Pressing his luck

“This way,” Hermione hissed at him, and Harry ran towards her. He was glad she knew where they were; he could barely make out anything in the dark more than a metre in front of him. As he reached her, he felt Hermione take his hand, and grasped hers instinctively, ignoring the slight thrill that ran through him.

As they started down the corridor, however, Harry soon found that he could see well enough; at least, well enough to run straight forward. His legs were longer than Hermione’s, and he soon felt himself running in front of her, pulling her along. Behind them, even over the sound of their footsteps and the unnaturally loud beating of his own heart, Harry could hear their pursuer, still behind them.

Harry had been caught out of bed after hours enough times before to know that one person could run faster than two. Add to that the fact that whoever was chasing them – Filch, most likely – probably knew where they were a lot better than either he or Hermione did, and they were in trouble. Scanning to the left and right as fast as he could as they ran, Harry finally saw the shadow of a doorway. Pausing only to yank the door open, Harry ran in, pulling Hermione in after him before closing the door as quickly as he dared.

Beside him, Harry felt, rather than saw, Hermione pull in closer to him, and realised that he was still holding her hand. For a moment, he considered letting it go, but she was warm, and her touch was comforting, so he held on to her. As she drew closer, he could smell her – a smell he couldn’t name, other than to say that it was very much Hermione – and hear her teeth chattering. Belatedly, Harry realised that he was freezing, too; up until now, he had been too distracted to realise it.

Reaching out, Harry moved to put his arm around her shoulders; but in the darkness, he misjudged, and touched something else entirely. Suddenly, Harry could hear his heart beating twice as loudly as before, as he stood in an empty classroom, holding Hermione Granger’s breast.

It was, to say the least, not a position in which he had ever imagined himself.

Harry was aware, on some level, that Hermione was a girl – a woman now, really – but more than that, she was just … Hermione. Solid, bookish, dependable Hermione. One of the boys.

Only now, she was one of the boys with breasts, and that made all the difference.

He was about to move his hand, but something stopped him. If questioned, he could always tell Hermione the truth – that it had been an accident. But in the meantime … well, it was dark, and they were alone, and she was a girl, after all, and his hand was on her breast. Hermione might have been one of his best friends, but he was a man, and not one to let go of such an opportunity too fast.

It felt like hours that he stood there, his hand on his best friend’s breast, before he realised that Hermione had not moved. She might not have spoken, he knew, for fear of Filch lurking outside, but she could have pulled back, could have swatted his hand away. But she had not, and to his surprise, Harry could feel himself becoming aroused. A part of him was terrified to go further, for fear of ruining their friendship, but if she was not going to protest …

Gently – ever so gently – Harry felt his hand squeeze Hermione’s breast. He thought he heard her breath in a little harder than usual, but she still did not move, and in the darkness, Harry smiled. Softly, he began to run his finger in circles around her nipple, and when he still found no resistance, he pinched.

This time, he definitely heard Hermione gasp, and he was sure that now, she was going to push him away. But she remained still, and as Harry felt her nipple hardening under his grasp, he grew bolder.

With one hand still massaging Hermione’s breast, Harry reached under her robes with the other hand. Going almost by feel alone, he finally found her other breast, now contained only by her bra. Removing his first hand, he reached around Hermione to unclasp her bra, with some difficulty; finally succeeding, he pulled the material away from her flesh, and felt Hermione’s bare breasts for the first time.

They were, he thought, amazing. The skin of her breasts was soft; even more so around the nipples, which he now pinched harder. As he did so, Hermione leaned into him, and he heard a faint moan escape her. She liked it! Up until now, he had not been sure what she was thinking, but – she liked it.

With one hand still massaging Hermione’s breast, Harry moved his other hand lower, to her waist. Pulling her in closer to him, so that she could feel his excitement, Harry continued moving his hand underneath her robes until he came to what he sought. Not bothering to move slowly or gently any longer, Harry pulled aside the crotch of her panties, and began to explore.

She was already wet, and Harry’s excitement increased tenfold. Trying desperately to remember what he had read in magazines stolen from Dudley’s room during the holidays, Harry searched for the hard, fleshy nub. Not quite sure if he had found it, he began to trace circles with his fingers, and was rewarded with another loud gasp from Hermione. Bingo.

Still circling her clit with one hand, Harry reluctantly let go of Hermione’s breast with his other, drawing it lower. As Hermione clutched onto him, he reached one finger into her, and this time he was the one who gasped. Beginning to move in and out of her, he tentatively reached in with a second finger, feeling her muscles contract around him. She was amazingly tight; and now, Harry realised that he had to have her.

Pausing only a moment to remember the feel of her around him, Harry withdrew his hands. Reaching into his own robes, he pulled his aching cock free; moving forward, he drew up Hermione’s robes again, and pressed himself into her.

“Harry,” Hermione said. It was the first time she had spoken since Harry had pulled her into the room, and her voice was so soft that the almost did not hear her. “Harry, no.”

That made Harry pause. What did she mean, no? She had had all the time in the world to stop him when he had first touched her; but she had enjoyed it as much as he had, Harry knew; and now, she was saying no?

For a moment, again, Harry considered stopping. He had gone further with Hermione tonight than he had ever considered; they could stop now, and he still would have had something, some part of her. But Harry realised, almost with disappointment, that that was not enough. He wanted it all, all of her, and so help him, he couldn’t stop now.

Reaching around her with one hand, Harry took up both of her hands in one of his, pulling them tight against her back. With his other hand, he guided himself forward, pressing into her once more. As he began to enter her, he let out a long breath, and, against him, he felt Hermione tense. Ignoring that, he pushed forward; when he met resistance, he pushed harder, feeling it disappear as Hermione cried out softly.

Waiting a moment to adjust, Harry began to rock forward, pushing himself further into her. With a shock, he realised that she was crying, but he was already too far gone; thrusting forward, again and again, he came, sinking onto Hermione even as he released her hands.

For a moment, they remained like that; Hermione, with tears still staining her cheeks, and Harry still buried inside her. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Harry moved, withdrawing from her slowly, and arranging his robes back in place. Hermione was silent, not moving, and Harry suddenly felt the shame of what he had just done wash over him.

“Hermione. I … I’m sorry,” he stammered softly, watching her face for any change. She would not look at him, though, and she still didn’t speak. He thought about getting his wand out to perform scourgify, but decided that, in the circumstances, that might not be taken the right way. Leaning forward, he kissed Hermione on the cheek, and was amazed that she let him. She was crying again. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and opened the door to leave. The thought that Filch might catch him, now, was the furthest thing from his mind.