What Do You Expect?

What Do You Expect?

Author’s warning: MAJOR spoiler here, if you haven’t read the book STOP! Go read Deathly Hallows, then please come back. It’ll be okay, I promise.

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Ron had gone; stormed out in a jealous rage after Hermione chose to stay and fulfill her promise to Harry.

Harry ordered him to leave the Horcrux, and the putter-outer; Dumbledore had meant it for them - to help them complete the mission.

Hermione cried for him stay, but Ron couldn’t get past his pettiness, his envy.

“He’s gone.” She said in a small disbelieving voice, “after all we talked about; after all I’ve done for him-”

“He’s gone.” Harry agreed, “Some best mate he turned out to be.”

“He said we were with you to the bitter end,” she sobbed, “I just didn’t know ‘the bitter end’ would be here-” she fell through the barrier that divided the tent, tearing it off its support rod and dropped in a tangled heap onto her bed; wracked with silent sobs.

Harry rushed over to her then stopped. He looked down at her; in her sorrow she was completely oblivious to the tangle of curtains and rings and bedclothes. He knelt and gently unwound the material from her until she lay upon it curled in upon herself. Her hair, more frizzy than usual wreathed her face, half hidden by her pillow. He picked up the duvet that she had inadvertently kicked onto the floor and carefully draped it over her to protect her from the night chill. He pushed her hair out of her face and she grabbed his hand and pleaded “Ron?”

“Sorry ‘Mione, it’s just me.”

“Stay a while?”

He sat with her until she finally slept, then moved a chair to the tent’s entrance to watch for Ron, or anyone who might mean them harm.

He woke with a start early the following morning to the sounds of Hermione in the kitchen. She didn’t meet his eyes as he walked past her on his way to the little shower and toilet. When he came out it was to the smell of eggs and toast and coffee.

They ate in silence, and then set about packing the tent into her small beaded bag.

Harry spoke first, “should we drop the concealing charms, y’know, just in case?”

She looked hopefully at him for a moment, then dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head, “we shouldn’t”

“He was wearing this damned locket, he was tired and angry and upset and hungry,”

She snorted “he’s always hungry.”

“Well, yeah, but the point is, he didn’t mean it” Harry looked desperately into her dark caramel eyes, “he didn’t mean it.”

“Oh he meant it all right, didn’t you see the look in his eyes?”

“Still” Harry said and he took her hand to lead her out of the protected circle and strained his ears to listen for any sign that Ron had come back. Hermione never let go of Harry’s hand.

“Let’s go” she finally said.

Harry squeezed her hand tight and they disapparated, appearing on a windswept hillside covered in heather.

She reluctantly released his hand to allow him to begin casting the privacy and protection charms. As he walked in a large circle he kept an eye on Hermione, who sat on a boulder shaking in what Harry knew were sobs.

“Oh sod this!” he said, quickly completing the circle so that he could rush over to her and hold her.

They clung to each other on that boulder for the better part of an hour until the relentless wind forced them to erect the tent. Once inside Harry started a fire in the little iron stove and the pair wrapped themselves in a blanket to huddle near it. When they finally felt warm enough they pulled apart reluctantly to begin their researches for the day.

A good five hours passed before Harry got up and stretched. He realized two things, he had been able to focus on his studies and Hermione was humming. Neither one of them had had to entertain Ron. He came to the sudden realization that, for the better part of the past seven years they had been Ron’s minder. He snickered and caught Hermione’s eye.

“I’m going to see what’s nearby.”

“Take the cloak” she admonished, then smirked as he twirled it with a flourish then disappeared beneath it like some cheesy stage magician.

He just stood there, invisible beneath the cloak, and watched her looking back at him. Her crooked grin suited her for the moment, but he looked forward to the time when she would smile again.

He topped the hill and was surprised to see a small village, “great,” he thought aloud, “we can stock up.”

He went through the local food market concentrating on staples that didn’t need refrigeration, canned meats and vegetables. His ‘notice-me-not’ spell in conjunction with his father’s cloak allowed him free reign of the small market. He did pick up a packet of freshly cut chicken along with some fresh peas and carrots. He vowed to make Hermione a decent lunch. He placed the proper amount of muggle money in the till and as an afterthought added a 50p coin to cover the cost of the single red rose he lifted on the way out.

While Harry was out shopping Hermione realized she hadn’t bathed in three days, she pulled off her T shirt and gave it an experimental sniff “oh yeah, definitely whiffy” she said aloud, then proceeded to remove her bra and jeans. She looked around to see if Harry had come back, shrugged and pulled off her knickers. She laid her clothes out on her bed and preformed a simple household cleaning charm on them then headed for the shower.

As she was in the shower Harry returned and placed his purchases on the small kitchen counter, then dug out the frying pan and two pots. He was better than fair at cooking, having done it for the Dursleys since he was seven years old. Their favorite was pan fried chicken.

“Let’s see” he said to himself, “flour, salt, paprika, pepper, sage, rosemary, egg and oil, yep, all here.”

He started the fire in the cook stove and proceeded to cut up the carrots he didn’t see Hermione step out of the shower, she didn’t see him as she was toweling her hair dry as she walked to her bed to re-dress. Harry was pouring a measured amount of canola oil into a deep frying pan as she stepped into her knickers. She decided to forgo a bra and just pulled her T shirt over her head when she heard a clang in the kitchen corner she spun just in time to see Harry turn around and see her for the first time since returning.

“Harry!” she shrieked.

“What?”

“Have you been standing there all this time?”

He didn’t understand what she meant.

“Um, yes?”

“And you’ve been watching me dress?” her eyes were narrow and dangerous.

“No – NO!” he shouted back as he finally achieved clarity, “no Hermione, I swear, I wasn’t watching you, I was just, just, um, Hermione?”

“What?”

“Do you think you might want to finish getting dressed?”

She looked down at what she was wearing, or rather not wearing and gave an exasperated sigh, “bollocks!”

She stepped into her newly cleaned jeans and asked, “Better?”

He grinned, “Less distracting anyway.”

She realized that she had misjudged him and wanted to change the subject, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, I wanted to fix you a nice lunch, there’s a market in town and I stocked up”

She shrieked in delight this time and looked over his purchases.

“Oh Harry, this is brilliant!” she said looking over his choices, “Ron would have stocked up on sweets and --”

And just like that the good feeling was gone.

Harry turned back to his cooking and Hermione withdrew into herself.

He combined the flour, salt and spices in a paper bag, cracked the egg into a mixing bowl and added a small amount of milk to that. Then he began dipping the chicken pieces into the egg mixture before placing them into the seasoned flour mixture. Soon the delicious smell of chicken and spices permeated the tent.

Mechanically Hermione set the table as Harry finished frying the last bit of chicken. He brought a platter with the chicken and another with the peas and carrots mixed. He placed them on the table and then snapped his fingers, “almost forgot.”

He placed two ice-cold Coca-colas on the table then a small bud vase with the single rose.

“I bought the Cokes because I thought you’d like something, um, ‘normal’ with dinner, and I got the rose because, well, I saw it and thought you might like it.”

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off the rose. A single red rose; the universally accepted gift of love. A single red rose says simply, “I love you.”

Somehow she knew that she was reading far too much into it, it was a sweet gesture, nothing less, nothing more.

“Thank you Harry,” she smiled, “it’s lovely.”

That single smile made all his efforts to date worthwhile.

“Anytime ‘Mione.”

They finished their lunch in silence, but unlike the morning’s meal, which had been cold quiet this was companionable silence.

After lunch they continued their researches, near late afternoon Hermione called “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Come look at this.”

He joined her on the loveseat, she leaned into him and pointed out a symbol on the title page of one of Beedle the Bard’s tales,

“The Three Brothers?” he asked.

“Um hum,” she nodded, “but look at this, this symbol doesn’t appear to be typeset, it looks like it was hand-drawn in.”

As they leaned forward their heads touched, had Hermione’s hair always been so soft? Was it always fragrant with the scent of apples?

“I’ve seen this symbol before” Harry mused, I’m sure of it. But where?”

She looked up as he was looking down and they could feel the light touch of each other’s breaths soft upon their lips.

He thought he would loose himself in those eyes, those eyes that were now heavy lidded as her face came even closer to his.

“Hermione, I don’t think . . .”

“Don’t think Harry, feel” she said just before their lips touched gently.

Kissing Cho had been nice, albeit salty and wet. Kissing Ginny had been exciting as she had devoured his mouth with hers. Kissing Hermione was completion. Every kiss he’d had up to that point was just to let him know how the others had paled by comparison.

They sat, arms entwined, lips touching, tongues seeking for what seemed like hours.

Hermione pulled slightly back and Harry was confused and concerned to see her lower lip quivering, “oh Harry, I’m so sorry, you can’t begin to know . . .”

“No Hermione, it’s all my fault, I never should have--”

“I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, I’m sorry that you were not my first, my first kiss, my first love my first . . .”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, erasing the tear there, “doesn’t matter Hermione, as long as I can be your last.”

He kissed her again, this time hungrily and she responded in kind.

He found his hands under her T shirt as she pulled his shirt up over his abdomen. He wasn’t surprised to feel only skin where he’d normally expect a bra strap, her braless state had been obvious since he’d seen her out of the shower, nipples hard and pointing directly at him through the thin material.

“Want” she leaned back to tug at his shirt “to” he lifted his arms to allow her to pull the offending garment over his head “feel” she crossed her arms to grab the hem of her shirt “you” she pulled the shirt over her head revealing her C-cups in all their glory.

As Harry caressed those wonderful firm yet so-soft orbs Hermione’s head snapped back and she moaned in pleasure.

“Kiss me Harry,” she insisted. Somehow he knew where he was supposed to kiss her. He kissed and licked and muzzled between her wonderful breasts relishing the taste and texture and flavor of them. The sounds Hermione made as he worshiped her body encouraged him to venture south.

He popped the button and unzipped her jeans revealing the sensible white cotton knickers beneath, he’d seen them before just that morning, but up close he noticed the pattern that at first he thought was simple yellow polka-dots but at close range he saw . . .

“Snitches?” he asked delightedly.

“I always hoped some day my favorite seeker would come.” She demurred, “I’ve had these for two years now.”

She stood and shimmied out of her jeans, leaving the knickers in place. She knelt down between his legs and loosened the buckle of his belt before she unbuttoned his trousers. She fished into his boxers, pulling out his eight and a half inch stonker. She echoed his moan as she held the tip of his very impressive erection to her wet mouth.

“I’ve never done this for anyone Harry, you will be my first!” she insisted.

Was she any good at it? Harry had no basis for comparison. What he did know was that this was infinitely better than anything he’d ever done with his own hand.

She had obviously been researching technique, taking half his impressive length into her mouth, using her saliva to slick the remaining length, stroking with her hand as she bobbed her head slobbering over as much of him as she could take.

She tongued and sucked and stroked until he couldn’t hold back, “Hermione, luv, I’m – I’m gonna . . .”

She redoubled her efforts, sucking and stroking harder as he groaned and blew his wad into her eagerly humping mouth.

She removed her mouth from his semi erect cock with a pop and grinned, a small trickle of spunk running down the side of her mouth.

He reached down to pull her up and kissed her thoroughly, wiping his ejaculate off her cheek with his thumb.

He laid her across the love seat and helped her shimmy out of her “seeker” knickers. He noticed the crotch panel was soaked through and through, he also noticed that she shaved. He placed her right foot on the floor of the tent her left foot up on the cushion and French kissed her nether lips.

“Oh my” she moaned, “You are definitely a keeper Mr. Potter!”

Harry tried to remember what McGonagall had said about transfigurations.

“Human transfiguration is the most difficult of all, the novice should practice on body parts first, feet and toes being the most common rather than hands and fingers, as the witch or wizard might need their hands to hold to wand in order to reverse the transfiguration.”

As Harry probed Hermione with his tongue and fingers he wondered, “why not tongues?”

He surreptitiously pulled his wand from his back pocket, no easy feat as his pants were around his knees and he was otherwise engaged at the time. He did a minimal engorgio on his tongue and was pleased to feel it extend three or four inches from his lips.

He placed the tip of his engorged tongue just below her clitoris (he was enough of a teen aged boy to know exactly what that little nub was, and what it could presumably do for the witch) and began to saw in and out, getting a little deeper with each thrust of his tongue.

Fact: Hermione could have been dry as toast and Harry’s tongue would have still slid in comfortably as it was, in fact, a self lubricating phallus.

Fact: parseltongue requires the speakers tongue to vibrate in order to achieve proper sibilance.

Fact: combining parseltongue with cunnilingus is a recipe for turning any witch into an incoherent puddle of very satisfied goo.

“SWEET BABY JE-ZUZ!” she shrieked

Harry couldn’t help but smirk as he tongue fucked his lover into sweet oblivion.

When she came to he had restored his tongue and lay beside her on her bed, quite naked.

“How?”

“You’re very light, easy to cary.”

“No, how did you do that?”

“Oh, that,” Harry said sheepishly, “um, I was just applying some of McGonagall’s lessons to a practical purpose. Was that okay, I mean, you are my first . . .”

She took his face in both her hands and kissed him senseless while rolling on top of him so that his fully erect cock rested a fraction of an inch from her sopping wet entrance.

“That was a yes then?”

Her answer was to rise up on her knees and position his cock so that she could slide back on it, completely surrounding him in tight wet warmth.

Harry had thought nothing could feel better than Hermione’s mouth and hands on him, he was happy to be proven wrong. The words haven’t been invented yet to describe how it felt to be inside his lover.

She rose up then came down as she bottomed out she did a delightful little wiggle forcing their pubic bones close as humanly possible.

She began to piston up and down rapidly while Harry pushed back until the slap, slap, slap, slapping began to sound like applause. She shrieked once more then fell boneless onto his chest.

When she was coherent again she smiled and said “your turn!” and rolled Harry on top of herself while spreading her legs as wide as humanly possible.

“Now fuck me Harry!”

With a feral growl he grabbed both her ass cheeks, she responded by wrapping her legs around his middle while he began, slowly at first, to push in, then pull out nearly completely then push in, then pull out then push, then pull then push, push, push. As his pace increased her last thought before descending into Babel was, “we must look like a fuckin’ locomotive!”

Having climaxed not even an hour before Harry was able to bring them both to completion one more time before he fell exhausted onto the mattress beside her. They lay face to face in each other’s arms, legs entwined.

“Have I ever told you that I love you Hermione Granger?”

“Only every day since we were eleven Harry Potter.”

He seemed confused, “I never said--”

“Not in words Harry, but in the way you’ve always been there for me, respected me even when I did terrible things you never gave up on me. And by the way, I love you too.”

“Funny” he said, “I always thought it would be you and Ron and me and Ginny in the end with three kids each just seeing each other on the weekends for Sunday dinners at Molly’s. I was never going to tell you how I felt because, well, I didn’t think I deserved you.”

She kissed him “regrets?”

“With you, never” then he sighed, “I wonder what our friends will say?”

I don’t know Harry, and frankly don’t give a damn. There might be a universe out there where Ron get’s his head out of his arse, I can’t really imagine it but someone who is truly delusional might. There may actually be a world where you marry Ginny and I marry Ron and we become ‘one big happy Weasley family,’ but we’re not in that world. Thank God!

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Author’s note: can we talk here? C’mon people, Ron leaves two hormonal seventeen year olds in a tent for weeks. Two healthy, attractive teenagers who both know that each day may very well be their last. One of the biggest complaints about fan fiction is that it takes beloved characters and turns them into sex objects.

Hello!

Do you know any teenagers? Do you remember having been one?