Harmione One Shots

Scratches

Summary: Ron gets very concerned when he notices that Harry's shoulders are covered in scratch marks.

Ship: HarryPotterxHermioneGranger

All credit goes to Lysander12 on Ao3

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"Bloody hell, Harry, what happened?"

Harry froze midway through putting on his shirt, and turned to Ron. "Huh?"

"Your shoulders!"

Harry lowered the shirt and looked at his shoulder, noting the thin, red lines that crossed his skin.

"Did you do that to yourself, mate? Have you been scratching yourself? Do you do it in your sleep?" Ron was looking progressively more concerned as he went.

"In my sleep?"

"It's not because of... I mean, You-Know-Who isn't making you do that, is he?"

Harry stared at him.

"Hermione!" Ron went to the entrance of their little room in the tent. "Hermione, come here!"

"What, Ron?" Harry grimaced as she appeared, Ron's concern spreading to her.

"Look at Harry's shoulders!"

Hermione's face reddened a bit as she took in Harry's shirtless state. "What about them?"

"Look at all the scratches!" Ron went and forcefully turned Harry around, so that Hermione could see where the marks continued down the backs of his shoulders, nearly to his shoulder blades. "He's hurting himself! What if You-Know-Who is making him do this?"

Harry turned back around to see Hermione's face. She had reddened a bit more. "That's a concerning thought."

"Of course it is!" Ron turned to her. "We have to do something!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know! You're the one who thinks of this stuff!"

"Okay... Ron, why don't you go and take watch? I'll heal the scratches."

"But how do we stop it from happening again?"

"I'll think of something."

His face fell, and he looked at Harry again in concern. "Okay," he finally said. Grabbing his coat, he left to take watch.

Hermione looked at Harry, and what little of her blush she had managed to restrain broke free. She looked down at her fingers. "I suppose I need to trim my nails."

Harry smirked. "Can't stop yourself, huh?"

She arched a brow. "That's your fault. You earned every one of those scratches, Potter."

Harry shuddered. He really enjoyed when she called him by his last name. It had always been bullies or stern professors who called him 'Potter,' and to hear it spoken as an expression of passion was such a wildly different experience that it fed his frenzy for her. He approached. "In that case, why don't I earn a few more, while he's on watch? We can fix the problem afterwards."

He knew her body well enough by now to see all the different little parts of her reaction, all the indicators that told him she agreed with his idea even if she said otherwise. The way her thighs shifted closer together, the way her muscles tensed in anticipation, the way her eyes began to darken.

But she knew that he knew, so she didn't try to resist. Instead, she took a step closer, letting that be her response.

But a step wasn't enough for him. He crossed the remaining distance and lifted her up, placing her over his scratched-up shoulder and carrying her over to his bed. And then he proceeded to earn quite a few more scratches.