From Different Perspectives

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers inclusive of but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Harry glanced over at Hermione before turning his gaze back to the snow-covered path in front of them. She was staring straight ahead with a blank expression, one of those hard-to-read \"I\'m in deep thought\" looks that only Hermione could pull off without appearing catatonic. Something about what they had planned seemed entirely wrong – picking a date, time, and place to consummate their relationship. Then again, it was Hermione, and she always planned everything, down to the last detail. The conversation had been awkward, at least he thought it had been; she went over their plans in the same way that one might plan a holiday. \"Christmas hols would be perfect, since we can get away from Hogwarts and our families, on the pretence of staying at school . . . \" And he supposed that nothing in their conversation was embarrassing – making reservations at the inn and such – it was just what the room at the inn was for.

He shook his head to clear his mind, and reached out to take Hermione\'s hand. She turned to him as he did so, a small smile playing on her lips. He had communicated with Hermione often during the summer, and her owls had progressed from casual friendship to the suggestion of something more at a rapid rate. After arriving at Hogwarts, their relationship seemed to blossom. Mostly, they just liked to sit together and kiss, and talk, and sometimes go out to Hogsmeade on a date, but it had never been more than that. Her sudden interest in taking their relationship to the next levad cad come as a shock, but he certainly wasn\'t going to argue against it. Although she claimed that it was best to do \"this\" now, before homework and studying became too much; Harry suspected that the real reason had something to do with his close-encounters with Voldemort, and the ever-increasing chance that he might not make it to his seventeenth birthday.

* * * * * *

Checking into the inn had been relatively easy – it was a tiny place, on the lower end of Hogsmeadnd ind it seemed to cater to the hormone-ridden teenage crowd, with a lot of inexpensive rooms just big enough to get things done. Not about to cheapen his experience with Hermione, however, Harry had opted for one of the better rooms, one with a magical view of the beach out of the window, complete with a cool breeze, and a king-size bed. Since it was quite late – close to eleven – the window framed a star-studded night sky over crashing waves, complete with a full moon pouring a stream of light over the water, which was speckled with mirrored reflections of the stars.

\"This is beautiful, Harry,\" Hermione commented, sincerely, as she peered out the window, tugging it open a bit so that the air and sounds of the beach drifted into the room.

\"I wanted it to be perfect,\" Harry said, his voice dropping uncharacteristically low as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He felt comfortable right then, and thevousvousness that had built up during their walk seemed to dissipate. Hermione sighed, and turned to face him.

\"Well, what now?\" she asked, tugging lightly on the collar of his shirt, chewing her lip nervously.

Harry was taken aback; typically, he was the one asking her what to do. \"Well, uh . . . maybe the bed?\"

She nodded, her brow furrowing momentarily before a small blush crept into her cheeks. \"Harry, do you mind waiting here a moment? Thes sos something I need to take care of; I\'ll be right back, ok?\"

He stared at her dumbly. \"You\'re leaving? Where are you going?\"

Blushing, she backed away. \"The, uh, bathroom . . . contraception spell I researched . . .\" she mumbled as she turned and darted through a door, closing it with an unintentional slam behind her. Harry jumped, and wiped his face with his hand. I\'m an idiot, he thought.

Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed and tested it with one hand. It was nice, for an edge-of-town inn, a sturdy wood frame with a thick red quilt (can\'t go wrong with a Gryffindor colour) and soft, cream-coloured sheets on a good mattress – although, he didn\'t consider himself a mattress connoisseur, since anything was high-quality after living with the Dursleys. A sudden vision of Hermione and himself rolling around on the bed flashed in his mind, and his blood lit up with half-nervous, half-excited anticipation.

His vision began to expand, and he couldn\'t shake the rapidly developing fantasy, which he knew (from prior . . . experience) tended to be like a snowball rolling down the hill. It went faster and faster, building up momentum and growing in size until it reached the bottom and splat – and that was the very last thing he needed. Just when he was sure he was doomed, Hermione reappeared from the bathroom looking much more composed than before. She had used some charm to tame her hair into a half-up, half-down thing, with soft-looking curls framing her face. Harry had never thought of Herm as as show-stopping gorgeous, but she always had a gentle, beautiful look about her when she wasn\'t carrying a load of books or frowning. Or maybe it was just because he loved her so much. And he really did love her, he realized in that moment. It wasn’t just a cliché and half-hearted phrase or emotion he only thought that he might feel orieveieve; it was real now; he felt it welling up inside his heart as he looked at her. Harry was swimming in a of eof emotions, and it overwhelmed him; he had never felt that sort of complete devotion to anyone. He had loved Sirius, and he loved Ron, but it wasn’t the same thing, not even close. He wanted to wrap his arms around Hermione and hold her tightly and tell her that he loved her so much that he would do anything and everything she asked or wanted of him . . .

Hermione coughed timidly, and Harry snapped back to the present moment, moving his line of vision downward. She had exchanged her usual Muggle jeans and shirt for – well, he wasn\'t quite sure what to call it (a night-thingy?) – but it was short and black. Slowly, he began to drift off, and shuddered inwardly as he felt the silky fabric brush across his fantasy-self.

\"Harry?\" Hermione\'s voice jolted him back to reality for the second time. \"What do you think? I managed to pick this up in London during summer hols, just in case I ever . . . needed it. I had to hide it in the back of my wardrobe. Thank Merlin Mum never saw it!” She walked to where he was sitting and stared down at him nervously, tugging on the edges of the fabric. \"Well?\"

Her close proximity shortened his breath drastically, but combined with the impatient Hermione-look that she was giving him, he found himself caught between a chuckle and a soft groan. She smelled like . . . like vanilla or something, and he felt the heat rush out of the air and into his body. \"Hermione, you look beautiful, really,\" he managed to croak, his voice cracking heavily.

Seemingly pleased with herself, she sat down next to him and they both stared out at the beach for a few minutes before Hermione started talking again.

\"I\'ve researched this – the Restricted Section at Hogwarts didn\'t seem to have much, and neither did any of the bookstores in Diagon Alley. I learned the contraceptive spell from Ginny; she found it in some magazine. But the Muggle stores had whole sections on sexuality – quite interesting . . . \" she trailed off when Harry didn\'t say anything, and focused her gaze on the beach again.

They sat, for a few more minutes that seemed like much longer, at the edge of the bed. Conversation was minimal, and mostly trite talk about the room and all the \"cool shit\" that was plastered on the walls – artwork and what not – notwithstanding,s was was primarily about sex. Dirty, nasty, raw fucking, thought Harry, recalling the language they used on that late-night show Dudley watched when his parents were sound asleep. Of course, it wasn\'t so crude, the vision they planned for it. It was more of a romantic – if not orgasmically satisfying – endeavour. Although Harry’s rational mind doubted this to go smoothly, considering his lack of experience, his other brain was convinced that instinct alone was sufficient.

Finally, they turned to face each other, and stared into each other\'s . . . actually, they stared mostly at the floor, with a cursory glance into the other’s eyes – and, in his case, to her chest. Harry felt a rush of blood as he stared at the black carpeting, his brain conjuring up images of what was behind the smooth fabric of her clothing.

Summoning that never-failing Gryffindor courage, his hand began to reach. He didn\'t know where, or why, or how, but it began to reach. It moved, seemingly of its own volition, stretching toward an unknown destination on Hermione\'s body. A body, it should be added, that she had not explored herself. Despite all of her research on sexuality, she felt the idea of looking at her own self to be a bit much, dirty, even. She hadn\'t done the \"to-do\" thing (according to those Muggle books) and stuck a mirror on the floor to look at those places. She had only explored through touch, and certainly not through the intimate touches he wanted.

The hand finally came to rest on the side of her right breast. Not a grab, mind you, but a smooth caress. A sort of half-touch that didn\'t stir his passion (for his hands were numb), but excited hers. This was all new. All fresh. Like wrapping that new-car smell in a sensation, in a nerve conduction.

Hermione drew in a quick breath, and he withdrew slightly. Had he hurt her? No, that doesn\'t make sense. She\'s just tense, like me . . .

Their gaze finally met, and he moved forward, kissing her. A light touch of their lips. A quick swatch of saliva. Oh, but how sweet it felt. It felt like o-zone in their lungs, like a rose petal on their skin.

They kissed again, and, with growing confidence, he placed his hand fully over her breast now, giving it a quick squeeze.

\"Ouch.\" Hermione murmured, tensing under his hand.

Harry stopped, pulling his hand back slightly.

\"I\'m – oh, I\'m sorry, Hermione. Are you ok?\"

He drew his hand away completely and looked at the floor.

\"No, no. It\'s fine, I just wasn\'t expecting it.\"

His eyes traced the line from her feet to her face. She was staring expectantly, not angry or hurt. He slowly dragged himself away from the embarrassment, and back into the moment.

Harry moved forward, more tenuously this time, his hand wrapping around the nape of her neck. He pulled her close with minimal effort, her mindset matching his. They kissed again, this time more deeply, more fully.

Her left-hand fell upon his right knee, her fingers creeping their way up his thigh.

Hermione began to fumble with his pants, just as he started to fumble with the straps on her top. Merlin, it\'s going to happen, his brain chattered excitedly, as her hand brushed across a rapidly-hardening erectwhilwhile she struggled to find the zipper with her eyes closed and lips locked on his.

So many thoughts, so many ways of doing things, his mind continued to titter. Was there an order? A set plan?

He was excited, his erection pushing against the thin cloth of his boxers. Hermione seemed to be just as excited, the sexual high getting her ready (he hoped). The nervousness was there for both of them – to be sure – but it was overtaken by that lust, that carnal urge to unite as one.

He finally got the first strap pushed down and managed to scoot the bottom of her \"night-thingy\" out from under her – and after only thirty seconds of trying.

She pulled back from him. \"Here, let me.\"

Hermione pulled the nighty over her head, tossing it aside while he removed his shirt. Having a few moments waiting for her, he considered the implications of his own body. Harry suddenly felt impotent. He felt too skinny and too un-muscular. There was no mistake: Quidditch had toned his body to perfect teenage fitness, but in those few seconds, his muscles seemed to recede beneath his ghost-pale skin.

She sat there, and he stared at the breasts under her bra. Wait, bra? They\'re never wearing one of those on that late-night show. He felt both nervous and comforted in the same moment – worried at this deviation from all he knew to be normal, and eased by the simplicity of a recognisable female garment. He continued to stare at the thin, black fabric.

No jumping onto her, no leaps and bounds, just him, looking at her.

Suddenly, he felt better, somehow, as he watched a bit more.

It wasn\'t just the lust – no. It was the way the breasts moved. Up and down with her breath, which was quickening with anticipation. They were small, but pert, and he had, all at once, become more of a man for having seen them, though partially covered in sheer material. Suddenly, he was not just a teenager sneaking a round of sex with his girlfriend, he was a man.

Harry sucked in a quick jut of air.

Was he truly ready for this?

Fuck it, he thought.

He kissed her, their tongues making a brief tryst in each other\'s mouths. As they began to move up the bed, he slid off his pants, hooking his boxers with them. That\'s when Hermione uncharacteristically had to pause.

The sight of that organ sort of stunned her; it looked . . . well, it looked weird. What is someone to make of something that looks like ? And, there\'s the knowledge that that – that – thing will be inside of her in a few moments.

Inside me? Hermione considered. Bullshit. Despite everything, in that single moment, for one of the few times in her life, Hermione doubted the validity of research.

Harry saw her looking, and suddenly felt very self-conscious.

\"I, um . . . \" he mumbled, wondering what one said in a moment like this.

She looked back to him, and realised what her aghast expression might be doing to him.

\"I was just . . . it\'s so . . .\" Again, the Laws-of-Hermione were broken, as she was at a complete loss for words.

Harry stared down at his chest. Shit, he thought, dejectedly.

Hermione decided to forget words (yet again defying her nature) and tried to resurrect his feelings with actions. She moved under his face and gave him a kiss, and that\'s when things started to move again. He looked up and kissed her back, and then he moved in and tried to unclasp her bra.

Now, Harry knew what was going to happen. He\'d seen it in all of the films and all of the television shows when the man fumbles, trying to remove the girl\'s bra.

They all fucked it up.

Harry, in his infinite wisdom, was determinot not to do that. He didn\'t struggle with it, he felt for the clasps, grabbed the two ends firmly, pushed the opposing sides together, and, through some minor miracle, they released. He pulled back, and Hermione shrugged off the bra. Harry tossed it off the side of the bed before turning back to her.

There they were. It wasn\'t that they were small, or that they were only the breasts of a sixteen year-old girl, it was that they were – in his eyes – perfect. The smooth, soft surface coalescing into a pinkish-red areola – a rounded bit of crimson flesh that brought it all together into a perfect collection of skin.

His hand, now fully under his control, moved up and caressed her left breast. Harry squeezed, but much more softly; it was more of a gentle rubbing than anything else.

A brief rush of air escaped her lips.

They embracn ann another kiss.

Hermione fell back onto the bed, pulling Harry with her. As he fell forward, he glanced down at her legs, and reached a tentative hand down to her knickers. They were jet black, with some Muggle company\'s logo barely visible on the thin band.

That hair became visible after he began to roll the knickers off of her hips, drawing them down slowly. It was a dark, but unabashed brown, the same colour as the hair on her head, maybe a bit darker. She helped him along, lying on the bed and arching her back into the air to allow him to remove them.

He tossed them aimlessly into the air, their final destion bon being the bra he had thrown aside a moment ago.

He lay next to her. She was his goddess, and he was her lover.

So . . . now what? Harry tried to recall a particular episode of that show Dudley had watched (he sat on the stairs and peered around the corner at the television so as to go unnoticed). Finally, it came to him.

His hand graced her midsection, running over its smooth surface before tweaking her navel.

Hermione almost seemed to squeak, as a half-cold, half-warm chill swept through her stomach and spread out rapidly into nerves awakening from sixteen years of dormancy.

Harry pulled his hand away instantly, and stuttered out a hasty apology.

\"I\'m sorry, I didn\'t mean to – \"

Hermione looked at him, startled by his apology.

\"No, no, you didn\'t do anything. I\'m just . . .” She blew out a breath heavily and swallowed hard, trying to find words to describe the miniature torrent that had just swept through her body. Her chest heaved with a sort of burning fervour, and she couldn’t seem to form comprehensive speech.

That\'s when Harry saw his opening, his one chance not to fuck things up. Hermione’s eyes were ed oed over in what he was quite positive constituted desire and absolute need. So he leaned down and kissed her, then moved on top of her, his throbbing erection landing squarely on her stomach.

He moved himself downward and thrust forward.

\"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!\" Hermione yelped, squelching her eyes shut in what was mostly a combination of shock and pain before snapping them open and glaring openly at Harry.

He pulled back, in what seemed to be quickly developing into an unhappy pattern.

\"What, what?\" he spoke, with urgency, aware that his body was trying to escape the don’t move command he was issuing it.

\"You\'re too high, move down, lower,\" Hermione whispered, trying not to sound condescending, or in pain.

He reached down and tried to adjust the direction. Pushing forward only confirmed he had screwed it up again.

\"Here, just – just let me, all right?\" Hermione said crossly, reaching down, not even realising what she was doing until she had done it. \"There, go ahead,\" she commanded, gritting her teeth for what she knew was coming.

He pushed forward, finding only resistance.

\"Ach – ahh –!\" were the only things to come out of Hermione.

Harry pushed in harder, and the resistance faltered, her hymen finally breaking. A single tear ran down her cheek, her eyes watering slightly. It had hurt. Not badly, but it had hurt. Sort of like a shot in the arm.

He tried to maintain a gradual motion, but ended up nearly banging her head into the mast of the bed.

\"Ouch,\" Hermione said, crankily, moving her hand up to rub her head.

\"Oh, God, I\'m sorry,\" Harry apologised.

Hermione grit her teeth. \"No, it\'s okay, just slow down.\"

It wasn\'t going all that well for her. Every movement forward was kind of painful. The sharpness of it was getting less and less so with each plunge, but the uncomfortable feeling wasn\'t going away. There was this constantly growing, unpleasant feeling down there that increased with each awkward stroke.

Harry, meanwhile, wasn\'t sure what he was doing. He leaned in and kissed her. He lathered her neck and her face with his lips. Was this right? He didn\'t know. They always kissed in the films.

\"Hey – \"

*kiss*

\" – no, stop – \"

*kiss*

\" – stop doing that.\"

\"What?\" Harry said, snapping his head away from her neck.

\"You don\'t have to keep kissing me,\" grumbled Hermione, who was rapidly becoming irritated.

\"Oh . . . right . . . um . . . \"

Then, their eyes met, and they both started laughing. This wasn\'t supposed to be so blasted uncomfortable, anis fis finally released the tension. He moved forward, and tried to slow down.

Without warning, it ended rather uneventfully, when Harry ejaculated a little prematurely. Just great, he mumbled under his breath.

\"I\'m sorry, Hermione,\" he said, rolling off of her and onto his back. He knew it had felt good, in the end, for him, despite the gracelessness, but as for her, well . . .

Hermione reached a hand over and let it settle across his own. His hand was sweaty, and it seemed as though their heartbeats were the only noises present, pounding loudly in the quiet of the room. She took a deep breath, and pushed away the urge to snap at Harry. He was apologetic, and she had known, going into this, that things would be clumsy and awkward.

\"Harry, it\'s ok. That was to be expected.\"

He turned his face away from her, a strand of unruly hair falling in his eyes, but he didn\'t move to push it away.
HarrHarry, really,\" Hermione chuckled, feeling her grumpiness drift away as she pushed herself up over him and brushed the hair away from his face. \"Honestly, I think it went quite , al, all things considered. Besides, it\'ll get better in time.\"

At that, Harry turned back and dropped a quick kiss on her lips, a sly grin spreading over his features at the words “in time.”

\"You\'re right. I just feel bad about – you know, you must feel kind of frustrated right now, since you didn\'t, you know – you know?\"

Pursing her lips in a smile, Hermione fell back onto the bed and glanced over at him.

\"Well, you know, I did say I did research, didn\'t I? There is something you could do for me that might help me with my frustration . . .\" She trailed off, her eyebrows quirking when his eyes met hers.

\"Oh really,\" Harry said, sitting up on one arm to stare down at her. \"And how might I do that?\" he murmured, smiling at her mischievous smirk.

\"Well . . . \" Hermione said . . .

* * * * * *

In the end, it was weird, sexy, uncomfortable, and somehow completely satisfying all at once.

The sex had been far from amazing, and not even close to good, but the bond that was formed between the two was irreplaceable. It was love and devotion with the promise of things to come, and by some means the experience strengthened the innate feeling that no matter what obstacles their lives faced, they would love, and that was all they would ever need. Somehow, after it was all over, Harry managed to pull the sheets over himself and Hermione, and the two dozed off into sleep, his hand finally finding a comfortable place around her waist.


A/N: Credit to Sing for Ginny\'s contraception-from-a-magazine suggestion to Hermione, and also mille grazie for beta-reading it. I have no idea what I would have done without her. Probably hidden this away in some unnamed computer folder, never to be seen again.