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For This One Day

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It felt like the best kind of dream, one that is so real you wake up almost feeling sated and full of pleasant aches. Fingers running through her hair, lips all over her body, magic bindings keeping her in the place as a tongue delved hard and fast between her legs, making her shake and moan and come, over and over and over again.

Hermione snuggled back into the sheets, focused on keeping her eyes closed just a little bit longer, letting the dream’s images wash over her.

They were in a shower, water flowing over them. Her legs were around his waist and he was so big. So, so big. She moaned and whimpered, and his lips were silencing her cries as his arms held her in place against the white tiles.

And then they were back in the big white bed and she was on top of him, and it was her spell that was preventing him from moving. She kissed down his chest, angled her hips more as she moved up and down harder and faster, and then she grinned as he shook beneath her, coming undone, the sound of her name a sweet groan leaving his lips.

Hermione smiled to herself under the covers, squeezed her eyes together harder as she tried again to fight off the tugs of wakefulness looming at the edges of her consciousness.

She focused on the man in her dream. His body looked the same as it always did in her dreams like this — his muscles toned, his abs firm, his cock so much bigger than she was used to. He was strong and safe and so bloody handsome.

Dream Hermione moaned longingly and traced her eyes up the man’s chest, over the smooth lines of his neck and jaw, past his soft lips that were partially open and just inviting her to touch them, up to his piercing green eyes and …

Real Hermione started, eyes snapping open, even though her head was still buried in the pillows and there was nothing to be seen but darkness.

Her dream man had always been faceless, always, even back when she and Ron had been together. But today, right now, her dream man had a face.

The face of her best friend.

Hermione rolled over quickly, throwing the blankets off her — and almost screamed.

She was lying in bed naked. Completely naked. Not one stitch of clothing on her body. Her eyes drifted to the left, and she almost screamed again.

“Morning,” Harry said, as he noticed her awake. “So this is different.”


“So we had sex then.” Hermione tugged the sides of the robe she had just put on closer together, as if Harry hadn’t already seen her naked a few minutes before. Or all of last night apparently. She couldn’t look at him, still lying in the bed in the same position he had been in when she’d finally lifted her head from the pillow and realized the extent of the situation. A sheet was covering his lower half, but before she had sprung out of bed to grab some clothing, she couldn’t help her eyes drifting to the bulge in the sheets.

Just thinking about it now made her cheeks flush and, to her embarrassment, sent a flash of heat between her legs.

She gripped her robe tighter.

“Sure looks that way,” Harry murmured. Hermione turned her head in time to see his face redden slightly as he looked away from her. “I don’t really, errrr, remember much,” he admitted.

Hermione let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Me either,” she said.

He turned back to face her, surprise and a bit of relief on his face. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. Images from her dream flashed through her mind, and she felt herself going even redder. “Images,” she finally managed to mutter. “I have images in my head, but I don’t …” She trailed off.

“The shower?” Harry asked. She nodded reluctantly.

“Over there on that chair?” He pointed.

She nodded again.

“And I think maybe on the floor?”

This time she couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”

“Merlin.” Harry shook his head. “We were busy.”

“I’d say so.”

“From what I remember, it was great.”

“Yeah.” She finally let herself smile. “From what I remember, it was definitely great.”

He looked thoughtful. “What do you remember?”

Hermione shrugged, then closed her eyes, let herself drift back in time to the start of the evening. “I remember Pansy and Ron getting married,” she said. “And dinner. I remember dinner. And cake. I remember dancing. And …. Ohhhhhh.” She opened her eyes, a tinge of regret and shame already coloring her thoughts. “And I remember Katie Bell bringing out the firewhiskey.”

“Merlin, that’s it!” Harry’s voice was louder than normal. He snapped his fingers in the air. “I remember George Weasley handing me two shots and telling me it would be fun.” He grinned then and stared pointedly at Hermione. “I guess he was right.”

Hermione felt herself go red again. For goodness sake, how did she even have any blood left to keep running to her face?

She stood up from the bed. “I should go,” she said.

“You don’t have to go.”

“Harry …”

“What?” He shrugged. “I do have the room until tomorrow.”

“What?!?!” Hermione turned, staring at him, shock flooding her entire body at his words. “You planned this?” For a second, her entire world tilted.

“What?” Now Harry was looking at her in confusion, but then comprehension registered. “No!” he said. “No! Not … No! I just … I needed a break from my life, you know that. It’s been … hard. I thought maybe a weekend away … I got a hotel room. I didn’t plan …. No. I wouldn’t. No.”

Hermione crossed her arms against her chest. She instantly felt guilty. She knew how much Harry had been struggling lately. They both had. They’d envisioned life so differently back when they had left Hogwarts, back when the war ended. Families, children, flourishing careers. Not nights spent alone wondering where it had all gone wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I really should go.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“No,” she said. “I should go.”


She was standing in the bathroom, robe on the floor, looking at herself in the mirror. Her skin was flushed pink, and she could see a slight swelling on her neck that looked suspiciously like a bite mark. Her legs ached a little, but in a good way.

It would be so easy to go back into the bedroom, to crawl into bed next to him … But no. Harry was her best friend. Her best friend. She knew too well that sex could ruin things, and she couldn’t let that happen. If she didn’t have Harry …

She was so busy focusing on herself in the mirror, she didn’t realize he had entered the bathroom too until he was right behind her. He was completely bare, his body almost glowing.

He stood behind her, pressed up against her just so, just enough to let her feel him against her arse.

“Harry,” she whispered, but she didn’t move away. He was so warm. He felt so good. “We can’t.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his left hand came around to press against her stomach, palm flat, pushing her just a bit more against him. She could feel the panes of his chest against her back. “We already did,” he whispered into her ear. “Don’t you think we deserve to do it again so we remember it?”

His hand slid up, found a breast, began to toy with her nipple. His other hand snaked around her body now, stroked the fine hair at the apex of her legs, sending a rush of desire surging through her whole being. She gasped as his fingers suddenly disappeared between her legs, sliding over her folds, pressing into her.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said softly. “Say the word and we’ll never mention this again.”

He pressed his fingers a little harder against her, began to stroke her in a gentle rhythm. She felt a finger just barely dip inside her before it trailed back up, found her clit and twirled around it. She moaned.

“You’re my best friend,” she breathed when she could talk again. “This will change everything.”

The fingers of his right hand were still tracing around her clit, pressing harder now. His left hand dropped away from her breast, leaving her with a gasp at the sudden loss of contact, but he traced down her body, fingers fluttering over skin until he moved his hand to the back of her left thigh, trailed down more to grasp her knee and then lifted her leg, placing it up on the bathroom counter, opening her up and letting her watch his fingers dance between her legs. She dropped her head backward against his shoulder and moaned again. The heat in her stomach was almost too much. It was so hard to think …

“What if I promise you it won’t change anything unless we want it to?” he breathed against her neck.

She lifted her head a tiny bit to watch as one of his fingers disappeared inside her. She whimpered.

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, her voice shaking a little. “Are you sure we’ll be okay?”

A second finger slipped inside her. She sagged against him.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

His fingers were speeding up. She watched in the mirror as his lips brushed her ear, as he kissed her softly on the forehead. The hand holding her leg moved just a little, spreading her even wider. She could see herself, see her most intimate parts, see the pink flesh almost glistening with wetness.

She watched his fingers pump in and out of her, felt the pleasure begin to build even more intensely. She was getting so close …

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut. What was she doing? He was her best friend. Her best friend. But his fingers inside her … and the images from the dream … the feeling she had upon waking up ….

It felt so right. So right. Maybe too right.

And it was only one day, just one little day …

“And if this doesn’t go well?” she forced out. “What then?”

“Then we erase it from our minds. We are a wizard and a witch.”

A third finger entered her. She wanted to tell him that what he just said was wrong, that it was so very wrong to use magic that way, but she was teetering on the edge now, a second away from falling, and she wanted him … for Merlin’s sake, she wanted Harry.

“No,” she managed to grunt. “No, for the love of Merlin, don’t stop.”

He didn’t stop. He thrust harder. She came all over his fingers with a cry that could probably be heard down in the front lobby.


He laid her down on the bed, like she was made of glass, then began to kiss her all over her body, his fingers and his lips and his tongue exploring every nook and cranny. He spent agonizing minutes kissing up her legs and stroking the back of her thighs before rubbing his fingers lovingly over her stomach and her arms, over her neck and her collarbone. He found the spot he didn’t know she liked behind her ear, which made her moan appreciatively, and he ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her nose and her forehead and her eyelids and her cheeks.

“Harry?” she asked him halfway through this demonstration, when he was planting kissing along her navel, his fingers tenderly drawing circles on her hipbones.

“It’s the first real time,” he told her softly, not breaking the rhythm of his kisses. “I want it to mean something.”

She wrapped her arms around him at that, pulled his mouth to hers and snogged him. Hard. Their first real kiss. She let her mouth fall open as his tongue probed at hers, and then she was kissing him back with a fervor she didn’t know she had in her.

By the time he ran his fingers over her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples, she was so wet, she thought they were going to find a puddle beneath her on the bed.

“I want you,” she said, breaking their snogging and placing a hand on his cheek so he would look at her. “Now.”

She let her legs fall open, tilted her hips and reached for her wand, pointing it at herself as she murmured the contraception spell. Judging from their activities the night before, she wasn’t sure it wasn’t too late, but she wanted to do it right this time.

She tossed her wand aside and stared at Harry.

“Now,” she repeated.

He didn’t need her to say it again. He was already hard and more than ready.

He slid into her without hesitation. She shifted a little to get use to the feel of him, but she was already so wet and needy. So very needy. She closed her eyes at the sensation of him filling her up, just like she remembered from what she had thought had been a dream, but at the same time, so much better in every way now that she was fully aware it was happening.

She clamped her arms around him, then moved her legs up to wrap around his waist. He started slow, just like he had been going, moving gently, until she could take it no longer.

“For the love of Merlin,” she hissed into his ear. “Faster!”

He laughed — a short bark of mirth — but he didn’t argue. He sped up, her hips meeting his thrusts, their bodies soon working in tandem. He pumped into her and she clung tighter, faster and faster and faster.

She scrunched her eyes and moved an arm to reach between their bodies, but he was already there. She felt his hand, warm and steady, right between them, and then his thumb was pressing hard against her clit and she was crying out his name as she came.

She kept herself wrapped around him as she recovered, urging him along, once again meeting his thrusts until, there, his body trembled against hers and she felt his release inside of her.

He slid out of her with ease, dropping down to the side of her, pulling her into him. Neither of them spoke. It felt almost right to just let their actions speak for themselves.

But soon enough Harry’s fingers were on the move again, trailing over her breasts and delving once more between her legs. Her body twitched as his thumb pressed heavily against her clit, her whole body on sensitivity overdrive, but the wetness between her legs was back full force and she sighed happily.

“Do you trust me?” Harry whispered into her ear.

She turned her head to look into his eyes. “Of course.”

“Do you trust me to try something?”

“Well,” Hermione said, and she laughed as she answered. “We have tried everything else. Or at least I think we have.”

A few minutes later, she found herself in a position she had never expected to be in — floating in mid air, her hands stretched above her head, her legs spread wide, directly even with Harry’s mouth.

He gripped on to her thighs and moved her closer toward him, poking out his tongue so he could lick at her.

Her whole body shuddered on the first contact, and she groaned.

“How does that feel?” he asked her, as he licked at her again, harder this time, his tongue pressing flat against her.

She shuddered again, yet another groan escaping her. “Merlin, Harry, where did you get this idea?”

He laughed as he licked her once more, this time even harder. “George may have lent me a book. But hang on. This isn’t it.”

She tried to lift her head to look at him, but her body was immobilized. “This isn’t what?”

She heard it then, the soft sounds of something moving on its own, like a Muggle machine getting warmed up.


Something was over her head then and she blinked up at it. Harry’s wand. Vibrating. Vibrating a lot.

She licked her lips.


The wand disappeared from her line of sight. A few seconds later, her legs were being pushed apart even further. A thumb stroked over her, from her clit down to her entrance, and then … ohhhh.

Hermione moaned, loudly, as the wand, still vibrating at full force, was pushed inside her, just the tip at first and then deeper.

She tried to shift her body at the odd sensation, but the magic kept her firmly in place. It felt like the wand was thickening as it entered her, filling her up, but the vibrations didn’t cease. Instead they seemed to get faster and faster.

She tried to twist her head or arch her back, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t even grip on to anything, find something to hold on to. Instead she screamed. Screamed as the wand moved faster and seemed to get thicker, screamed as she could feel her orgasm building more quickly than she had ever expected, screamed as Harry’s hands stroked her clit and her breasts and as his teeth bit down on her nipple.

And finally she screamed as the pleasure washed over her, so hard and so fast her vision actually went dark as she felt her body spasm uncontrollably.

She came to on the bed, Harry sitting by her side, rubbing her arm.

“Too much?” he asked her apologetically.

She couldn’t shake her head hard enough. “Oh, Merlin. Not even close.” And then. “Maybe you should borrow more books from George.”


They took a break to order fish and chips from the hotel restaurant, along with a pitcher of butterbeer. Hermione felt a little bad for the wizard who brought them their food. She answered the door in her robe, her hair wild and tousled, her cheeks flushed, her face sweaty. The room smelled of sex — and it was no surprise, since they had done it on practically every surface imaginable, including the floor and the bar — and there was no denying what they had been doing. The wizard stammered awkwardly as he floated the trays of food in and left them on the dining table, not even stopping to take the galleons Harry tried to offer him as a tip.

“Let’s hope this doesn’t end up in the rumors column of the Prophet tomorrow,” Harry said, pouring her a glass of the butterbeer, but for once she couldn’t bring herself to care. She snuggled up against him and munched on her fish.

“I wish this could be real life,” she said softly, once they both had stopped inhaling their food and were now only playing with it, taking little bites here and there.

Harry frowned at her. “This is real life.”

She shook her head at him. “No,” she said. “This is a fantasy, and you know it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe there is a reason,” he said, “why it’s never worked out with anyone else. Have you ever thought of that?”

Had she ever thought of that? Of course she had. Hundreds of times over the years, even back when they were just school kids who had no idea how their lives were going to go.

“Maybe this is only fun,” she argued, “because we know it’ll never happen again.”

“Maybe it’s fun,” Harry insisted, “because I love you.”

Hermione froze, a French fry halfway to her mouth. “Harry,” she admonished quietly. “Don’t say that.”

“You know it’s true.”

“It’s just sex, Harry. That’s all this is. Sex between friends. A little benefit. That’s it.”

“Is that really all it is?” She thought he might sound hurt, but he didn’t. Just pragmatic. She sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want it to be more, it wasn’t that she didn’t love him too …

But she was never one to believe in fairy tales and she wasn’t going to start now, thinking her whole life was going to change because of one amazing day in some ritzy hotel in London.

She needed to change the subject. She elbowed him gently in the side. “How about we review this in the morning?” she said. “No more serious talk tonight.”

He nodded at that. “I do have a few things left I’d like to try.”

“Oh, do you?” He nodded. “And do you want to tell me what those are?”

Harry’s smile turned devilish. Then seemingly out of nowhere a pair of handcuffs floated over to them.

“How about this?” he smirked.


It went on for hours. In the best way possible. Afternoon shifted into evening, which shifted into the dark of night. They clung to each other the whole time, talking and whispering and loving each other. Trying things they had never tried but always wanted to.

Harry used the handcuffs while he fucked her in the arse, then Hermione used the cuffs on Harry as she made him eat her out as she knelt over his face. They took a shower and then another, ending one session with Hermione sprawled out on the bathroom counter, Harry’s head between her legs.

Finally, she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache, and she seriously wondered if she was going to be able to walk at all the next week.

She fell asleep with her head against Harry’s chest, trying not to think about how happy she was — happier than she had been in longer than she could remember.

She woke much too soon, the sun in her eyes as it streamed through the windows and a warm arm wrapped around her, fingers stroking her hair.

She really, really could get used to this. It was the first thought she had, and she closed her eyes as soon as it came, as if that could make it go away. Yes, she could get used to this, she was sure of that, but should she? He was her best friend, and if it all went wrong, if she lost him …

“I can hear you thinking from over here.”

Hermione turned her head to look at Harry. His hair was all tousled from sleep, the ends poking out in all directions. There was a mark on his cheek from the lines on the pillowcase. There was a tiny bit of drool at the corner of his mouth.

She had never wanted anyone so badly in her life.

The realization took away all her breath, and she just stared at Harry for a few moments.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” she finally whispered.

“What if I promise you again that it won’t?” he said. “Aren’t you always the one who says we have to take chances? You’re the one, if I remember correctly, that told Ron it ‘wouldn’t kill him’ to have a cup of coffee with Parkinson, and now look at them.”

Hermione laughed. Yes, that had been her. She hadn’t quite expected it to work out how it did, but if it could work for those two, the oddest pairing she’d ever met …

She sighed. Part of her wanted to believe what Harry was saying, wanted to take that chance. But the other part, the part that said it could all end in disaster ...

She shook her head. Then she rolled over, pressed her lips to Harry’s and let herself melt into his embrace.

“What about we go one more time and see what happens?” she murmured.

“You know I’m not going to let you go just like that,” he said.

“And you know I’m not going to let you have me just like that. I have legitimate concerns.”

Harry stroked a finger down her cheek. “One more time and then we see what happens?” he clarified.

“Yes,” she said, and she leaned down to nip at his upper lip. “We’ll see what happens.”