Harmione One Shots

As Sharp as an Indrawn Breath

Summary: Harry is bored during History of Magic class. So he decides to make his own fun. With Hermione. Whether she likes it or not.

Ship: HarryPotterxHermioneGranger

All credit goes to Dreamcatcher977 on Ao3

-----------------------

History of Magic was nobody's favorite class.

It's not like anyone hated the class, per se. There were far more deserving contenders for that particular honor – Potions for example – but nobody liked History of Magic either. That particular attribute set it apart from the other subjects at Hogwarts, all of which had at least a few students who considered it to be their favorite subject. Even Potions.

History of Magic was...boring. Deadly boring. If the essence of the class itself could be captured, it would probably find use as an ingredient of a particularly potent sleeping potion. Nobody could stay awake during History of Magic.

Nobody except Hermione.

Her concentration was legendary, and it would not be dented, not even by the soporific power of Binn's droning voice. Absolutely nothing would distract her during lessons. History of Magic was no different.

Which was why she didn't immediately register the first light brush along her leg. The second light trail penetrated her consciousness somewhat, only to be dismissed at the back of her mind as a draft of air working its way under the desks while she continued taking notes.

The third stroke along her leg fully broke through her concentration.

She gave a squeak and twisted to look below the desk. There was nothing there. The class continued unabated. Some of the students sleepily glanced her way, reacting to the sudden movement and the squeak, but nobody seemed to be noticing her – or anything else for that matter.

Hermione slowly straightened up and picked up her quill, heart racing slightly. She reluctantly turned her attention back to Binns' lesson, although only half her mind was concentrated on his lesson. Which was why she reacted much faster with the next stroke along the length of her leg, her hand reflexively shooting down under the desk and closing around a wrist.

Hermione froze.

There was a hand attached to the wrist – a hand that was currently doing some very distracting things to her knee. The other end of the wrist was attached to an arm. An arm that belonged to her best friend. Her best friend who was currently slumped in his chair, seemingly half asleep like everyone else in the class.

"Stop that," Hermione whispered, sending him a scandalized look as she grasped his wrist, trying to pry it away from her leg. He didn't react at all. To anyone else watching it would seem like he really was half asleep. She shot him a glare, while trying to disguise the fact that she was glaring at him, and generally not being successful at either. Luckily the stillness of the class worked somewhat in her favor.

Unfortunately for her, it worked even more in her torturer's favor.

Hermione let go of his wrist and grasped his hand – which stilled for a moment before his thumb started making circular movements along her fingers.

Oh, for Merlin's sake.

Hermione pointedly pushed his hand away from her leg. There was a brief resistance before it fell away. Hermione glowered at him for a second, making a mental note to hit him later, before picking up her quill and returning her attention to Binns.

Unfortunately for her, the instant her hand returned to its position on her half filled class notes, her molester's hand returned to its position at her knee.

Hermione froze as he grasped the hem of her robes and slowly pulled them up all the way to her waist, trailing his finger up her newly exposed skin, before resuming stroking her leg, now with unrestricted access to the smooth skin of her legs. Her hand shot out to grasp his wrist but the tingles of electricity now shooting up her bare leg and making her nipples harden weren't helping matters. She shot a terrified half glance at her other friend snoozing on her left. His eyes were closed and he seemed completely engrossed in whatever dream was running through his mind.

"Stop. That," she hissed again, trying to shove her molester's hand away and failing to ignore the undeniable effect it was having on her. And through it all, a new problem presented itself – namely the fact that she was falling behind on her note taking. She could either resume taking notes with her writing hand – and in the process give her tormenter free access to her body to continue doing some very distracting things – or she could continue trying to mostly unsuccessfully keep him from having his way with her.

He leaned towards her, seemingly just shifting position. With his mouth near her ear, he murmured one word.

"Concentrate."

And just like that, he was moving away in the other direction, looking as bored as he was before. Except for the glint in his eye.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously. She slowly, deliberately, let go of his hand and picked up her quill, returning her attention to Binns, determined to show no reaction whatsoever to the fingers tracing invisible patterns over the smooth skin of her legs.

Game on.

Over the next half an hour she forced herself to ignore the tingling sensation from invisible fingers stroking her body in slow lingering strokes that made her heart jump, not realizing that her determination to ignore it was making her notice it even more, not realizing that her note taking had devolved to a jumble of meaningless gibberish words snatched at random from Binns' droning lecture.

Apparently, that wasn't enough for the pest masquerading as her best friend. She bit back a whimper as she felt his fingers glide over her thighs, to her hips, to the curve of her backside and give it an experimental squeeze.

She froze as those fingers curled around the thin strap of her panties, and began to drag it down.

She shot him a terrified glance, but there was absolutely no reaction from him, no movement visible above the table while underneath it those cursed fingers were slowly but surely making progress in stripping her of her modesty.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her hands.

Why is he doing this to me?

And then

I must be crazy.

Her face still buried in her hands, Hermione tensed her legs, shifting her weight off her bum for a few seconds. Just long enough for her panties to slide off her bottom and the invisible fingers to give an encouraging squeeze of her arse as a reward. She felt a shiver shoot through her as she felt the panties slide to her knees and down her calves, and just as they came off her feet, she swung her legs to deposit them in front of her torturer.

She lifted her head to glower at him. He lazily, deliberately, flicked his quill off the desk and dived below the desk to retrieve it with more zest than he had shown in any History of Magic class. Hermione bit back a whimper as she felt a soft kiss being pressed against her leg.

And then he was straightening up with a wink, her knickers discreetly folded and vanishing into his pocket. Hermione pondered how her life had come to this.

On the other side, her other best friend slept on, oblivious as usual.

She cornered the pest just after class. She only had a short time before the third member of their trio missed them and came looking.

"I think you have something of mine," she said arching her brow. "And unless you're planning on using it yourself I'd like that back please." The smug bastard grinned cheekily and murmured. "I don't think this is the best place to do the exchange. This might...take a while."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and bit back a whimper. "Prefect's bathroom. Midnight. Bring the Cloak." And then she picked up her bag and stormed off.

This was going to be a long evening.