100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,650
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,650
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
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.
Dinner
Title: Dinner
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble, Romance
Warnings: M/F
Summary: #58 – Dinner. She had underestimated him, a mistake she would not repeat.
Word Count: 1,096 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. A companion piece to #40 – Sight, and #51 – Water.
Prompt 58 – Dinner
When he pulled his hands away from her eyes, she could not help but sigh at the beauty she saw. Neville Longbottom had created an atmosphere for their dinner, bringing her into the greenhouses. In the middle of a circle of blooming flowers and greenery, he had placed a small table and two chairs. Tall candelabra lit the area, accompanied by a full moon overhead, shining down through the glass panes.
He led her to her chair, helping her sit, while he glided around the table to seat himself. Hermione Granger could not stop smiling. She had never pegged Neville Longbottom for a romantic.
Dinner consisted of all of her favourite dishes, magically appearing and disappearing with the courses. Hermione wondered how Neville knew that she liked lamb chops with raspberry sauce. By dessert, they had spoken little, though their eyes had lingered long, locked in some wordless conversation.
The dinner was to be informal, he had told her the day before, and yet, she felt sorely out of place in her summery skirt and gauzy blouse. The flora was spectacular, orchids, unique roses, large bearded irises; Hermione knew she could not name all the flowers or the scents surrounding her.
Neville sipped on red wine, his hazel eyes moving over her face. Hermione, for the first time, blushed. There was something predatory in his gaze.
Beneath a pale blue polo shirt and clean denims, Neville’s skin glowed a healthy brown in the candlelight. Hermione had to admire his physique, something she had only noticed once before then.
Picking at her dessert of pot de crème, Hermione was almost too full to eat more. It was not just that the food was delicious, it was Neville.
Neville had kept her company during the summer months between terms, and it was not until that particular summer that she saw him as a man and not just a friend. She wondered why it was that she had not noticed how he looked at her before. Maybe it was her tumultuous relationship with Harry and Ron, maybe it was her single-mindedness with teaching and research, but in the end, all that mattered was that she did notice him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as she held her wine to her lips, but did not drink.
She blinked, lowering her glass. “I…”
Hermione was not exactly sure what she was thinking about other than how the sight of Neville’s smiling face made her feel. It was not something she really wanted to say aloud. She was attracted to him in a way that would have seemed inappropriate if they were to stay friends only.
He chuckled, flicking his wrist over the table, Vanishing the dishes save the wine glasses and the bottle. Hermione leaned back into her chair, head cocked to the side. A romantic dinner, copious amounts of wine—Hermione had a sudden thought.
“I was thinking that the summer is almost over, and yet again, I have failed to make myself known,” he said refilling their glasses with the remainder of the wine.
Hermione could only stare for a moment, before leaning forward and taking up her wine again. “Oh?”
He smiled warmly over the rim of his glass. “It did help that you noticed I existed…”
Guilt cut her and she looked away, into the greenery.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “That was unfair.”
He sighed.
“I realized that I am not forward and I rarely say what I’m thinking… It takes a bit of wine to loosen my tongue.
And since I’m the one talking, I’ll just say it.
I wanted you.”
Her eyes flashed to his face even as he drank down the rest of his wine, Vanishing his glass then the bottle until all that was left on the table was the cloth. Hermione drank her wine, unsure of how to react.
His words were sincere, albeit sudden. He leaned his elbows onto the table, resting his chin on his hands.
“I want you, and I’ve probably startled you by saying it…”
Hermione finished her wine, feeling a bit warm in the face. “No, I… Its just…” she trailed.
“Just tell me that I am not going anywhere with you, and let me know for sure,” he chuckled, sadly.
Hermione set her glass on the table, and met his eyes, mimicking his posture. “It’s not that, Neville, definitely not that.”
His hazel eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and his smile remained. “Then?”
Hermione took a deep breath. “I have been a horrible friend…”
“On the contrary,” Neville protested, “you have been a better friend to me that I would have ever dared dream, but…”
“But we need something more?” she finished.
He nodded.
There was movement, after a moment, and Hermione was not sure how she ended upon the small dinner table, her wineglass in shards on the greenhouse floor. All she did know was Neville Longbottom had another hidden talent besides Herbology, swimming, and a body worthy to grace the covers of a women’s smut magazine. He kissed her so soundly, so deeply, so expertly, that Hermione felt her toes curl in her slip-ons.
Clothes fell away, piece by piece, and every patch of exposed skin was caressed and kissed. Hermione could only either stare up through the glass roof to the moon, or into his deep, fiery eyes.
“Tell me you want this,” he whispered huskily, one hand rolling her right nipple between rough fingers, the other trailing between them, brushing against her aroused centre.
Hermione’s hands grasped his thick upper arms, her legs dangling off the edge of the dinner table, her hips just on the edge where Neville stood between her knees. At the dampened swipe of the head of his cock against her belly, she inhaled sharply.
“I want this, I want you,” she whispered as he rubbed his cock along her folds.
He kissed her shortly, poising himself at her entrance.
“Good.”
Hermione’s back arched off the table at his sudden penetration. She did not scream, though her mouth was open, her eyes slammed shut. Her frame shook, and Neville had to move yet. He leaned over her, gathering her body up into his arms so that he held her tight.
Whatever preconceived notions Hermione had had of Neville were shattered. He was not gentle with her, but it did not matter. Passion built, surpassing simple arousal, and Hermione wondered what other misconceptions she had of the man fucking her like a god in the moon and candle light, surrounded by his precious plants and rich soil.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble, Romance
Warnings: M/F
Summary: #58 – Dinner. She had underestimated him, a mistake she would not repeat.
Word Count: 1,096 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. A companion piece to #40 – Sight, and #51 – Water.
Prompt 58 – Dinner
When he pulled his hands away from her eyes, she could not help but sigh at the beauty she saw. Neville Longbottom had created an atmosphere for their dinner, bringing her into the greenhouses. In the middle of a circle of blooming flowers and greenery, he had placed a small table and two chairs. Tall candelabra lit the area, accompanied by a full moon overhead, shining down through the glass panes.
He led her to her chair, helping her sit, while he glided around the table to seat himself. Hermione Granger could not stop smiling. She had never pegged Neville Longbottom for a romantic.
Dinner consisted of all of her favourite dishes, magically appearing and disappearing with the courses. Hermione wondered how Neville knew that she liked lamb chops with raspberry sauce. By dessert, they had spoken little, though their eyes had lingered long, locked in some wordless conversation.
The dinner was to be informal, he had told her the day before, and yet, she felt sorely out of place in her summery skirt and gauzy blouse. The flora was spectacular, orchids, unique roses, large bearded irises; Hermione knew she could not name all the flowers or the scents surrounding her.
Neville sipped on red wine, his hazel eyes moving over her face. Hermione, for the first time, blushed. There was something predatory in his gaze.
Beneath a pale blue polo shirt and clean denims, Neville’s skin glowed a healthy brown in the candlelight. Hermione had to admire his physique, something she had only noticed once before then.
Picking at her dessert of pot de crème, Hermione was almost too full to eat more. It was not just that the food was delicious, it was Neville.
Neville had kept her company during the summer months between terms, and it was not until that particular summer that she saw him as a man and not just a friend. She wondered why it was that she had not noticed how he looked at her before. Maybe it was her tumultuous relationship with Harry and Ron, maybe it was her single-mindedness with teaching and research, but in the end, all that mattered was that she did notice him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as she held her wine to her lips, but did not drink.
She blinked, lowering her glass. “I…”
Hermione was not exactly sure what she was thinking about other than how the sight of Neville’s smiling face made her feel. It was not something she really wanted to say aloud. She was attracted to him in a way that would have seemed inappropriate if they were to stay friends only.
He chuckled, flicking his wrist over the table, Vanishing the dishes save the wine glasses and the bottle. Hermione leaned back into her chair, head cocked to the side. A romantic dinner, copious amounts of wine—Hermione had a sudden thought.
“I was thinking that the summer is almost over, and yet again, I have failed to make myself known,” he said refilling their glasses with the remainder of the wine.
Hermione could only stare for a moment, before leaning forward and taking up her wine again. “Oh?”
He smiled warmly over the rim of his glass. “It did help that you noticed I existed…”
Guilt cut her and she looked away, into the greenery.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “That was unfair.”
He sighed.
“I realized that I am not forward and I rarely say what I’m thinking… It takes a bit of wine to loosen my tongue.
And since I’m the one talking, I’ll just say it.
I wanted you.”
Her eyes flashed to his face even as he drank down the rest of his wine, Vanishing his glass then the bottle until all that was left on the table was the cloth. Hermione drank her wine, unsure of how to react.
His words were sincere, albeit sudden. He leaned his elbows onto the table, resting his chin on his hands.
“I want you, and I’ve probably startled you by saying it…”
Hermione finished her wine, feeling a bit warm in the face. “No, I… Its just…” she trailed.
“Just tell me that I am not going anywhere with you, and let me know for sure,” he chuckled, sadly.
Hermione set her glass on the table, and met his eyes, mimicking his posture. “It’s not that, Neville, definitely not that.”
His hazel eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and his smile remained. “Then?”
Hermione took a deep breath. “I have been a horrible friend…”
“On the contrary,” Neville protested, “you have been a better friend to me that I would have ever dared dream, but…”
“But we need something more?” she finished.
He nodded.
There was movement, after a moment, and Hermione was not sure how she ended upon the small dinner table, her wineglass in shards on the greenhouse floor. All she did know was Neville Longbottom had another hidden talent besides Herbology, swimming, and a body worthy to grace the covers of a women’s smut magazine. He kissed her so soundly, so deeply, so expertly, that Hermione felt her toes curl in her slip-ons.
Clothes fell away, piece by piece, and every patch of exposed skin was caressed and kissed. Hermione could only either stare up through the glass roof to the moon, or into his deep, fiery eyes.
“Tell me you want this,” he whispered huskily, one hand rolling her right nipple between rough fingers, the other trailing between them, brushing against her aroused centre.
Hermione’s hands grasped his thick upper arms, her legs dangling off the edge of the dinner table, her hips just on the edge where Neville stood between her knees. At the dampened swipe of the head of his cock against her belly, she inhaled sharply.
“I want this, I want you,” she whispered as he rubbed his cock along her folds.
He kissed her shortly, poising himself at her entrance.
“Good.”
Hermione’s back arched off the table at his sudden penetration. She did not scream, though her mouth was open, her eyes slammed shut. Her frame shook, and Neville had to move yet. He leaned over her, gathering her body up into his arms so that he held her tight.
Whatever preconceived notions Hermione had had of Neville were shattered. He was not gentle with her, but it did not matter. Passion built, surpassing simple arousal, and Hermione wondered what other misconceptions she had of the man fucking her like a god in the moon and candle light, surrounded by his precious plants and rich soil.