Harry Potter: Hermione’s Good Fortune

Originally witten by Victoria P.
Posted originally on http://unfitforsociety.net/musesfool/goodfortune.htm

Hermione had never believed in Divination. Even before attending Hogwarts, she’d always scoffed at the fortunes in her fortune cookies — You will have many great adventures. Hmph. Generic tripe. It might as well have said she’d meet a handsome stranger on a train. — when her parents took her out for Chinese food, even though she knew they weren’t meant to be taken seriously, especially not with her parents being juvenile and adding, “in bed” after every one. She thought the Prophecy that Dumbledore considered all-important was a load of hogwash.

Then she woke up one warm June morning with a strange foreboding, a chill running down her spine, and the very strong belief that whatever happened between Harry and Voldemort, she was not going to come out of it alive. And as it was nearly mid-June, she knew a confrontation was looming, because there had been one in June for the past six years (well, sort of, she amended, a stickler for accuracy even in the silence of her own mind), and Voldemort was nothing if not hung up on tradition. She tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t.

She wasn’t the hysterical type, and she didn’t fall back into her pillows weeping extravagantly over the prospect, though it certainly didn’t thrill her. She still wasn’t quite sure why she believed it, but she did. Mostly. And she did have one thing that needed doing before she died — well, assuming she wasn’t just queasy from that stew they’d eaten for dinner last night (she’d asked Ron if it hadn’t smelled off, but he’d just continued eating with his usual enthusiasm) — one thing she’d really regret not doing.

Hermione Granger was not going to die a virgin.

She and Ron had been together since New Year’s, and had done some very enjoyable things, but she’d always stopped short of — what did all those ridiculous teen movies call it? Oh yes, going all the way.

Well, that was going to change, and it was going to change today. Because Hermione Granger did not want to die a virgin, and she knew how to get what she wanted.

She showered and dressed, keeping Ron’s seduction in mind when she chose the lacy blue bra and matching panties that made her feel sexy; Ron always treated her as if she were when she wore them. She twisted her unruly hair up into a bun, knowing Ron enjoyed pulling the pins out and letting it spill over her shoulders so he could run his fingers through it and bury his face in it.

He wasn’t at breakfast, which was unusual, but not worrisome. He’d been studying for N.E.W.T.s almost as hard as she, still determined to become an Auror. He’d been spending extra time in the library, which is where she found him, face down in a copy of his Transfiguration textbook, scrolls of notes scattered about the carrel, which was in the darkest corner of the library, away from Madam Pince’s prying eyes.

Everyone else was still at breakfast, and the library was deserted.

“Ron,” she whispered, lips close to his ear. He shifted but didn’t wake. She licked at the whorls of his ear, and he muttered in his sleep. She trailed her lips along his jaw, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her skin.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice a sleepy growl that sent a rush of heat between her thighs.

“I’m here,” she answered and covered his mouth with hers, tasting sleep and sugar quills on his tongue.

His hands, large and warm and callused from quill and Quidditch, pulled her into his lap, her skirt and robes spilling over the edges of the chair. She smiled against his lips — perfect.

As he deepened the kiss, sucking on her tongue and sending bolts of desire through her body, she fleetingly thought she should be grateful to Luna and Padma and that fifth-year, Christina Something-or-Other, because he was a wonderful kisser, and as good with his hands as with his mouth.

When she broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily, and she found she was already rocking her hips against him, feeling the hard bulge of his erection against the wet heat of her panties.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself to his chest, which had broadened in the past year; he had wide shoulders narrowing to lean hips, and an arse all the girls stared at when he wore Muggle clothes.