Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dislocation	By : LinguaMagus Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2823 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2:

Harry had never before had reason or occasion to visit the Fytherley Undercliffe Free Public Library. Only a few doors down from Gringotts, it was a far less grand building. Squeezed between two cracked columns of quarried stone, a simple red door bore a plaque that read, “The face and soul of magic. The drama of life. The impressions of nature, its life and meaning. The spirit of history. These are our themes.” Without pausing, Hermione passed inside and Harry hurried in after her.
He had expected the library to be larger on the inside, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was seeing. He felt like he was stepping into an infinite labyrinth of shelves. If there were walls, they were invisible past the tops of row after row of books. Light from floating lanterns didn’t reach the ceiling which must be high above. Directly ahead, a simple square desk waited with an ancient and forbidding witch seated behind it. A tall and dense volume sat on the desk, with a quill hanging in the air above it awaiting instruction.
Amazingly, when they got closer, the ancient witch actually broke into a narrow smile. One bony hand raised in greeting.
“Miss Granger. A pleasure to see you again. Do you require assistance?”
Harry looked down at Hermione in exasperated admiration. Of course the librarian knew her name. He felt a little less intimidated now that it was clear Hermione was in control of the situation.
“Hello, Mrs. Serapea. Harry and I would like to look at past issues of the Daily Prophet from, I think, the last fifty years please. Would you mind calling an escort for us?”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Granger. Cisiorum.”
She swept her wand at their feet. Two small planks of wood, each with a pair of hard rubber wheels, zipped over and stopped right in front of them.
“Two two, seven three five six. Yod six,” the old witch chimed.
Harry was mystified, but apparently this was what Hermione had requested because she stepped onto the plank and looked over at Harry expectantly. He stepped onto his plank, and immediately they both started hurtling down aisle after aisle. Moving so fast his eyes watered. He was worried that the plank wasn’t very steady, but after trying to shift his weight left and right, he found that something was holding him firmly in place. He could only move above the waist.
Just as quickly as they arrived, they stopped. Instead of book shelves, they were in front of a row of what looked like old microfiche readers. Except instead of viewing screens, they just had wide glass frames. A chamber on the side ran into a pipe that went into the floor. Hermione hopped off her plank and sat down at one of the strange readers. She placed her wand against a glowing mark on the face of the chamber and said loudly and clearly, “Albus Dumbledore”.
The reader hummed for several seconds, and the glass frame swirled and darkened. When it clicked to a stop, it was covered border to border in sequences of numbers.
“I was afraid of that,” Hermione chewed on her lip as she looked at the baffling results. “See, Harry. Each of these is a date in the last fifty years when the Prophet ran an article mentioning Professor Dumbledore. He’s just too famous, though. This would take ages to sort through.”
“Can you, I don’t know, filter it or something? Look for articles that mention Albus Dumbledore and home? Or house?”
She nodded and touched her wand to the chamber again, “One, Albus Dumbledore. Two, House comma home.”
The reader hummed again, this time for much longer. Harry thought it must have to run the search twice, one for each question. When it clicked to a stop, there were still several sequences of numbers, but the results were in the dozens, not thousands.
“Great idea, Harry! That’s much more manageable. Come here, and help me look through these.”
She took her wand once more, tapped it twice against the glowing mark on her reader, and then three times against the mark on the reader next to her. The frame on her reader winked out, and then the results could be seen on both readers. Harry sat down and watched her for a few seconds to get an idea how to navigate through the different articles. Apparently, it was all in the movement and taps of the wand. After watching her look through three articles, he got the gist and started looking through the list from the bottom up.
It only took about a half an hour before Hermione piped up, “Ooh ooh, Harry, look! I found something. Professor Dumbledore met our reporter in front of his childhood home, a home that he now calls his own again. The estate, in charming Godric’s Hollow… Harry, that’s it! Dumbledore lives in Godric’s Hollow. Isn’t that where you were born?”
A myriad of emotions fought for control. Astonishment, betrayal, gratitude, frustration, delight. Why had Dumbledore never told him that they both grew up in the same place? He would have to ask him when they found him. Until then, dwelling on it wasn’t going to do any good. Churning in the background was relief that he got to see the Professor again at all. The memory of Dumbledore’s face, frozen in his last thought, was falling backwards through Harry’s mind.
“Good job, Hermione. I never would have been able to do this without you. Now let’s go see the Professor.”
She beamed with pride and stood to give him a hug. Hopping back on her plank, she said, “Entrance, please.” Harry did the same and they zoomed back to the front door of the library.
“I have to admit, Hermione. This place is pretty neat. I’m starting to understand why you like it so much.”
They took the Knight Bus to Godric’s Hollow. By the time they arrived, it was fully night. The moon hung overhead in a clear Summer sky, and a few families were out in their yards talking to neighbors or just sitting around in lawn furniture. Harry didn’t know exactly what address they were looking for, but after taking a minute to scan the neighborhood, they spotted the house from the photograph in the article and made a beeline towards it.
Right away, their optimism started fading. The house was dark, and no one could be seen on the property. Harry was surprised that there didn’t appear to be any magical obfuscation. It was just a simple house. Out front was a tasteful, if slightly wild, garden. Hanging on the porch, a collection of moon and stars wind chimes tinkled cheerfully in the breeze.
Harry knocked hard on the door and peered around to see if he could see movement in the windows. Nothing. He knocked again, this time going up on his tip-toes and peering through the stained glass. Hermione tugged on his sleeve and moved to step around him. She flourished her wand.
“Homenum revelio.”
They paused and waited. Still nothing. Harry shrugged and decided that there wasn’t really any danger to being curious. He tried the doorknob, and the door fell right open. The air inside was cold and still. Something caught his eye, though. The barest rim of warm light sneaked around a corner at the far end of the hall.
“Professor Dumbledore! Sir? Are you in here? It’s Harry and Hermione.”
Craning this way and that, they moved down the hall towards the source of illumination. Rounding the corner, there was another short stretch of hall opening into an office. In the center was a grand walnut desk, and hovering over it was a fat tallow candle. As it burned, it dripped wax that disappeared into nothing. There was only a stub remaining, so it had evidently been burning for some time.
“Harry, look at this.”
Hermione was bent over the desk, looking at a piece of parchment. A quill lay across it instead of balanced in the silver quill stand. Harry examined the parchment. It seemed like just a journal entry. It was recording his thoughts about some meeting with a member of the Wizengamot that had apparently not gone well. At the end, however, Harry could see Hermione’s concern. The writing simply stopped. Not in conclusion, but right in the middle of the word ‘intercha’. The stroke on the ‘a’ hadn’t even finished.
“I don’t get it. He should be here! Why would something happening later cause him to be missing earlier — er, now?” Harry was practically barking in frustration.
“Harry…” Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder.
He sunk to the floor, his head between his knees. Hermione stood over him and stroked his hair with both hands. He reached up and wrapped his fingers through her belt, pulling her forward to press his forehead against her thigh.
They stayed like that for several moments, then Harry drew her down across his lap. She took his hair in her fists as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her into him. Her breath caught in her throat, and her honey amber eyes went wide. Harry’s bearing was hungry and urgent. Holding her lips just a whisper from his own, his eyes searched hers for assent. His emerald eyes. His one… emerald eye.
Hermione was ripped from her reverie. She snapped upright and stared hard at Harry, who looked hurt and bewildered. There they were, the eyes she knew so well. But not both from the same person.
“Oh… oh my,” she murmured.
Harry dropped his arms to his side and his eyebrows climbed in confusion.
“Harry… Y—you need to see… speculus.”
She conjured a hand mirror and held it out to him. Even more puzzled, Harry glanced at himself in the mirror. He immediately jumped back and had to steady himself on his hands. One of the eyes looking back at him was his own. Emerald green and comforting. His mother’s eye. The other was a piercing, brilliant blue.
“But — his eye? I can’t… How can I have his eye?”
Hermione thought hard. Had she honestly looked at his eyes today until just now? She thought she must have, but she couldn’t remember doing so. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of any other explanation. It was Professor Dumbledore’s brilliant blue eye she was seeing peering out of Harry’s face. Somehow Harry had taken a part of Dumbledore into himself.
He was practically climbing into the hand mirror trying to see from any and every angle. Nothing about this was making sense, and something about such a personal change was violating. He still felt like Harry all over, but what else was different that he couldn’t see? He held the mirror at a dozen different angles to try and find something that wasn’t familiar.
“Harry, I think when you did… whatever you did when Professor Dumbledore died, you must have — I don’t know, taken something from him. I’ve never read about anything like this happening before. I don’t even know who we could ask.”
“Professor Dumbledore would have known the answer,” Harry muttered bitterly.
“Whatever it is, Harry, we can’t do anything about it right now. It’s getting late, and we don’t have anywhere to stay. Daddy will have gone to bed, so we’ll need to find a place to sleep tonight. Do you think anyone is awake at the Burrow?”
“Why don’t we just stay here? I don’t think Dumbledore would mind.” Harry didn’t really feel up to being quizzed by a half dozen Weasleys right now. At least not until he had a better idea what was actually going on. Ron was his best friend, but sometimes his jealousy could be trying. Finding out that he and Hermione had spent the day together on an adventure would not bring out the best in him.
Hermione looked around, considering it. It wasn’t a small house, and it was very comfortably decorated. It could have passed as a bed and breakfast, if they hadn’t known better.
“You’re right. This is as good a place as any. I don’t think we have to worry about being disturbed, considering whose house this is.”
“Was,” corrected Harry.
“Don’t be negative. We don’t know for sure that he’s gone. In any case, I think we’re safe here, so we may as well be comfortable. Help me find the bedrooms.”
They explored for a few minutes, and were forced to come to the conclusion that Professor Dumbledore did not often have guests. There were several rooms, but they had all been converted into other things. A library, a potions chamber, some sort of workshop. There was but one bedroom, and it had but one bed.
“I could… summon another?” Hermione said hesitantly.
It was an empty suggestion. She could certainly have summoned another bed, but there was nowhere to put it. The existing bed was large, and the room was cluttered with other bits of furniture.
“It’s a big bed. We can just sleep on separate sides. It will be fine,” said Harry. Not at all confident that it would be. The moment on the floor downstairs when he had held her burned fiercely behind his eyes.
Hermione stared at him for a long moment before nodding and starting to clear off the bed. Dumbledore had an assortment of aging throws and a large knitted rabbit that occupied the top half of the bed. Harry helped her, then turned with a pillow in his hand and a question on his face.
“Hermione, did you bring anything to wear to bed?”
“Oh shoot! No, I didn’t even think about that. I think I can probably transfigure something, though.”
Like most of his clothes, the shirt Harry was wearing previously belonged to Dudley. Even though it was several years old, it was still at least two sizes too large for him. He pulled it over his head and handed it to Hermione.
“It’s fine. Just wear this. I sleep in my boxers anyway.”
Hermione’s cheeks went crimson, and her fist came up to her mouth. She still thought of Harry as the small, bony, underfed boy she had met on the train. Reconciling that image with the man in front of her was causing a short circuit. Harry was still slender, but his permanent slouch disguised his height, and the baggy clothes covered a body wrapped in hard muscle. Years of hard Quidditch practice and constant exploration had made him dense and wirey, with long limbs and broad, long-fingered hands.
Some small sound puffed out of her mouth that sounded a bit like “Buh”. Harry was still just standing there, holding out his shirt and looking puzzled. Quickly, she snatched it from him and held it in front of her, like she was presenting something she had made. A foolish grin darted across her face and she clutched the shirt to her chest.
“Ummm… Thank you, Harry.”
“Uh, sure? Don’t mention it.”
He shrugged and went to hunt down a lavatory so he could get ready for bed. Once he was out of the room, Hermione bent her face into the shirt and breathed in deep. Her cheeks flushed again, and she fidgeted uncomfortably before clearing her throat and taking off her own blouse and putting the shirt on. It came to midway down her thigh. Stepping out of her shoes and lowering her pants, she folded her clothes and set them atop a rosewood chiffonier right as Harry returned to the room.
“The loo is two doors down on the right. I turned a pair of cotton swabs into toothbrushes for us.”
His eyes wandered while he spoke, taking in the smooth, ivory legs he had seen earlier that day but had to give up seeing so quickly. Hermione seemed to have been made by pouring whipped cream into a mold. Out of her usual tidy dress, she had no hard edges or sharp corners. Harry suspected that if he poked her thigh, it would simply give way like a foam pillow. She turned away and pulled inside the shirt like a cotton turtle. A few seconds of shifting later, and she pulled a simple blue bra from her shirt sleeve, folded one cup into the other and laid it on her clothes.
“Thank you, Harry. I’ll be right back.”
She left to make preparations for bed, and Harry pulled his pants down and tossed them onto a chair. He kicked off his shoes and put his socks in them next to the bed. He eyed the bed and then grabbed a corner of the bed and turned it sideways, so that the foot of the bed faced the door. He tested the window, and when it opened easily, he cast a quick charm to seal it shut, then he closed the curtains. Hermione came back just as he was pulling down the sheets to climb into bed.
She looked around and quickly sized up the changes to the room. For the first time, she considered the effect that the next two years of experiences would have on them. This young man, whom she had seen only a few weeks before, had since lived years of war. He still seemed so gentle and warm, but in glimpses, she was seeing the hardness and intensity he had acquired. He looked at her and smiled crookedly. Brushing his hair out of his face, his one beautiful green eye flashed at her and her knees turned to jelly.
Harry stood up and faced her in just a pair of red and gold boxers.
“Harry. Oh goodness…”
She had only begun to adjust to seeing a fit and toned Harry. Nothing at all could have prepared her for the heavy outline slung across the front of his boxers. It looked like an optical illusion against his narrow frame. Her eyebrows jumped into her cinnamon hair and her tongue pressed against her top row of teeth. Turning abruptly, she sidled along the side of the bed and climbed under the covers while trying not to look at him.
The sheets rustled behind her as he got into bed as well, and the feet of bed between them felt unexpectedly small. She gestured with her wand to extinguish the light and then tucked it under her pillow. The moon shone brightly through a crack in the curtain and cast a silver line across the bed. Slowly, she turned onto her back and followed the line. The plum colored duvet looked black in the half-light, but just at the end of the shaft of illumination, there lay a hand. Broad and long-fingered, strong and soft. She reached out to it.
Harry felt a feather-light touch across his knuckles. He turned his hand over and a palm laid across his. He threaded his fingers through hers and there was a wiggling sound in the dark. The hand tightened around his, and a second later something pressed against him under the sheets. Warm and velvety lips touched his chest, suffusing his skin with electricity.
Both hands at her waist, Harry lifted her lips to his own. In the blissful silence, they kissed. Her warm and dewy mouth opened to him, and he tasted her sweet breath. He nipped delicately at her lips, and his powerful tongue flicked across her teeth. Their mouths smashed fervently together, their hands explored under the sheets. Her velvet fingertips searching across his taut figure. His skilled hands following her curves down and meeting her hips, where plush skin bulged subtly around snug panties.
The stripe of moonlight exposed them in irregular flashes. Harry clasped his mouth to her throat, dancing his tongue across the tender flesh, and sinking his teeth just so she could feel the pressure. Hermione moaned gutturally and dragged her fingernails over his back. She took a handful of the hair at the back of his head and compressed herself into him, a collapsing star of devotion and desire.
His jaw dragged down over her collarbone as he kissed ever lower, and her skin felt like it was scalding from the light scrape of his stubble. She had always been sensitive about her breasts. They were never as big as she felt they should be, and her nipples were squishy and didn’t stand proud from the areolas. All those doubts were driven out of her head by the driving need raging in the pit of her stomach. Harry’s hands lifted her shirt up and over her head, and when it fell to the side, she threw it away into the darkness, knocking something unseen to the floor.
Harry’s hands started back at her waist, and the backs of his knuckles skimmed over her silken skin, tumbling over the curve of her ribs and sweeping in a long turn around her breasts. His lips played across the upper slope as he cupped and massaged the pillowy teardrops. He took one nipple into his mouth and worked it between his lips, kneading it with his tongue and pinching it lightly between his teeth.
Hermione squirmed and writhed under his touch. She felt as if she was the plaything of some powerful and lustful being. When she reached out to touch him, his hand would encompass her wrist in bands of iron and pin her to the bed, and she would shudder from the ache of her need. She nuzzled against any part of him that she could reach and breathed deep his rugged scent.
With hands gripping deep into her supple hips, Harry brushed his nose over her belly button. He teased across it, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin leading below. Nudging her soft stomach with the tip of his nose, he caught the band of her panties between his teeth and pulled it fleetingly away and let it snap back. He would rub his face up her lurid thigh and repeat the process, lowering the band by a centimeter each time.
Tears lit up Hermione’s cheeks from the captivating tease, but she was beyond having words to beg. She clutched at Harry’s hair, sank her nails into his shoulder, squeezed as much of his head as she could fit in her small hands. She had become lost in a maelstrom of passion and admiration and adoration. She managed only one syllable.
“Please…”
Harry looked up at her, and looped a long finger through the center of her panties which were now clinging to her and growing damp. With a sharp pull, they were around her knees. Then gone. He took them to his face and sucked deep at the aroma, pulling at the dark patch with his teeth. Tossing them to the bed, he dipped back to his attentions and reveled in the unexplored territory.
Between her legs, Hermione had only one small tuft of auburn hair. It crowned two chubby lips and a downy dimple. Far below, two delicate but vividly pink petals concealed the nectar within. Lust like morning dew pearled on the contours. A bestial sound rose in Harry’s throat, and he buried his face between her legs.
Long and red, his probing tongue lapped at her as if trying to sate his thirst. Her lips parted, and it plunged within, drawing her essence into his mouth. Hermione buzzed and whined in a place past thought. Grasping at the bunched sheets, or latching to his ears, or just biting into her own hand to keep from screaming, she bucked and thrashed in ecstasy.
Time stretched and dilated for them, immersed in rapture. Harry tended to her pleasure in determined silence. His inexperience was compensated for by enormous enthusiasm and attention. Adjusting his position, his pressure, his pace a bit at a time while focusing on how she reacted. Discovering the firm little nub hiding just below the dimple, he gave it a slow, round lick and Hermione burst into a quivering, leg-shaking climax. She went slack, and tears rolled in fat drops down her face as tremors ran through her in lessening waves.
Harry crawled back to her and kissed a tear from her cheek. He ran a thumb over another, and combed his fingers through her thick pile of mousy hair. She cleaved to him and kissed him fiercely as the aftershocks fled and her need for him returned. Between fervent breaths, she passed her hand over his chest, his stomach and questing lower. His boxers had gone askew, but she tugged at them, trying to pull them down without releasing her lips from his. As she did, the inner curve of her hand brushed over an impossible extension.
His hips bucked hard at the unexpected touch, and her fingers came back to explore what seemed a surreal part of him. She coaxed it from the falling boxers, and tried to feel it all the way around. She could not. Even using her whole hand, her finger and thumb would not touch. Unrestrained, it rose high and rigid, covering his belly button. Veins like cables pulsed with his heartbeat and gave the wicked thing a sense of life in her palm. Tracing a fingernail to the top, Harry groaned loudly and she ran her thumb under the rim of the head. Curiously, he seemed to have a row of little nodes following the rim. She wondered if they were sensitive, so she stroked up the length of him and slid gingerly over the rim, running the tip of her finger in a lazy loop.
The response was immediate and intense. Harry grabbed her around the middle and pressed the iron-hard and burning shaft against her soft belly. Her teeth clacked against his as he mashed their mouths together, and she could taste herself still on his breath as his tongue caressed the back of her teeth. She was being consumed by his yearning, and all she wanted was to satisfy it.
Taking him in her hand, she guided him over her until he was positioned right at her core. She rubbed him against her slit and his head glistened wetly in the moonlight. Then he was inside her. Not all the way. By all the gods, she felt like he had an entire arm inside her, but looking down, it couldn’t have been much more than just the head. She cried out, and instantly his eyes found hers, searching for what she wanted. In that moment, she loved him more than she ever had before. She opened her mouth to say so, but Harry saw the truth written across her and spoke first.
“I love you, Hermione. You are my best friend, the other piece of my heart, and medicine for a wound I had forgotten I still felt. For the rest of my life, no day will ever compare to this day when we became a part of each other forever. I love you, and I want you to be mine.”
“Harry… oh. I love you, too. I love you so much.”
Tears fell through the darkness and splashed across her cheeks. Her own tears flowed through them, and she reached up to him, bringing him close to try and say with a kiss what words simply could not. Their mouths connected, and he moved within her. They made love.
Hermione was delirious from the exquisite fullness. Harry would pull swiftly from her and then slide sinfully slowly back inside. With every movement, she felt an intoxicating swell within her threatening to overflow and wash her mind out of her head. With animalistic intensity, she tried to throw her hips into him. To take all of him every time he tried to pull away. He was far too strong. He held her firmly against the bed and took his time with her. Harry poured his soul out through his eyes, and she devoured it all.
For minutes, or hours, or possibly years, they lived in each other. Hermione crested through another orgasm, and Harry’s back was striped in deep red scratches. The room was thick with musk and sweat, and their breathing was coming in ragged gasps. Harry began to tense and slow, staying buried in her for a moment longer with each thrust. His own climax was mounting.
“Hermione, I—”
“Inside me. Please, Harry. Finish in me.”
Shocked, he paused to look at her and saw only love and confidence. He trusted her, so with that, he drove forward and sped up. His hips pushed her deep into the bed, and she had to brace against the headboard to keep from being pushed away. Strong arms encased her, and with a final powerful thrust, he flooded her. Harry withdrew, and his gaze fixed on the pearly essence dripping between her legs. Her lips were red and slick, and something about seeing himself leaking down the crease to rest against her thigh was incredibly erotic.
“Umm. Harry? Could you, um, fetch me a towel please?”
“Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry, just a sec.”
Harry ran to the lavatory and returned with a fluffy white towel. He took a corner in hand and carefully wiped the mess from Hermione’s leg and bum. Lifting her hips with one hand, he slid the towel under her and laid down next to her to hold her close. She snuggled back against him, rubbing her bottom against his hips and bent her head to kiss his arm.
“Thank you, Harry. Tonight was perfect. I can’t remember ever feeling so good.”
“Well, that’s what I was going for, so good,” he chuckled into her hair.
She swatted his arm playfully, “I didn’t just mean that. Although yes, you were magnificent. I just meant I can’t remember feeling so cared for. So close to someone.”
“I love you, Hermione. I wasn’t just lost in the moment. I meant every word. I have always loved you, but now I understand what that was always going to mean.”
He squeezed her tight and she kissed his arm again. Then they just laid in the comfortable quiet for a long time. Eventually, Harry heard a woofling little snore coming from below. He pressed his lips against her head and carefully extricated himself. He trotted out to the lavatory to clean himself and use the toilet.
Once he felt more human, he wasn’t quite tired yet, so he decided to look around the house a bit. He passed through the kitchen, and rooted around in the cabinets to get a glass for some water. Drinking half of it in one gulp, he resumed his nosiness, unlatching the back door to step out into the warm Summer night. When it touched his skin, he was reminded of his nakedness, but he supposed it was late enough that it didn’t matter. Before he turned to go back inside, though, something caught his eye. A ghost, silvery and ephemeral, was passing through the fence and beyond.
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Dislocation

Chapter 2: