A Confession by Hermione G.

BY : Scarlett_Pimpernal
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Dragon prints: 40663
Disclaimer: DISCLAIMER: This project is based on and features characters and content that I do not own, nor is the content monetized by me. I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Year Seven: Did you ever..?

Wherein we dispense with the perennial question regarding the fucking of a certain celebrity

At this juncture, I should probably address the perennial question: Did I ever fuck with HP? (It is usually couched in less direct terms. “Did you ever consummate your relationship with your bosom friend,” “So, about you and HP…” or “What really went down between you and the Chosen One?” and such like. Now that he has passed from this world, I can answer definitively. The answer is, of course, yes. It was inevitable, given the explosion of hormones, stress and the circumstances that thrust us together. And, of course, it was probably a great mistake.

Obviously one of the primary flaws of character in my youth was a tendency to be a horrible busybody. I have since outgrown it and become quite detached. It was frustrating to see my friend mope around, lovelorn, mooning over his crushes with CC and GW. By that time, I had become quite adept and practices at P-Juice potion and the Time Turner. And so, I conceived a plot to jump-start their romance, as it were, by assuming the guise of HP and seducing the unwitting GW. The experience of seeing oneself as another is always off-putting. Never more so than on this occasion: HP stares back at me from the mirror. I have purchased a pair of glasses and I have set up GW, so to speak, and know where she will be at such a time.

But I lost my nerve.

The affair with HP occurred during the period in which we were ‘on the run’ from the minions of TR, the ludicrously pretentious “Death Eaters.” Following the abrupt departure of RW, there was only the two of us, sequestered in the wilderness of our grinding quest. As far as I am concerned, RW had severed our nascent romance with his departure (and perhaps it would have been better all-around if he had remained absent). HP and I were two dear friends who shared a physical attraction and the drama of being together, alone, into an incredibly intense quest under the cloud of a constant fear of discovery and certain death. It would have been crazy had we not come together if, for no other reason, emotional support. Given that we were hormonal teens to boot, a consummation was inevitable. Afterward, we never spoke of our brief affair; we simply carried on with our lives and loves, the best of friends, the precious memories of our carnal moments remained carefully locked away.

 As we shuffled together in the magical tent, trying in vain to distract ourselves with dance and a middling pop tune, we came together. It only took a few tentative kisses to cause the flood gates of lust to burst open. Then it was all a tangle of tongues and grasping hands and the novelty of a new partner.  Being pressed tightly against him, grinding myself against his thigh, I felt the firm, pleasing pressure of his erection, incredibly hard beneath the denim of his trousers. An impulse seized me, and I escalated things, going down to my knees, pulling him free of his trousers and taking his hard length into my mouth.

In my memory, our encounters took place in shadow and darkness. We rarely made eye contact. I recall looking up at him during our first encounter: his eyes were tightly shut, his brow knit up in that curious, endearing way some fellows have when being sucked off. His hands gripped my shoulders and twitched spasmodically ever-so-often as I worked his hardness in-and-out of mouth, taking care to maintain a steady rhythm so as not to bring things to a crisis too quickly. He uttered soft whimpery moans that I found quite endearing. This first fellation was rather straightforward. I cradled his bollocks gently as I sucked him but was loathe to work him with my tongue lest I betray an excess of lasciviousness or carnal experience. His body became rigid, and I felt the first contractions ripple through him, heralding the finish, and then I received that fabulous, pleasing flood into my mouth and throat along with that flush of emotional satisfaction one feels when completing such an act.

His come was sweet. Normally I don’t care so much about capturing an entire load in my mouth. For me, the wider the dispersal, the greater the thrill. I particularly revel in the sensation of hot fluid oozing out of the corners of the mouth, dripping off my chin. I love to feel the hot combination of sperm and spit roll down my throat. But this was one occasion where my instinct was to keep this impulsive liaison contained, fearing that any lingering evidence would cause guilt or feelings of recrimination.

We fell asleep shortly thereafter, beneath a blanket, clothed in our underwear, spooned together and thus avoiding eye contact. In the small hours of the morning, however, I was roused by a hard, hot presence pushing against my butt cheek. I dearly love a lazy, languid, half-sleeping fuck. I pulled my panties off and, reaching back between my legs, found him, oh-so-pleasingly stiff. I slowly maneuvered myself and brought him up against me, applying some spit to my vulva; my vagina, on the other hand had awakened quite well on its own and the wetness within allowed me to take him inside me easily. Then, resting on my side, I largely left the rest up to him. Perhaps I had been too aggressive with the first, oral encounter. I wanted to gauge the level of his passion, which, as it turns out, was quite ardent. Grasping my hips, he established a steady rhythm. The tip of his cock striking the inside of me in the most pleasing, intense manner.

Oh, my dear, you’re making me come…

The rolling orgasm comes upon me quickly, a powerful wave that addles my wits. As I regain myself, I became aware that at some point, he has come as well. I reach back to hold him inside of me. To my delight, he grows hard again. I roll onto my stomach and let him take an aggressive position over me. In situations where my lovers rally immediately, I find that the subsequent fuck is much more spirited and aggressive. So it is that he pumps me with great vigor. The room is quite quiet but for the slapping of flesh. I bite down on the pillow and use it to stifle the whimpers of pleasure that leak from me. He labors long and hard. I come again and again. He finishes and sinks down onto me, hot and wet with sweat, sucking great lungfuls of air.

We make love frequently through the next days until our little affair is curtailed by our capture. At these times, I have no desire to be his friend. I wish simply to be skin, cunt, clit, mouth. They are some of my most pleasing memories of our complex friendship. Amid all the plotting, scheming, machinations, drama, and anxiety are these moments of simply primal bestial pleasure.

We never spoke of our lovemaking – though the day would come when I wish we had.



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