Just Us Girls

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe is property of JK Rowling. I, sadly, make no money from my fanfiction.


Oh– Harry– Ron– naked– what– breasts– privacy– going–

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a gasp of surprise at the sight that greeted her in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. All she could do for a long moment was stare in utter shock and disbelief as she watched Harry - Harry with breasts - sit astride Ron - Ron who also had breasts and was touching himself. They were both rather naked. They were both rather comfortable with their nakedness. They were both rather girls.

Harry and Ron were girls.

There wasn’t any denying it; those were definitely breasts that Harry was fondling and that was definitely a vagina into which Ron crammed his fingers.

Hermione blinked rapidly as Ron squirmed under his own ministrations, head falling back onto the pillow with wind-chapped lips open in an awed sort of ‘o’.

Oh.

I really– Going now. I’m going now. Yes.

Praying to whatever God might be listening that Harry and Ron hadn’t noticed her presence, Hermione spun on her heel and headed for the door. In her haste to exit with the boys unaware that she had ever been there, Hermione tripped over a pair of Dean’s shoes, that he’d set just beside the door, and flung her arms out to grab hold of anything to prevent her from falling in a crumbled heap, hands slapping loudly against the door as they found purchase there.

Uh oh.

Blood pounding in her ears, she righted herself and yanked on the door knob, twisting it almost frantically now.

I can’t– this is terribly mortifying– oh, they’ll be so angry–

There was a rustling from the bed and a creak of bedsprings, followed quickly by a voice she determined to be Harry’s, although it sounded oddly strangled yet breathy. “Hermione?”

Bugger.

Count to three and turn around.

One.

Two.

...

Three.

Averting her eyes, Hermione turned in the direction of Harry’s voice, staring hard at the tips of her mary janes. They’re getting a bit scuffed, actually.

I’ll have to polish them later. Maybe I ought to perform the Repellant Charm on them again; it has been rather wet outside lately...

“Oy, Hermione! What are you doing?”

Her cheeks flamed red; she didn’t like the accusation in Ron’s tone.

Forgetting just why she had been studying her shoes so intently for the past few moments, Hermione lifted her chin defiantly and glared over at Ron, who by now had extracted his fingers from his, well, parts and was propped up on the palms of his hands, eyes burning into hers.

“I was leaving,” she retorted crossly. “That’s what I was doing. And if you hadn’t called me--” -she shot Harry a dirty look as well - “I’d be gone and we wouldn’t be having this incredibly embarrassing conversation, Ron Weasley!”

“What’s so embarrassing about it?” he demanded, lifting his shoulders up rather huffily to punctuate his question. This only served to push his breasts out further and, oh, it was all so queer.

“I--” Hermione faltered, her eyes transfixed by the sight of Ron’s newly ample bosom. They weren’t very large, she thought, but they were round in a very lovely way and the dusting of freckles about his skin seemed more vibrant set off nicely by cinnamon-coloured areolas (much broader than she remembered them to be when she’d seen him shirtless swimming at the Burrow the previous summer) and extremely-swollen nipples.

Vaguely Hermione wondered if perhaps Harry had been fondling Ron’s breasts before she happened upon them.

“WELL?” Ron’s voice broke into her thoughts and she flushed red, flustered now.

“Well what, Ron?” she fumbled, trying to remember exactly what the question had been.

Harry cleared his throat, scooting further down Ron’s thighs. Crossing his arms about his chest, he at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. “What are you doing here, Hermione?” He repeated Ron’s question, his voice hoarse and shaky.

This threw Hermione for a loop; her mind drew a blank. What had she come up to their dormitory for?

After briefly worrying her lower lip, she started slowly, “I was coming up here because I had to tell you that– tell you--”

This was daft.

This was daft.

“Oh, forget it!” she exclaimed suddenly, her overwhelming curiosity getting the better of her. Crossing to Ron’s four-poster in a few short strides, she stopped at the bedside and looked from one boy to the other, eyes roaming over their forms. “Tell me,” she said breathlessly, eyes lit up with excitement. “Tell me how it happened.”

“Er,” Harry stammered. “I– that is to say, er--”

“Fred and George,” Ron supplied, laying back down on the bed. Obviously he didn’t mind that Hermione was seeing him quite naked, for he laced his fingers together and rested his head on his hands, rather at ease now that the first few minutes of awkwardness between them had disappeared.

“Yeah,” Harry concurred weakly. “Fred and George. They--”

“What did they do?” Hermione asked, trying very hard to not study Ron’s breasts or his flat stomach or that rather nice looking nest of ginger curls between his legs. It was too bad, she thought, that Harry still had his blasted arms crossed and those unflattering shorts on.

Part of her was shocked and appalled by the thoughts running through her mind; these were her best friends. Her best male friends and she ought not be looking at them as though she were some lecherous old man. A larger part of her, however, rationalised that this was all terribly fascinating and that she was obligated to question and study them in the name of education, magic, science, and sexuality, among other things.

She quite liked her rational side.

Harry lowered one arm from his chest and Hermione leaned a little closer. Was that the top of an areola she saw?

No, she decided with disappointment, it was just a bit of a shadow.

“They did that,” Harry said, pointing at a bottle not far from Ron’s head.

After making sure the stopper was good and tight, Hermione picked up the bottle and studied the label. It didn’t say anything on it other than the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes logo. Tipping the bottle this way and that, she watched as the amber liquid sloshed around inside.

“How curious,” she murmured, eyes widening as little small sparks went off in the bottle, much like the bubbling carbonation in a fizzy drink (although the bubbles in fizzy drinks didn’t light up when they touched one another, as they did in this particular bottle).

“Yeah,” Ron agreed throatily. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his hand travelling down his stomach, heading for the very spot she’d tried to not look at only moments ago.

Sucking in a breathe, Hermione thought she should probably chastise Ron for being so vulgar in front of her and then take her leave. This was all much to curious; things were very definitely going to be odd between the three of them tomorrow.

Setting the bottle back down (and noticing that Harry had covered himself up fully again), Hermione’s mouth set in a firm line and her eyes narrowed as they settled on Ron.

But whatever lecture she was going to give him about indecency flew directly out the proverbial window when she saw just what he was doing with his hand and the frustrated look on his face. Harry, she noted, looked as though he could either pounce on Ron or melt into the duvet. Possibly both.

“No, no, no, no, NO,” she cried, leaning over and smacking Ron’s hand forcefully. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

Harry must have forgotten himself, for he uncrossed his arms and pushed back off of Ron’s legs, shifting himself with his hands down to the foot of the bed, breasts swaying heavily beneath him. Hermione thought it was the oddest - and perhaps most enticing - thing she’d ever seen.

“No, I’m not,” Ron retorted hotly, pulling her attention back to him.

“Yes, you are,” she shot back, rolling her eyes.

Floundering for a moment, Ron stared at her, rather gob-smacked, and then jammed two fingers swiftly inside his folds. She (and likely Harry as well) could nearly hear the wince Ron made as he did so.

“No, I’m not,” he choked.

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione huffed, climbing up on the bed and taking hold of his wrist. “You are.” And with that, she pulled his hand back roughly.

“Hermione,” Harry said, voice cracking a little, “this is just too strange. I think you--”

“Ooooh, no, mate,” Ron cut in. “No you don’t. She said I’m doing it wrong and if she’s so bloody brilliant at it, she ought to tell us how to do it the right way.”

Harry blinked.

Harry blinked and then the corners of his mouth twitched.

Hermione felt a flare in her belly.

Ron grinned, nodding his head emphatically.

“So Hermione,” Harry said, eyeing her with sudden interest, “just, er, how do you, you know...do it?”

The way he was looking at her was unnerving; it was doing something to her nerves; the back of her neck was full of gooseflesh.

“Yeah, Hermione,” Ron added, using Harry’s tone, “how do you do it?”

There was a definite warmth in her cheeks now, although its heat was no match for what was going on in her belly.

“Do you really want to know?” she asked slowly, looking from Harry to Ron and back again.

“Yes,” Harry and Ron said promptly in unison.

Hermione nodded. “All right, then.” Her collar felt a little tight. A lot tight, actually. Clearing her throat, Hermione undid the top button of her blouse. “You’re doing it wrong because you’re obviously just--” Her voice trailed off. How could she possibly tell them why what Ron had been doing was wrong and how to go about it properly?

This wouldn’t do.

This wouldn’t do at all.

They looked at her expectantly, Ron finally blurting out a “Go on!” after a minute or so.

This way would be the most efficient. It would be the best way to teach them, rather than to just explain things. Things like this require an explanation and a demonstration.

“I’ll show you,” she said finally, climbing awkwardly to her feet in the middle of Ron’s bed.

“Show us?” Ron squeaked.

“Yes. Show you.”

Steeling her nerves, Hermione pulled the hem of her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt. A quick flick of the fingers and the skirt was sliding over her hips and over her legs to pool at her ankles.

“Oh.”

Hermione wasn’t sure which boy had said that but it didn’t matter. Despite her nerves, she could not help but to grin at that, for the admiration in the voice was apparent.

Why yes, she did have rather nice legs. Even in sensible knee socks.

Hooking her thumbs in the elastic band of her knickers, she peered over her shoulder down at Harry. “Yours too, Harry,” she ordered.

“But I--”

“Yeah,” Ron piped up. “Yours too, Harry. Can’t be unprepared for our lesson, after all.”

Harry stood up reluctantly and, after an encouraging look from Hermione, removed his shorts at the precise moment Hermione did her knickers.

What was a little nudity between three girls, anyway?

Well, Hermione reminded herself, Harry and Ron still looked like Harry and Ron - just with different bits. Boys with bits. Perhaps that was what she ought to think of them as being.

“C’mere.” Ron patted at the space next to him. Hermione and Harry settled back down on the bed and the three of them shifted so they were perpendicular to the mattrress’ length.

Ron, Hermione was pleased to note, had trouble Not Looking at the spot between her legs. A quick glance at Harry confirmed the same of him.

The flare in Hermione’s belly burned a little hotter at that.

Quirking a brow, Hermione adopted a collected and serious air, although she definitely felt like neither of those things on the inside. “Ready to learn how to do it properly?”

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” Ron whined, crossing his legs, “quit being a sodding tease and get on with it. I’m a desperate man, here!”

The giggle couldn’t be helped. “I can see that,” she said, amused and glad for the break in tension. It was time to get down to business. “I want you to do what I do.”

Not waiting to hear their confirmations of understanding her instructions, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly on either side of her as they followed suit, her breathing hitching a little as she realised just what was about to go on here.

She and Harry and Ron were about to masturbate together.

The thought alone made her moan; she had to screw her eyes shut more tightly to fight off the embarrassment. To her relief, however, Harry (or had it been Ron?)made a similar noise.

“Now,” Hermione said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I want you to run your fingers lightly against your folds. Don’t insert them yet; simply push them apart and lightly caress them.”

A pause.

“Oh, fuck.”

That had been Ron.

Oh God.

Hermione did as she had instructed, biting her lip as she gently separated herself, flicking her fingers in a feather-light manner against the outer folds. There was a tingle, hot and sharp, pooling in her centre already; it would not be long before she would be dripping. She could feel it already.

“Nnngh.”

The noise was strangled and stilted.

Harry.

She screwed her eyes shut even tighter.

“Now what?”

Ron.

Panting.

This would be the death of her. It would.

“Now,” Hermione said, straining to sound nonchalant and as though none of this were a very big deal, “I want you to find your clitoris--”

“This hard...little...nubby...thingy?”

“Yes, Ron. That’s exactly it.”

“Cor.”

“Shut up,” Harry half-hissed, half-moaned. “Iwannagetonwithit.”

Ron needed no further prompting to shut up and Hermione continued on with her instruction. “Once you’ve found your clitoris, you should rub it with either the tips of your fingers or the palm of your hand - whichever you prefer. There is no right or wrong way to--”

Enough talking.

The method that Hermione liked to use to work her clit was using her thumb and the clockwise-counter-clockwise motion. Back and forth and back and forth and–

Her hips arched off of the bed and she could tell without opening her eyes that Harry and Ron were doing the same. Their breathing picked up and there were little mews and the sounds of skin rubbing against skin and then–

And then they came. Ron first, crying out and trembling fiercely. Hermione next, whimpering and jerking. Harry last, the only indication that he’d come at all the flush in his cheeks that Hermione could see when she opened her eyes and rolled her head towards him.

He can’t even let himself go. He can’t–

“Again,” Ron gasped.

“I--” Her mind took a moment to focus.

“Again,” Harry agreed quietly.

Anything. Anything to help him let go.

Her voice was thick and halting; it was difficult to string a bunch of words together coherently after having come with one’s best friends in the room. “Now you can insert fingers into yourself. At least two. Three if you feel you need the extra digit. And then you scissor them. Stretch...”

“Right then,” Ron grunted.

The room grew silent, save for the sounds of their efforts.

Beside her, she could make out a soft little keel from Harry and it just– It toreat her. On her other side, Ron moaned something that seemed like nonsense at first but then she realised what he’d said - “HarryHermione.” Their names were joined together and drawn out in a gutteral moan. The flare in her belly and the tingle in her centre exploded then and everything was brilliant white.

Everything was brilliant white and her fingers hit that sweet spot inside and then she was so wet and–

A tongue swiped at the fingers she still had inside of herself, causing her to gasp.

“Hold still,” said a voice in her ear.

Ron.

She felt his hands, broad and strong, move leisurely over her face as though he were trying to memorise it with his touch. That meant that Harry had–

Yes, Harry had– Harry was licking her.

God

Ron’s hands slid down her throat and up over the curve of her breasts, palming them while Harry nudged her hand away from her cunt before burying his tongue in her cunt. She couldn’t think; the white and the heat was blinding. Thumbs were flicking her nipples and there was a tongue pushing in her centre, moving in and out of her, a mouth sucking at her core briefly before giving way to tongue again. Harry’s hand danced up her thigh and then joined in the proceedings, fingers working her clit while he continued to lap at her. Writhing beneath him, she barely noticed that Ron had ceased fondling her breasts until she felt him lift her up so that he could slid beneath her. Harry’s fingers held her open now and he suckled from her as Ron pressed his breasts against her back. His breasts were warm and soft against her skin; his hands found hers again and pulled her tightly to him. And then–

Ron ground against her from behind. A loud moan rose up from the bed and Hermione dimly realised that the sound had come from all of them, Harry’s moan muffled against her cunt, sending a delicious sensation right to her core.

“Harry,” she breathed, fisting a hand in his hair, “come here.”

After a tug on her soft outer folds with his teeth, Harry complied and climbed up Hermione’s frame. Soon the three of them were a tangle of limbs and sweat and it took them but a moment to figure out how to rub up and down and on one another. Hands groped, tongues lapped, and cunts and arses rubbed together as they twisted and turned in and around one another. This seemed to go on forever until they managed to make one another come again, Harry first this time. First and loud, which pleased Hermione to no end. Let it go...

Exhausted and sticky, they lay in Ron’s bed. Hermione didn’t speak again until her breathing had resumed to normal.

“Did you enjoy your lesson?” she asked throatily, absently tweaking one of Ron’s nipples and rubbing back against Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, a hand running along Hermione’s side.

“Think we need to do this again,” Ron noted around a yawn. “Y’need to tutor us again, Hermione. Just us girls.”

A slow, almost predatory smile curved at Hermione's mouth. "Yes. Just us girls."