The Boy Who Cried

The battle for the castle was brief, to the point, and utterly one-sided.
While Madam Pomfrey was treating Ginny and Luna, the rest of the teachers were waging a war for their own back. Once they had freed Snape, who had been incarcerated in his own office, the fight was quick, and disturbingly high on the body count; Snape personally used the Killing Curse on no less than ten of his ex-colleagues in terror. Many of the Death Eaters, upon being cornered, turned the Killing Curse on themselves, rather than be taken prisoner, and a few attempted to fly to safety, only to plummet to their doom, having forgotten about the anti-flying spells that had been erected.

By midnight, the entire castle had been searched, top to bottom, and Harry was personally monitoring it using the Marauder’s Map; there were no Death Eaters left. The Teachers had ass assembled up in Dumbledore’s office, but they found that Harry had ducked out.

“Why, pray tell, would an innocent man flee?”
Snape was not convinced about Harry being innocent. Either that, or he simply felt compelled to be cynical about Harry, no matter what. Either way, his response was the same.
“Severus, why wouldn’t he flee? He’s terrified, poor lad. Imagine, one second watching the Dark Lord casting the Killing Curse on your best friend, and the next, waking up two years later, after a bloody spree of terror!”

Hermione, who had been listening from the rear of the pack, slid quietly away. She dropped silently down the stairwell, grabbing onto the ledge, then dropping down, and ran through the castle, with a singular purpose. She knew where he’d gone.


Harry was sitting on the floor, in the old Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady’s picture had been opened, somehow, and left open, and he wasn’t paying any attention. He was just staring into the fire he’d lit in the fireplace. Staring… Watching the orange and red flicker in the old common room. How much had gone on in this room? All the times, all his friends. It felt, literally like only yesterday that he and Ron and Hermione and Neville and all the rest had been sitting here, animatedly buzzing about impending graduation, mere hours away… Twenty four hours later, his world was shaken beneath it’s core, quicksanded…. Everything was totally wonks. Neville… Ron, Professor McGonagall, were they even still alive?

Hermione crept up on him, lurking around the chairs. Her whole being ached for him, to hold him, to press his face against her. She knew he was hurting, and not just physically. His name fell, silently, from her lips, as she moved forward, catching him from behind, in a powerful hug.

“Erk! He-hey… Hermione?”

She smiled, squeezing him back against her, and she leaned her head down, kissing the back of his ear, then his cheek. “Yes, it’s me…”


Harry looked up, up into her eyes. Deep. He’d never really looked into her eyes before. At, yes, but not into. What he saw now staggered him, the deep, limpid pools, full to bursting with love and sorrow and care. “’Mione…” He near-whispered, softly, and she brushed her lips over his. It was like ice, and electricity, at the same time. A trembling hand touched her cheek, and one of her hands joined it. Then their lips pressed together, in a soft, shuddering kiss. Harry tasted her tears on her lips, and she tasted his.

Her hand found his, and Hermione softly squeezed it. He was trembling, and for good reason. Imagine having two years of your life robbed, two years during which someone else did horrible things in your name. She didn’t break the kiss, but pulled, and he found his feet willingly, his arm wrapping around her, snuggling close for comfort. It was, she decided, a pleasant sensation, the way he pressed against her.

Her arms surrounding him warmly, Harry’s eyes closed, his head on her shoulder. He gently kissed at her cheek, and whispered her name. She replied, softly, “Harry… Shhhh… I love you…” A kiss fell, lightly, on the nape of his neck, then he felt her moving, pulling him. Up stairs, through a door. He gasped, then opened his eyes, when she shoved him, as he landed on an old bed – his bed.

Hermione smiled, shushing him, her hands pressed into his shoulders. “Shhh, Harry…” A gentle kiss falls upon his cheek, and then to his lips, and she stands back. Her hand moves up to her neck, and she lets her robe fall off, then pulls at her shirt, and then her shoes and socks, leaving her in only bra and panties. Her hands work swiftly again, with no preamble, and both of these soon fall to the ground, leaving her totally bare, open to the wandering of his eyes, which were drinking her in with mixed pleasure and fear. She smiled, her stomach fluttering softly.

Harry’s eyes gazed over her. Before, when he had woken up, it was different. Now, she had given herself to him. His throat was as dry as the Sahara, his mouth parched as the moon. She smiled at him, and he felt his insides melting, as his eyes roamed her body. He couldn’t resist, he drank her firm, pert breasts, capped with soft, cherry nipples, proud and erect, with a ring of bumpy areola around each. His mouth watered at the thought. He glanced up, ashamed, but her eyes, her smiled, told him to enjoy her, and his body agreed. He felt himself becoming hard, and he couldn’t resist looking lower, down, his gaze sliding with difficulty away from her breasts, to the soft, sweet midsection that he somehow knew would feel perfect sleeping next to, to the soft V between her thighs. He felt his own heart skipping a beat, as he drank in her sweet vagina. It was absolutely hairless, a soft mound, with a warm, hot-cherry pink slit. He could see her slit was partially opened, and he gulped, hard. “’Mione?”

She smiled, nodding at him. “Yes. I know… Yes. I’m yours…” She winked flirtatiously, then ped ped close to him, removing his robe and clothes swiftly, efficiently. Then she kissed his mouth, again, hotly, her lips open, and she snaked her tongue out, forcing it through his lips. She tasted his tongue, his mouth, and closed her eyes, her hands going to the sides of his face, holding him tightly into the kiss.

Harry had, quite simply, never felt something so passionate, so intense, as this. Not even any kiss he’d ever had with Cho. The vehemence Hermione put into the kiss was all the desperation, all the tears and sweat, all the love of a boy who was trapped inside an evil shell, that had built up over two years. It came flooding into him, overwhelming his senses, and he moaned, deeply, powerfully into her. This caused her to smile into the kiss, and she pulled her face off of his slowly, whispering. “Harry. Touch me. Where you want to. Make me yours, before I make you mine…” She scooted onto the bed, kneeling next to his hips, her hands still holding his face. “Go on…”

What could he do? His hand reached out, hesitatingly, shaking. Her smile was bathing his face in a soft glow. “Please, Harry. Touch it.” Harry only gulped at this, and his hand reached out, just a bit further, and his fingertips ran, tentatively,, ever-so-smoothly, across the soft flesh of her left breast.

Hermione gasped, softly. This wasn’t the “you are mine,” simple, not hurting, but not nice grasps that Lord Harold had made. This was the soft touch of a boy who was finally getting his truest desire. He kissed him again, her hands took his, pressing them into her breasts, palm forward, her nipples rubbing the very center of his palms. “Rub them, please. Squeeze me.”

Harry was in heaven already. The soft globs under his hands, the erect, proud nipples digging into his palms. He had no trouble squeezing them softly, rubbing, his eyes closed. “Hermione… Oh, god, I love this!” He leaned up, placing a kiss on her lips, which she returned, pressing herself wholly down into him, squishing her breasts against his palms.

“Harry…” She breathed his name, and her head fell, feeling him squeeze her, rub. The sensation against her nipples was so very good, she couldn’t help. She needed this, and she gently kissed the nape of his neck, while she swung her one leg over, positioning her hips above his. She gently kissed him, and then drilled his eyes down, with a stare, her face serious, bovinoving. “Harry. I… Don’t regret anything. I don’t, I’m not sorry what happened to me. Because it’s led us here, in the end…” Her lips fell onto his cheek again. “So don’t be upset by what someone else used your body to go… Let’s have each other. Willingly, and out of love.”

Harry choked at this, and his arms reluctantly left her soft breasts, curling up, up and around her back. “’Mione… Oh, please…” She smiled softly into his face. “With pleasure…”

It was like liquid hot velvet, he thought, as she lowered herself onto him. First she popped just the proud crown of his penis intr, mr, moaning softly, and he returned the moan, even louder. It was the most powerful thing he’d ever felt, and he knew that, no matter what else would happen, this moment of entry would always be burned into his brain. He screamed, softly, looking into her eyes. “Hermione!!!… I love you!” She smiled softly, back at him, and gently rubbed the sides of his face. “Taken you this long to realize it?” She smiled, and impaled herself on him in one smooth stroke, fire-hot liquid-velvet of her vagina engulfing him, hungrily, squeezing, eating at him, pulsating softly, while he massaged her breasts again, his fingers sliding easily over her nipples, curiously exploring.

It was amazing, intense for Hermione. To know that she was, by her definition, giving away her virginity, was an amazing sensation, and she moaned. Her lips hungrily fed on his, then she leans up, proffering a breast to him. “Suck.” It wasn’t so much a command as a plea, which he carried out with great relish, first a tentative lick, then a kiss, as she started to raise and lower on him. Finally he broke into outright suckling, and Hermione arched her back deeply, moaning against him, her face in his hair. “Take me!!!”

Although she was screaming for him to take her, it was the other way around, Harry though, suckling happily ae bre breast of his beloved, while she gave him the intense, loved gift of sex. It was so intense… So hot. The heat was in his head, his body, her body, her head. He abandoned his suckling, burying his face in her breasts, screaming into her body, as he started to orgasm, violently, his hips bucking up against hers, triggering her own orgasm, and they thrashed together, screaming, as she milked his seed from him…


The thrashing subsided, slowly, as did the white period of static pleasure, in Hermione’s brain. It was never like that before. Not with Harold… She gently kissed him, as they rolled to their sides, snuggling deeply, Her body was still wound around his. “Harry?” She husked out, and he looked into her eyes, his own voice equally husky with lust. “Yes, my love?”

“You’re mine, beloved…”
She pulled his face into the crook of her neck, on top of the pillows, and slowly let herself drift to sleep, her lover safely snuggled into her…..