They were allowed to spend the morning together. Sort of. Apparently, there was nothing so tireless as an academic with a problem to solve. Harry and Hermione had been bombarded with questions ranging anywhere from the mundane "what time do you tend to get to sleep each night" all the way to the shockingly intimate "it appears your 'connection' intensifies when you are aroused- have you slept together yet?". Harry had inhaled his coffee so hard, that even after he'd stopped choking he didn't think it would ever be completely gone from his lungs.

Mercifully, Dumbledore called that a good 'stopping place' and forced the matronly witch to go oversee the rebuilding of the hospital wing for the time being. He only managed to get her out the door by assuring her she could interrogate them more later. It was difficult to appreciate her absence, knowing the cause of it and that it would be short lived. The headmaster parted by charging Hermione to take note of anything that may be pertinent to their study. Harry knew as he watched her nod that had Dumbledore asked the entire student body he could not have found anyone better suited to the task. How fortunate for him. By the time the door finally closed behind them, the sun was slanting in from the opposite side of the window and Harry, who was laying across his bed staring at the ceiling, felt completely drained.

"Sort of takes the fun out of figuring it out when they drill you like that," he said to break the silence. He closed his eyes and tried to just let the tension fade from his muscles. He didn't know what part of this was supposed to be fun. What joy there was to be had was too easily lost in the vast expanse of awful that surrounded it. It was wrong, all of it. Horribly, completely wrong.

"I need you to stop thinking," he heard her say as he felt the mattress depress to his left. He opened his eyes and she was there, looking down at him. She seemed very calm. "I can feel it, you know. You don't have to be touching me. Stop thinking all the things that you're thinking. We can't afford to let ourselves panic or give in. At least not until we figure out how not to torture the other one by feeling such things."

She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them to herself. Trying not to touch him? Her eyes didn't waiver.

"We will figure this out."

Feeling defeated and wanting to comply, he knew there was only one way that was going to happen. He held his hand out to her and when she accepted it, he pulled her close until she laid down with him. He made no pretense of keeping their space, pulling her right against his side and kissing the top of her head when she allowed it to rest just over his heart, but neither did he take it any farther than that. He just needed to hold her, to feel her solid and tangible in his arms.

Harry wasn't taking this well. Hermione had never felt another person's sadness before. She had thought she had. She'd believed her sympathy and empathy had been acute enough to come close. She'd been wrong.

Harry was broken.

He held her so closely, so gently. She was only beginning to understand his need for her. She'd gotten glimpses thus far, flashes. They caught and burned bright and then they were gone, stolen moments, bits of memories.

This was different.

This was not passion. This was not fire and heat. It was an entirely new kind of need. One that lay deeper and was not so easily vanquished. It was the difference between a summer storm- here and gone in a flash, volatile and wild- and the entire ocean, immeasurable and constant. This need frightened and humbled her, and she felt the echos of it building within herself. He was so far ahead. How had he been able to stand those months of denying this?

"I don't know how you did it, Harry. I don't know how you were able to pull away," she whispered against his chest before placing a kiss over the steady sound of his heartbeat.

"Hell on Earth," he responded to the ceiling, before pulling her closer, pressing a kiss into her hair, just breathing her in.

And everything about him reinforced the words. She could smell it on his skin, taste it on the air, hear it in his voice, his breath, the rhythm of his heart and lungs. And Hermione couldn't take it any more, that he was feeling this pain. Still feeling it, though she lay nearly as close as can be.

It was bizarre, feeling for two people at once. She could tell that she did not feel nearly so hopeless as he did. She had much more faith in their ability to cope and in Dumbledore's ability to problem solve. They would find a way if she spent the rest of her life doing so. And yet, at the same time, she felt his sense of defeat, too. In her heart, in her chest, a wearying weight that felt bigger than the world. The two mindsets were both present in her thoughts as one moment she was brainstorming ways to make him feel better and the next feeling like she needed to join him in his morose state of abandoning all hope. This simply would not do.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Can I...," she stopped, awkward and unsure. There was absolutely no precedent for this. Even the most experienced person would struggle knowing the bounds here, and let's face it. She wasn't the most experienced person. But she did want to distract him. And she could think of exactly one activity that would absorb enough of his attention to mitigate all the thoughts swirling around in there. She could kiss him. It didn't have to go farther than that. The problem was, she was fairly certain she wanted it to. How to do it without setting fire to everything, though...

She felt him move beneath her, shifting to see her face. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Can you what? I'll tell you now, I'm not likely to be saying no to you very much. I don't even think I can anymore."

She smiled and sat up, leaning over him.

"Can I touch you?"

She was smiling, her eyes twinkling. She seemed happy, excited. Unbidden, the tension in his chest eased. Just looking at her.

"You are touching me."

His eyes traveled from her beloved face to the tips of their intertwined feet. She was pressed to his side, still wearing her robe. He'd ditched his hours ago- easier to pace without it. Just the same, he could feel nearly the entire length of her along his side.

"No, I... I want to touch you like you touched me earlier," looking away from him.

He should laugh, right? Hermione being shy. You tease her. He didn't feel like teasing her. And he certainly didn't feel like laughing as his mind flashed to memories of her legs straddling his lap, pressing against him, her quickened breath against his throat, the sound of her moans as he'd given her pleasure with his hands alone...

"You can touch me," he heard himself say, settling back again. Her cheeks pinkened at his words, or more likely what she heard in his voice as he said them. He could feel her reaction in the quickening of his own heart rate. The very scent of her was different. She was excited. To touch him.

Sweet Jesus.

He watched her rise onto her elbow, one hand just hovering over his midriff. He felt his muscles tighten in anticipation. And then, with the gentlest brush of the barest tips of her fingers, she just barely grazed the length of his stomach, her gaze shooting back to his face.

"I don't think that's quite going to do it, love," he said smiling, unable to keep the humor from his voice. So tentative. He watched as her expression sharpened, eyes narrowing, breath quickening. He'd unwittingly challenged her.

Oops.

She tossed her hair back, seemingly impatient with it, and moved to shrug off her robe. Harry attempted to sit up, wanting to help or make things easier for her, but she stopped him with a firmly planted hand against his chest.

"No, you stay right here," she said, her voice soft and throaty.

Harry swallowed- audibly- and did as he was bidden. He watched as she rose onto her knees, untied the belt of her robe, and let it slide down her arms. He caught his breath as she moved forward, planting her hands on either side of him and using them to anchor herself so that she could literally climb a top him. His entire body was alight with awareness of her and her nearness when her hips brushed against his before sliding back and forth against him, settling herself where they most naturally fit together. Without thought, his hands gripped her thighs and he readjusted his position on the bed, temporarily lifting her with him, as he shifted into place. Her flushed face hovered inches above his own.

"Better?" she asked, her words whisper soft.

"Much better," he replied, his thumbs caressing the soft skin of her inner thighs. "Remind me to thank them for these clothes. They leave very little to the imagination." Harry was finding it difficult to remain still.

"Mmm, I agree." Her words brushed against his neck as she leaned forward, flexing her hips against his. The heat coming off of her... pure, exquisite torture. He trailed his fingers along the length of her thighs before moving to grip her hips. He felt her smile against his cheek before her face came back into view.

"Ah-ah," she said, reaching for his hands, her smile wicked. "I will never again tell you that you can't touch me, but see if you can wait. Just a little longer? It's my turn. I want to explore you, Harry. Let me touch you. Let me finally feel you."

Even if he had been able to emotionally hide how unbelievably hot he found that, he could tell from the hitch in her breath and the seemingly involuntary grinding of her hips, that she could feel his reaction just the same.

"Explore all you want, baby," he said as she guided his hands to rest above his head, then proceeded to do the same to his shirt. "Just be gentle with me. It's been a long time."

Her expression shifted from playful to possessive as she slid her hands from his chest to just below his abs, then began crawling up him.

"Don't worry, baby," she whispered just against his lips. "I'll take good care of you."

Her lips touched the corner of his mouth briefly, but flitted away before he could capture them. From there they feathered softly against his jawline, pausing briefly to nibble his earlobe, before traveling down his neck.

Harry was a man and seventeen, to boot. He wanted this. Had dreamed both literally and figuratively about it. But not even his wildest fantasies could have come close to actually being with Hermione. He'd never been so turned on in his life. And she'd just started. He wanted her so badly it almost hurt. And for once, it was a good thing. She was kissing her way toward his navel, her finger nails lightly scratching down his chest and sides and he actually feared he may embarrass himself if she continued on like this. He had not been kidding. It had been a very long time since he'd felt even one hundredth of what she could so easily inspire in him. Even so, he didn't dare stop her. He had never felt an orgasm building in quite this way. And she hadn't even touched his dick yet. He could feel it building, in his chest, his arms, his legs. His eyes kept wanting to fall closed, the better to focus on the feel of her, but he forced them to stay open, no matter how hard. He'd never forgive himself if he missed one nanosecond of the sight before him.

Hermione's legs were still on either side of his, but she'd worked her way southward. He'd missed the contact for about a half second until the sight of her mouth moving ever closer banished the thought from his mind. Her back arched causing her bottom to rise to a perfect silhouette before him. He desperately wanted to touch her. And he knew she could feel it. As his arousal steadily grew from her ministrations, so did hers, and so did her confidence. Her eyes flicked to his often, taunting and teasing challenging him. She was thoroughly enjoying her little game. Driving him to madness, until he just couldn't obey her anymore. He was absolutely certain she was right. He would not make it. Just as he was absolutely certain she didn't want him to.

Then her fingers began playing with the band of his shorts as her lips moved past them. Apart from some involuntary twitching, Harry became perfectly still, not blinking, not even breathing as her sweet mouth made contact with the most exquisitely sensitive part of his entire being. For one moment his vision actually blanked as his world seemed to contract to that one point and then rapidly expanded outward again in an inferno of sensation.

The fire was back.

Hermione had never felt more powerful in all of her life. Harry was alive in her hands. Her touch, her kiss, she bewitched him and it was utterly intoxicating. All she wanted was to explore. She wanted to touch him because she knew he wanted it, but also because she wanted to know his body as well as her own. She wanted to feel him, all of him. She wanted to do physically, what the fire and light had done magically.

And she could feel him.

It was overwhelming. She could feel all of her own reactions to their play, both physical and emotional. She could also sense Harry's in the way his breathing changed, the look in his eyes, the feel of him beneath her, the soft sounds escaping him, all the normal ways they could possibly share this. But she got so much more than that. She could feel what he was feeling. She felt how close he was in the singing of her nerves, the tightening in her core. She had the incomprehensible power to fulfill them both at once, and she wanted to. She felt completely consumed by sharing this with him. She had only meant to distract him, to explore a bit, to see what she could do. But they were so far beyond that now. She wanted to claim him. To give him a climax worth remembering. And if he was experiencing half of what she was feeling, she knew she could.

She gently pulled his shorts up, softly tugging until just the tip of his erection peaked out. She smiled, ridiculously turned on that she had done this to him. She had felt him throb and twitch against her as she'd moved along his body, feeling the spike in his arousal even as she got to witness the effects of it. Every part of her wanted this, strove for it. She couldn't stop now if she tried. She needed to give him this and she needed it too.

Leaning forward, she nuzzled just around where he wanted her to. He was so still. She knew every fiber of his being hung in the balance, just waiting on her. She felt the first tingling tightening in her womb, and pressed her lips to the tip of his cock, her hands sliding up the length of him as her tongue flicked out to taste.

And Harry let go.

He reached for her face and somehow managed to cradle it while reversing their positions. Suddenly, he was on top of her, his weight sinking her into the mattress and she could feel with the clarity of connection. The fire. She wanted to bathe in this fire and never let it go. They could be one in the fire, were one in it. She'd felt his reactions before but now she couldn't one hundred percent distinguish. He was kissing her. She wrapped her legs around him and felt the length of him grind against her. Her nipples tightened and she gasped for breath. She called his name and thought she heard hers. They were so close. She didn't know if it was hers or his or both. It didn't matter. She moaned into his mouth and wound her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

And then it hit.

The first wave of her orgasm rose in her from their center, the place where they so furiously pressed themselves together and slowly, languorously spread to her chest, her nipples, her fingers, her toes. She moaned. Loudly. Instinct had her hips taking short, jerky rocking motions against his length, stimulating them both as the second wave came through faster, harder. She gasped for breath, not moving even a millimeter away from him to do so as the third slammed into her. She forced her eyes open, linking with Harry's, in time for the crescendo that was the rest of their orgasm. Wave after wave assaulting their senses, wringing them dry, spreading astonishing pleasure to every last molecule of their beings. She could witness that he felt it too. All of it. Everything. And the fire that surrounded them both was pure pleasure, made tangible.