skin. Hermione groaned at the contact. Harry took it as permission and slid his hand higher and higher until he was palming her bare breast.
Hermione’s back arched as Harry’s fingers pinched her nipple. She whimpered as the sensations caused an ache low in her belly.
“Harry,” she whispered.
“Tell me,” Harry insisted, his breath ghosting across the shell of her ear, causing her to break out in gooseflesh.
“Please,” Hermione begged.
Harry’s other hand found its way between Hermione’s neck and the bed, then down the neck of her jumper and to her other breast. She bit her lip at the dual sensations on both nipples, whining deep in her throat. Then Harry slid his free hand down her abdomen to delve beneath the cotton trousers she wore. It was Harry’s turn to hiss as his fingers encountered her wet folds.
“Merlin,” he breathed as he wiggled his fingers around, feeling a witch for the first time. Hermione lifted her leg over Harry’s hips, widening herself to his exploration. She was so slippery, so warm. Harry had always imagined what it would be like, but this, this he could not have imagined. It was better than anything he had ever imagined.
“Harry,” Hermione said again, whining and arching her hips as the tension of her approaching climax wound like a coil inside her, tighter and tighter.
Harry had two fingers inside her now, the palm of his hand pressed against her clit and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to her neck just below her ear as he felt her walls clamp down around his fingers. He couldn’t have moved them if he wanted to as the brilliant sensations of her orgasm swept over them both.
The moment her climax ebbed, Hermione rolled over to face him. She placed both hands on his cheeks and kissed him fiercely. For a long moment, Harry thought this was her way of saying thanks, but no thanks when he felt her small fingers begin to tug at his pajama trousers. He helped her pull them down, then reached and pulled her jumper from her, his jumper following hers.
When the jumper was off, Harry pushed her to her back and leaned forward kissing first one nipple then the other. Her hands wound themselves in his hair as she arched her back and cried out. They fumbled her trousers and knickers off her and suddenly they were both naked. Harry held himself above her, his elbows on either side of her head and he leaned forward to kiss her.
The look in her eyes made him think she was going to turn her head. The look in his eyes made Hermione think that she could love him in ways that weren’t platonic. She kissed him as if her life depended on it. He kissed her as if she was his savior.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and after a few false starts, Harry slid inside her waiting warmth. He knew he wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, but if he died in the coming months, this is what he’d think about as he took his last breath. The feeling of warmth, of being encapsulated by this woman, this witch who had always stood by his side.
“Hermione,” he breathed as he wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her. She had both arms and legs wrapped around him as though he were her life raft.
“Harry,” Hermione hissed as he drew out and found a rhythm for them both.
Harry pressed his lips to hers. He wanted to swallow every noise she made as he worked to make her come apart in his arms again. After a particularly hard thrust, Hermione pulled away and cried out and Harry felt her beautiful, silken walls clamp down around him and he couldn’t hold back. A few more shallow thrusts and he was following her onto the path of utter bliss.
After that first time, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Each evening, instead of setting a guard, they repaired to the tent to find what pleasure they could in what their lives had become.
When Ron returned months later, they stopped. For Ron. For Ginny.
~Fin~