Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Knickers	By : magicmint Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 53629 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters and make absolutely no money writing this. I hope I make your life sexier, though. ;)

Chapter List
- 1-Knickers
- 1
Harry didn't know exactly when he started obsessing over Hermione's knickers.

He remembered perfectly well the moment it started, though. The flash of red, seen completely by accident when Hermione's school skirt got stuck on the corner of a chair in the library. She had to tug it off, moving the fabric up enough for him to see it. The witch probably thought no one had noticed the scene, but the memory of her skin covered by lingerie was seared into his brain.

Firstly, because... well, since when had Hermione started wearing blood red, lacy knickers? It was just -- just disturbing! It was Hermione, for Merlin's sake! Uptight, bossy, know-it-all. Hermione, who liked to push him around, ordering him to do homework and saving his life every other day. Lots of fun, but was usually too busy studying for NEWTs, as she'd never throw away the chance given to them of completing their Hogwarts education after the war. Hermione, whom he knew since they were both eleven years old. His surrogate sister. Nice girls like her simply didn't wear that kind of stuff. She tut-tutted whenever she found couples snogging in dark cupboards!

Secondly, because it was the sexiest thing his eyes had ever witnessed.

Thus, he had to make sure his mind (or some stray bit of evil lost around his head) wasn't playing tricks on him. Who knew, maybe Voldemort had survived, and wanted to drive him crazy over his best friend? As a result, the next day, he sneaked glances whenever he could do it without arousing suspicion, trying to see what she was wearing underneath her prim and proper uniform. And having absolutely no success. Not that that would stop him. He tried again next day, and the next, and the next... and still didn't even the tiniest glimpse.

Around the second weekend of his covert pervertedness, a sliver of fabric peeked out from over the waistband of her skirt, when she stretched to pick something on the other side of the huge potions table. Sighing in relief (or disappointment, he didn't know), simple white cotton graced his eyes. Now, white cotton was Hermione-ish, white cotton he could understand.

But then, again, he couldn't. He had to see those knickers again, if only to prove to himself they were more than a figment of his hormonal imagination.

Before he knew, it turned into some kind of game. A relatively innocent one, he tried to convince himself. "Which pair of knickers is Hermione wearing today?" he would ask, and wouldn't go to bed unless he found out. That's why, during the following weeks, Hermione always found the desks with more nails sticking out, the floors weirdly slippery, and the halls just a tad too drafty, even in corridors with absolutely no windows. He found amusing how she attributed it to Hogwarts being an old, magical castle, or the house elves finally being less overworked, and never to Harry fooling around with his wand - the holly, eleven inches one, that is.

Harry kept figuring out new (and creative) ways to answer his question. Following the witch around the castle, he discovered the best nooks and crannies to hide, as well as attaining an impressive knowledge of Physics that even Hermione herself would be proud of. Professor Dumbledore (or Death, for that matter) probably had never thought the invisibility cloak would be used for such wicked purposes. To his glad surprise, Harry found out the witch not only had the bloody red knickers, she also had a penchant for lacey things. She indeed had lots of the sensible cotton ones, but, if he kept looking, once or twice a week, she would take the lace out to play and give his eyes a feast. Besides the one which had put things into motion, there was also a white and frilly one, a red-and-gold Griffindor one that amused him to no end, a powder blue set, a midnight blue one, a lavender one, and the one that slowly turned into his favorite: a tiny black scrap of lace that dared to be called knickers. So unpractical and so Un-Hermione-like that it made him wonder if there was a whole side of her he had never known about. The thought thrilled him.

Hermione and her knickers turned into his favorite pastime. Spending so much time around her, he became somehow tuned to her moods (and, funnily enough, how they affected which pair of knickers she'd wear). But he also noticed other things, like the way she was always biting something. Her lower lip, her nails, the tip of her quill. How she scrunched her nose when she was stuck on a question (almost never), how she lifted one eyebrow when she was annoyed, but both when she was perplexed. How there was a lock of her wild hair that refused to be fastened, and he found delightful how the hair was as stubborn as its owner. How she had smooth, creamy skin that seemed to go on for miles, leaving him wanting to run his fingertips over every inch of it. How she didn't like flying at all, but knew all the theory behind it and always went to his quidditch games. How learning was really important to her. How she acted all bossy, but was in fact kind, sweet and caring. How even her glares were filled with tenderness. How everytime she looked deep in his eyes, crumple-horned snorkacks decided to parade in his stomach. How she was loyal and fierce and smart and witty and funny. How she knew him so well.

... Okay, maybe too well.

So bloody well, it became a problem. See, Hermione Granger really was the brightest witch of her age.

And was currently waiting for his answer, tapping her left foot with her arms crossed, a single eyebrow lifted, and lips pressed in a way that McGonagall would certainly envy. She had dragged him to an empty classroom after a full day of classes, informing they "needed to have a serious talk immediately". Which translated to him as a huge "uh-oh".

"So? Are you?"

"Erm-uh," he'd gotten a bit lost on his thinking and missed the question. "Am I what?"

"All right, Harry, are you all right?" She uncrossed her arms and sighed. "Stop playing the fool with me, please. I'm really concerned about you!"

His pinched face broke down in a soft smile. Of course she would be. "I'm okay, Hermione. No need to worry your bright little brain with me. Everything is okay," he answered, and grinned for effect.

"... Are you sure?" She didn't seem very convinced herself, now raising both eyebrows. "I mean, you've been acting... odd... these past few weeks." At his (completely fake) skeptical look, the witch continued, "Vacant stares, appearing and disappearing at random moments... spending WAY too much time in the library. And you've thrown me a couple of really strange looks. Yes, I did notice, don't deny it. Is something bothering you?" She scanned his face, trying to read his expression, and then suddenly started, struck by a thought, "Please don't tell me it's your scar. Honestly, that's impossible."

It took serious willpower for Harry not slap his stupid self in the face. Discretion definitely wasn't his forte.

"No, no, no, Hermione. It's just-- I'm trying to adjust to normal life. It's been a bit difficult for me, but that's it. Nothing to worry about." The best lies were those that had a bit of truth in them. And he was adjusting - he just hadn't been prepared for Hermione's underthings playing such a big role in his supposedly "normal" days.

But it was her turn to look skeptical. He smiled reassuringly, and nodded, and one of those conversations without words passed between them. Seemingly satisfied, she smiled and hugged him tightly. He hugged back, just as tightly at first, then holding her tenderly in his arms. He smiled into her hair, old books and pumpkin pie filling his nostrils, and tried hard not to think about the lavender lace she decided to wear today. "Thanks for looking out for me."

"My pleasure," she sighed, relaxing into his embrace. Untucking her head from his chest and, looking straight into his eyes, she asked, "You know you can always count on me, don't you, Harry?

His heart melted at the promise in her voice. He did know. He hadn't doubted for a second. He knew he wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for the witch in his arms, witch who now decided to inhabit his every waking thought. As well as some of the sleeping ones. How did he spend so much time without noticing, really noticing her? Without thinking about her? Without craving her this much? Holding her in his arms, he knew he didn't want her to leave. Ever.

The touch was nothing more than that: a touch. He had no idea when his eyes closed, or when their foreheads touched and he became near enough to press gently his lips against her dry, but oh-so-soft ones. A heartbeat came and went, and, at her lack of reaction, he caught her lower lip with his, sucking lightly, caressing it with his tongue. The crumpled-horned snorkacks in his belly started making pirouettes.

"Harry?" he felt her whispering, the words halting and warm on his face. He wouldn't be able to listen if he wasn't so close, so exactly where he wanted to be. In response, he gave only a low hum. A question. "What are you doing?"

His eyes were still closed. He wanted to imagine hers were as well. "I'm kissing you."

"Oh," was her answer, which was more like a puff of breath through open lips. When she didn't move an inch, he opened his eyes to be pleased with the sight of the light splatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Of her long eyelids, of her blushing cheeks, of her partially opened lips, now pink and moist.
"Should I stop?" Please, please let her say no, he prayed in silence. He could feel the hesitancy in her body, in the way she held her breath as much as he did.

"Only if you want to."

He didn't. His mouth found hers again, firm but gentle, his right hand rising to cradle her head. Her hands weaved through his hair when his tongue caressed hers, her teeth biting and sucking his lips, his arms holding her close, closer. Her body pressing against his, her breasts soft against his harder chest, brought a strange sort of heat to his belly. He didn't think, he didn't want to. His legs walked them awkwardly to the nearest desk, where she sat and pulled her legs up to lock them around his hips and bring him even closer.

His blood traveled south so fast his head went light. The rough fabric of his pants pressed against delicate lace and she hissed in a breath, and he wondered if the heat he was feeling down there was hers or his own. The hand at her back went to her knee, pulling it to the side to spread her legs, and he marveled at how even there her skin was soft. He smoothed the fine hair on her legs with his hands, with the tips of his fingers, the pads of his thumbs caressing her inner thighs, going high and higher in an excruciatingly slow way. She squirmed, letting go of his hair and untucking his shirt to stroke his own skin underneath, and every touch sent shivers up his spine and goosebumps on his back.

His mouth devoured hers, his hand buried itself on her tangle of locks and pulled just enough to give him access to her long, pale neck. He heard her sigh in contentment when he kissed tenderly and then sucked on her skin, feeling her pulse quicken under his lips. His tongue moved to her collar and he attempted to undo the knot of her tie with his teeth, which proved an impossible task when her fingers found the front of his trousers and started to rub. He groaned against her collarbone and she laughed a breathless laugh, taking pity on him, using her long, nimble fingers to take the tie off and, as a bonus, undo the buttons of her blouse.

He looked down and the sight was unlike anything else he had ever seen, or had imagined to see. Hermione was spread over the desk, hair curly and unkempt cascading down her back, some locks glued to her skin by the sweat. Her breath was short, her chest heaving, and she wore an unmatching lacy white bra. A fine, old scar started on her collarbone and disappeared between her breasts, and he resisted the urge to trace it with his fingers, with his tongue, knowing too well that it was another proof of how important she was to him. Her skirt was up in her lap, the lavender knickers peeking from underneath, pressing against his own hardness, and his throat suddenly went dry. This. He didn't know if it was something he had dreamed or just thought about or maybe had wanked off to about a thousand times, but this was it. When he looked up again she was staring at him, cheeks blushing and teeth biting her bottom lip, as if waiting for his approval.

She�d get an Outstanding, of course, just as in everything else.

Instead, he dived to take that same bottom lip with his mouth, sucking on it, and things started moving again. His palm found her bottom, firm and supple and soft, grabbing it to slide her closer to the edge of desk, closer to him, as if she could never be close enough and he could never let her go. He spread kisses over her collarbone and the top of her breasts, pushing the fabric down with his teeth and capturing a dusk-rose nipple with his lips, making her suck in a breath.

His fingertips found the elastic band of her knickers, slowly caressing the skin there. One hand on the small of her back, holding her, and one travelling to the front, having her groaning for more, moving to push his fingers to the place where she wanted them most. Of course Hermione would be bossy even then, wouldn�t she? He complied, but on his own terms, grazing her lacy-clad opening with his knuckles and pushing lightly when reaching the top. She pushed back with her hips, sighing, and he smiled against her breasts, rolling her nipple around with his tongue, maneuvering so his thumb would be on top of the responsive nub of flesh.

He pressed with his thumb again, up and down and in small circles, kneading the flesh, getting harder as the fabric got damper under his hand. He tried to tell himself this was not what he thought about when he first saw these damned knickers, but the way his cock twitched every time Hermione moaned didn�t let him lie.

Harry pushed the fabric to the side and slid the tips of two fingers inside the girl he liked to call his best friend, and thought would never be more than that. His thumb caressed her clit, slowly, and she closed her legs tighter around him, wanting more, rubbing herself on his hand, all wild and improper, finding sort of a rhythm, and all the while he loved controlled Hermione losing herself on his arms. She moved and panted and he kissed her, on the lips and cheeks and forehead, taking in her scent of sweat and arousal. His hand hurt a bit but he didn�t care at all, because she hugged him tight and clawed at his back and he thought that maybe he�d come just from the way she whimpered in his ear and sucked on his neck while he pressed his erection on her thigh.

When he thought he couldn�t bear the friction anymore, he hit a spot that made her mouth open in a perfect �o� and her hips buckle against his.

�There,� she breathed in his ear, pulling on his hair, bringing him down for a quick and sloppy kiss and then burying her head on the curve of his shoulder. He pressed harder and faster and she moved against him and with him and her breathing quickened and went shallower until it stopped altogether and her walls contracted around his fingers, sucking them in, and she became even more deliciously warm and wet.

He kept his fingers inside her even as she stopped moving, if only because there was no better place for them to be. His other hand caressed her back slowly, in small circles, going up to the nape of her neck, massaging it lightly. He didn�t speak, letting her bask in the afterglow, but after a while the silence became too much. Maybe she hadn�t wanted that, maybe he had been too forward, a bloody pervert--

�Hermione?� he said, quietly. He pulled away from her, just enough to be able to look at her face. She kept looking down, lowering her legs and moving to take his fingers of her, making him tremendously anxious. �Hermione, look at me? Please?�

She looked, but didn�t hold his gaze for too long. �I must look a fright to you,� she said, taking her arms from around him to smooth her hair down. He missed the contact immediately, and moved to hug her again.

�What do you--� Her cheeks were red, her hair frazzled, and she was biting her lower lip again, and there was this glow around her even if she looked extremely embarassed. He smiled, taking her chin and making her look into his eyes. She didn't look away, stucking her chin out instead, prepared for whatever he had to say. Defiant and embarassed was a combination only her could manage. It was also cute. �I�m not doing you a favor or anything, don�t think that. I think you are gorgeous.�

He meant it, and he knew she did, because she smiled shyly and he saw her eyes sparkle. First in an extremely glad way, and then in one that made him think of the last person he wanted to in that moment: Dumbledore. Her legs caught him again and tightened, aiming for the obvious bulge on his trousers.

�Methinks,� she said, still blushing, but witty and knowingly and very Hermione-y, �we need to deal with the next problem at hand.� And by hand she literally meant hand, because hers went to play with his fly. Harry gasped and looked down at her nimble fingers undoing his button and zipper and purposefully grazing his member with her knuckles. It was his turn to open his mouth in an "o", this time of surprise. He kept watching while she held him in her hand, getting used to his sight and weight, studying curiously and trying different ways to push and pull and rub because she wouldn't be Hermione otherwise. A couple of awkward strokes had him breathing hard, more from the thought of Hermione doing this to him than from the act itself.

He resisted the urge to smile when her eyes widened at him twitching on her hand, and encouraged her to keep trying instead. But she licked her lips, and then he knew they had to stop entirely because his wild thoughts were getting way too wild. She looked up when he shuddered, pleased at the success of her endeavours, and quickened her pace, her grip strong and his tip brushing her thigh and-

"Hermione, if you keep it I will--"

"I know. Isn't that the point?"

"Is it? Do you want me to--eh-- you know... finish... it?"

Her hand stopped and she looked in his eyes, thinking in that way you could see the cogs turning in her head. A heartbeat and she blushed furiously, opening her mouth to answer and then closing it again, then swallowing and wetting her lips and starting over and he had no idea how she could lie so easily when she displayed all her feelings clearly on her face. He tried not to smirk at the thought of eleven-year-old Hermione telling a professor she had gone after the troll because she thought herself so smart, but promptly forgot everything when her grown-up self tightened her hand around his member, sending delicious tingles down his legs.

"I do," she said, "but-- inside." And he almost came then and there.

She stared at him and he stared back, not sure he had heard it right. He nodded, hesitating a bit, because how do you answer something like that? His hand cradled her cheek again and they kissed, slowly, sweetly, savouring a moment neither knew exactly what meant. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, very aware of her hand on him but trying not to rush it because it could be her first time, or could not be, he avoided talking to Ron about it and she never cared to share, but more as an excuse to sear the image of her on his brain. The smell, the taste, the feel, the Hermione that was here now and whatever happened after would be forever in his thoughts.

She was the one to kiss him then, just a peck and soon she was nibbling on his tongue and who cared about afterwards, he pulled her closer and his fingers slid down her sides and up her thighs and down again, pulling the damned piece of lace down her legs and not wasting the chance to feel her miles of creamy skin.

Somehow looking more eager than him, if that was even possible, she took him in her hand again to show him the way and he gladly went, slowly and firmly and she flinched and bit his shoulder and moved to adjust around him while he tried not to move, but he was inside Hermione and the thought amazed him more than he cared to imagine. Then she started moving, and it was a thousand times better.

He moved with her and it was awkward at first, she not knowing where to go and her legs slipping on his hands, but soon enough they knew a rhythm the same way they knew each other's thoughts, and before he wanted the heat on his belly turned into a tight knot, wanting, begging to be released. She was warm and wet and moved so right that he thought maybe she had studied on that too, and that he definitely didn't mind, and he wanted to tell her how good she was, how great she was to him, how he needed her so, so badly, but he only managed to groan and thrust harder and faster and breathe in the cinnamon scent of her curls.

Her fingers went down to the spot where they joined, rubbing up and down and in tight circles and she gasped at the pleasure while he gasped at the sight, and his hips buckled when she bit his neck to keep from crying out loud. He definitely, definitely would never be calling her his little sister again, he decided, and his hips began to buckle and his thrusts went wild, she was so tight and encased him in delicious warmness, before he knew her walls started contracting around him and he pumped faster and faster and it exploded inside him, around him, blinding light and pleasure spreading inside his body in a burst, then slowly and sweetly like warm honey.

Finally his muscles relaxed, and he released a breath he didn't notice to be holding. She peppered light kisses on his neck and shoulders while he held her to him, running his fingers down her hair, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He never ever wanted to move again. He didn't need to say anything, and he didn't need to hide the contented and somehow stupid smile on his face. It was just him and Hermione and the fleeting thought in his head said that it was exactly as it should be.

With a sigh, she disentangled herself from his arms and got up. For a moment he thought she'd get embarrassed and run away again, but she had actually gone to pick up her knickers, fallen on the floor a few meters to their left.

"Well, I don't think it's very hygienic to wear those again," she said, wrinkling her nose and staring at the knickers, dangling from her finger. "Do you?"

Harry didn't think he should be surprised at being surprised again by her. He managed a soft laugh while pulling up his trousers and doing his belt, trying to retrieve some semblance of modesty. "I happen to like them. A lot."

"Really?" The left side of her mouth went up in a half-smile. As an answer, she only got a shrug. She laughed then, and her laugh wasn't a soft tinkling sound but a throaty, genuine one. Two steps and she was by his side, hugging him and pecking him on the cheek. He closed his eyes to appreciate the gentle touch, but was startled by her shoving a hand in his pocket. Pulling back, he only had time to see a wink and her mane of hair moving with her sudden turn, then her back and the sway of her hips when she walked to the door and out.

In his pocket, the lavender knickers, soaked in her.

In his pocket, a promise�

1

You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Knickers