Head Over Feet | By : MmeFleiss Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 23022 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Title: Head Over Feet
Author's name: MmeFleiss
Summary: Hermione’s monotonous after work routine is shaken by a
wandering hand with wicked intentions.
Disclaimer: This
story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic
Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no
copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience
- "Head Over Feet" by Alanis Morissette
*~*~*~*~*~*
January
Despite popular belief, magic didn’t always simplify life’s little annoyances.
Case in point was the Ministry’s set of lifts. While normally perfectly
adequate in their assigned function, a trip up to the Atrium during quitting
time could drag well up to a half hour as it stopped at each level and admitted
in enough personnel to fill a Quidditch stadium. Enlarging charms only helped
so much, and despite the numerous spells woven into them--including a
cushioning charm on the opulent wood paneling for just such instances--Hermione
inevitably found herself flush against a mass of bodies with someone’s elbow
jabbing at her stomach.
The first break in her routine occurred on a Friday right after Christmas hols.
The lift had been crammed with officemates getting re-acclimated to the rush
hour crush; a fact which Hermione attempted to ignore as she’d stared blankly
at the enchanted ceiling while she ran through her mental checklist of what
needed to be accomplished the following week. Nibbling on lips chapped from the
cold and mulling over how best to propose her plan for closer ties with the
goblins’ ambassador during an upcoming conference, she nearly bit hard enough
to draw blood when a hand deliberately brushed up against her bum without
warning.
Hermione’s head whipped around so fast that the witch standing to her immediate
right complained as a lock of frizzy hair poked her in the eye. Hermione
apologized profusely to the older witch, her face hot with embarrassment as
further thoughts of staring the culprit down were derailed.
But the next Friday it happened again, and the Friday after that, and so on.
Intellectually, Hermione knew that the easiest solution would be to just take
one of the lifts farther away from her office instead of her usual; however,
she was determined not to let some criminal inconvenience her from her routine.
Further attempts of catching him in flagrante delicto merely resulted in
finding herself surrounded by a crowd too absorbed in their own lives to take
any notice of her. Once, she even went as far as to make the mistake of
catching a former roommate’s eye. All the Firewhiskey in the world wasn’t
enough to grant her the mercy of forgetting that encounter.
"You mean someone actually chose to feel you up even with all these
other women here?" Hermione must’ve reacted despite her best efforts, for
the taller girl amended her earlier statement with, "Not that you’re ugly
or anything. In fact, you look loads better than you did at Hogwarts. It’s just
that... well... it’s you...."
Despite the lackluster attempt at reconciliation, Hermione gritted her teeth
and resisted the urge to tell Lavender what she really thought of those
god-awful fuchsia lace cuffs peeking underneath the blonde’s robes. She was a
mature woman of twenty-four, dammit. She was adult enough to analyze her
ex-roommate’s comment objectively and conclude that it was a natural
observation from someone who managed to look gorgeous even while looking at her
gobsmacked. It didn’t make her look less of a fashion victim, though. "So
I’m guessing you haven’t heard anything then."
"Well you know I’m not one to gossip..." Hermione resisted the urge
to roll her eyes and prayed that Lavender wouldn’t notice the inevitable glaze
of disinterest already forming. "...but I hear a lot of news over at our
department since everyone is required to go there for any new supplies.
Something like this would’ve big news. Want me to pass it along to the other
girls?"
Hermione suddenly had the horrifying thought of hundreds of Lavender-like
creatures discussing her lack of merits as a sexual harassment victim and felt
a migraine forming. "Er... no thanks. I’m sure I can handle this just fine
on my own."
The topic soon shifted with Lavender expounding on just how much more
interesting her life had become since they last saw each other; an account that
was mercifully cut short twenty minutes in by their arrival to the Atrium.
"Blimey! I’ve forgotten what a great listener you are, Hermione. We should
talk more often."
Maybe when Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are proven to exist, Hermione
thought rather uncharitably. Aloud she’d merely made noncommittal noises, her
much-too-long conversation with Lavender serving as a good reminder of why
they’d lost touch in the first place.
February
By the end of the second month, the hand had become bolder and began to
conclude the touch with a light squeeze on her bottom. Avada Kedavraing
herself on the spot suddenly took on a new appeal after that first time, when
she’d squeaked loud enough to become the center of attention. To make matters
worse, Harry and Ron turned out to have been standing a couple of feet to her
right and began chuckling after seeing her mortified expression.
"You wouldn’t think it was so funny if it was your arse getting felt up
every week," Hermione muttered under her breath as both men bulldozed
their way through the wall of people between them to stand on either side of
her. With a more audible tone, she added, "Where have you two been,
anyway? I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here in ages."
"Big case," Ron replied with a grimace as he bent down at the waist
to be able to converse with her without yelling, his hands restlessly running
through his bright red hair until it rivaled Harry’s in unruliness.
"Practically everyone at the Auror department has been out doing field
work on the missing dark magic artifacts case. The only reason we all come back
in at the end of every week at all is to keep our reports up to date;
otherwise, Kingsley’ll have our necks."
"Is that so?" Hermione replied as her amber-colored eyes narrowed.
"And it’s only the Aurors, is it?"
"What’s with that expression?" Harry asked as he looked down at her
from a decidedly lower level than their lanky best friend, his scar-free
forehead creased with worry. "Is there something you haven’t been telling
us?"
"Well..." She briefly recounted the reoccurring incident, watching in
morbid fascination as Ron’s face turned into an even more unnatural shade of
purple with each word.
"And so you think it’s one of our own? If that turns out to be true, I’ll
kill him. Hell, I’ll kill him even if he isn’t."
"Now, Ron, it isn’t really that bad," she said, nearly laughing at
the absurdity of actually defending her assailant. The things she did to keep
her friends somewhat sane and out of Azkaban. "Most likely the Friday
thing is just a coincidence. Besides, I suspect very much that he’s nothing
more than a more physically mature version of those boys in primary school who
used to think it great fun to follow around ants with magnifying glasses. He’ll
get tired of me soon enough."
"While I’m glad you’re taking this whole thing in stride, haven’t you ever
thought of the possibility that perhaps he’s doing this because he genuinely
thinks you’re pretty?" Harry asked as he pushed his forever-slipping
spectacles higher up on the bridge of his nose, the furrows on his brow etched
even deeper.
"Don’t be daft. Men only show interest in girls like me when they have an
ulterior motive."
"We’re not all like your ex, you know."
Ron nodded and looped his heavily-freckled arms around her shoulders, the
sparse red hair tickling her neck slightly. It took all of what little social
graces Hermione felt she possessed not to flinch away from the malodorous
combination of wet dirt, sweat, and dried dragon’s blood that clung to his
skin. "I, for one, think you’re extremely pretty. Never a truer rival for
that Helen of Troy woman as far as I’m concerned. In fact, if it wasn’t for
that traumatizing date in seventh year combined with the fact that Mandy would
kill me, I might consider shagging you silly to prove it to you."
"Ugh, Ron," she replied with wrinkled nose. "That’s a mental
image I could’ve lived without."
March
The next week another change in the routine occurred, with a slight brushing
against her right hip succeeding the usual. It happened mid-conversation with
Ginny about the recent thefts involving the dark artifacts smuggling, with the
older witch theorizing on the ramification of the recent inclusion of a muggle
museum on the list. Despite the extra set of eyes looking out for just such an
occurrence, her assailant’s reflexes proved too swift as he was far gone by the
time both women turned around to look.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Hermione growled, her face flushed with anger as
she shoved her wand back into its holster.
“You still haven’t got any clues who it is?”
“Nothing concrete, I’m afraid.”
Ginny poked at Hermione’s standard black Ministry robe with the tip of her wand
and gave it an accusing glare. While most of their officemates looked the worse
for wear at the end of the day (especially a nearby group of Aurors who’d come
in after a shift in surveillance with their distinct scarlet robes covered in
questionable burns and stains), Hermione’s stickler nature ensured she looked
no less neat than when she came in to work that morning. Even her hair, bushy
as it was, managed to remain neatly plaited without a strand out of place.
“Maybe you should try looking less attractive. Perhaps some shapeless robes
combined with a hideous pair of glasses would do just the trick.”
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the lift grounded to a halt,
leading most of the building’s occupants to stampede past the altered Fountain
of Magical Brethren and towards the row of gilded fireplaces on the right side
of the Atrium serving as the employees’ exit. Really, the Weasleys were lovely
people, but sometimes their leaps of logic left much to be desired. “I’ll try
to keep that in mind.”
Ginny merely let out a long-suffering sigh as they paused by the golden
fountain and waited for the crowd lined up for the exits to thin out. She then
proceeded to tie her thick mane of bright red hair into a messy bun and secured
it with her wand, fully ignoring the disapproving tut from her companion. “You
sure dated a right bastard.”
“And what suddenly brought that on?” Hermione inquired as they stared at each
other’s reflection through the water’s glimmering surface.
“Because even after four years, Jean Pierre still has the power to affect you
like this. I should have made you accept Fred and George’s offer of revenge
after what he did.”
“Well, it wasn’t as if he’d said anything untrue, did he? I’m just not the type
of woman to incite passion in men.”
Ginny sighed again. “For a smart witch, you sure do miss a lot, you know that?”
There was a brief pause while Hermione avoided the younger girl’s pointed gaze
by pretending to look through her briefcase for a knut to throw into the water.
She barely stopped herself from uttering an oath of relief aloud once she
realized how much shorter the line of ministry workers leaving the building had
become.
It wasn’t until just before her turn in line to floo out of the building that
Hermione found a slip of paper in her robe’s right-hand pocket. It read “You’re
my one and only” in bold, block lettering, causing a very different blush to
rise up on her cheeks and leading Ginny to speculate on its cause aloud right
until Hermione popped out of sight.
April
The week-long downpour continued unabated if the enchanted ceiling was to be
believed, enveloping the lift in a dour mood as many a weekend plan sunk under
its force. Hermione’s expression quickly changed into a relieved smile as the
familiar caress began sometime while the grumbling workers of the Department of
Magical Catastrophes filed in. A small sigh escaped her lips as her admirer’s
right arm circled around her waist and brought her body flush against his.
Despite its odd start, this weekly occurrence had gradually become one of the
highlights of her week. For despite the humidity wreaking havoc to her already
unmanageable hair and the faint dark circles forming under her eyes from too
many hours working overtime, she’d never felt any more desirable. There was
something heady about being appreciated for her femininity for once, and she
hoarded each of these moments close to her heart for the inevitable winter that
would follow.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind of the ephemeral nature of these interludes.
Signs of his discontent with the status quo were already beginning to mar their
time together. Just last week, Hermione had felt him try to turn her around as
their officemates shuffled past towards the floo exits, his intent of
irrevocably changing their relationship horribly clear.
She’d promptly bent her head, her gaze landing on his muddy black loafers and
the unraveled thread from his bright red robes before squeezing them shut.
“It’s not fair of you to try changing the rules now,” Hermione had said, hating
the way her voice sounded so young as if she was fifteen again and talking with
a boy in that way for the first time. “I can’t give you any more than this.”
Hermione wasn’t often considered the brightest witch in her generation for
nothing. Always a quick learner, she only needed to get her heart broken once
to know it was an experience she never wanted to risk feeling again.
Her earlier rejection of him was apparently forgiven if the familiarly
maddening way his fingers were inching up to her knickers were any indication.
Hermione had to bite her lower lip to keep from moaning aloud as they reached
their destination, his nimble fingers rubbing the soaked fabric against her
sensitive flesh.
Perhaps even more surprising than having a man showing interest in her at all
was how easily she accepted his advances. Hermione had grown used to thinking
of herself as frigid after the disaster that was her first serious
relationship. It never ceased to amaze her how her wantonly her body reacted to
her new lover’s caresses; how easily her damp thighs would spread wide whenever
his fingers drew near. She hadn’t refused any of his advances since March
despite the burgeoning risk of exposure by their coworkers; a fact alone that
should’ve sent her normally sensible self running in the opposite direction.
But Hermione was honest enough with herself enough to admit that her
recklessness as of late was as much a verification of her womanhood as it was
about the explosive chemistry that she shared with her faceless admirer.
A particularly hard flick sent her arching forward, her excitement spiraling
further as he somehow managed to grind his erection to her bum while barely
moving at all. A casual observer would only see two fidgety people standing
one-in-front-of-the-other instead of the reality of her wanting to turn around
and wrap her bare legs around him until the hard ridge on his trousers could
mesh with the junction of her thighs.
Without warning he shoved her knickers aside and plunged two fingers into her
wet heat, his thumb continuing the frantic rhythm on her clit until Hermione
feared that she’d passed fidgety long ago and entered apoplectic. If so, their
coworkers either didn’t notice or care, for not a one paused in his grumbling
about the uncooperativeness of Mother Nature with the Quidditch Semi-Finals.
Another hard flick, followed by another that barely grazed the surface set for
a maddening rhythm. Hermione instinctively began to roll her hips with the
tempo he’d created until he, too, began to pant softly against her ear and
became flustered enough for his fingers to falter momentarily. Hooray for
equality.
“Hermione, are you feeling okay?”
Their movements stilled for a heartbeat before Hermione frantically looked down
to see if their illicit activities had somehow become evident to the rest of
the lift’s occupants. Mercifully, her heavy wool robes remained closed and gave
no indication that her skirt was bunched up around her waist or that the back
of the robe was lifted high enough to barely cover her arse.
That narrowed the cause of Anthony Goldstein’s concern to something other than
the physical, and she concluded the most likely culprit to be an escaped moan
from when lust momentarily overpowered her senses. Luckily, it apparently
hadn’t been loud enough to cause too much of a stir, for only the out-of-sight
former Ravenclaw appeared troubled. “Just remembered that I left something
behind in the office,” she somehow managed to answer.
With her heartbeat petering off to normal and her earlier mood long gone,
Hermione leaned bonelessly back into her lover’s arm and waited for him to slip
his hand away from between her thighs. Unfortunately, he didn’t take the hint
and merely buried his face farther into her curls until the cool metal of his
spectacles skimmed the top of her neck, his fingers continuing their earlier
ministrations. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed as she attempted to trap his
forearms between her thighs; a move that might’ve been effective had they not
been still slick from earlier activities. Instead, she barely held in a shudder
as the hair on his forearms rasped against the underside of her bum with each
stroke.
Her second plan of simply moving away failed barely out of execution as his
other arm tightened its grip around her waist; Hermione silently thanking what
little luck she had remaining that Anthony never quite hit his growth spurt and
was thus unable to muscle his way to her side, instead forced to settle with
having to continue their conversation sight unseen.
“...so I reckon this means that Susan’s finally interested,” he was saying.
Hermione somehow managed to form the occasional noise of assent to assure the
former Head Boy that he still held her attention despite the irritation and
rekindled lust battling for dominance within her. It was all that was really
required once Anthony warmed up to his favorite topic of Susan Bones’ future as
the mother of his children; the fact that the woman in question had never shown
a whit of interest did nothing to deter his enthusiasm.
Hermione bit her lip to prevent another moan from escaping as her faceless
lover bent her over slightly, his invading fingers plunging into her even
deeper and hitting the one spot that swept aside all thoughts of anger. Oh God.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.
Distantly, she heard the golden grills clang open and the crowd began to
shuffle out. Hermione looked up just in time to catch Anthony’s confused stare
before she felt her muscles stiffen and experienced the most intense orgasm of
her life.
May
Despite her earlier resolve to not let the faceless stranger change her
routine, her shame over her perverse reaction a month before prevented Hermione
from riding her usual lift as each workweek wound down to a close. Instead, she
found herself dawdling over inconsequential paperwork until the normally hectic
building settled down for a long weekend.
Unfortunately, her admirer took her refusal to continue their tryst as a sign
that it was now acceptable to woo her openly. Not a day had gone by since two
weeks after the incident occurred when a gift of some sort didn’t arrive on her
desk, causing speculations to run rampant in her department. The first day it’d
been a dozen roses with an attached card simply saying ‘I’m sorry’ in the
inscrutable blocky script her admirer favored, a gift that she secretly found
pleasing despite its status as a generic woman gift. Nobody had ever thought to
give her flowers before.
But lest she be lulled into discounting his presents and believing that she’d
been chosen simply because she’d been oh-so-willing, he surprised her the next
day with a first edition of Wizard/Muggle Relations Through the Ages, a
very expensive book she’d been waiting till her birthday to buy herself as a
treat. The rest of his presents volleyed back and forth from these two
extremes, so that by the end of that week her anger had been muddled by a
feeling of both flattery and curiosity on how he knew her well enough to choose
correctly on the more personal items.
By the third Thursday, curiosity finally won over and she wrote a message on
the paper airplane he’d enchanted to bring her present, asking why he did what
he did that fateful Friday afternoon. His succinct reply the next morning of “I
just couldn’t keep my hands off you” left her giddy and distracted enough to
actually spend the hours after quitting time finishing up her day’s quota of
paperwork.
Preoccupied as she was and having expected everyone else to have been long gone
to enjoy the remains of the glorious May sunshine, Hermione backpedaled and
nearly fell on her bum at the sight of a half-asleep Harry leaning on one side
of the otherwise empty lift.
“What are you still doing here?”
Harry opened his eyes just enough for a hint of his emerald eyes to appear
through his sooty lashes before letting them slide back shut. “I could ask you
the same thing.” He sighed softly before shifting until he could rest the back
of his head more comfortably on the dark cherry paneling, and in the process
exposing the pale skin of his throat. “I lost a bet with Ron and now I’m stuck
doing all our paperwork for that last case.”
Hermione blinked as she realized she’d been staring, half-heartedly cursing the
note that had put her so out of sorts even as she tried to cover up her faux
pas with her usual badgering. “Oh honestly! I can’t believe you two would bet
on something as important as work.”
The mischievous smile he gave her in reply was reminiscent of the ones he’d
given her over the years after she’d caught him in more than one foolhardy
venture. Of course, until just then it hadn’t crossed her mind that it was the sexiest
damned thing in creation. Stupid hormones. And stupid of her, too, for ending
up alone with a man in the one place where the memory of what happened a month
before still managed to both mortify and arouse her at the same time. Hard as
she tried to block the memory, she couldn’t get rid of the erotic image of her
in that one corner, bent over while her mystery lover mercilessly teased her.
Hermione closed her eyes and frantically tried to think of another topic to
distract herself with. "So the case you've all been working on is almost
wrapped up, then?" she asked, wincing as her voice squeaked at the end.
Instead of responding to her question, Harry took one of her hands between his
and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Is everything all right? You've been so
tense the past couple of weeks."
Hermione frowned down at their entwined hands as she haltingly relayed her
confused feelings concerning her admirer, nearly choking when she realized his
thumb was tracing a circular pattern on the back of her left hand that brought
up sensations she'd never associated with him before. It’s just Harry,
she tried to reassure herself. You’ve held hands without incident plenty of
times.
But that apparently didn’t matter as there suddenly didn't seem to be enough
oxygen in the lift. Her knees gave way as life as she knew it careened into
freefall, leaving her stomach hollow and queasy at the same time as just Harry
transformed in front of her very eyes into someone with other possibilities.
"Hermione!" Harry said, his hot breath tickling her ear as his arms
wrapped tightly around her waist to hold her up. She shivered and resisted the
urge to move away lest he get the right idea about how he was suddenly
affecting her. Good Lord. What was wrong with her? How did she come from having
no man in her life to suddenly lusting after two of them?
Having him so close to her made her hyper aware of the strength she knew to be
hidden beneath his wiry frame, and she found herself wondering how it would
feel to run her hands over his lightly muscled arms and pull him closer.
Unbidden, the image from a month before sprang to mind yet again, but this time
with her best friend taking the place of her phantom lover. Desire curled low
in her belly at the thought, mixed with a good dose of apprehension. Bloody
hell. If she didn’t stop thinking of him like that soon, she wouldn’t be able
to look Harry in the eye ever again.
Hermione speedily extricated herself from her best friend's inviting warmth,
deciding that giving him an inkling of this new awareness she had of him was
infinitely preferable to him knowing for sure after she jumped him. “T-Thanks,”
she managed to stammer. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
“You’ve been pushing yourself too much again, haven’t you?” Harry said with
uncharacteristic perceptiveness as he looked down at her with brows furrowed.
“When’s the last time you had a decent meal?”
“I’m fine, mum,” she replied, but couldn’t help from smiling at the role
reversal. Hermione was gratified to know that lust for one of her best friends
hadn’t turned her brain into complete rubbish; and that despite the recent
appeals to her womanhood, she could still feel the familiar rush of pleasure
from the dark haired wizard’s friendly concern. In fact, instead of being diminished
in comparison to the decidedly heady attentions of her secret admirer, Harry’s
reaffirmation of their friendship was more like the other half of the puzzle
coming into place. It left her with a sense of completeness that she hadn’t
felt in a long time. “Besides, I wouldn’t talk. You look like you could use a
good meal yourself.”
Harry placed a hand on his heart and pretended to stumble back. “That’s harsh!
And to think I’ve spent years trying to live up to your meticulous standards of
beauty!” Hermione rolled her eyes as he straightened up, the grin he’d been
trying so hard to conceal much in evidence. “Takeaway curry at my place sounds
good, then?”
She grinned back. “It sounds lovely.”
June
Before Hermione knew it, her Fridays had fallen into a new routine of receiving
whatever gift her admirer came up with in the mornings--never failing to make
her feel as if a swarm of Cornish pixies had been let loose in her
stomach--followed by those moments alone with Harry in the lift that would
occasionally become charged with the possibility of something more. It made her
wonder if it was possible to be half in love with two people at the same time;
especially from a heart she long thought incapable of it.
Even the briefest reminder of her secret admirer never failed to leave her wet
and wanting. More than once, she found herself wondering how it would feel to
finally be filled by him, the hardness of his bare chest beneath her fingertips
as she rode him to oblivion. But more so than their explosive chemistry, she
loved the way he made her feel beautiful in a way no man before ever did. His
adoration continued uninterrupted even though she knew that on at least one
occasion she’d proven herself far from the Aphrodite he claimed her to be. Some
days being closer to Medusa, not only physically with her hair defying gravity,
but in bad enough temper to give the goblins pause.
With Harry... it was like coming home. Hermione disliked the use of clichés,
but honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting way to describe her relationship
with him. Twelve years of friendship had bred an easy familiarity between them,
so that every so often they’d been able to finish each others sentences and had
even shared whole jokes with a mere glance. But unlike their previous dealings,
their recent encounters had been charged with a heightened awareness that made
her conscious of the desirable man her best friend had become. More than once
she found herself staring at his mouth, hey eyes tracing that delightful curve
of his lower lip and wondering if he would taste like the peppermints they’d
shared extensively in childhood.
The last Friday in June marked the height of a week-long heat wave so powerful
that Magical Maintenance, in an effort to assist the struggling cooling charms
to beat the heat, had the enchanted windows portraying a winter wonderland
scene complete with a moving snowman that would occasionally peer inside as far
as its crooked carrot nose would allow to give the overheated workers a
self-satisfied grin.
Not that Hermione ever noticed any of it, of course. More than one of her
officemates commented with no small amount of awe on her ability to keep to
task despite the grave physical discomfort. Certainly commendable, if it hadn’t
been so far from the truth.
In all honesty, Hermione had spent the past hour staring at the same line on
the parchment before her unseeing. Her admirer’s usual gift failed to arrive
that morning; a fact which left her so out of sorts to not be bothered for once
that she was idling during work hours.
By eleven o’clock, she gave up even that pretense and announced her plans for
an early lunch. Everyone had been too shocked at this unexpected turn of events
to do any more than stare wide-eyed as she headed towards the nearest lift
without another glance back.
Hermione, lost in thought as she was, nearly ran face first into Harry’s chest
just as the golden grills clanked open to allow her entry. “I was just about to
come see you,” he said with an oddly nervous smile as he all but stumbled back to
give her room. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“I-I hope not.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Hermione’s face as she turned her head to fully
face him, long-practiced habit enabling her to set aside her own worries to
focus on her best friend. “You’re not sure?”
His response was cut off as the lift chose that moment to pause on Level 5.
Harry turned to the interloper--a young man carrying a box poked with holes
streaming with smoke--and gave him such a scowl that the other man dropped the
box on the ground, eliciting a suspicious roar from its contents before a
corner caught on fire. “Go find some other way to head up,” Harry practically
growled before slamming the grills on the younger man’s face and hitting the stop
button so that the car hung suspended between levels.
“Harry! What on earth...”
“Blast.” He ran a hand through already unruly hair and began to pace. “This
isn’t at all how I planned this to go.”
“What plan?” she demanded as she grabbed his arm. “What are you on
about?”
Before Hermione could utter another word, the gap between them vanished in one
step. Then, moving slowly--as if in a trance--Harry cupped her face and stroked
her cheek with his thumb, his eyes almost black with wanting. “What are you
doing to me, Hermione?” he murmured as he leaned in closer. “I promised myself
I wasn’t going to touch you again until you’re ready. But I just can’t seem to
help myself.”
Then he leaned down and kissed her for the first time; his warm lips barely brushing
hers—almost chaste. Hermione was still trying to decipher the meaning of his
last words when he was suddenly devouring her, overwhelming her senses so
completely until she wanted to do nothing more than give him her complete
surrender. Her fists tightened on the lapels of his white dress shirt, urging
him closer even as Harry attempted to push himself back a bit, his gasps for
air fully audible in the otherwise still room. “I think we need to stop. I want
to make sure you’ve a clear head when I get my answer.”
“And I think you think too much,” she muttered as she arched her body against
his, eliciting a moan to mingle with his low chuckles.
Unfortunately, Harry didn’t take the hint and merely continued speaking as if
he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes getting to know the insides of his
best friend’s mouth better than her own dentist. “You know my birthday is
coming up....”
Hermione groaned and laid her forehead on his right shoulder, savoring the
familiar musky smell of his cologne even as she fought with annoyance. “Please
tell me you didn’t just interrupt that to talk about what present I should get
you. I may be forced to kill you.”
“Perhaps that wasn’t quite the best way to broach the subject,” Harry mused
aloud as his left hand twined with hers and lightly pressed into her palm the
unmistakable feel of a ring. “Your gift for this morning. I thought it would be
more appropriate to give it to you in person.”
Hermione let out a sharp exhale of breath, her heart pounding loudly in her
ears as she titled her head up to face him. It was too good to be true. And yet
in hindsight, she really couldn’t imagine the situation resolving itself any
other way.
Harry cleared his throat and attempted his aborted speech again with a grin.
“So for my birthday this year, will you let me have what I want most?”
Hermione looped her arms around his neck and grinned back. “Only if you show me
how much.”
And he did.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You're the best listener that I've ever met
You're my best friend
Best friend with benefits
What took me so long?
- “Head Over Feet” by Alanis Morissette
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
AN: This originally started out as a PWP that snowballed after Harry made that
comment about Hermione’s ex in the second scene. I swear I’ll prove that I’m
still capable of writing fluff one of these days >_<
Thanks to Jenn over at
AFFBetaReaders for going over this for me. Any mistakes left are mine
(Especially the smut since this is my first try at it). Also, since neither of
us are British, corrections on that front would be highly appreciated.
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