Harmione One Shots

Screaming Infidelities

Summary: Hermione must confess maybe Rita was right about her. A girl. A boy. A boyfriend sent on a fool's errand and an empty tent.

Ship: HarryPotterxHermioneGranger

All credit goes to Desginatedreader on Ao3

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"Oh," Hermione moans into the kiss. Her fingers fly into Harry's hair, tugging at his errant strands and pulling him closer. His lips part on a pant, allowing her hungry tongue to taste and devour every cranny of his mouth.

"Mmm," He moans—aligning his head to deepen their kiss. His tongue duels her own, feathery strokes whetting her need, coaxing a fervor response. She drags his leg between hers and humps a rhythmic seesaw.

This needed to be corrected. This had to stop.

Just this afternoon, she kissed Ron, looked into his blue eyes, and told him she loved him. She's told him to lay down his penance; there is nothing to forgive. He had left, but he'd come back. What was important was that he came back. And she loved him. Of course, she loves him. Nothing has changed.

Lies. Too much has changed. She now thinks in before and after.

Before an offer to dance.
After, their bodies swayed together like one.
Before, his fingers traveled further than 'just friends.'
After he kissed her.
Before she led him.
After he touched her. Petaled kisses down her spine. Left moon marks of his teeth on her bum.
After he buried himself far and deep, breaching a barrier only her fingers had ever broached.
After she woke feeling no regret.

Everything has changed.

This ongoing thing with her and Harry is a big change—a cheating change. She, Hermione Granger, is a cheater—a Jezebel. Her life is a Hawthorne novel, A for Adulterous, which lies between her legs. She's everything Rita Skeeter once accused her of. Oh, the howler Molly could send.

"Umm." Hermione keens, eyes rolling, body delighted as Harry pulled back from the kiss, teeth tugging her bottom lip. He works his mouth up her jawline and sucks on her thrill spot just below her ear. Her body is aflame. Nerve endings spark at the heady mixture of his heated tongue and cool tuffs of air he blows after nearly every suck.

"Harry." Hermione whimpers lost in the drizzling feeling that trickles through her system. This isn't right—she continually berates herself—this is a betrayal. They need to stop. "Please." Is she pleading for him to stop or for this never to end? Ron, some foggy distant part of her attempts to remember.

But then Harry's chuckle vibrates on her exposed collarbone, tongue doodling, fingers dancing along her body through clothes, and then her shins hit wood -have they been moving this whole time?- Harry plucks her up like she weighs nothing and deposits her on the makeshift kitchen table. He looms over her, a huntsman, ready to devour his prey. She's in a daze, blinking up at him, lost in lust. She wants his mouth back on her. She wants him to possess her, edge her to delirium, and unravel her into a boneless mess. 'I understand,' his eyes convey.

Harry falls to his knees. He holds her gaze, slowly tugs up her jumper, and dives his head underneath.

"Oooh." Hermione falls back on her hands in feverish anticipation. Tension coils her muscles; her baited huffs echo in her ears as Harry lays bites and kisses across her stomach. His fingers dance at the waistband of her pants, dipping to play with the band of her knickers, tease the hairs of her cunt. He pushes his face into her, nose and chin mapping down as every inch of skin feels each of his breaths. He unbuttons her trousers...uses his teeth to pull down her zipper...his fingers hook on her belt loops...pulls down her pants....lifts her right leg out...now her left...and then he stops. Hermione nearly chokes on a sob.

Harry moves his head forward until he is inches from her. The tip of his nose outlines the dampness of her lips. The friction of skin and fabric drives her mad. She feels his deep inhale and nearly breaks as his growled words ("you smell sweet") revibrate her core.

"Harry, please."

His nails graze her thighs as he pulls her knickers off, and then, and then—

Low, sultry, incoherent mews escape Hermione. Her fingers grip Harry's waves, holding him firm against her. At first, there was a long slow lick and a light tapping of her clit, and then his tongue probed her in a slow, repetitive rhythm. In and out, her muscles taut with every pull. Ripples of pleasure spiked down on every nerve. And then his lips fused and held her clit, sucking her tiny bud. He unchained wild, delicious feelings. Tampered with her sanity and stirred primal needs.

What was a one-sided love -because she is no longer sure if she was in love with Ron if she ever loved him like that- in comparison to Harry tongue fucking her? Tormenting her to abandon. Pushing and pulling, coiling her tighter and tighter.

"Ah..ah...oh..oh..oh fuck."

Hermione falls back on the table, her back arches, her hips rise beat for beat. Only Harry could appease her. Only Harry could reel her in wicked delight. Only Harry could stroke such a fire in her, shuttering her higher and higher. Hermione thighs quake. Her toes curl. There is a warped struggle for breath, and still, Harry does not let her go. He licks at her feral and fast. And she can't. She can't. It's too much. Her body is stiff, her nerves overwhelmed and—

"Oh, fuuuck."

She is awash, drowning, in a wave of delirium.

She is a cheater. Adulterous. Jezebel. Betrayer. The girl who will come between two best friends. Let Rita Skeeter write what she may. Let Molly Weasley howler herself hoarse.

Hermione pants in spent bliss. In a few minutes, she will rise and spell herself clean. Magic will take away the scent of infidelity and deceit. Until then, she lies in her high, breathing in time with her source. Harry is an opiate, a sin she'll never discipline herself from.