About Harry

Hermione

It's ten o'clock. The room is dark, I cannot ascertain if he is sleeping or not. Surely, he isn't moving. Where should I sleep? I'm undecided. Again, what is right and what it feels right is clashing.

To take some time to ponder over it I step into the room, led by the little light coming from the window, groping furniture to find my book with the intention to read a little bit in the kitchen.

A swish makes me turn and I see Harry's silhouette moving. He sits up and rising a knee he rests his forehead on it.

Sensing in what mood he may be in I pronounce his name to divert his attention. He startles at this unexpected sound and turns toward me. I'm barely able to discern his contour, surely not his expression but as he gets out of bed, I perceive a sense of purposefulness as he ambles steadily toward me, for some reason rising in me some mild uneasiness.

When he is so close I can almost feel the heath coming from his body (too close then), I gulp about to ask how he feels.

He doesn't allow me to.

Closing his hand on my mouth, he thrust me to the closest wall and, with the other hand, expertly relieving me of my knickers, he gets off with me there. Against the wall. Like that. Easy peasy. No questions asked.

Well, what can I say... it has been quite coarse. There was a lot of aggressivity in this lovemaking.

Yet, I greatly enjoyed, I must be honest. Together with yesterday, some of the best intercourses I ever had actually. All this vigour really inflamed me, hence, far from me to complain. I reached more climaxes in those than in the last six months... Actually, we can also be honest here, a full year.

When he had reached his, he stays there, pressed against me, panting heavily. When his breathing returns steady, he releases me, walking soon after out of the room without a word or a second glance, leaving me, there, weak and shaken by the tumultuous encounter.

I have not the time to get back my composure that he is back handling me a small towel.

While I'm making use of it, I can only detect his contour sitting on the sofa, but I perceive quite clearly that he is stooped on himself with his head bowed. Perhaps Ted is right. I'm not helping him.

After a few second, he runs his hand in his hair and speak.

'Do you fancy a bath?'

I'm a bit surprised by the question so I blab stupidly 'A bath?'

'Yes, a hot bath. I rather fancy one'

Ok, I understood correctly. He wants to take a bath with me, although formulated as if asking if I feel like some milk in my tea. I'm perplexed but I play his game pretending that is a normal proposition the one is making me like if, instead of taking a coffee after work or going to exercise together, we would take hot baths any other day. I try to impart a nonchalant tone in my answer, just like if what he is offering me it's quite a normal thing, nothing to get excited over. It come out a bit too shrilly, but he doesn't seem to notice as he is out again.

A second later I hear the water running and with a leap of joy I realise that this is indeed going to happen. I follow barely touching the ground with my feet.

He hasn't switched on a single light though and I have to stagger my way up to the bathroom.

'Shall I pop the light on?' I ask naively once there.

'No. Let's keep it off'

Which means he doesn't want to see me. I pretend not to understand and consequently not to feel hurt by this whim of him that proves Ted's point even more markedly.