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It was cold in the Forest of Dean. Harry Potter was sat in one of the armchairs inside the tent, rugged up underneath half-a-dozen blankets, and he was reading one of the random books that they had brought with them on their journey to help hunt down Horcruxes. He didn’t notice the flap of the tent open or see his best friend Hermione Granger step inside to escape from the cold. She had her own book in her hand and her own handful of blankets, and almost at once she spotted him sitting there, with his back to her, and completely unaware of her presence.
She smiled and moved forwards quietly. It wasn’t until she had pulled the blankets off his legs that he finally noticed her, and it took him by surprise as she climbed into his lap, settled there, and then she pulled the combination of the blankets over them.
“Hermione?” Harry asked, when she leaned back against him, and propped open her book. “What are you doing?”
“I was looking for somewhere more comfortable to sit and read my book than outside, so thanks, Harry,” Hermione said brightly.
“Isn’t it your turn to be outside on patrol?”
“Your lap is better.”
She turned the page of her book calmly and ignored the look of shock on Harry’s face. He blinked down at her, he felt as though he should be complaining, but he had no reason to. Hermione’s light frame meant that she was far from being a burden on his lap, it helped too that her long bushy hair smelled fantastic and flowery, and the feeling of her wonderful round arse rubbing against his crotch was unexpectedly arousing.
Harry tried shifting away from her – they were, after all, only meant to be best friends – but Hermione held her ground, and soon with constant friction, the inevitable happened. Harry began to grow an erection that all sexually depraved teenagers would in the same situation, with a cute little bottom rubbing against them, and refusing to move. After all, his penis wasn’t to know that it was his best friend sitting on him, and that poking her with it should have been avoided at all cost.
Whether Hermione had been able to feel Harry get hard or not, he couldn’t tell, her face was hidden behind her book, but he did believe he saw a hint of a smirk tease the edges of her mouth. He thought perhaps she had reached a particularly amusing section of the book that she was reading, but when he caught a glimpse of the title of her book: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, he thought perhaps not. Harry pulled his own book up to cover his face, feeling embarrassed that he was unable to control his arousal, which by now, was pressing firmly against his best friend’s backside.
Harry wanted to do something, to say something, to make the moment feel less awkward, but he could do nothing of the sort. By then, it had become obvious that Hermione had detected his erection, because she began to move against it, and Harry’s whole body went rigid. At first, he thought that she was merely attempting to shift her weight out of the way so that it could continue to grow without touching her, and the two of them wouldn’t have to address it.
Instead, she kept moving against it, and not just slightly either, Hermione really began to push her weight down onto him quite some force, she started grinding her hips, and it quickly became obvious what she was doing.
“Hermione…” Harry said with alarm, making her stop.
Hermione brought the book down from in front of her face and gave him a guilty look. Then, after a pause, she pulled back the blankets, and started to climb out of his lap.
“Wait!” Harry said, grabbing her by the arm, and stopping her from leaving him. “I’m sorry, please, stay…”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, then slowly she lowered herself back down onto his lap and positioned herself so that his very obvious erection pressed against her backside once more, she brought the blankets back over her knees, the book back up in front of her face, and she resumed the grinding motion once more. It didn’t take long for the sensation to overcome both of them and after a while, they stopped pretending to read their books.
They locked eyes with one another as the movements increased. By now Harry was gritting his teeth, whilst Hermione’s lips were parted, little whispers of breath were escaping her as she narrowed her eyes at him, and worked him over. No feeling had ever felt better in Harry’s life than in that moment, with his best friend on top of him, the full weight of her thrusts concentrated on one part of him, sending him over the edge.
It ended when Harry could hold on no longer, he closed his eyes, groaned, and soiled the front of his pants.
“Did you?” Hermione whispered curiously, her movements coming to a standstill, with her backside still pressed his bulge.
“Yes,” Harry said, slightly breathlessly, his face somewhat flushed.
Hermione looked proud of herself. She leaned down unexpectantly and planted a kiss briefly on his lips, before she once again pulled the blankets off herself, and climbed out of his lap.
“Wait,” Harry said, his eyes had naturally fallen to look at her arse as she went to step away, “where are you going? What about you?”
Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, keeping her back to him because she knew full well that he was staring at her arse.
“What about me? It’s my turn to be outside on patrol, remember?”
Harry raised his eyebrows at her in question, but she just smiled, turned forwards, headed for the flap of the tent, and stepped back out into the cold without another word.
It happened again months later. The war was over, the Battle of Hogwarts had ended just a few days ago, Lord Voldemort was dead, and after everyone had been sent home to their families, Harry had been granted permission to call Gryffindor tower his home for a while, until he had rested long enough and had healed from the ordeal of being on the run for such a long period of time. He had assumed it was just him alone there, Ron had gone back to the Burrow with his family to his brother and Hermione had wanted to go searching for her parents as soon as possible.
However, when he was in the common room one evening, sitting in one of those cushioned armchairs by the fireplace, wearing only a shirt and pair of his boxer-briefs and reading the latest edition of the Daily Prophet with all the good news that was finally happening up and down the country, he did not hear the sound of bare footsteps coming down the girl’s spiral staircase. In fact, it wasn’t until she had spotted him, smiled, come over, and stood in his line of sight, that he lowered the newspaper in alarm.
“Hi,” she said brightly, smiling at him.
“Hermione?” Harry said in alarm, he swallowed hard at the sight of her, for she wore a single white shirt that clung to her skin and only just covered over her navel, and a pair of white underwear. He could not for the life of him ever remember seeing her in so few clothes. He also had to wonder what had made her come downstairs dressed like this. “What are you still doing here? I thought you’d left for Australia, to go look for your parents?”
“I’m still here because I’m looking for somewhere comfortable to sit and read my book, Harry.”
She held up the book that was in her hand. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a text-book that she had picked up randomly, and yet as she bit her lip and looked expectantly down at his lap, Harry guessed that it was just immaterial at that point, and so he folded the newspaper to one side, sat back further in his chair, opened himself up for her, and nodded his head.
Hermione climbed onto his lap in a heartbeat. Harry had to be honest, he had just assumed that her sitting in his lap and grinding against him had been a one-time thing, he never expected her to be doing it again, and with even less fabric between them this time. Once she had put herself into a comfortable enough position, and brought her book up in front of her face, Hermione didn’t even try to hide what she was there for, and began to grind against him.
Harry put his arms around her, attempting to hold her in place, whilst also awkwardly opening the newspaper again and trying to read an article about the celebrations happening around the world. It was pointless, his erection had grown in no time, everything else around him seemed fuzzy, except for Hermione, who’s face was clear as day, with a look of serious concentration, with her teeth gritted in determination, as she grinded on him.
First, they grew short of breath, then they both became a little sweaty and red in the face, then they started to feel that build-up of tension in the pits of their stomachs, then, through the silence, came their orgasms, which they rode out together, their reading material became limp in their hands, forgotten, and their underwear became soiled, proof of yet another successful evening. It took Hermione much longer to climb off his lap than it had last time.
“I should be getting some sleep,” she said to Harry, the first words spoken by either of them for some time, “you though right, by the way, I am going to Australia to look for my parents, but I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“I’ll come with you,” Harry said without any hesitation.
Hermione shook her head. “It’s something that I need to do on my own, Harry, I’m sorry. Besides, I could never be so selfish and take you with me like that, you’re still needed here, there’s still things to be done, and everyone will be looking towards you, counting on you—”
“What if I say I don’t care about everyone else?”
“Then I would say you’re lying,” Hermione said with a smile, “thank you for letting me sit with you tonight, Harry. Sleep well.”
Harry took a deep breath. He wanted to say something, wanted to argue his case to go with her, wanted to tell her that she could sit in his lap all she liked in Australia, but no words managed to come out. Hermione gave him one last look, turned, and then headed back for the girl’s spiral staircase, knowing full well that he was staring at her arse as she went, and he continued to stare after her and picture it, long after she had reached her dormitory and her bed.
A whole year went by. Life had a way of changing and making things seem so different. Harry found himself living alone in Grimmauld Place, he had never really wanted it, had never really wanted to come back here, not after Sirius had passed away and given him everything he owned. Yet, during the small space of time that he, Ron, and Hermione had spent there during the war when they had been on the run had allowed him to see the house in a different light. He had got passed the guilt of causing his godfather’s death and had moved in, he had tried his hand at renovating it by taking away the dark and infested parts of it, and fixing it up the best that he could.
Then, one evening, a girl appeared on his doorstep, and he barely even recognised her. By the time she had finished hugging him, and telling him the news that she had found her parents in Australia, and gone on a ramble about he was the first person she had wanted to come and see since returning, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Hermione looked so different to the last time he had seen her, her skin was tanned from so much time spent in the Australian sun, and her hair was so much shorter and less bushy than he was used too.
He invited her in without a thought, showed her the changes he had made to the house, and they had only got as far as the first-floor drawing room before Harry started to notice that Hermione looked less interested in the improvements he’d made to the house, and more interested in looking at him. He ended the tour there, came to a stop in the middle of the room, and turned to her.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” Hermione asked him nicely, innocently raising her eyebrows at him in question.
“I don’t know, just at me, I suppose. Are you not impressed by the changes I’ve made to the house?”
“Oh, it’s all very impressive,” she said nodding her head and shrugging her shoulders, “but I was just thinking, that chair over there reminded me of something—” she pointed to one of the armchairs surrounding a coffee table in the middle of the room, “—it’s been so long since we sat in a chair together and pretended to read, Harry.”
Harry’s lips went dry as he stared down at her. He had seen that look from her before and he knew what it meant. He glanced around the room curiously, searching every corner, before returning his gaze back onto her.
“It’s a shame there’s no books in this room that we could read.”
“I think we’ve moved beyond pretending, don’t you?” Hermione asked with a laughed, she rand her hand across the torso of his shirt as she passed him, her eyebrows raising at the muscular tone that she could feel him hiding underneath, and then she made her way over to the armchair, and stood behind it. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Harry smiled and did what he was told. Hermione then moved around in front of him and began to unbutton her jeans. Harry tried to swallow but his throat was dry, he watched her svelte fingers push the fabric down her tanned legs, she kicked her shoes off in the same motion as stepping out of her jeans, and then tossing them aside. Next her fingers reached for her underwear and she pushed those down as well, although after she stepped out of them, she kept the elastic hooked around her forefinger for a moment, twirling them teasingly in front of Harry, before tossing them aside as well.
Harry stared at the spot between Hermione’s legs, and she stood there, letting him. She was in this moment at her most vulnerable, but there was no other man in the world that she trusted more than him, and so she felt safe and secure. She took a step forward so that she was within arm’s reach, but he did not reach for her, he did not yet touch, he looked up into her face, and even though he saw the look of consent in her eyes, he still kept his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, respecting her.
“Your turn,” Hermione said with a nod.
Harry knew what she meant. He struggled with the front of his own jeans – Hermione resisted the temptation to reach down and help him and just watched instead – then he kicked his shoes off just like she did, pulled his jeans down his legs just like she had, and removed them, along with his boxer-briefs, to expose himself to her, just like she had to him. By now, they were both aroused, and even though his was more obvious than hers in general, they could see the arousal in each other’s eyes.
Then came the time for her to take that last step forwards, and climb onto his lap, where she belonged.
“Have you ever before?” Harry asked with fear.
“Yes, twice already, with you,” Hermione said as she attempted to settle into a position, where her crotch was lined up with his. “Don’t you remember?”
“Those times we didn’t actually have sex, Hermione. Not really—”
“Close enough,” Hermione whispered as she began to lower herself down. “Harry, if you’re asking me whether I have ever done this with anyone else before, the answer is no, but if you’re also asking me do I want to do this, the answer is definitive yes, maybe, I think so…”
“Hermione, if you’re not sure, then maybe we should—”
Harry had wanted to reach for her and stop her. He wanted to give her as much time as possible to think properly about something as important as this, but before he could do or say anything else, she had slipped down onto him, and he was inside of her. Merlin, she felt great, Harry thought, as Hermione slipped the rest of the way down his length so that he was inside of her up to his balls, and the two of them just sighed as they sat there in that position, contemplating what to do next.
“You feel so good, Hermione. Does it hurt?”
“A little bit—”
“We can stop—”
“No.”
Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. She could only move on him a little bit, nowhere near as roughly as she had in the past, when a barrier had remained between them, and the sensation of rubbing against him had been enough, and insertion had not been needed. Harry wanted her to be as comfortable as possible with this, so he didn’t try to push her, he didn’t try and tell her what to do, he just held her gently by the waist, letting her do the movements she wanted, and letting her decide what was next.
“It feels nice, like this,” Hermione whispered, she opened her eyes and looked at him, the sight of him making her smile, “but moving… I want to fuck you, Harry Potter, but I want it to be nice, for the both of us.”
“We don’t have to move,” Harry said, he slipped his hands further around her back, and she narrowed her eyes at him, “let’s just stay like this, I’ll hold you, and you can move when you feel like it.”
“Do you just want me to be your cock warmer?”
“I just don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”
Hermione bit her lip as she stared at him. He could see that the edges of her mouth were twitching, trying not to smile, but it was inevitable, and before he could see that she was grinning from ear to ear, she buried her head into the nook of his neck, and began to laugh.
“It’s okay. Let me be your cock warmer, Harry. I’m exactly where I want to be, anyway.”
“And where is that?”
“Your lap.”