Daylight Interlude

Daylight.

I awake in a bed not my own with willowy limbs stretched around me and lovely caramel curls on a pillow beside my head. The night's events come back to me in a breathtaking rush. Hermione's sweet face is relaxed and almost as full of carefree innocence as the days when we first met. Too often of late, our faces seem older than our true age in dealing with the threat of Voldemort, the death of Sirius, the death and subsequent disappearance of the body of Dumbledore. I, for one, refuse to believe the man is truly dead. That is the only reason I am here, waiting for his return. Return, he will, I am sure when the time to strike is at hand. That is also the reason that Severus Snape lives, not cut from his mortal coil by me.

Hermione inhales quickly and shifts at my side. The motion of her leg over a very sensitive part of my anatomy brings that part of me immediately to life. Before she can come completely 'round and ruin what we shared last night with regret and demands for secrecy and repentance, I roll easily on top of her and rest my growing erection firmly at her entrance. Her eyes snap open and regard me for a nanosecond, her mouth open to say something definitively Hermione. I don't give her the chance. I capture those sweet warm lips with mine before they can do their damage to my heart.

She moans into me, quite wonderfully, but her hands come up to my chest and apply pressure there. I hold her tightly to my chest, not letting her dissuade me in the least, and kiss for all I am worth. I bear down on her with my weight, thrust slowly against her. Soon her half-hearted protests disappear with the flood of liquid warmth that takes my breath away. I release her lips with the assured knowledge that she won't try to stop me again.

"Oh, GOD, Harry, we shouldn't!" The longing and defeat mingled in her voice spurs me on, brings me to heights of desire I am not fully prepared to experience. I just groan in response, her hot, wet folds and friction against them shoot pleasure through me like lightning.

"Harry..." Her voice is keening higher, so full of yes and no that I can't decipher it all in my mindless state.

"They're going to kill us..." Her breathy sigh tells me all I need to know. I adjust my hips and thrust home. Her delicious shout is counterpoint to my own. Soon I am pounding into her soft body with the force I tried to restrain last night, trying to brand myself all over her, inside of her, and claim her for my own. No one else should see her hazy bedroom eyes, the dusky rose of her nipples, the creamy white of her naked skin, or hear her moans of pleasure, meant only for me. She starts out panting, goes quickly to low moans, and progresses higher in pitch until she's nearly screaming my name.

Her muscles tighten about me, trying to break my stride, trying to wrest control back from me. I ride her contractions out, only slowing slightly. The claws she rakes across my back fall lax and soothing fingertips replace the sting I barely even felt. Perspiration marks her brow, a few curls stick to her face. If I were a painter, I would commit that face to canvas, to look upon its breathtaking mystery and beauty for all my days to come. Her eyes are alight with golden fire; the irises fix on me with lust and profound love. I wonder if she knows how much she shows me with that look, clear past her heart and into her soul.

My hand slides down a thigh looped over and behind my waist. Before I can really understand what I am doing, I shift my hips up, bring her rear slightly in the air and start to caress the strip of skin directly below where we are joined. It is slick and wet with her juice. Her eyes roll up into her skull, and she lets out another low moan at the feeling of my fingertips there. The depth of my thrusts increase, but the pace slows.

"What do you want me to do, 'Mione?" I whisper.

She takes a very long time in replying. I see her thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, weighing words. "Lower," she finally groans out.

I only have so much lower I can go before I am touching... The thought sends a thrill down to my toes. I lower my hand and feel the soft puckered ring of her back door. Her breathing speeds up, if that is possible. "Wet your fingers..." she continues to tell me. I raise my hand and insert my middle and forefinger into my mouth, licking her musky juices from my skin. My heart flutters madly at what I am about to do to her. I let the slick saliva coat clear down to my last knuckle before returning the digits to that elusive and erotic other entrance.

She gives me no more helpful instruction. I slide the wetness around the hole and massage the muscles from the outside. I feel a new wave of wetness drench me from her insides. She's thrusting back up against me firmly, her body doing everything in its power to urge me on. I press an exploratory finger in, to the second knuckle, shocked at how tight and smooth and so very warm it is. I wonder momentarily what that would feel like on my...

Her moans have already changed, lower and huskier, deeper than I've ever heard her voice. She's shivering slightly. I press the finger farther and am rewarded with the next flood. I feel my thrusting with my finger from the other side of a barrier, surprised at how thin that wall is. I crook my finger and feel the added pleasure of it against my thrusting shaft inside of her. We groan aloud together.

"The other one..." she whispers. "Put it in me as well."

I slide my finger almost all of the way out and add the other one to the entrance. Her body accepts the new invasion with very little resistance. "Mione, have you... had my... in here?" I whisper in awe.

"Once," she trembles out. I crook the two fingers and am immensely satisfied with the result on both our parts. Her admission nearly floors me and saps the remaining restraint I have left. I begin thrusting harder, moaning in time with her, feeling her walls restrict on both the parts of me I have inside her. There comes a point where she goes completely still, her vaginal walls like a fist around me, the soft little ring of her ass tightening and releasing in quick little murmurs around my knuckles. The sensations do me in. I'm coming faster than planned. I pull out as fast as I can, hoping it will be fast enough.

One spurt lands on her mons before I can press the underside of me there and direct the streams away from the danger zone. The slickness of it seeps to her clit where the very base of me presses; my fingers are still caught in her ass. The look of shock she shoots me takes me by surprise as my ending thrusts put friction on her sensitive nub. My fingers are clutching inside her in time with the hand fisted in the sheet at her side. She throws her head back one last time and shudders in pleasure as the rim of her ass suckles my fingers again. Dimly, I recognize she's having another orgasm, just from my fingers and her clit alone.

I hold myself above her, still half-hard and growing stiff again. I stiffen the two fingers inside and draw them mostly out, before pressing them back in experimentally. Her moan lets me know she's not in any pain, quite the opposite, in fact. The motions I make in her anus are driving her mad with pleasure. I feel the trickle of juice from her inside meet the driving hand at her ass with the help of gravity. I soak a third finger in it and try to add it to the group already inside.

I meet some resistance with this one, her body twitching and her breathing ragged. I do my best to slim the bunch to their smallest possible width, and still I see no sign of pain. I thrust my fingers in and out, mentally measuring myself against what I have put in that little ring of muscle. It would still have to stretch more...

"Oh, for GOD'S SAKE, Harry, just put it in there already, I know you're wanting to. "

Her voice shocks me out of my mental calculations. "Really? But won't it hurt?"

"Probably, but I don't care, just quit TEASING me!"

I remove my fingers with a lustful moan from her. I scoop up the semen deposited on her front, slick my length with it and position myself at her back door. Suddenly, I'm so very nervous that I stop and just breathe.

"Harry..." Her voice is pleading with me.

"How should I do this, I mean... do I need to do it any way in particular?"

"How should I know? I only did it the once with--with..." Her face turns a beautiful shade of pink and she looks away, almost as nervous as me. I do my best to recreate the sensations that threw her over the edge last time and settle a thumb over her nub to counter-act any pain my entry might cause. I rub its slicked surface slowly as I press my head to the rim of her anus.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, visibly relaxing every muscle as she does so. I really need to find a charm or something that will make this easier on both of us... next time. A nod from her is my cue. With an indrawn breath I push, the muscles of her bowels resist me. I pull out slightly and adjust, before pushing back as I would if this was her virginity, in and then out, finding my way in slow increments. Beads of sweat sparkle on her face. She's shuddering and shaking, grunting with each inward push, trying her best not to seize up or cry or something. I am sorely tempted to stop this little encounter. She needs more preparation, a spell or something to make this not quite so difficult on her.

I guess she sees my indecision, and rasps out, "Harry, don't you dare stop, not now." I make a few more passes and with a shock, find myself completely encased in that ring of muscle. The feeling is hard to define, so I won't try. It's not better than vaginal, nor is it any worse, just different. The fact that her body wasn't built to accept me in this manner makes me bask in the wonder of the heights of pleasure this form of intercourse can bring to both of us.

I rub her swollen flesh with renewed vigor, wanting, wishing, for her fluttery contractions to shudder over my length, beginning to feel the burn of her tightness along my persistent thrusts. Soon I am circling her clit in snapping motions, my hips are slapping against her ass, and the only sounds in the room the sharp smack of flesh on flesh and our ever-heavy breathing. Her moans punctuate the air, music to my ears.

Then, all at once, she seizes up, her hands claw the air, I feel that ring of muscle simmer over my flesh, and the waterworks shoot from her unoccupied opening. It is too much for me.

Another volley of thrusts, increasing in speed and depth until I am pressed as far as I can go and am shooting hot cum inside of her. I feel the aftershocks grip her body one after another. Her muscles play over my too-sensitive cock, eliciting aftershocks from me as well. Here we are, still joined, our flesh fighting against one another for the last word. My head is bowed. Her neck is arced out. The scene, I am sure, is one of profound beauty.

Finally, I slip from her; her groan indicates she misses the feeling of fullness. We are speechless. Good. Now nothing hurtful can be said on the matter. I refuse to see how something that feels so good between people who love each other could possibly be wrong. After a long time, I hear her take a breath to say what I don't want to hear.

"Shower and then breakfast?" I ask, cutting off that terrible conversation before it can start. We can work out the particulars some other time. Right now, I just want to bask in the glorious afterglow that is spending the night in Hermione's bed. Morals be damned. I'll deal with Ginny later.

"Sure, Harry." She seems to know what is going through my head. That is good as well, because she concedes the point.

I lift her up off the bed in my arms and carry her to the private bathroom she shares with no one. Thank Merlin for small mercies. Not even an irritated Head Boy to contend with. I don't think I could handle it if Hermione had to share a common room and bathroom with another man.

When we are under the spray, all is right in my universe.

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Interlude:

Harry pulls me under the water with him, the rivulets of warmth caressing my skin in a sensual dance made more unbelievably erotic by his nearness to me. He captures my mouth with another kiss and plunders everything there. I briefly wonder if he's just trying to keep my mouth busy so I can't talk sense into us. What was done is done, but do we have to make it worse by compounding the problem? Just at this moment, my senses are being overrun by the feeling of wet skin on skin with the disorienting affect on the senses that flowing water over one's head and back brings. His gorgeous body is pressed up tight to me; my breath is stolen from me by hot kisses, water, steam and the slightly crushing tension of his arms around me. We're both panting; nothing else exists in the world but the shower, this heavy feeling, and us. Every nerve ending is alive, his hands scraping along my back, kneading muscles there.

I give in to all the urges pressing at me from all sides--the need to touch him back has been plucking at my fingertips. With a groan I give everything I've been receiving and let the magical timeless moment sweep me--with him--away completely. Everything is humming, so hot and deliciously... pressure, pleasure, desire... Gods! Just lips and teeth and arms--his chest, so hard, my breasts pressed against hard muscle. Ripped, that's what he is, just unbelievably corded and hot and wanting ME. The hard length of everything about him, thighs, cock, abs, pectorals and arms pressed against me, is it possible to be this close? All these parts of us are colliding and together, sliding in slickness that makes it seem all the closer. Breathing ragged, I could come just from this; I could live like this, ravenous for him and sated in the heat and reality of him.

I cannot stress just how perfect all of this is: aching, tormenting, completing, compelling, another edge, another place between where we were and where we are. I thought I knew him, but now, I feel as if I AM him, with all the confusion that these desires and emotions bring because it's all too much, all too real and piquant and STRONG. The human mind wasn't meant for the processing but mostly just for quick transition. Here in the between, in the paradox: this is where we live now, where we are nearly--but not quite--there. Where we are right and happy and nothing can touch us, not time, not outside influences, not temperance, not restraint.

And yet it's all an illusion. Somewhere in the madness we break contact so that we can breathe. So we don't just die where we stand in the name of 'The Edge'. A few quick rasps and he reaches for me again. I am addicted to his touch, to his emerald eyes boring into mine--drilling to my soul. We dance in the dark places a while longer, in the places that are meant to be momentary. Dimly I am aware that he lifts me, and I feel the cold tile of the wall on my back, soothing me, bracing me. He slides his shaft home, sheathing it in my core.

Another plateau reached, another timelessness. With nails biting into shoulder blades come torrential longing, a storm of desire, raindrops pouring in a private universe. He moves in me, firmly, deeply; agonizingly intense eyes hold my gaze. I frame his face with fingers as he moves us with my legs wrapped around his lean hips. I try but can't keep the wonder, the longing, and the amazement out of my expression. His eyes smolder as he eats up my every emotion with his hungry gaze. I cannot help it: I want this, want him, need him, love him. It only serves to prove to him he is right. It fuels this course of action. It presses him closer to me, when I am poison to him. He is stubborn. He will do what he wants, what he thinks is best. I cannot stop him any more than I can stop the orgasm that is winding its way through me, gripping at his plunging erection, pulling at the seed within him in waves of contracting lust as I throw my head back and moan loudly.

But he holds on, despite my body's efforts to make that not the case. He wants more from me, needs the loss of control that is coming, needs to hear me shout his name, and will not be satisfied until I bare my soul to him and show him just how depraved I really am.

Here it comes.... "Oh, Harry... Oh Gods, yes, Harry! Harry! You're--oh Gods, yes! So hard, so fast, inside of me... So deep! Fuck me! YES! HARRY!"

He comes with a rumbling shout, building inside, torn from his lips as his hips piston in and out. Faster, harder, grinding, binding, taking away all the sanity in me. He doesn't pull out; he lets his damning semen pour in to storm the gates of my womb as he forces his way deeper into my soul. I feel the dregs of it seep out around his still-hard erection as he holds me in place against the wall. I'm trembling, so is he. There are no words... none to describe.

Heaven and hell walk hand in hand. Redemption and damnation are two edges of the same sword. What feels so right is wrong, what feels wrong is so very compelling. We do this because we cannot help it. He pulls his cock from me, eases me down the wall, and kisses the thoughts right out of my head.

We are doomed.

And still, nothing is resolved.

And still, so many questions and conflicts remain.

But I know this isn't the end. We'll do this dance again.

I follow him into my bedroom with swirling thoughts: confused logic, all. I love him but I must push him away, but he will never let me. Because he's Harry Potter and the only way that this will end is if he decides it is so.

He picks up the clothing strewn on the floor by my bed, gives his pajamas a sniff and makes a weird face. He drops them in the chute. He rummages in my closet, a jovial smile on his gorgeous face. How can I crush that lovely happiness? How could I possibly let him down? So I keep my horrid torment to myself and resolve to trust in Harry. Harry can fix this. Harry can make it right, he'll save us all one day, and so he must know what he is doing. Right?

He finds a pair of jeans in the back, transfigures them to fit his slightly taller frame and magically lets out the width of the legs so he doesn't look ridiculous in them. He does the same to a white tee shirt of mine and does it without effort. I am proud of him for a heartbeat. He slips into it all and the sight of him fully clothed is only slightly less arousing than the sight of his nude body. The jeans hang off his lean hips and the thin material of the shirt clings to the muscles of his chest and abdomen.

I am damned. I am lost. How can I say no to Harry? The years of Quiddich and the manly form he's grown into are not lost on my hormones, which at the moment prompt me to rip the clothing right back off him. Thankfully, he's slightly thick in the head after our bout of awesome sex in the shower, so he doesn't notice the look of all-consuming lust on my face and the fact that my mouth is slightly open in mindless wanting. I manage to tear my eyes away in time for him to come up to me and kiss me quickly with my arms uselessly holding the towel to my breasts.

"See you at breakfast, yeah?" He waves to me from the door, blushing slightly as I mutely nod and wave back.

I'm going to hell. I just know it. But, gods, I'll enjoy the ride.

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Breakfast happens in a sort of uncomfortable silence that only seems that way to anyone who feels guilty about something. Ron is single-mindedly tearing into whatever sustenance he can get his hands on. Ginny makes moon eyes at Harry who self-consciously fidgets while he shovels food into his face. I, for one am attempting to gauge the reactions of everyone while looking anywhere but at Harry. I forget myself and catch the eyes of one of the people I normally do my best to ignore: Draco Malfoy. He notices my interest and makes lewd gestures with his fingers and tongue. I turn my gaze to the seat beside him and watch the perfectly painted Pansy Parkinson cackle with glee at my discomfort.

It is all becoming quickly too much to bear this early in the morning. I excuse myself and retire from the table. I have to make a visit to the infirmary to take care of a little... "problem with the girlie parts" as they say. Poppy looks agape with complete incredulity that I, Head Girl and bookworm extraordinaire, would ask for such a potion. I attempt to mollify her, to tell her that it's not for me, but one of those girls I'm supposed to help when approaching a faculty member just isn't an option. She's happy to believe the lie. She hands me instructions on activating the contraceptive, tells me to make sure the girl takes it. I promise her I will.

I go into Moaning Myrtle's lavatory, hoping that nobody else will be around. I drop my hair in, watch it fizzle, and drink the stuff before I can smell or taste the result. I banish the container and leave to sit in the library amidst the stacks of books that want nothing from me... well, nothing more than to be read and understood, for that is the purpose of books. An hour later and I feel the disconcerting tingly feeling on the back of my neck that says I am being watched.

I nonchalantly slip my hand into my pocket and feel the familiar smooth wood handle of my wand. Pretending that nothing is amiss, I brush the tendrils of hair out of my face that have escaped from the loose bun I tied them in. I stand and stretch, working the kinks out of my neck before wheeling around, wand at the ready.

Nothing. There is no one there.

Instead of being reassured, I am doubly wary. There are so many reasons why I should not drop my guard, so many ways to fool the sight. My awareness reaches outward as I close my eyes. I sense no malice, no evil intent, only the strange feeling of a pair of eyes watching me, weighing my actions, waiting. "Impervio," I murmur, thickening the air around me to guard against magical attack.

Through the magical barrier, I see a shimmer. I latch onto it with my eyes and follow the blur to the door. There is no sound, only the pounding of my battle-ready heart and the soft whisper of my steady breathing. I drop the barrier at the same instant that I cast an Immobulus charm at the shimmer. I feel the power of the spell catch and bind whatever is hiding behind a disillusionment. My wand still pointed at my watcher, presumably bound by the power of the charm. I cautiously make my way to stand before the place my spell hit.

"You can drop the disillusionment now, or I will find out who you are any way. And believe me, you don't want me to have to find out for myself." I wait a heartbeat or two. Nothing happens. For all my bravado, I am not entirely sure if I could cause any one any real harm. After all, no evil intent was being pushed my way. I reach out to the place where the mystery watcher should be and encounter something soft, but firm. It takes me a moment or two of feeling around before my mind wraps around what it is I am touching... rather, groping.

If there was any doubt in my mind, it is now completely gone as a soft, feminine sigh of pleasure reaches my ears. "Ah, umm...." I stammer... "That's your breast, isn't it," I state kind of matter-of-factly, still stunned at the feeling of a nipple straining against my palm under a thin layer of fabric.

"Yeah," the girl says in a breathy kind of whisper.

Why haven't I let go yet? "Well, umm... right then." My hand drops to my side and a sound that is suspiciously like disappointment comes from the vocal chords of my mystery girl. "Drop the disillusionment." I try to gather my wits from out of the embarrassed confusion, coupled with some other elusive emotion that I can't rightly fathom at the moment... definitely don't want to think about it. NOT desire. I'm a--well, I think I'm straight. It's completely beside the point, really. This is just not as important as finding out who's been watching me and why.

The blushing visage of my best girl friend surfaces out of thin air, looking as confused as I am. The one I've been betraying with my best guy friend. So heap guilt atop embarrassment, confusion, desire, and relief. "Ginny... what?" I wave my wand and she is free.

"Sorry... I um... I gotta go. Don't tell Harry, yeah?" She dashes out before I can so much as blink. Don't tell Harry? Oh, that poor, naive, young, nubile, firm--stop it--redhead... if only she knew the secrets that Harry has been keeping from her--that I've been keeping.

Kinda puts the whole mistaken groping thing into perspective.

Still, it doesn't answer the question of WHY she was watching me. Probably suspicious, and who could blame her? Or maybe she's spying on me for Ron.

And then there's the fact that I still feel as if I am being watched.

Much to my chagrin, I am proven right as slow clapping starts from the stacks behind me.

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A/N: This chapter is actually two condensed in one. Nice and long with lots of smut. You're welcome! I figured I owed it to you after the absolutely horrid cliffy I left you with at the end of Regression.

On a personal note, I found myself a beta! Yay! So my next chapters I will get to thank Drusilla for kindly helping me fix my horrible mistakes.

Review me. I love the reviews!