The Lost Horcrux

Close to the Bones

Damned fucking Merlin it was alright!

Harry was naked to the waist, cradling Hermione in his surprisingly firm hold, as he whispered soothingly into her hair. Hermione played up being still in the throes of her anguish, nuzzling her head against the exposed skin of Harry's body. He was astonishingly solid, built far more powerfully than she had imagined. Hermione thrilled at that. For some reason, she'd imagined all Harry's new power to be in his magic alone, and didn't expect it to extend to his physicality, too. But how wrong she was! Harry was not athlete-muscle, but he was toned, defined ... and Hermione's lust threatened to overwhelm her as she tentatively explored it.

"I know you're feeling better," Harry teased down, sultrily. "You're a terrible actress."

Hermione sat up and blushed. "Harry ... you're so ... fit!"

Harry laughed at her. "No need to sound so surprised ..."

"Sorry," said Hermione, quickly. "I just didn't think ..."

"What ... that I took care of myself?" Harry quirked, lightly. "There's a causal link between physical health and magical potency, you know. I got into the habit in Germany. Dietmar was an Olympic-level demon on the gymnastic rings. Built like a brick shithouse, to boot. I'm too sinewy for all that, but I get my wiry arse as trim as I can. I cheat, obviously, through mediation and yoga rituals. But it works well enough."

"Fuck me, does it! And then some!" Hermione swooned. She traced a finger down Harry's chest, frowning in pity as she ran her nail around the outline of the scar left by the Locket Horcrux all those years ago. She had one herself, of course, but it wasn't anything like as pronounced. Harry flinched a little as Hermione touched the scar tissue. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?"

"No," Harry grinned. "It's just very ticklish!"

"Oh, really!" Hermione squealed, her eyes flashing brightly. "I had no idea! But now that I do ..."

And with that, she pounced on him, tickling Harry at every spot her fingertips could reach. Harry responded in kind, flipping Hermione onto her back and drawing giggly tears where he was so relentless in his playful attack. In a last attempt at victory, Hermione captured Harry's mouth passionately with her own ... then she reached down and grabbed at the drawstring of his pyjama bottoms. Harry pulled his head back, panting throatily ... and their gazes met for a breathless moment. The air turned dense with a thrumming, white-hot energy. It caused the petals of Hermione's flowers to wilt on the windowsill. Her breasts heaved with wanton desire ... she reached up to unbutton the neckline of her nightie ... then Harry snatched out, grabbing her hand to stop her progress.

"No ... I'm not doing this now ... not after something like this," he said, strongly but breathily.

Hermione's loins mewled in protest and she arched her back in her frustration, sending the moan racing up to her throat. She tried to reach lower again ... but Harry was determined. He eased her hand back up, firmly but gently.

"I said no," he repeated, lowly. "Now, tell me what happened? Why did you scream?"

Hermione huffed, slightly angry, and covered herself up moodily. Why would Harry come to her rescue like this, in the middle of the night, in her bed, if he wasn't going to see it through? He sensed the rise in her ire, and backed away, easing his grip on her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry muttered, quietly. "I just don't want it like this. It feels wrong ... and you've had it wrong so much ... I wont do it till it's right, no matter how cross it makes you with me."