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Fumbling Towards Ecstasy	By : MmeFleiss Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 13964 -:- 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.

Chapter List
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�Fumbling
Towards Ecstasy� (1/6)

By MmeFleiss

*~*~*~*~*

�I can�t stop thinking about you.�

My best friend of fifteen years stood up with a start, the
two steaming mugs of cappuccino between us long forgotten. As if sensing the
impending drama, the hum of activity around us sputtered to a halt, leaving the
faint strains of INXS� �Need You Tonight� over the airwaves to augment my humiliation.

I licked my lips and resisted the urge to Disapparate into the Forbidden
Forest somewhere to live the rest
of my life out as a hermit. You�d think all those near misses with Voldemort
would�ve taught me something, but it was too late to wish I had planned this
all first now. �I wake up thinking about what your lips would taste like. I
think up reasons to stop by your department in hopes of seeing you. I count
down the hours until��

Ron�s face turned the same shade as his hair as he slammed
his palm against the Formica tabletop, glaring at a nearby table of giggling
schoolgirls in forest green uniforms and the gaping elderly couple sitting by
the caf�s main window.

Okay, that wasn�t quite the reaction I was going for. On the
upside, he hadn�t attempted to hex me like he did the last time I decided to
practice asking out our mutual best friend with him. There�s something to be
said about progress.

His scowl turned towards me and deepened, his fists clenched
tightly as if he wanted nothing better than to punch my lights out. The grim
set of his mouth left no doubt that only our Muggle surroundings kept me from
an untimely visit to St. Mungo�s. I guess I spoke too soon.

�Mate,� he growled through gritted teeth after finding our
unwanted audience suitably chastised, �don�t take this the wrong way, but I
don�t want to be alone with you again until you finally get the balls to ask
Hermione out.�

He then stomped off, blending in with a herd of tourists
headed for Piccadilly Circus the second he stepped out
into the snowbanked sidewalk. Uncooperative
git. See if I ever ask him to help me save the
world again.

I ignored the sympathetic looks from our waitress and began
to stir my coffee, trying my best to analyze what I did wrong. The fact that I
managed to offend Ron�s sensibilities enough that he wanted to keep away from
me didn�t exactly bode well for my chances. I wish he stuck around long enough
to at least tell me which bit I needed to fix, though.

I stared at the crackling fireplace with a sigh. If only I
could ask Hermione for advice on this; she was always better at dealing with
matters of the heart.

It�s funny to think that less than a month ago, I wouldn�t
have thought twice about asking for her opinion. Of course, until that fateful
afternoon, I hadn�t realized that she�d ever be in the running to be on the
receiving end of my�admittedly�pitiful advances.

It started when she missed our usual workday luncheon
together a couple of weeks after Christmas hols, the
unexplained empty seat taunting Ron and me with each glance. He was stuck
minding his brothers� shop and couldn�t go to satisfy his curiosity. I,
however, felt no such loyalty to The Ministry and bunked off work for the rest
of the day�earning a scratch on the ankle from Crookshanks as I stumbled off
the Floo and accidentally stepped onto his tail.

I hobbled past the rows of polished bookshelves overflowing
with hardcovers and scrolls with unpronounceable titles and over towards
Hermione�s kitchen to rummage through her stash of healing potions, nearly
running into her while she stared blankly at the contents of her fridge.

�I�m sorry if I made you two worry,� she said without
turning around. �I developed a fever over the weekend, and I just woke up from
my potion-induced coma.�

Though I could only see the profile of her head above the
gleaming white door, evidence of her claim stood out despite the weak afternoon
sunlight streaming through the windows. Her bronze curls looked wilder than
usual, barely contained by the butterfly clip resting against the nape of her
neck. Faint pillow creases marked her flushed cheeks, her one hand absently
running over them as if hoping to erase them.

�Then what are you doing up? You should still be in bed!
Maybe we should stop by St. Mungo�s so you can get a checkup and��

�Harry, I�m fine,� she interrupted, left eyebrow rising as
she spotted my throbbing ankle. �It seems to me like you need to be looked
after more than I do.�

I felt my own face flush as I waved her off. The last thing
she needed was to worry about me, too. �Had a run-in with
your ruddy cat.�

She smirked. �Whoever would have thought that the Chosen One
would someday be brought to his knees by a mere feline.�

�Don�t remind me,� I grumbled as I sat down and took a
closer look at the vertical gashes on my leg. �If only we had known about this
secret weapon earlier. We could have just draped catnip over Voldemort and had
him defeated in time for tea.�

��You wish. Maybe then
you�d actually meet women who aren�t out to become famous by giving a
play-by-play of your skills in bed to every wizarding publication known to man,
or worse, trap you into marriage.�

�That first bit happened once.
Aren�t you ever going to let me forget that?�

�You mean considering the fact that to this day I still pick
up my copy of The Daily Prophet with
some trepidation lest I risk finding out more about what exactly you can do
with your tongue?�

�Well, it�s not like it�s likely to happen again anytime
soon unless my hand gains a separate consciousness,� I muttered under my
breath.

Hermione let out a rather unladylike snort before shoving a
yellow jar full of ground Murtlap Essence against my
chest. �Please keep the details of your nonexistent love life to yourself. I
really don�t need to know that Filch probably has more experience with women
than you ever will.�

My retort died in my throat when I looked up to find her
clad in nothing more than my old Quidditch jersey, my eyes lingering on my
surname branded across her chest as if confirming ownership. I swallowed
audibly and fought the urge to give her the shirt off my back to see if she�d
look just as good with it on. Preferably with some
extracurricular activities in between.

I�d known for years that Hermione was beautiful�her
appearance during the Yule Ball fourth-year and numerous instances since
ensured that. But it had been more at the intellectual level, in the same way
that I knew that aconite was the same thing as wolfsbane
or that Headmaster Dumbledore once defeated Grindelwald.
The way that my trousers were suddenly constricting blood flow assured me that
those days were long gone.

I dragged my eyes back down to my wound and began to slather
the slimy paste over it, paying close attention to make sure that it covered
every inch.

She let out an impatient huff. �Honestly! You�re going to
need a lot more than that if you want to get cured.�

I sucked in a breath as she added another dollop and began
to massage my leg in a way that I very much wished she would do elsewhere. Her
thumbs drew concentric circles around my anklebone, leaving a trail of heat
that conversely left me shivering and leaning nearer towards the warmth of her
body. It was a difference of mere inches, but with the diminished distance I
could smell the orange blossom scent of her shampoo, and only my shaking
fingers clenched around the armrests kept me from closing in on the remaining
space between us to discover whether she tasted just as sweet.

I tried to distract myself by looking away. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. A perfect plan in
theory, if only I hadn�t then noticed the way the hem brushed against her
thighs with each stroke. The fact that only a small, wandless
command of Wingardium Leviosa kept me from
seeing more gave me motivation to master a branch of magic I�ve not given much
thought to since the end of the war.

I stared hard at the faded maroon and gold fabric, willing
it to flutter upwards whilst I tried to predict what she wore underneath:
perhaps an innocent pair of white cotton knickers, or a scrap of lace that left
little to the imagination. Or maybe nothing at all.
Ever thought of that? A voice that sounded an awful lot like Sirius
interjected. My mouth ran dry. If that was true, there was nothing to stop me
if I reached out and plunged my fingers into her wet heat. Nothing to keep me
from hearing her moan my name in that low timbre that
promised more.

Fortunately for my continuing good health, Hermione chose
that moment to press just a bit too hard on my fading wounds, curtailing my
rampaging imagination. I snapped my eyes closed with a groan.

�Sorry,� she murmured against my ear, the warm puff of air a
caress against my skin. Her hands on my ankle became languid, almost sensual,
and I shifted on my chair whilst wondering how the simple act of tending to my
wounds had become a bigger turn-on than the most practiced of seductions. Did
that make me depraved?�

Eventually, the moment that had been both too short and an
eternity ended as she moved away into a more platonic distance. But by then it
was too late. I found that I couldn�t stop wanting her any more than I could
stop my heart from beating.

I wanted more.

*~*~*~*~*

AN: I ran out of non-angsty smutty
fics to read, so I decided to write one to keep
myself amused. This started out as a oneshot (I was determined to write a fic
where they both already know that they want each other, but as you can see I
failed completely, and it snowballed from there).

Special thanks to Jenn for betaing this for me. Any mistakes left are mine. Also
thanks to Dave Barry for writing The
Complete Guide to Guys, a resource that has proven to be invaluable,
especially when coupled with my boyfriend patiently answering my questions on
specific male behaviors.
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Fumbling Towards Ecstasy