Desire and Belief

Ch 3: Desire and Belief

Oh, gods, he's coming for me. Harry is coming for me, is crawling over me. It's not Voldemort; it's just the two of us now. This is real. This is wrong. This never would have happened if not for HIM making Harry want me like this. His lips slide over mine, so soft, so like that first time; like before things got horrid and painful, when I thought he was still him and not the monster.

The sun is up, Hermione, this is all Harry, kissing you with his sensuous lips. That's his cock in his pants, wanting you, taking you. He wants to fuck you, he wants to make things right, he probably isn't even thinking straight right now. I'm such a whore; how can I be doing this to Ginny? How can I just snog her boyfriend like this? They love each other so much! I could see it; I was happy for them. I was glad, even when Voldemort took me with Harry's body, he couldn't take that love between them away. But now Harry is discarding it, cheating on Ginny with me, and it's ALL MY FAULT!

I push him away. It's the hardest thing I can think of to date that I've ever had to do. "MM-No! This... isn't right." I'm surprised for a moment that he doesn't stop me, fight me, or hurt me. But this is Harry, I tell myself. The sun is up. He isn't like that. It's just this closeness, this desire that blurs the edges in your mind between the Harry in your bed last night and the Harry who's your friend. It wasn't quite as hard to make the distinction when he didn't know. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that he'd react like this, now that he knows.

"Hermione." His breathing is hard. He's fighting for clarity, for sanity. His body's having a hard time making the distinction, too. "Just let me--no. I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry for me, you idiot, think about the girl you LOVE!" Anger helps me concentrate on the problem at hand and not the problem still pressed against my groin.

"I... Ginny... I." He's so quiet for a moment, the wheels in his head turning visibly. His emotions flit over his features one by confusing one. "I don't know." He collapses atop me, his head rests on my breasts and he is my friend again. I stroke his hair consolingly. This is all we can be; this is the only closeness we can have, otherwise Ginny will be heartbroken and Harry will ruin everything he has going for him. With me! I am not so selfish as to sacrifice my friends' happiness for my own. "And Ron...." He murmurs.

"What does Ron have to do with this?" I ask, still brushing my fingers through his hair in what I hope is a strictly platonic gesture.

"He fancies you, you know. He's just too much of an idiot to tell you himself," he muses, closing his eyes with the hypnotic movements of my fingers.

I don't even know what to think about that. He's like a brother to me. He'd be the epitome of everything I am too ruined to have, just like Harry. "You love Ginny, right?" I aim for more comfortable ground.

"I do..." He's trying to let me help him clear away the confusion.

"And until today I was just a friend."

"You were... but now." He sighs and lifts himself above me. I'm startled as he looks searchingly into my eyes. "Now, I can't get you out of my mind." I feel my heart lurch to the side. When did Harry get so good at saying all the things a girl wants to hear? "This is too hard." He lowers back down and lets me resume my soothing ministrations. "Your heart... it's beating so fast," he murmurs with his ear to my chest. He hears everything I wish to hide. "You're shaking."

That isn't all that's happening to me. My chest feels tight, and my head light. "I wish we could just stay like this forever," I admit. No boundaries crossed, just the delicious torment of these feelings washing over us. It's intoxicating, this closeness. I'm feeling safe, but wild. Such promise here beneath him! Everything is new, exciting, and uncertain. So much to be lost and such a fragile thing to gain. If we can just stay like this, poised on the edge of surrender but never giving into the pull, I would be content. Because I know how it could be between us. So does he.

We reach a kind of rapport, not going any further, just staying where we are. My heart pounds in my head, but my breathing is deep and even. It's sweet, beautiful. My crotch is aching with being unfulfilled. A sweet ache, this aroused awareness of Harry, my Harry.

After what seems like a lifetime, he breathes in, gets up, stands, and holds out his hand to me. A wave of sorrow and loss overtakes me for a moment due to the absence of his comforting weight, but I know it is for the best. We can never go onward to where our desires would take us. Maybe Voldemort will still use him, but I know that the sick pleasure will feel different than this quiet emotional attachment he and I have found.

No boundaries are crossed. There is nothing that we can't take back and nothing we will regret in the light of another day. "Have you eaten yet?" I ask him.

"I had a muffin, but I could eat again."

"Let's go to breakfast." I hold his hand, still not willing to give up the contact as we leave my Head Girl suite and emerge out into the halls.

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I drop his hand outside the Great Hall. He smiles at me. He's saying, "Well, here we go," without words. I guess we've gone beyond words. I nod. He opens the door. We step through.

Conversations don't stop, and no one so much as glances up. This is normal, him and me, walking in together. We've done it so many times. Why did I think everything would be different? Because everything is different. We've changed, he and I, and I can't believe nobody can see it.

We head over to the table. There's a seat beside Ginny, a seat beside Ron, and a space big enough for the two of us to sit together a little ways down the table from them. I look at Harry, willing him to sit beside his red haired soulmate, where he belongs. He gets the message. It takes less than a second. He slips in beside a grinning Ginny. She watches me to see if I'll take the seat beside Ron, obviously meant for me. It's such a little thing, I've done it before without thinking. But now I know why it is this way: he fancies me and is trying to tell me without having to put it into words. With my new knowledge of his feelings, and a new look into non-verbal communication, I can see it. I don't know how to handle it. So I act like nothing is wrong, everything is normal; nothing has changed and I sit next to Ron.

The wattage of Ginny's smile goes up a notch. She's his sister, how could she not know, of course she knows. I barely catch the relieved breath that Ron lets slip out. He was holding his breath. I'm sure he didn't even know it. He resumes the messy eating that he's infamous for. Harry scoops some eggs onto his plate and immediately tucks in. "Morning, Ginny! Ron," I chirp. I always do my best to be polite. Even to those who will shrug it off like it's nothing, because that is who they believe me to be. It's what I'm known for. Always show respect to your elders, always be polite, never curse or use vulgar language of any kind, be proper in thought and deed, and above all else, mind your studies: my supposed inner mantra to those who never bothered to really get to know me, (i.e.: Everyone).

"So," Ginny begins immediately. "What are your plans for the Christmas Hols? Harry's staying at the Burrow with me and Ron; all the family will be there."

"Actually," I start, stop. I blush stupidly, putting bacon on my plate. I grab eggs and a flapjack. I take another breath before revealing my plans. "I was going to stay here at Hogwarts. My parents are going to visit family in Australia. I thought I'd get some extra studying done for my N.E.W.T.S. My Head Girl duties don't leave all the time I'd like for that." Honestly, it's what they'd expect me to say. (See above inner mantra.)

"Sounds riveting," Ginny's voice is laced with irony. Ron takes that moment to swallow whatever it was in his mouth and put his two knutts in.

"You know, it's not exactly the way I'd want to spend Christmas."

"I know, Ron. You practically have to be tied up and forced to open a book and study."

"No... I didn't mean studying. I meant alone, without your family or your friends. Every one else will be at home, opening presents. Maybe you could come to the Burrow, too, just for the Solstice."

"I don't know, Ron..."

"Come on, it'll be fun," Ginny coaxes. "Mom will probably give you one of her awful sweaters. There's gonna be a huge feast. A lot of Order members are going to show. Every year we all get roaring drunk about midnight off whiskey and eggnog and sing carols around the piano. Last year, Fred and George charmed the tree to sing 'Deck the Halls'. The thing looked so much like the Sorting Hat we laughed for hours!"

"Yeah." Ron nods, never as eloquent as his gushy little sister.

"Maybe," I mutter noncommittally, but she sees me crumbling.

"The year before that, Lupin got up on the piano and sang 'Santa Baby'..." she dangles that precious little image in front of me like a piece of candy before a diabetic sugar-junkie.

That's it. I'm hooked. "Okay," I capitulate.

Ron beams. Ginny claps her hands. Harry smiles, although a little bit of apprehension filters through. I gaze at him steadily, thinking at him as loudly as I dare, We can do this. It'll be perfectly normal. A little alcohol and Yuletide spirit isn't going to make us THAT incredibly stupid. I can almost believe it, myself. Besides, there's still three full weeks to go before we're crammed into the Weasley Nest like so many human sardines.

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A week passes by, then two, with no sign of Voldemort's little midnight visits. I start to think I am free. He's never stayed away this long. My dreams are untroubled and my sleep becomes easy. I'm warm and safe beneath the covers, and the restless beating of my heart stills as I start awake as the aforementioned hour comes. Midnight: nothing. There's nothing there. Relief and regret dance in the shadows again tonight. I pass once more into easy dreams.

I start awake an hour later as a familiar weight shifts the bed. It's Harry. Voldemort has caught me unawares again. My pulse kicks; it speeds up and I'm fully awake.

"Hermione?" My belly does a flip-flop. The thrumming in my snatch causes a flood and drenches my thighs.

"I'm here." I play along with our little game.

"Will you hold me again?" This has never been part of it, but Voldemort is devious. "I just need to reassure myself. I won't try anything. I know we agreed."

"Harry?" He's fooling me, I just know it. He's doing it all over again. "Harry, how can I know if it's you?"

"I know. The sun's down... but... I still can't stop thinking about you. Just an hour, it's all I need, just an hour in your arms and I can sleep."

If it is Harry, I should send him away. This will only complicate things. But I'm so very wet! I've had no sexual contact for weeks. It makes me weak. Also there's the issue of my unconditional love for him. If it's Voldemort, well, I should just play along and let him have his way, otherwise he'll hurt me.

I make up my mind, lift back the covers. He slides in beside me, rests his head on my shoulder ever-so-gently, so like that first night...

"Please," I whisper, "I don't want to play any more." Frustrated tears threaten my sight.

He lifts his head, pulls out his wand from some pocket somewhere. He casts a quick "Lumos" and sits up on the bed beside me. His hand still rests on my abdomen, as if he's afraid to lose contact.

I can see his face; his eyes are his own. The emotion he shows me is a needy, insecure one. I am mostly reassured.

Mostly. His expression further weakens my pitiful resolve.

He probably has no idea what it is he truly needs. But I do. I feel the need of it acutely: a coiling spring winding in my gut. So here we are, back where we shouldn't be, poised at the edge of that huge precipice as if drawn there. The only differences being: (one) that it's night, and everything is so much easier to excuse in the night, (two) that we're only half-dressed, and (three) that this is the stage where all of the acts of sexual congress between our bodies were preformed. I'm of the belief that flesh and places have their own memories. So everything is completely different.

The edge of this cliff is slippery one. I can feel myself falling already.

"Harry..." My voice is low with the dangerous emotions with which we play. It also lets him know that I am aware that it is him, only him, here of his own free will. Our choices are our own. It is a warning, a beckoning call, a confession, all rolled into that one weighty utterance.

I watch it trickle down over his awareness: He shouldn't be here. I am weak. I cannot send him away. I want him. It's torment. Does he have the strength to hold on to his control for both of us?

"I'm...." he starts, cannot finish. His hand clutches spasmodically in the satin of my nightgown at my stomach. Our breathing is hard though we stay and do nothing. His eyes close, he turns his face away. Strain is evident on his features. When did this become so hard? "I shouldn't have come."

"But, you did." I can't stop myself from calling his eyes back to mine.

Green eyes pierce right through me in the half-lit chamber of my bed's shadowed hangings. "I did," he answers me with absolute finality. Absolute intent.

My hand reaches up to cup his cheek. He presses his face into the palm, kisses it. He breathes out, "'Mione." The sound: his surrender to gravity.

Something snaps inside and the dam breaks. A torrent of emotions sweeps him under. He grabs my wrist and pulls me under with him. His lips descend and capture mine. A rush of warmth and delight sweeps upward from my toes to my scalp. The hand at my stomach sweeps to my side and slips over the satin to curl around my back.

I am lifted in his arms to sit chest-to-chest with him. His lips are making tormented love to mine, a wealth of wanting poured into the sweep of his tongue, into the caress of his fingertips down the column of my my throat. He lowers his hand to settle over my breast. My arms slide around him. I kiss him in return, reverently worshiping the muscles of his back that have become taut with restrained passion. He bears my weight back down, sweeps his legs over mine, between mine. They've fallen open without a thought, only the whisper of sound against the sheets.

I'm too keyed up and too far gone. I can't stop this and neither can he. I hook my big toes into the elastic waistband of his flannel trousers and push them down. His back arches up to help me. They make it to his knees while he still devours me, fumbling slightly with the edge of my nightie. My arms are tightly hooked behind his shoulders. His arms are a frame of steel-over-velvet within which I am safe. We press together in desperation, his hard, sweet cock rubs my swollen flesh and slides over my slickness.

"Wet, wet, gods, so very wet!" he groans against my lips, bucking his hips.

"Har-ry!" The hitch in my moan, high and pleading, is all I can do to say how much I need him inside me.

He finds the angle, pushes deep with a groan, and we stare into the wide eyes of one another. Surprise, triumph, wonderment is all there in the space between us. Like it's our first time all over again. In reality it is. "Perfect fit," he says in awe. His head descends to kiss me again. Our bodies begin to speed up into a frantic rhythm, as if our pause had never been. His thrusts meet the spot created for him, there at the back; I've had no other lover but him. He's wild, hard, tormented passion sprung from its cage and released into me. He isn't gentle, like I had thought he would be. Still, nothing about this hurts but my heart, knowing we've given in.

I am momentarily caught up in amazement that he's lasted this long. He has amazing stamina for some one who's never truly done this before. Though, I should expect that the fact that his body has would make the crucial difference in that regard. This night is the gift that Voldemort unwittingly gave us, regardless of what the consequences will be in the morning. My thoughts dissolve back into the incoherent stew of molten pleasure he's busily churning me into.

His thrusts get harder, wilder. He pulls back from me and pushes my legs toward my chest. The sounds of our harsh breathing and the punctuation of my moans crescendo along with the blood pounding in my ears. The familiar clenching sweeps me; the pleasure in me spirals quickly closer and closer to release. My cries grow frantic, needy, close--oh so very close! He's crying out, too, his urgency matching my own. "Pull out, you need to pull out, Harry!" I find somewhere within me.

So close so close so close--and he does pull out. My orgasm hits me with the very last thrust to throw me over the edge. From his throat emerges the beautiful sound of his pleasure-stricken cry as his seed spurts out to hit my satin nightie on my breasts and belly. He falls over on his side, letting out a groan of spent passion. We stare up into the canopy of my bed as our breathing returns to normal. He grabs his wand, still glowing and tangled in blankets. "Nox," he mutters, then, "Evanesco," before he drops it and his arm heavily to the side. "Dear gods," he sighs, turns his head, smiles at me. I smile back at him. He gropes for my hand and holds it gently in his own. A peculiar light is in his eyes.

I recognize that light, a much brighter version of what's always been there when he's looked at me in the past. It's changed and grown, become something I never would have thought to expect, from Lumos to Lumos Maxima in a few tumbled, frantic moments. Don't say it, please don't say it, if you do, it'll mean so much and ruin everything and Ginny and Ron--

"I love you," he murmurs fondly, with all due weight behind each syllable. My heart skips.

"I love you, too, Harry," I whisper with all the truth and regretful knowledge of my heart.