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Borrower of the Night

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Halloween was not a good time to be around Harry Potter. Everyone knew that - and everyone knew to leave him alone.

Everyone except Hermione.

The sun was just setting when she had shown up at his house. He must have known she’d be able to break through his wards with one flourish of her wand, because he still opened the door for her, though he said, “You should go.”

“Oh, but I won‘t.” Pushing him to the side, she entered Grimmauld Place and headed directly for the kitchen. As she did so often, Hermione took a kettle from one of the shelves and started to prepare tea, all the while pretending not to notice the magic coming off him in waves.

“What do you even want?“ Harry asked, his voice layered with impatience as she set about tinkering with the tea things.

“I want to keep you company,” she replied casually. This earned her a snort from her best friend of fifteen years.

“You know very well that I am not someone whose company you should keep on Halloween, Hermione.”

The way her name rolled from his lips tickled something in Hermione’s brain, and she experienced a coil of excitement. Yes, she knew. That was why she had come.

Harry was a kind man, 364 days of the year... but there had always been a latent darkness looming beneath his calm and controlled exterior. A darkness and a power that called to Hermione. Always had. And on Halloween, when the veil between this world and the next became thin, this darkness became impossible for him to control, eager to take over, to play and tease.

For some years, Hermione had been curious about what happened to Harry each Halloween night. Ever since Hogwarts, he had isolated himself that day of the year. Like everyone else, she had initially theorized that perhaps he went into hiding as a result of emotional trauma from it being the anniversary of his parents’ death. A few years ago, however, this hypothesis was nullified when she’d had to comfort a somewhat traumatized Ginny on November the 1st.

Ginny had only spoken vaguely about the one time she had been with Harry on Halloween since his coming of age. She had been spooked and flushed crimson at the same time, like she could not admit to herself what had occurred. Though she would not directly say what had happened between her and Harry, Hermione had picked up on subtle clues: namely, the fact that Ginny could not sit in a chair comfortably, and that there were several large love bites on her friend’s neck that she had sloppily attempted to glamour away with a charm. Despite being a spitfire on the Quidditch Pitch and having a metaphorical spell she could cast over nearly any man, Ginny was into more traditional sex - and from the little she was able to glean, Hermione knew that whatever had occurred between Harry and Ginny was certainly anything but.

The unknown only excited Hermione. She had tried to experiment with Ron before, but those few times had been unmitigated disasters.

She wanted Harry.

But she resisted; she had been with Ron, after all. And while Ron had never been jealous or uncomfortable about her friendship with Harry, he insisted on her staying away from their best friend on this particular night. He could not explain why exactly, but he had always said something about a ‘gut feeling.’

Hermione hadn’t needed an explanation. She had felt it…

...Felt the change in Harry call to her.

Truly, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when she had started wanting Harry. Maybe it had been back while they were attending Hogwarts, or maybe even during those months they had spent in a tent on the run - nearly a decade ago now - but a part of her had always been… curious … when it came to him.

Ginny’s relative silence had continued, even after their breakup a few short months after the incident. That was the first time Hermione had been tempted to go to Harry. To explore.

All these years, she had wanted to observe him on Halloween, to see what he would do with his magic and to those around him. This time, she’d give in. They were both single, after all. Whatever happened, Hermione wanted to test the waters. What could go wrong?

In the worst case, she could put to rest some theories she had about Harry and his Halloween problem, right? Still, there was a voice in her head, telling her that she wanted this to be more … that this night was an opportunity to explore hers and Harry’s relationship without fearing any consequent damage to their precious friendship.

Now, standing in his kitchen with a cup of tea in her hands, Hermione found herself telling him, “I know I shouldn’t be here. But I am your best friend, and I won’t leave you alone just because Halloween makes you a bit... crazy.”

The dark chuckle that came from the man in front of her made her knees weak so that she had to lean against the kitchen counter. She had felt trapped, but that feeling evaporated very quickly when his eyes found hers, and all she saw in them was delicious sin.

“Best friend? We will see.”

Taking the mug from her, Harry’s fingers brushed against hers for a second, and Hermione felt her throat going dry. At least she had been partly serious when she said she didn’t want him to be alone; the fact that she was a caring friend was one of the reasons she was there. As for the other reasons… she had no clear idea.

There had always been moments in the past, scattered over the years, when there had been more than friendly chemistry between the two of them. Short glances... not-so accidental touches… a flirty exchange of words. But never had they even come close to putting a toe over that invisible line of friendship that tied them together.

Of all nights of the year, tonight in particular, it felt as if this line was as non-existent as the border between the world of the living and whatever came after it.

“So, Harry.” She cleared her throat. “What do you usually do on Halloween? Watch a movie? Read a book?”

“Not exactly.” For a brief moment, she could see the normal, sane Harry flickering through those green eyes of his… as if he were debating telling her the truth. “You‘re going to stay with me for the entire night?”

“Yes,” she said. Then more quietly, “I suppose.” Bravely, she squared her shoulders. “You’re evading my question.”

“I go out. To a club or a bar in the Muggle world.”

“Because no one knows your face there,” she inferred.

“My face. My glasses. My scar.” He shrugged, so casually arrogant that Hermione felt he could have given Draco Malfoy a run for his money. “And then, I let go a bit. At least until the night is over and I am back to my boring, normal self. The self that is nothing more to Hermione Granger than her best friend.”

There was something enticing hiding within his vague description of ‘letting go’, and Hermione wanted to familiarize herself with the concept… specifically, with the concept of what it meant to him. She had seen him fighting, she had seen him dying, she had seen him winning and conquering. Now she wanted to see him letting go and losing control.

“Harry…” she started, tensing. He had stepped closer, so close she could smell his shower gel.

“Forget it,” he ordered. Placing his cup of tea, only half-finished, onto the counter, Harry made it so there was barely any space between them. “Stop thinking. We’re going out.”

And then, he grabbed her.

The next time Hermione opened her eyes, Harry had Apparated them into a dark alley. She could hear the bass of music resonating and the joy of laughter spreading from the nearby street. A club, probably.

For a moment, she struggled for balance until two strong arms steadied her.

“Harry,” she chastised, slapping one palm against the hard planes of his chest. “You could’ve at least warned me. The splinching risk is significantly higher when the side-Apparated person isn’t informed beforehand!”

She felt more than saw his grin. “Ah, but I love that expression of surprise on your face.” One of his hands left her arms and cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. “It makes you look so innocent. Even though I know perfectly well that you are far from it...”

Hermione swore he must have been able to hear her heart beating. The darkness of the alley made Harry appear more… dangerous. His eyes practically gleaming, illuminated by the streetlamps nearby, he was the perfect picture of an iconic hero with a dark past. His green eyes now danced over her as if he wanted to know every detail of her face - their color eerily reminded her of the emerald hue in Slytherin’s crest. Had she ever made that connection before?

She might have considered this line of thought further but was distracted by Harry releasing her and pulling out his wand. This, she knew, was more of a habit for, these days, he could perform most spells wandlessly.

“What-”

“I can’t let you go into a club without the proper attire now, can I?”

A moment later, Hermione felt magic washing over her. When she next glanced down at herself, she gasped; he had changed her jeans-and-jumper ensemble into a short, black dress that showed more of her cleavage than she was used to.

“Harry, what’s this? I look like some slut like this!”

He had the audacity to smirk devlishy at her words, and she couldn’t not notice his eyes wandering over her breasts. “But I like this look on you… and don’t worry. I won’t let you walk away with any other man. You will be going home with me .”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she analysed the tenses he had chosen. Was it a bit of arrogance that he was so sure she would be going home with him?

“Be glad I didn’t give you a real costume,” he continued. After modifying his own wardrobe into some dark jeans and form-fitting black shirt, he took her by the hand. With a wink, he added, “A Playboy bunny, for example.”

With that, he turned and pulled her out of the alley, smiling like he always did when he made a lewd joke. To know that her Harry was still in there - somewhere in-between whoever or whatever he was tonight - calmed Hermione while simultaneously excited her.

The club he had brought her to was as typical a Muggle club as could be: loud music, a bar, men and women dancing with and around one another. They could be in London, or in Manchester, or in any larger English town, really. Hermione did not care. She trusted Harry - even this Harry - to the point that she knew he would not lead her into a snake pit. At least not without warning and certainly not without her wand… which inconveniently still lay on the kitchen counter at Grimmauld Place.

While leading her though the club toward the back, he held tight to her hand. As soon as they settled down at the bar, he asked her, “What do you want to drink?”

“Vodka,” she replied without thinking.

However, once the drink was in her hand and rolling down her throat, leaving a burn in its wake, she reflected it had been no coincidence that her subconscious had prompted her to pick this drink. Vodka was her drink of choice because it reminded her of Viktor Krum. She had run into him at a conference a few years ago, back when her relationship with Ron had been on an official pause. Viktor had subsequently been the first man to introduce her to sex far beyond what she had previously experienced. Then some more, after her final break-up from Ronald.

“Vodka was an interesting choice,” Harry commented, though not without a subtext. After all, it had been he who Hermione had called to come and drive her home after her liaisons with Viktor, when she had been too drunk to Apparate.

“Is it?” She swallowed with difficulty, feeling Harry’s irresistible gaze on her.

“Mhmh.”

A drop of the vodka ran down the outside of her glass and on her fingers where she was still holding it. Reflexively, Hermione raised her hand to stick the fingers in her mouth, but Harry’s firm grip on her wrist stopped her. As if he was following some unseen program, he led her hand to his mouth.

The touch of his lips on her skin caused her to shiver.  His eyes never left hers when he sucked the liquid from her fingers, the inside of his mouth warm and wet. She probably should have been shocked, or at least confused, by the way her friend of so many years was making her tremble, but she didn’t. Instead, an unbound curiosity, along with a good portion of attraction and lust, coursed through her.

“Hey, want to dance?”

Their exchange was interrupted by a red-haired woman tapping Harry’s shoulder. A pretty one, Hermione noticed, with ample curves and a too-short skirt. Not that she could really judge, dressed in her magically conjured mini-dress and peeptoes.

Harry turned toward the woman, but before he replied, he let his eyes travel over her body unashamedly. Hermione felt her cheeks redden, even though his lewd gaze wasn’t meant for her, or perhaps because of it.

“Why not?” he finally answered. With a wink, he left Hermione alone at the bar.

She looked after them as the two made their way onto the dance floor and felt an uncomfortable pang when she saw Harry’s hand gripping the other woman’s waist naturally.

A new song started playing, a similar kind of thumping, bass-heavy song from the last one. From where she sat at the bar, Hermione could observe Harry and his dancing partner perfectly. Tonight, he moved with an ease and smoothness she could not help but admire. Though, Harry honestly was no accomplished dancer, he held his body with a confidence and poise that made it clear there was power rippling beneath his exterior. He was a born leader, even if it had taken him years to accept it; his colleagues looked up to him, went to him for advice, and his skills were legendary. Hermione, however, loved to tease him about the fact that Expelliarmus was still the spell he opened most duels with. It was so… Harry. Simply her Harry. A man she knew inside-out.

Or so she had believed.

Ever since the day Ginny had blushed to the tops of her ears when trying to vaguely explain her Halloween night with her then-boyfriend, Hermione had suspected Harry had some secrets… Secrets she planned to uncover tonight. She was a scientist at heart and curious to a fault, even if that curiosity had led her to go after three-headed dogs, wanted criminals, and basilisk’s fangs in the past. Now, it led her to go after Harry: Harry, who was so controlled, except for this one night in the year. Of course, she had some theories as to why that might be…

Still, her motives were not as selfless as one might expect from Hermione Granger - far from it. Because when it came down to it, she felt an internal conflict. There was a part of her that wanted to help her friend with whatever happened to him each Halloween, yes… but there was another part that didn’t want to think about knowing something was wrong with him. That something wicked could be going on within him. She was more than tempted to give in to her inner voice, whispering its own wicked thoughts… Did she see how attractive his beard made him? How broad his shoulders had become? How his eyes sparkled when they shared a laugh, a joke, a smile, a hug?

...Sparkled like they did right now, as he cast a sly smile at his nameless dance partner. The sight of it stirred something in Hermione, an energy she wasn’t sure she could command much longer.

The pair was still dancing closely, and the woman turned her back to him, only to grind her arse against his front. Apparently, though, that was not what Harry desired; he twirled her back around, ignoring her surprised squeal. With his hands splayed over the small of the woman’s back, he pulled her back into him.

The small gesture, so possessive and erotic, caused Hermione’s control to snap. Sliding off the barstool, she marched over to the two of them. Among her friends and family it was public knowledge that, when very emotional, Hermione became ruthless, almost vicious in her methods toward reaching a goal. And this night’s goal was Harry. But the Brains of the Golden Trio was not the kind of woman to shove someone away, cause a scene, or instigate a catfight - no. With a subtle nod in the girl’s direction, she simply cast a wandless Confundus , mentally reminding the woman that she had forgotten to water her plants at home… and that it needed to be taken care of immediately .

Just like that, Hermione stood in front of Harry, who was now lacking a dance partner. He looked at her expectantly and without thinking twice about it, she stepped into his opened arms, accepting his nonverbal invitation to dance. Her arms automatically slipped around his neck, while his hands settled on her waist.

After a few beats of the music, he pulled her closer and tilted his head down to murmur in her ear, “I like the heat in your eyes, Hermione. Why do you show it so rarely?”

He had never spoken her name with so much hidden meaning before. Like a lion waiting to strike.

“Because you rarely treat me so that you deserve this, Harry.”

He smirked. She had never seen Harry smirking at her either. It both vaguely unsettled and attracted her.

“It is called ‘passion’, I think.”

“Passion or not, it’s not very polite to take a woman to a club and then dance with others,” she replied defiantly.

He pulled her a fraction closer. Amused, he asked, “Are you jealous?”

Shrugging, she did not answer right away, unsure how she felt about providing any confession just yet. But when he searched her face, her heart plummeted to her feet. Suddenly, he had become serious - all somber and Harry again.

“No, it wasn’t nice to leave you behind like that, Hermione. But nice isn’t tonight’s headline for Harry Potter’s Chocolate Frog card.” An undertone had crawled into his voice again, dark and promising. Hermione was captivated and intrigued by it. “I wanted to see how serious you were about spending the night by my side. There’s no going back after it.”

Through her fog of fascination, Hermione noticed he had left open whatever exactly he meant by ‘it’. Whatever happens with him this night? What was going to… no, what would happen between the two of them?

Whatever it was, it was inevitable at this point. And she craved it. So she nodded, willing him to continue.

“It will get worse for a couple of hours until the night breaks. I will lose control at some point. I always do.”

“What happens when you do?”

He spun her around so that her back was flush against his front: the exact position he had not tolerated from the redheaded woman.

“The women I take home… they scream ,” he growled into her ear, the heat radiating from him setting every nerve in her body on fire. “And then, they scream some more. And do you know what they scream?”

He toyed with the fabric of her dress, his hands trailing over the sensitive skin at the fronts of her hip-bones. She trembled in his hold. “Harry…”

“Exactly.”

It was too much - the tension, the arousal, the excitement. Closing her eyes for a moment, her head fell against his shoulder.

“What is happening to you?” she rasped.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

One of his hands glided across the thin fabric of her dress, over the space beneath her belly button and above her mound, before settling over the other hip. She was caged in his hold now; it made her feel equal parts excited and safe. His other hand skimmed over her neck, her collarbone, then down the side of her breast.

“This doesn’t matter right now,” he growled, his hot breath ghosting over her ear. “Come on, you’re Gryffindor’s Golden Girl. My Golden Girl. Does it really matter what happens with me? Do you want to pick my problems apart with your brilliant brain and solve them, like you always do?” He nipped at the skin on the side of her neck, and she released a helpless moan. “Or do you want to jump into the unknown and find out?”

Suddenly, he released her, and she was only grounded by her own, shaking knees. Instantly, she felt cold without his contact, but it also let her breathe freely.

He had said his piece, and now, she realized, he was going to let her choose. Even though he was oozing seduction and darkness, Harry had left the final decision to her - but her decision had been long made. She was hyper-aware that the tune of their friendship was about to change dramatically. For better or worse, she did not know, and in that moment, she didn’t care.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Hermione pulled him down for a kiss. When her lips touched his for the first time, he did not hesitate to answer, his arms dragging her closer to him. He was so close Hermione could not tell anymore where he ended and she began. His tongue slid into her mouth, eliciting a desperate sound from the back of her throat that she wasn’t proud of.

Her hands reached up and tangled in his hair, her fingernails running deftly over his scalp and causing him to hiss in pleasure. He answered by cupping her arse, encouraging her to arch toward him. Kissing Harry, holding him like this, was like dancing on a slumbering volcano: she was drawn to the heat, enjoyed the danger, but she wanted to see him burn and erupt . With difficulty, she pushed herself from him, receiving a nip to her bottom lip as consequence.

“Harry, get us out of here,” she requested a little breathlessly. Wandlessly, she cast a weak Disillusionment Charm on them both, just enough for them not to be noticed in the press of the noisy club. “Make me scream your name.”

A promising spark flashed through his eyes. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say something like that…”

Holding her tight, he again captured her lips. All other sensations were lost to her in the passionate kiss… and suddenly, though it seemed they had barely arrived at the nightclub, they were Disapparating away from it - but Hermione could not complain. Not when Harry’s eyes were as molten as her desire for him.

Now, pressed up against a doorframe inside Grimmauld Place, Harry’s mouth traveled from the side of her lips and down her neck.

“You have no idea, do you, Hermione?” he growled lowly. His teeth grazed the skin on her neck, making her gasp. “You have no idea, how long I’ve wanted you?”

“N-no,” she stammered excitedly.

With a dark chuckle, he began sucking on a pulse point on her neck; her blood was already thrumming through her veins in anticipation. He had one hand on the wall beside her head and was leaning into her. Meanwhile, his other hand was cupping her cheek in order to better feast on her skin - and it was delicious.

Hermione Granger had long ago grown into a witch that was comfortable with who she was as a woman… and that included the part of her that always wanted just a bit more . Especially when it came to her sexual needs. She had experimented with men, and with women - for research, naturally - just to find out what it was that she needed. Yet, none had ever been able to bring her to orgasm unless she did the job herself.

And where was the fun in that?

Her hands found his shoulders, grasping them through his shirt, and she could feel how solidly he was built. All those years working as an Auror had really done him justice.

“I’d tell you how long it’s been since I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured, “but I’m not quite ready to scare you off yet.”

A shiver ran down her spine and directly into her sacrum, heating her from within. The truth of the matter was, she had forgotten about words and how to use them for a few moments. “I’m not-” she paused to gasp as he moved lower to suck on her collarbone, “-going anywhere…”

He only chuckled again. “We’ll see.”

The little, black number she was wearing was made of a surprisingly stretchy material, which she supposed explained how it hugged her body so tightly. All the same, it was a shock when Harry’s hand yanked at the neckline of her dress to allow him better access to her neck, chest, and shoulders. They had been back at his house for only a few minutes, and Hermione was absolutely certain she had accumulated several love bites.

“Why would you scare me away?” she breathed out. She had several theories about this already, of course, but she wanted to hear it from him. Her nails scratched along his scalp as she fisted into his perpetually messy, dark hair.

“Always with the questions,” he teased. “But then, you wouldn’t be you, if you didn’t ask them. Tell me, Hermione… are you willing to give me everything tonight?”

She breathed in. Harry was not usually so straightforward. Yet, something about the way he was taking charge was turning out to be a major turn-on. Looking him square in the eyes, she offered the ultimate carte blanche: “Take everything from me, Harry… do it now.”

With a fell swoop, he knocked her legs out from beneath her and had scooped her up, bridal-style, to carry her up the stairs. The corded muscles of his arms were barely straining, and she could not help but admire the feel of his hard, lean body as she was pressed against him. She looked up at his eyes, but instead of the familiar emerald she was used to, she found they had darkened into the deepest black.

What had she got herself into?

He kicked open the door of his bedroom, and a moment later, she was deposited onto his bed… and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, desire flooding her entire being.

Soon enough, his hands were tugging at the hem of her conjured dress, attempting to yank the entire thing over her head. Just as eager as he was, she was yanking at his shirt, creating a tangle of arms between them. The instant his naked torso was revealed to her, however, she had to pause to admire him. Had this been what her friend, Harry, had been hiding under his clothes all this time? He was all chiseled muscle - like one of the marble statues on showcase in Renaissance museums, meant to display the full beauty of the male form.

Before she could say a word about it - not that she was entirely sure what she would have said - her dress was on the floor and Harry’s eyes were raking over her nearly naked self. She had picked out a special bra and panty set in anticipation of the evening’s activities and was pleased to note that it was currently serving its purpose.

Fingering the red lace of her bra cup, an amused smirk stole across his face. “Well, well… looks like you did have an idea what we would be getting up to this evening, hmm?”

She responded by reaching for the button on his trousers, sliding them down until they pooled on the floor and revealing a considerable bulge tenting the front of his underwear.

“Not so fast,” he stopped her. She groaned with frustration, earning another short laugh from him. “You might think you’re ready, Hermione, but you’re nowhere near it.”

She looked up at him. “What do I have to do?”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commanded, sitting up on the bed so that he was resting on his knees and watching her with keen intent. “I want you to teach me the intimacies of what you think you know about your body - and then I will surpass them all.”

Her mouth rounded into a perfect O shape in utter shock, and she could not help but blurt, “What are you?”

“Dear, dear,” he tutted. “Less talking, more showing. And as pretty as your underthings are… I’m afraid they have to go.” With a wave of his hand, he vanished them wandlessly, and suddenly, Hermione felt very exposed.

Hesitantly, she reached downward to the junction of her naked thighs and slid her fingers across her entrance. Though initially surprised by how wet she already was, it was easy work to begin showing him just how she brought herself to orgasm.

Harry was very near and yet not touching her. Hermione was convinced that, as she stroked herself and elicited the first of her soft moans, a crackle of electricity ran like an undercurrent beneath his skin. She might have thought she had imagined it, except for the fact that it had raised all the hairs on her arms.

It seemed almost too intimate at first, too obvious. She teased her clitoris in-between sliding two fingers into herself. Meanwhile, Harry watched with avid fascination. If she had not prepared herself to finally have sex with him that night, she might have found it too strange, considering that before this evening, the two of them had been no more than childhood friends.

A moment later, he was standing from the bed, unbuckling his belt, and sliding his boxer-briefs down his legs along with his pants. When his erection sprang free, Hermione paused to stare.

Typical , she inwardly cursed, I would be friends with a bloke for years on end, only for him to have the perfect penis.

With a firm grasp, Harry gripped himself in a fist and slowly began to stroke up and down the length of his already-hardened member. He caught her gaze and smiled smugly back at her. “See something you like?”

She only nodded. “The truth is, I’ve… wanted you for a long time, too.”

“Then show me, Hermione,” he entreated, his eyes narrowing. “Show me how to give you pleasure… and don’t plan on getting any sleep this night.”

Well, if my fingers weren’t going to do the trick, that might , she mentally affirmed, dipping her already-soaked digits into herself, while her thumb worked at her nub. An expert in knowing her own body, she knew how to quickly elicit a sufficient orgasm, and brought herself to the brink with calculated efficiency. Meanwhile, her eyes were fixed on Harry… on a specific part of Harry’s anatomy.

Gods, she longed to know how he would feel inside of her. She had waited so long. But even as her burgeoning orgasm crept up on her, she eyed the girth of his cock and subtly added a third digit. After all, it was best to be prepared.

She rode the crest of her completion happily enough, but it was somehow less satisfying than when she did it solo. She was too impatient, too needy.

“Hmm,” murmured Harry as she was panting in the aftermath. “That does not seem to have fully sated you.”

Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked up at him frankly and agreed, “No.”

“What do you need?” he asked, one knee sinking onto the edge of the bed to be closer to her.

“I want to taste you.”

His other knee also landed on the mattress, erection bobbing with the movement so that his cock was only inches from her face. Without a word, he locked eyes with her and waited. Licking her lips, she gently pushed him backward until he was lying down and blew over the head of his member. Her gaze flickered up to watch the tremor that ran through his body at the cooling sensation; a hiss escaped through his teeth and her tongue darted out to swipe at his weeping tip.

She grinned up at him, tilted an eyebrow, and queried, “ Sensitive?”

“You don’t want to tease,” he warned, his voice a low growl.

She responded by swiping the broadest part of her tongue from the base of his shaft, all the way up the underside to swirl around the tip. His hips raised from the mattress to thrust into her mouth, meeting the bobbing of her head as she sucked. Her hand lifted from where it steadied her balance on the shifting mattress to pump at him while her mouth concentrated at the top, alternating the movements.

She closed her eyes, continuing her ministrations, but he commanded, “You will watch, Hermione.”

Forcing her eyes open, she could not stop the trill of excitement that thrummed through her. Despite that she had just orgasmed, she was already needy and wanting again.

“Don’t close your eyes to me, beautiful,” he murmured in a somewhat gentler tone. “I want you to meet my gaze as you take me in that pretty, little mouth of yours.”

Tightening her grip where it was wrapped around his cock, her other hand began to caress his balls, just to add another layer of sensation to the mix. His hand found her hair, encouraging her to take more of him into her mouth; she did so, gagging somewhat at his size.

“Lie on your back.”

She took him from her mouth, looking at him with surprise. But he only nodded at the bed with a tilt of his chin.

Complying, she laid herself out before him on top of the comforter, basking in the hungry gaze that he swept across her. A moment later, he was climbing atop her, and the impressive specimen she had just had in her mouth was once more back in her face.

Oh… oh , she realized. When his hot breath hovered over her aching sex, she understood. Oh.

Still, she squeaked in surprise when his hands came to rest on her hips and he pulled her closer to his face, burying his lips against her cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” slipped shamelessly from her mouth as his tongue slid the length of her slit, lapping at her heat.

She took him back in her mouth, the new position causing him to bump at the back of her throat, and yet, she found she did not mind the intrusion so much from this angle. Rocking her hips against his face, she needed more , needed his tongue to move slower, with more pressure. Her fingers gripped his hips as he brought his tongue up toward the top of her slit, and she groaned around his cock. He appeared to like the vibrations of her throat clenching around his member, because she felt him harden and his balls tighten.

So it began, the steady push-pull of taking him as deep as she could into her mouth and down her throat, while he coaxed her steadily to abandon. It went on for some minutes, until Hermione’s flesh felt like it was veritably on fire, and the unthinkable was about to happen.

She was going to come… and it was not by her own hand.

“Harry,” she panted. “I’m… I’m going to…”

The admission had molten hot pleasure spiking through her gut – and it was almost as if Harry could sense this, for he growled loudly as her orgasm crashed through her being. The entire time, she held him against her tongue, unable to move much with the heady sensations wracking her body. She could feel her body reacting, almost as if it, too, was surprised by the turn of events.

Seconds later, he warned, “I’m going to, too.”

As she came off her high, these words took a moment to register. He was warning her to move if she did not want to swallow him… but she found she did. Eagerly, she swallowed every drop of his release, while he gasped for breath and cried out gutterally in turns. Heart racing, she only pulled away after a few short final licks, a smug smile on her face.

Nowhere near ready, am I? And yet, she could not help feeling a small sense of emptiness alongside her satisfaction. Harry had already climaxed… and though the night was young and she was sure he would be ready to go again soon, there was still the refractory period to deal with. After all that bravado on his part, the truth was, she was ready to go again.

Rolling off, he stood, looking immensely pleased with her. He observed, “You swallowed.”

She smiled back. Then, her eyes were drawn to his cock… which was still hard.

“I hope you’re not tired,” he said, following her gaze. Leaning forward to kiss her soundly, she could taste her own release on his lips. “I plan to fully corrupt you tonight.”

One of his hands traced down her bare back while he resumed the earlier action of pressing kisses along her neck.

Excitedly, Hermione shook her head. “I knew what I was getting myself into tonight with you, Harry.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that.”

As he held her tightly, she suddenly found herself turned onto her stomach, Harry’s weight resting on his forearms on either side of her as he hovered from above. One hand lifted to ghost along the curve of her body, beginning at her shoulder and traveling to the side, and skimming the sensitive skin of her breast and ribcage, until it settled back upward to fondle her bum. Tremors of anticipation were thrumming through her once more, just like that.

Without warning, he smacked her ass – hard – and though she winced at the unexpected contact, she also groaned with pleasure. That particular kink was something she had explored with a fair-haired chap she had met while vacationing in Amsterdam one summer, and while she had enjoyed it then, it was so much better when Harry did it.

“You loved that, didn’t you, Hermione?” Harry teased, even as he nudged her thighs apart. He smacked her other cheek, causing her to cry out. “I can see we are going to have to explore that in just a little while… but for right now, I’m afraid I’m too impatient.”

With a single, fluid movement, he was buried inside her.

He did not wait for her to adjust but instead immediately began thrusting into her at a punishing pace. Hermione’s eyes fluttered with each movement. She had not had another orgasm yet – but hell’s hounds, if blood wasn’t pounding in her ears as he pounded himself into her again and again, bottoming out against her cervix, which was not usually something she enjoyed, but when it was him , it was somehow different.

She felt another crackle of electricity run up the length of him, but this time, as their bodies were connected, she felt it more intimately. Trying to remember what she had been doing with her hands, she was surprised to find that they had begun to fist into the comforter all on their own. All she could hear was her pumping heart and the raw gasps that seemed to be coming from her chest somehow.

“I am going to fill you to the brim,” he told her, each syllable in rhythm with how he sunk into her. “Until you are dripping. And then, we will go again.”

It was as if her mind had whited out, like radio static. She could barely focus on anything, but his words… and yes, she did want that.

“I hope you know-” she paused to gasp at a particularly deep thrust, “-that I am going to hold you to that.”

Heat was beginning to build within her again. Could it be? Was she about to have her very first orgasm during sex where she was not the one touching herself? Harry had just brought about her first climax during oral sex… it almost did not seem fair that he would also get to notch this milestone of hers onto his proverbial bedpost as well. Yet, there was no stopping it.

Body viciously convulsing, she grabbed a fistful of pillow with one hand and tried to stop the scream that ripped from her mouth with the other. Though he did not cry out along with her, she could feel his member hardening inside her before he, too, found his release. Only then, did his pace slow.

“It’s so hot when you come, Hermione,” Harry murmured, and in that low admission, she could hear the same sweet boy she had always known. It was somehow reassuring.

“That was,” she tried, unable to form a sentence quite yet. She shifted forward so that he slid out of her, and along with it, came a gush of heat, leaving her feeling strangely empty. Flipping over so she could look at him, she admitted, “That was the first time I’ve ever been able to orgasm during sex without stimulating my own clitoris.”

A smug smirk crossed his face as he gazed down at her, “I hope you don’t believe that it’ll be the last time…”

She glanced downward. Her quim was a mess, covered in his release; meanwhile, Harry was still hard. Slowly, a smirk of her own tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she hopefully queried, “Again?”

He chuckled. “Again. I think I’ll have you this way, now.”

Have her, he did. This time, from above, as she watched him pound into her. Her flesh was aching from the abuse, but it was a sweet, filling ache. He worked a bit more slowly this time, as if he were savoring the feel of her more, now that their initial, frenzied coupling had got out of the way.

Soon enough, he had her whining, “Please.” But she did not know what she was begging him for. For her body to stop needing him, perhaps? Or for her heart to go still? Or for him to finally coax out that fourth orgasm so she could finally feel sated?

This orgasm was longer than the last and more desperate… as if her whole body had somehow curled in on itself as she came, her stomach crunching forward as her eyes squeezed shut.

“Eyes open, Hermione,” Harry tutted, lifting her chin with his hand. “You remember the rules, hmm?”

So she watched as he continued to fuck her, orgasm or not, until she was spasming around him with prolonged ecstasy and she had to beg for it to stop.

Harry had not climaxed with her that time, but as he pulled himself from her to allow her a brief respite, she had to wonder where this side of him had come from. She meant to ask, “Who are you?” but what actually came out of her mouth was…

“What are you?”

“I propose a game,” came his reply. He reached out for her thigh, still trembling with the aftershocks of her most recent orgasm, to pull her on top of his lap so that she was straddling him. His cock, solid as it ground against her naked body, was nudging at her entrance once more.

She was about to protest when he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. Naturally, her arms looped about his neck while his arms rested on either side of her head.

When the kiss broke, she repeated, “A game?”

Slowly, almost tenderly compared to their previous mating – which could only have been classified as fucking – he pushed into her, allowing her to sink onto his lap completely. Hissing at the feeling of once more being filled, she was nearly relieved when he did not seem to have any intention of moving right away. They merely sat there, connected, while he looked at her face. His eyes – usually such a beautiful, vibrant green – had been nearly obscured by his pupils… or else they had changed in color, she could not decide. But as she had noticed previously, his eyes were now so dark, she almost felt as if she could see into his soul. It made her breath catch in her chest.

“The game is, you can guess what you think I am,” he proposed, gingerly tucking a sweaty curl behind her ear. “If you are right, I will let you come again.”

He was goading her, and she knew it. And loved it.

“And if I don’t guess right?” she queried, wiggling her hips so that she could properly feel his whole glorious length within her.

“You’re Hermione Granger,” he answered simply. “I don’t doubt you’ve done your research. Let’s begin.”

.

In the 27 years of Hermione’s life thusfar, she had lived enough for a person three times her age. She had overcome a veritable maze protecting a sacred alchemical object, rescued an escaped convict from a terrible fate, broke in – and out – of a supposedly impenetrable wizarding bank, abolished house-elf slavery, and achieved many, many other feats. She had lived .

However, she had never been so frustrated in all of her life as she was tonight.

True, she had done a significant amount of research before approaching Harry on Halloween night. After having brunch with Ginny following one such encounter (and by the grace of Morgana, she could definitely now see why Ginny had not been okay with what had happened), Hermione had been more than a little curious.

What affliction only affected a wizard on a single evening of the year. And why Halloween?

Naturally being something of an adrenaline junkie, she knew that Halloween was the only night she could conceivably approach her best friend, looking for an adventure and counting on finding it in bed with him. Unsure what she had expected, exactly – BDSM, dominance, even perhaps the revelation that he had a bit of Veela blood in him – she had not quite expected him to be sexually insatiable. Or to freely admit that he was a bit of something else .

Perhaps it had been tempting fate, she now realized, not to have been more prepared.

Two hours after her fourth orgasm, she had still not been allowed her fifth. At her agreement to play his game, Harry had performed a few different wandless charms on her, including a spell of levitation, so that her naked body was just the right height for him to lick, fuck, tease, and… whatever else he apparently felt like doing.

He had climaxed into her twice more in that time, once in her mouth and once in her cunt, not bothering to clean up the mess off the floor where it dripped from her. Meanwhile, where she had once thought she needed a break, her entire body was now screaming at her for agreeing to such a game where her pleasure was consistently heightened by his fingers, his tongue, or his cock, but never completed.

So far, she had guessed a number of creatures and situations that she had researched. Each time, his answer had been in the negative… and Hermione was running out of options. She had even guessed the less-likely ones: vampire, cursed, werewolf… the only hint she had had, was his pause at the mention of being cursed, though he had eventually denied this one, as well.

Something like a curse … she thought, trying to brainstorm. This was particularly difficult due to the fact that he was tantalizingly slipping his cock in and out of her soaked entrance. There was a pressure that had built up in her sacrum that she was having a very difficult time ignoring.

“Come on, Hermione,” he pressured, placing the fingers of one hand on her lower abdomen, while with his other hand, he pinched one of her nipples. “You’re so close… one more guess?”

I AM so close , she inwardly screamed, though in which sense of the word, she was not entirely sure.

It was more pressure with each stroke his wicked fingers trailed along her body or each time he slid himself into her sopping, aching womanhood just to pull back out when she bucked against him. Her need for climax practically had her sobbing, because somehow he had found just the right intensity to drive her mad without letting her peak. Stroking her heat, he drained it in equal measure, until her arms were shaking and her lips could not help but wordlessly beg him from time to time.

“You’re a… a… you’re…” she stumbled, pausing to keen lowly as he slid the head of his slick cock over her clitoris. It was a wild guess, but no wilder than the others: “You’re an incubus!”

“Close enough,” he growled, reaching forward to caress her bundle of nerves as he finally – finally – began to give her some relief.

Her orgasm, having been right on the precipice for well over an hour, built at a speed not even to be mentioned, her over-sensitive body like a livewire. Clenching tightly around him, the entire lower half of her body throbbed as she watched his length spearing her with purpose. Her thighs shook, her whole body on fire, as he fucked her through it, his hips slamming into her a final time as he followed her climax, his cock twitching his release. A moment later, she was coming again, more sharply than ever before, almost painfully… the muscles in her stomach and shoulders spasmed in time with the erratic beating of her racing heart.

Carefully, he pulled from her, his seed leaking out of her and down her leg, and gently, with a few whispered incantations, he released the spells holding her in place so that she could collapse softly into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her there, whispering murmurs of reassurance while she caught her breath in the afterglow.

They were silent for a some time. Finally, he appeared to have gone soft again, and Hermione was freely able to admit that she was glad of it. Her entire body was sore, and she was certain that her ravaged sex would never be the same. She wondered if there was something wrong with her that she simultaneously felt fantastic.

The reason for their repose eventually filtered back into her mind.

Close enough , he had answered.

Incubus.

Surely not…

“So,” she murmured, clearing her throat. “An incubus?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Not fully.”

Quirking an eyebrow at him to entreat him to explain, she asked, “What does that even mean?”

“Somewhere along my bloodline, someone mated with either an incubus or a succubus. I found out in some documents that were recovered from my parents’ Gringotts vault after my coming of age.” He began to play with one of her curls before kissing the top of her head a second time. “A curse-breaker was able to contain the evil with magic, but when a Potter comes of age, on the night that the worlds between the living and the dead are closest, the inner demon can escape from the shadow realm and transport itself into the body of anyone of my blood.”

Hermione could only stare at him, transfixed. “Wow, that’s… beyond what I ever imagined.”

“Me, too,” he agreed. “The documents believed that the curse began all the way back with the Peverells – but that couldn’t possibly be true.”

“Why not?” she queried, fascinated.

He frowned, “Well, it’s been so long. The blood should have… I don’t know, weakened, maybe? After all the marriages and other bloodlines mixed in, right?”

Hermione sighed. After everything else that had happened tonight between them, she was actually quite glad to have him asking her questions. Conversations like this seemed almost normal compared to what had just occurred between them. Exhilarating, thrilling, arousing… but not normal.

“This isn’t Mendel genetics, Harry,” she reminded him, gently. “Magical inheritance works quite differently, even if experts haven’t the foggiest clue exactly how.”

He was silent for some time while he processed this, still absentmindedly playing with one of her errant curls. Leaning down, she kissed his shoulder. If she had dared, she would have sucked at some of his sweaty skin, to mark him. Merlin, how she wanted to mark him… wanted to be able to find traces of the moments they had shared tonight in all sorts of places, because the truth was, while she was spent, it had not lasted nearly long enough. Still, one question fought its way through her orgasm-induced haze.

“Is the demon still-” she lightly nipped his skin just below his clavicle, “-affecting you?”

Harry chuckled, and the sound of it made Hermione want to climb him once more, tired or not. He placed a finger under her chin, but instead of pulling her towards his mouth to kiss him and continue this debauchery, he tilted her head toward the window. Outside, the sky had begun to brighten, and the inky black of night had faded into a rich purple.

“Look. The night is over and a new day is born.”

“How poetic, Mister Potter,” Hermione remarked drily. Snuggling herself deeper into his arms, she quipped, “So this means you’re done seducing innocent women and we can stay in bed all day?”

Harry laughed and pinched her bum, causing her to squeak. “I believe nothing about you is innocent. Innocent girls don’t know anything about the pleasures of sex... or how they like to be taken.”

His words triggered an urgent thought in Hermione’s usually overactive brain, and she sat up with a strangled gasp. Wholeheartedly, she announced, “Shit.”

“What?” he asked.

“Harry!” Heartbeat accelerating, she fought off her impending panic.

Gently cupping her shoulders, he brought his face directly into her line of sight. “Hermione, what is going on?”

“What we did… Merlin, we’ve been so foolish !” She was angry with herself. She was a very competent witch, rational, strong-headed, and yet she had lost control over her actions at some point.

Between Harry’s brows, a crease had formed. A sign that he was worried. “Look, we should definitely talk about what happened, but to say it was foolish-”

She punched his shoulder.

“Would you listen to me, Harry Potter?” She paused, gathering breath for what she was about to say. “We had unprotected sex. A lot of it. And even though the chances are biologically slim, with the incubus magic added to the mix… I might become pregnant.”

Instead of his eyes widening in fear like Hermione had expected, his lips curled into a soft smile. “No.”

“Yes! An incubus isn’t a simple, horny demon. He’s also out to seduce and impregnate women! We weren’t exactly careful and-”

Harry leaned forward and kissed her firmly. Warmly, assuringly, softly… lacking any sexual intent. “You really believe I haven’t learned anything from you in all these years? I am prepared.”

His eyes not leaving hers, he wandlessly summoned a potion vial from another room - presumably from the well-stocked potions cabinet in the adjacent bathroom - and directed it into Hermione’s hand. She studied the script on it.

“Morning-after potion? How? What? Who?” she stuttered, her brain trying to catch up with the situation.

He grinned. “Let’s just say that Draco Malfoy has a real talent for inventing potions and can be very discreet about it when he owes you.”

“Harry…” she threatened. “Answers.”

With a deep laugh, he conceded,“Okay, okay. When I discovered my… seasonal problem... I was aware that there were risks, for both myself and the woman. Unplanned pregnancies, sexually transmitted diseases, and so on. At first, I tried using condoms or getting some contraceptive potion into the women’s drinks, but the incubus knew.”

Hermione placed a hand on his, interlacing their fingers.

“Usually, I have at least a modicum of control over my actions when the demon is there. For example, I can pick the club I am going to or the woman I seduce. But when I wanted to use the contraceptives - it wholly dominated me. I am lucky to have come out of everything healthy and without fathering a child.” He pressed a kiss on the back of her hand before continuing, “One year, when I was walking back home on November first early in the morning, I was passing through Diagon Alley, eager for some rich breakfast, when I ran into Malfoy. He has an apothecary there-”

“I knew that part,” Hermione said waspishly.

“Don’t interrupt me, witch,” he teased. Playfully, he reached around her body and pinched her bum again. “After he tried to apologize for past digressions - which included a lot of mumbling and growling and blushing that would have made Ron proud - I stopped him and told him that if he really wanted to make up to me, he’d invent a handy little potion that would combine pregnancy and disease protection during sex… and wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

Hermione was caught between surprise and awe. “Malfoy developed this potion just for you?”

“Yep.” The only way to describe Harry’s face was smug. “Of course, he has the patent on this, and he’s in the process of making preparations to bring it onto the market. But for the past three years, I’ve been the only client of his to get it. Now, if you will kindly drink?”

Without further questioning, Hermione uncorked the vial and swallowed the substance in one go. After clearing her throat and smacking her lips a few times (the potion tasted something like cinnamon), she stared at the bottle while the dogs of her brain began turning. “What have you been doing with the Muggle women? I assume you don’t hand them this vial and simply tell them to drink it...”

“I put it in our morning tea or coffee and make sure they drink it. Then I say thank you, and go.”

Suddenly, Hermione’s bright mood was gone.

“So this is what awaits me? You’re going to make coffee, maybe even breakfast because we’re friends, and then we part ways and pretend nothing has happened?” The words hurt in her own ears, but she needed to know where they stood. After all, it was not every day you went through such fundamental changes in the relationship with one of your best friends. In fact, the last time she had attempted it, it hadn’t ended well.

“I would understand if it were like that. After all, I did use our friendship, our chemistry, to pick you over any other woman,” he admitted, looking guiltily away.

Curious, she asked, “Why do you think I knocked on your door yesterday?”

He shrugged, but Hermione could see the tension in his shoulders. “Because you know I always act weird on Halloween, and you wanted to check on me because you’re my best friend?”

“Yes and no.” Hermione could feel herself blushing, which was utterly irrational considering she was sitting in bed with Harry, totally nude. “I took a calculated risk. Ginny, she… she gave very vague explanations about what happened between you two that night. I couldn’t help but be… intrigued by it.” Her face was quite hot now.

When she had gathered the courage to look up, she saw Harry’s eyes widen and darken at the same time.

Quickly, she added, “You said it already: we have a certain chemistry that mostly remains inside the realms of friendship, but I wanted to… explore if there was anything else.”

“Did you?” he asked, his voice suddenly much deeper. “Is that why you came with a matching set of sexy lingerie?”

He leaned in, his finger tracing that part of her skin where the straps of her bra had been. She nodded and answered with a small moan when Harry’s thumb slid over her nipple.

“Harry…” she started, but he continued his ministrations, now cupping both breasts and teasing the nipples.

Before she succumbed to the carnal pleasures that were about to come, she formulated a question. An important one.

“I have to know-” she emitted a gasp when he turned her onto her stomach. “Did you treat Ginny the same way you treated me? That Halloween night?” She was a tad jealous, even though she knew there was absolutely no reason for it.

“Actually,” he tugged at her curls so that it stung a bit and she was compelled to arch her back. “I was much more careful with her. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Ginny. But she isn’t like you in bed. Mostly, I could ignore that - but not that night.”

He caressed her skin from between her shoulder blades, over her lower back, stopped to cup her behind once, and then trailed his fingers through the slick heat between her folds. Hermione moaned loudly, wanting more, but also needing to finish their conversation.

Even as she curved into his touch, she pressed, “So you are always like this in bed? Adventurous, experimenting-” She paused again; whether it was because she was debating the right choice of words or because he had pushed two fingers, coated in her overflowing wetness, into her, she did not know. “-And a bit dominating?”

He stilled his movements. “Are you willing to find out?”

She pushed herself up into a kneeling position, his fingers remaining in her. “How much time do I have? Until breakfast? Tomorrow? Next Halloween?”

Harry’s eyes connected with hers and in them, she saw no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. A warm shiver travelled through her body, filled with anticipation, curiosity, and a love that was about to shift.

“All the time in the world, Hermione,” he replied, as if it were the simplest thing he had ever uttered.

With a grin, she pushed him onto his back, obviously taking him by surprise as he elicited an amused, growling noise. Straddling his hips, she took his erection into her hands and positioned herself.

“Good.”

And with that, she sunk down on his cock. On Harry’s cock.

Her Harry.

Just Harry.

Until next Halloween. And even then, Hermione would be by his side.