Submitted for writing competition: Dirty Deeds and Skirts 'round the Knees

"Hermione! There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere," Harry whispered as soon as he spotted the top of his bushy-haired best friend's head, illuminated by a soft beam of moonlight shining on a lone desk in the quietest and least used confines of the Restricted Section.

It was far past curfew and, thanks to his Invisibility Cloak, he'd at last found her surrounded by what seemed like a fortress of leather bound books.

When she let out a quiet snuffly snore, Harry smiled, wondering what it was she'd been reading that had put her to sleep so soundly. Still cloaked, Harry wandered over and discovered her resting her cheek on a book that was much smaller than the rest.

Deciding it probably best to wake her, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook. "Hermione," he crooned, "wake up." The movement had her moaning in protest. She stretched an arm, accidentally knocking a book off the table.

With his swift Seeker reflexes, Harry caught it in mid-air before it slammed onto the floor.

Expecting to see some sort of gold-engraved, boring title that would definitely send him off to slumber, Harry's eyes widened with a single glance at the book's cover. For there, in titillating repose lay a couple with bare legs intertwined, captured in mid-caress. Harry found himself unable to keep from sliding a finger against the provocative image of the half-dressed woman beneath the book's title, To Beguile a Beast. Curious, Harry flipped open the cover to find a book plate that read: This book belongs to Hermione J. Granger.

Harry slid a puzzled glance over at the book's owner, who was still in the throes of sweet blissful sleep. Not wishing to intrude further into her privacy, he placed the book on the desk, ready to deny complete knowledge of this little secret tidbit he'd managed to discover about the Gryffindor bookworm. Trying not to wake her just yet, he took in a calming breath, letting it out in a steady exhale as he loosened his grip on the novel. As its binding hit the table, it fell open to what could only have been its most read pages.

Unable to quell his increasing curiosity, Harry cast a quiet Lumos, lighting the tip of his wand so he could quickly scan the page. His brow quirked at the steamy words that swam up to greet him.

She'd been caught spying on the gathered group of men by the very one she'd grown to despise the most.

Her fingers tightened against the bookshelf in the manor's library as she heard his approach. Emma stifled a gasp as he stealthily moved into the enclosed space behind her. To quiet her, he covered her mouth with his broad palm. She could feel the solid wall of muscle that was his chest heat her back.

The master of the manor was not a considerate man, so his sudden possessive hold on the curve of her breast had not come as a great surprise. Perhaps she half expected it. Emma could hear an irritated growl emanating from deep within his chest as he kicked her legs apart beneath the weight of her long skirts. She could not contain the needy mewl of anticipation that tore from her throat when he ground himself against her.

He punishingly tweaked the traitorous bud that pebbled beneath his touch.

Harry pressed his lips together as he stared at the witch he thought he knew almost better than himself. Clearly, this was not the case. Heated surprise lit his face as a sly crooked smile made its way across his lips.

What was Hermione doing reading this? he wondered.

Completely unaware of his scrutiny, she shifted, letting out a soft feminine sound that had Harry's now highly sharpened senses tingling. His mouth watered when he witnessed her uniform shirt catch on the edge of a hardback, popping open a button to give Harry quite an eyeful of curvaceous witch. It was only when he followed the line of buttons farther south did he realize that Hermione's hand lay somewhere beneath her pleated skirt.

He gulped.

"Hermione?" Harry all but squeaked, trying to shut out the image of her unexpected reading choice and his sudden sexual awareness of his best friend. Though his quavering voice seemed to echo in the silence of the deserted library, it was quite obvious that he'd had spoken far too quietly for her to rouse.

Her heavy breathing filled his ears. Instinctively, Harry edged closer to her, realizing he had yet to lift his free hand from her shoulder. Urged on by masculine instinct, Harry tilted his head, gazing at Hermione with a different sort of affection. Still cloaked, he allowed himself to stroke up her shoulder, giving his fingers the luxury of tracing the elegant line of her throat, and lingered there.

With her hair falling back, over her arm, the colored moonlight that seeped through the library's tinted glass was given the freedom to caress the soft lines of her face, making her skin luminous beneath his touch. As close a friend as Harry was to her, he did not think twice about the liberties he was taking.

He let out another puff of breath, this time a bit shakier. He always knew Hermione's brilliance was breathtaking, but only now, engulfed in a humid heat of his own making, one that she'd inspired so effortlessly as he stood beneath his father's cloak, did he suddenly realize how much of his heart she'd stolen.

Harry drew his hand away from her, realizing he shouldn't be taking such advantages. Not really knowing what to do, he knit his brows, and turned back to the book, still laying open on the table.

Leaving her alone was an option, Harry realized, surely no one would bother her until morning. But what if he stayed, Harry speculated. After all, a naughty voice proposed, what harm could there be in continuing to read about what his very female best friend ... liked... when she touched herself under the covers?

Harry found himself unable to look at Hermione now without quite devilish thoughts racing through his mind. Bugger if he'd allow anyone else to catch her in such a vulnerable state, seeing as she was partially undressed and all.

Deciding it best to act as sentinel while she slept, Harry returned his attention to Emma's exploits in the pages of Hermione's book.

There was never a villain quite like Sir Daniel Harcliffe, and Emma had not known the full dangers she'd placed upon herself by agreeing to act as governess to his motherless son.

She felt the material of her starched gown being bunched at her hips, fully exposing her most private parts to the cool air and his unforgiving hands.

She preferred bad boys, then, Harry mused darkly. He turned his head to look at Hermione, finding himself rather piqued by the new knowledge. Expecting to find her still asleep, his heart stopped momentarily when he discovered her all too knowing eyes fixed on him. He clamped his mouth shut, his nostrils flared as he fought to breathe noiselessly. For a moment it seemed he'd been discovered, but she blinked and rubbed at her eyes, sighing and mumbling something incoherent. He slid his hand away from the book when she started to reach for it.

Harry watched as she cast a spell that was unknown to him. A little ball of glowing light appeared, suspended just above her head. His breath caught as he spied a sensual smile, one he'd never seen her wear, wind its way onto her mouth as she pulled her book closer, flipping a few pages, as she looked for what he assumed to be her most favored part.

A spark in her gaze ignited a heat for her that long lay dormant. She whispered a Muffliato. Harry couldn't quite decide if it was fortunate or unfortunate that he was close enough to be caught within the spell. His emerald eyes widened behind his glasses as he silently watched Hermione's fingers deftly pluck open the remaining buttons of her shirt, drawing the book closer to her face. Her clever fingers moved with precision over the two tight points that now clearly jutted against the lace of her crimson bra.

Wrenching his gaze away, Harry peered over her shoulder to read along.

"This is what you wanted," he rasped against the whorls of her ear. "Me, here, this way." She felt his hands between them, brushing against her aching center as he worked open the placket of his trousers.

With an infuriatingly arrogant sureness that ignited both her indignation and her desire, Daniel insolently slid his hot turgid flesh against her moist folds.

"Show me you want me," he rasped urgently against the thundering pulse at her throat.

In voiceless response, she reared up against him, yearning for his caress.

"Just as I thought," he stated smugly, capturing her wrists in one hand against the edge of the book shelf in front of her. Her lack of struggle had him indicated her readiness. Without precursor, he sheathed himself in her with an impatience that came from months of denial. Her moans matched the need in his groans at this carnal coupling... "

Between the erotic words and the wanton sounds of Hermione's pleasured purring, it was all Harry could do to remain still beneath the cloak. He watched Hermione touch herself, longing to be the one running his hands against her valleys and curves. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, watching her hand trail from her breasts to the hem of her skirt.

There certainly was something wickedly sinful about witnessing his bibliophile of a best friend tickling her fancy. Harry knew it was wrong to stay, but really now, he was 17 and quite sex-deprived. There was very little Harry could do but stand transfixed as an altogether different sort of wand rose to hardened attention.

Slowly, so slowly, her hand slid northward to gather the grey woolen skirt at her wrist. With quiet stealth, Harry shifted and inclined his head to get a better view of her wandering hand. He was not to be disappointed.

When her fingers pulled aside her knickers and dipped into her slick folds, Harry's heart caught in his throat and he bit back a groan. Not merely because of the incredibly sexy sight, but because of the strangled name that he caught falling from her lips.

"H-Harry..."

His mind stuttered. Had she discovered him despite the invisibility? No, he assured himself. Her eyes, which had earlier fluttered shut, remained closed as she continued to whimper his name to the rhythm of her fingers' movements. The book had long fallen from her hands.

Harry gulped, a foreign sort of masculine pride welled up within him as he used all of his inner strength to tether his own raging hormones. His jaw clenched as he worked to keep his hand from touching the bulge in his trousers, torturing himself as he watched Hermione noisily scale the peak towards ultimate ecstasy.

Her cheeks were flush in the moonlight, her shirt lay open at her sides. Her breasts stood proudly, seeming to invite Harry's touch. His mouth went dry at the sight of her straightened legs gone rigid as her hand worked furiously between them.

This was utter madness, Harry thought. How could this possibly be happening? His name continued to escape her mouth in sharp staccato, along with the aching melody of her ever more desperate pleas. And because there was little Harry wouldn't do for her, he succumbed to the inevitable and reached out to touch her.

Shocked, Hermione instantly stilled at the unmistakable feel of a warm hand against her trembling thigh. Suddenly speechless, her previously occupied fingers slid away. Her head whipped around searching for... for... him.

She knew it could only be him. After all, who else had the power of invisibility at his fingertips? None of their peers had mastered the Disillusionment charm to convincingly remain invisible for any length of time.

"Harry?" she cried, reaching a shaky hand towards the spot she'd earlier felt his presence. Hermione fisted her fingers and found purchase. She felt the familiar, yet indescribable, gossamer silkiness of the Invisibility Cloak in her grip. Her pulse thundered as she tugged at the material, slowly uncovering her fantasy lover's dark untidy hair and the familiar features of his handsome face. The arousal in his verdant gaze was unmistakable and Hermione's hunger for him tripled at the sight of his eyes, darkened with desire... for her.

Embolden by her lack of enraged fury, Harry stroked his palm against the smooth skin of her leg. She stifled a frustrated whimper, not sure whether to be angry with, or thankful for, his intrusion at this embarrassingly private moment.

Before he could move his hand any closer, she clasped his wrist within her grip, and turned to look up at him. With unspoken agreement, Harry hauled her to her feet, pulling her forcefully against him. At her small cry, he smiled slyly, guiding her backwards into a darkened corner bracketed by tall bookshelves. Her hands, planted themselves against the wall of his chest, kneading the material of his woolen jumper when she felt the press of the shelves against her back.

"Turn around, Hermione," Harry ordered gruffly. Her eyes flew up to meet his sensual, and somewhat amused gaze. Her own open-mouthed stare narrowed and her lips pulled into a scowl when she felt his hand catch her wrists in a single-handed grip. He drew her arms above her head, pressing himself against her. With his other hand, he tipped her chin so he could trace her frown with his thumb, tugging so her lips fell open. Tossing aside his instincts toward gentleness, Harry dipped his head to capture her mouth with his, nipping at her lower lip. He was rewarded with the sound of her whimpering his name again.

"Turn around," Harry demanded again, sparing a sideways glance at the discarded book on the floor. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Me, here, this way?"

Hermione's lips fell open, thrilling at his words, so familiar, yet, so foreign when he spoke them aloud in his velvety tone. She followed his gaze to find her most guilty pleasure laying in the moonlight.

"Yes," she admitted hoarsely, tugging out of his hold, only to slip her arms over his shoulders, delving her fingers into his tousled hair.

"Show me, then, what you want," Harry urged, sliding a hand under the lace encasement of her bra to cup her bared breast. He tweaked a nipple, which had hardened against the press of his circling thumb.

At the feel of him touching her, as he always had in her most fevered fantasies, Hermione threw her head back, hissing her approval. When she caught her breath, Hermione slipped off his glasses, carefully placing them on the shelf just above their heads. She smiled devilishly, raising a leg to wrap around his hip to draw him closer to the ache that required his soothing caress. He matched her grin for grin as his hand fisted into her hair.

No longer concerned about mimicking fiction, Harry moved to suckle at her. All the while, his hand followed the long line of her leg to slip under her uniform skirt, lazily trailing upwards to the part of her that yearned for his touch. At last, his fingers slid against her slick folds. His breath left him when he discovered her so ready for him.

"Harry... please."

Impatiently, Hermione dropped her hands to tug at the button of his trousers. The back of her fingers brushed against the trail of coarse hair, which promised more pleasure as she fought to uncover more of him. Greedily, she shoved her hand into his shorts, tightly wrapping her fingers around him. Harry's eyes slammed shut against the exquisite torture of her pumping him.

"Merlin, Hermione," he gasped against her perspiration slicked skin. He lay his forehead in the nook of her neck as he hips bucked instinctively against her. She shifted her stance to welcome him in. Her mouth moved into the shape of a silent "o" when she felt Harry thrust himself further into her tightness.

"Keep your eyes open," Harry ordered heatedly as he quelled the need to roar in triumph at their joining. "Know it's me and you, Hermione," he managed to say between ragged breaths. "As it always should be."

The pleasurable, but painful, stretch of being so filled with Harry had come and gone when he began to move, only to be replaced with a mind-clearing, pulsating ecstasy that had overwhelmed her senses.

Harry caught her dazed gaze, intent on ensuring her pleasure despite what must have been some distress, which would explain her initial grimace. He kissed her roughly, passionately, and she returned each maddening stroke. Harry's hands grasped her hips, guiding her rocking movement as he thrust himself into her again, and again, and again.

When at last the friction between them proved too much, Hermione dug half moons into the skin at his shoulders. Her wanton shrieks matched his strangled cry as he emptied himself into her. She shuddered her completion in his arms.

The afterglow of satiation fell over them as they lay in a tangled jumble in the corner of the library. Idly, Harry curled a lock of her hair around his finger, content with the soft sound of her breathing.

"Next time, just like the book," he whispered suggestively.

She smiled against the skin at his navel. "Next time is now?" she asked, hopefully, gliding her hand against him.

Harry lifted a brow as her touch had him firming again. She smiled seductively. Pursing his lips, his green eyes dancing with darkening pleasure, he replied with a sensual grin, "You're brilliant, Hermione, truly... Brilliant."

Author's note: As always it is my great honor and joy to receive your reviews. I've become quite spoiled with being able to gather your thoughts on my work. I usually reply to reviews. Apologies to my die hard dramione readers. This little naughty is necessary to find my way back to Draco and his dilemma.