EXTENSIVELY REWRITTEN! NEW CHAPTERS!

Not long after Harry is revealed as a Parselmouth in 2nd Year, a cynical Slytherin girl drags the surprised boy into closet. Later, fearing Harry has been cursed or poisoned, Hermione demands he tell her what happened. What she finds out fundamentally changes their relationship. Non-consensual & consensual sex, very much lemony. Definitely mature! HP/Hr, HP/various.

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The Harry Potter universe is used here with J.K. Rowling's and her publisher's kind forbearance. The characters, scenes, and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of the story except perhaps its deviations from J.K. Rowling's plot.

NOTE:References to non-consensual and consensual sex. Be Forewarned.

To those who think such things are implausible (i.e., that young children engage in sex), some societies encourage 6 and 8-year-old-girls to participate in sex — see the Trobrianders, a matriarchal society where women control society. As for modern-age kids age 12 & 13? — as I started this the news had a story about a 13/12 year-old couple in Britain having a baby, where the girl became pregnant at eleven. They had apparently started having relations while the girl was ten. The youngest pregnancy on record is Lina Medina, age 5. Search "youngest father" and "youngest mother" on Google for other examples. Also see precocious puberty.

This is fantasy. Its intent is entertainment, not promotion of a particular choice in life, just as a story about a serial killer does not promote serial killing (e.g., Dexter or Bates Motel).

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Extensively rewritten! 3/7/2020

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❤ The Broom-closet ❤

If all the young lasses were bricks in a pile

. . . I'd be a mason . . . and lay them in style.

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Hermione was worried. She had started to gather her things and put away the books so she could go to dinner when she realized Harry had never arrived. He had promised to meet her in the library hours ago, before he had gone off in search of Justin Fitch-Fletchley. He was very late.

Ever since the whole "Chamber of Secrets" message and students were petrified, and especially since that Dueling Club fiasco last night when the whole school had learned he spoke Parseltongue, she had been worried someone would attack him with a serious attempt to kill him. The Slytherins were bad enough in their abuse, but now she worried about all four houses!

Quickly, she finished putting things away and grabbed her bag. She would check with Hagrid first, then the Great Hall, and end with the Common Room. If she still couldn't find him, she'd check a few of his favourite hiding, er, thinking, places. If she still didn't find him, she'd go to Professor McGonagall. If it turned out that he forgot and was off flying his broom or doing something else equally stupid, well, she'd give him a right proper scolding before killing him for worrying her!

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She found him on the fourth floor as she came down from the Gryffindor Common Room and glanced down the corridor to the Library. He was dishevelled and walking slowly, meandering, very unlike his normal quick pace.

"Harry!" She ran up to him. "What's wrong? Did Malfoy do something?"

He jerked away from her, "I'm fine," he said quietly, and stared at the floor.

Ha! She knew that when Harry says 'I'm fine' what he really means is 'I'm not dead, yet. Just let me bleed out over here in the corner. Thank you for asking.'

She studied him closely, barely a foot away, walking around him. There were red marks on both sides of his neck and he was turning redder as she looked at him. Blushing? He was blushing?

"Harry," she said in a low, anxious tone, "What. Happened?"

His face colour was approaching that of Ron's hair. "Nothing!" he insisted much more firmly.

She stepped back, folded her arms, and glared at him. "I don't believe you. What did Malfoy do?"

He sighed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "Malfoy did nothing. I haven't even seen him since lunch." He guiltily fidgeted under her gaze, and stared at his shoes, again.

"Then Crabbe or Goyle?" she suggested.

"No, haven't seen them either." He refused to meet her eyes.

Definitely, he felt guilty about something. "They ambushed you!" She grabbed his sleeve and gritted her teeth. She was so going to hex them all the next time she saw them. Her wand was in her hand and she didn't even remember grabbing it.

"NO!" He turned his back to her, pulling his sleeve from her left hand. His robes shifted, and she saw a faint scratch starting on his neck and disappearing under his robes.

She darted around in front of him. "Oh, no you don't!" she said warningly. "You're not getting away from me until you tell me what happened! In detail!" She glared at him, arms crossed, foot tapping the floor. Her wand shot out a spark. "You're my best mate and I'm not letting anyone get one over on you! So, spill!"

He gulped. He knew he was in trouble. It was too late to rush off. She'd just tackle him.

"Okay," he said, looking away again. He stood silent.

"WELL?" she demanded.

He took a deep breath, let it out, then took another. He closed his eyes. "Agirlpulledmeintoabroomcloset," he said quickly and quietly, blushing red.

Hermione almost missed what he said it was so low.

"WHAT?!" she shouted.

He cleared his throat. "I said," he took a quick breath and his face turned redder, she hadn't realized that was even possible. "Agirlpulledmeintoabroomcloset," he repeated.

Hermione stared at him. The salient words floated through her mind and connections were made: Girl. Broomcloset. Bruises on the neck? She looked a bit more closely. Hickeys! Scratch on the back? She had heard several older girls did that to their boyfriends in the heat of passion. Snogging? Snogging? No, serious snogging! Shagging!? She must be mistaken! Some slag of a witch was shagging HER Harry?

Unacceptable!

The bint obviously had an ulterior motive and was using her best mate's naiveté regarding the fairer sex to disguise her plot. She had to protect Harry, just as he protected her last year.

She pursed her lips and grabbed his hand. Then she started marching down the corridor, away from the stairs, dragging the confused boy behind her.

"Hermione! Hermione?" he said, "Where're we going?'

She ignored him and he fell silent again. She was in one of her moods and both he and Ron knew that nothing they said would break her out of it until she was good and ready. He would just have to wait and see.

She looked at every door they passed until finally she stopped in front of one, and flung it open. She pulled him inside. She gave the room a quick look to make certain it was empty, then waved her wand and banished the dust, leaving the room sparkling clean. A second wave and the room suddenly grew extremely quiet. The little sounds that they could hear from the rest of the castle disappeared. From his startled expression, he didn't know she knew any silencing spells. Well, she did always read ahead.

Harry blinked. So did she. She really must be mad to get that sort of instant results.

She turned and faced him. "Who?" she demanded.

He blushed red again, "I don't know," he mumbled.

"You don't know? YOU DON'T KNOW? You spent who knows how long snogging a girl in a broom-closet . . ."

He again blushed a bright red that came close to Ron's hair in tint.

". . . and you don't even know who it WAS?" She was going to kill the girl as soon as she could find her.

He shrugged, "It was dark."

"Dark? It was DARK? THAT'S your excuse?" She stared at him, fists on hips, her wand in one of them.

Now he started to get defensive, "Hey, you try and identify someone when you can barely see your own hand in front of your face." He huffed. "I think she cast a spell to hide her face," he mumbled, looking away from her.

She took several deep breaths while glaring at him. Then she closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Of course, he couldn't see the girl. Unless she was a brainless idiot, the slapper could easily arrange things so he wouldn't see her face. She probably cast a silencing charm, too. Analyze it! she thought. Bloody heck, she probably even cast a confundus to protect her identity as Harry exited the broom-closet! Well, at least she hadn't just obliviated him.

She stopped in horror. They absolutely needed protection from that! Then she looked at Harry.

Her shoulders slumped a little. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said remorsefully. "It just seems so strange." Yeah, after the incident during the duelling demonstration practically the whole school went out of their way to avoid him. Nevertheless, here was a girl going out of her way to grab him for snogging? "Please, tell me exactly what happened." She looked at him with wide, puppy-eyes. It usually worked when she did that to her parents.

"I can't," he whispered. He fidgeted, looking everywhere but at her.

"You can't?" she said flatly.

He gulped. He was rubbish at standing up to Hermione, she knew, unless he was really pissed off himself. He clearly thought that if he told her, she was going to throw a truly impressive wobbly, but if he didn't . . . .

"She said I shouldn't tell anyone, that there would be . . . consequences if anyone heard about this. I really wouldn't like the results. Not that she would need to do anything . . . ."

With narrowed eyes, Hermione stared at her best mate. Okay, if that's what it would take. She whipped up her wand, "I swear I will be unable to tell anyone, unless they already know, what you tell me about what happened in that broom-closet without your express permission. So mote it be!" There was a flash of light. She had destroyed his argument that he couldn't tell anyone. Plus, it left herself plenty of room to wipe the floor with the bint when she found her.

Harry stared at her, astonished.

"So, what happened? Start at the beginning."

He hem'ed and haw'ed for a minute, looking everywhere but at her. His face turned redder and redder as his blush deepened. She hadn't realized it was possible to blush that deep of a red. She had to wonder if he had any blood left anywhere else in his body. She glared at him, waiting. Finally, he gulped and started talking. "I had left Hagrid's hut — we had a really long talk about my parents. Did you know that my dad and his mates once pranked a professor by . . ."

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Quit stalling."

He sighed, and nodded his head. "I was headed for the Library. I had just reached the fourth floor and started down the corridor. Someone grabbed my right hand and dragged me into the broom-closet. I never saw them, they were invisible."

Hermione frowned. It couldn't be an invisible cloak or he would have seen her hand. It was probably a disillusionment charm; those were NEWT-level charms. That meant none of the students without OWLs would know about or use it. Probably. She made it one of her goals to start practicing that charm immediately until she could do it.

So, a girl from sixth or seventh year most likely. That meant about fifty possibilities, given that the sixth and seventh-year class sizes were larger than Harry and her's. The slow start to the war fourteen years ago hadn't had much of an impact, at first.

"Once we were inside the door closed, but it made no sounds, so I guess it was silenced."

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Naturally, the witch wouldn't want anyone to hear them.

"It was dark and I couldn't see much, but she was invisible so it didn't matter. I jerked from her hand and went for my wand." He sighed. "She must have grabbed it from my pocket with one hand while she grabbed me with the other in the corridor because it wasn't in my pocket."

Again, naturally. She probably summoned it, which was faster. It was what she would have done. Plus, his back pocket was a stupid place for his wand, anyway. Anyone could sneak up behind him and summon his wand.

"Before I could do anything else she grabbed my face in both hands, said, 'Now, now, little Potter, there's no reason to panic. You're gonna love this.' Then she giggled and kissed me."

He paused and took a quick look at Hermione to check for her reaction. Hermione was frowning. He gulped again.

"How tall was she?"

The apparent non-sequitur surprised him. "How should I know? Taller than me is all I can say."

Hermione sighed. "Harry, everyone is taller than you! Even this year's First Years are taller than you!"

"Oi!" He tried to look outraged.

"Well, it's true!"

His shoulders slumped, "Yeah, I know," he said in defeat.

Hermione stepped up to him and stared at him for a moment. She liked Harry. She liked him a lot. The idea that another witch had kissed him made her angry.

She took a breath. No way out of it, she had to do it, now. It wasn't optimal, but if she wanted to find the underlying cause of this, she didn't have a choice. Harry wouldn't be this reluctant to talk if all it was was a kiss. She took a breath and braced herself. The things she did to help her mates! Setting fire to a professor last year stood out.

"Look," she said and grabbed his head between her hands. She tilted it back a little as she leaned down and pecked him on the lips. "Was it like that, or," she pushed him down, making him slump. She tilted his head farther back and pressed her lips to his, "Was it more like that?"

Harry stared up at her, flummoxed by her actions.

She stepped back and quickly transformed a chair into a short stool, then stepped up on it. She was now much higher than he was. "Or was it like this." She bent and grabbed his head again, then tilted it even further back and kissed him again, lingering a bit at the feel and taste. She breathed deeply as she drew back.

That was surprisingly . . . fun.

For some reason, it felt was getting hot in here. For some reason, she felt happy he was the first boy she kissed, although she could have wished for a more romantic setting and situation — like in those trashy romance books her mother hid in her room. However, she could make this work.

In fact, now that she thought about it, she could get in a little snogging with her hero under the guise of investigating!

"Er, um, uh, yeah, it was sorta like that, uh, the last one," he finally managed to choke out, still stunned at Hermione kissing him.

Okay, given that Harry was about four feet and four inches tall that meant the bint had to be five-foot and four inches tall. Definitely an upper-year-girl, well past puberty and as tall as she would ever get. Unless it was Millicent Bulstrode, she was that tall already. Hermione shuddered at that thought. Fortunately, Bulstrode didn't know the disillusionment charm . . . probably. Still, it cut down the number of girls to about thirty or so Sixth or Seventh year students . . . maybe.

"Was it just a quick kiss, like those?"

He had almost returned to a normal colour, but at her question, the boy flushed redder. "Um, no, it was a bit more than that."

"How much more?"

"Um, longer? And . . . more?"

Hermione had to take a steadying breath before saying, as casually as she could, "Show me," she demanded.

She had to know just what that bint had done to her Harry. If that meant getting a serious kiss, well, it wasn't like that would be a bad thing, now was it? It was all for finding out what that bint had done, so if she had to make a few sacrifices that was what it would take, right? Besides, those romance novels made it out to be quite . . . interesting. Moreover, she was curious — and she knew Harry would never do anything to hurt her.

"What!" Harry was aghast. "Show you?" he managed to choke out. His complexion was beet-red, again.

Hermione almost backed out at that point. Harry sounded soo appalled. Didn't he want to kiss her? Did he think she was too ugly to kiss?

"I can't do that!" He gulped, "You're my best mate!"

Oh. His mate. His best mate. That moved things to slightly safer grounds. Oddly, though, she couldn't help but feel disappointed. She stared at him perplexed. "You can't kiss a best mate? That's the silliest thing I've heard all year!" Conversely, it made her feel warm inside that he considered her his best mate. Ron didn't count in this race. Take that you stupid slapper, she thought at the other girl.

"I mean, I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage . . . , I mean you're special, I don't . . . I mean . . . I mean . . . I don't know what I mean! You're my best mate and I don't want to lose that!" he finally said in desperation, still blushing madly. He was still looking everywhere but at her, except to take quick peeks to gauge her reactions.

Hermione stared at him. She realized she'd never get him to tell the whole story like this. He would just get more and more flustered and embarrassed and then clam up tight. The only way to get the story would be to keep him off-balance and distracted enough so that he wouldn't shut up in embarrassment.

There was a warm spot inside her chest that he thought her special . . . and such a good mate that he was afraid he'd lose her. She'd never had a mate who had thought she was special, who had valued her not just for her brains, homework skills, and all-around knowledge-based usefulness.

"Okay, let's do this." She grabbed his hand and they headed out the room. She looked both ways for a moment, and then headed back the way they came. Harry followed along docilely, his mind obviously still going in circles around her "show me" demand.

They stopped in front of a fourth floor broom-closet. She yanked open the door and looked in. How odd. It was much bigger than she had imagined. It was about three yards deep and wide, with a set of shelves on her left only partially filled with cleaning supplies. A set of brooms and mops were on hangers on the right wall with wheeled mop strainers and buckets below them. In the back corner was a square floor sink with extended faucet. The small room was at least twice as deep as it needed to be, and was absolutely, spotlessly clean. It looked innocuous enough until she stepped in and immediately noticed that the floor was cushioned, as if she was walking on a mattress! The fact that the room was filled with the pleasant odour of roses and lemons left her almost gobsmacked.

If it weren't for the obvious cleaning supplies, the room would have made for a pleasant place for a tryst! However, with a few illusion enchantments coupled with an intent enchantment, that could easily be fixed. One simply had to be inventive! She put them on her list for future research. This would be useful when she was older.

She pulled Harry in, closed the door, and cast her own silencing spell on the door as well as locking and placing a notice-me-not spell on the door. She absolutely did not want them interrupted!

"Okay, Harry," she said turning to face him and placing her wand back in her robe's pocket. The dim light from under the door let her see the barest outlines of his head. Definitely too dark to make out his features. She was slightly mollified about his comment that he hadn't seen the girl's face.

"We're going to re-enact what happened, exactly as you remember it. Pretend I'm that girl. I'm not Hermione, I'm that girl." That slapper, she thought to herself. "We're just re-enacting what happened, that's all. So, how did she kiss you?"

"Well, er, um, . . . ." He stammered and came to a dead halt. Silence.

They would be in here until tomorrow at this rate, she decided. Besides, anything that bint could do, she could do better because she was the smartest witch in the school — everyone said so. She grabbed his head and pulled him close, leant down and pressed her lips to his.

For a moment he had no reaction, then, surprisingly, he pressed back.

It was kinda nice, actually, she decided. A bit like she had fantasized. Then she felt his mouth open slightly and his tongue touch her lips. Rationalizing that that scrubber must have done the same, she opened her mouth and pressed her tongue aggressively to meet his.

One of the trashy romance books her mother liked to read and had left lying around her bedroom had been a comical farce and referred to this as tongue-wrestling. At the time, Hermione had been a bit nonplussed as to why anyone would want to do that.

After a few minutes, Hermione had a new appreciation for the activity. What astonished her was how long that boy's tongue was, she could swear he was touching her tonsils without even trying!

Finally, they drew apart, both breathing hard. It was unaccountably hotter in the closet than it had been when they arrived. It took her a minute to remember what they were doing here. She cleared her throat and took a calming breath, "E'hem, ur, then what happened?"

"Huh?"

Harry appeared as distracted as she was. Good, then maybe she could get him to tell . . . show her what had happened without too much fuss.

"Oh. Well, while she was kissing me, I started to push her away."

She couldn't see in this dim light but from his silence, she was sure he was blushing. He seemed to be doing a lot of that.

"And. . . ?" she prompted.

He swallowed and stammered out, "Uh, I touched her, um, her, her breasts."

Swallowing, Hermione huskily said, "Show me." She wasn't going to let that scrubber get away with what she had done to Harry! Not to mention that this was sorta fun. "Remember, we're just re-enacting what happened, it won't matter to our friendship," she reassured him. She felt her face get hot as she blushed.

She could hear him gulp as she leaned down and kissed him again. She lifted her head slightly and said, "Like this, right? And then what?" and resumed. She felt him lift his arms tentatively push against her breasts. She pulled back from his lips and whispered, "That isn't much of a push." She resumed kissing him. He mashed her breasts under his palms, rubbing them. That felt somewhat nice, especially with him doing it. It seemed to get even hotter in the broom-closet.

She released his lips to ask, "And then what happened?"

He was silent. He hesitantly whispered, "It wasn't so much . . . what happened . . .as what I . . .discovered." His breathing was ragged. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.

She rested her forehead against his, breathing deeply "And what was that?"

He was silent for a long time. Just as she was about to prompt him again, he said, very quietly, almost too low for her to hear, "Her breasts were bare." His hands were still on her breasts. Had he forgotten?

"Her bare breasts?" Hermione whispered back.

"Uh huh."

She could feel his breath on her neck, raising goosebumps down her arms. That bint was in soo much trouble when Hermione caught her. There was no way Hermione was going to let her get away with that! Harry was her best mate! She considered her options. Well, if she wanted to find out what had happened after this she needed to do what that other girl had done!

If they stopped now, he would clam up and she'd never find out the full story. It's what he always did when he didn't want to tell someone what had happened to him. He would evade the questions, and later pretend to misunderstand or not to have heard what the query. Then he would say he couldn't remember clearly, or just change the subject. Such as whenever she or Ron asked about his home life or relatives. Eventually, people gave up asking. Her only chance to get the whole truth was to go for it now, the full monty, before he had time to come up with the evasions.

Bare breasts, though? She had to think about that. She kissed him, strictly as something to do while she thought things through. But, if she wanted to know what had happened, if she wanted to help him with his trauma — if it weren't traumatic, he wouldn't be reluctant to explain, now would he? — she didn't have a choice. Darn it, her best mate deserved her support in this confusing situation.

Still kissing him, she pulled out her wand. She lifted her lips from his just enough to murmur a quick undressing spell, and her robes, blouse, and bra were now in a neat pile on a shelf at one side of the broom-closet. Funny, even though it should be cooler without those items, she felt unaccountably warmer. She stuck her wand in her hair like an overly long hair-pin.

She heard Harry take a quick breath. His hands felt warm on her skin and she felt her nipples get harder under his palms. That "sort of nice" had become a "very nice." She kissed him again, going for an extended period of "tongue-wrestling." After all, she had to get him back on track with his story. Harry was now massaging her chest, running his thumbs over her sensitive skin. She barely suppressed an urge to moan. She was merely re-enacting, pushing for the truth, that was all, she reminded herself. She needed to keep a level head and not let herself get distracted. That it was so enjoyable was an accident.

Was there a hidden heater in here?

Finally, she drew back slightly. "Then what? Is that all you did?"

His breath against her neck was warm as he ran his thumbs over her hard nipples.

"Uh, no," he whispered.

"Well?"

His hands were providing quite a distraction, but she managed to stay focused. What had that scrubber done next?

"She, um, she pushed me down a bit, then. . .pushed her. . .breast. . .into my mouth." His voice was barely comprehensible.

Hermione had to think that one through. Oh, right, that bint was taller by a head than Harry. Okay. She could do that. She slid her hands back to his waist — when had she wrapped her arms around him? — and pushed down on Harry's hips. He didn't resist as he bent down and lowered his head to her breasts, his hands still occupied. Nothing happened, except she could feel his breath on her chest, sending goosebumps across her shoulders. "Well?" she said.

A moment later, she felt his tongue wrap around her breast, and then he started sucking. His tongue seemed extraordinarily long. She wrapped her arm around his head and held him tight. It was like there was a hot wire running from breast to her groin. She had never felt anything like this ever, not even when she was pleasuring herself. She could feel herself getting wetter. It was also hotter, if that was possible.

After a short while, he switched to her other breast, switching hands so that her could tease both of her breasts. Her breathing was hard and fast.

Hermione knew it couldn't have stopped there. "And then what?" she whispered. She bent her head down and kissed the top of his head.

The cold air hitting her nipple as he pulled back to answer her came as a shock.

"She, um, she," he paused. He took a breath and cleared his throat. "She said, speak snake to me," he said hoarsely.

"She what?" Was the bint nuts?

He sighed, "Like this." He took her in his mouth again, only this time he started to hiss, like the few times she had heard him speak in Parseltongue. She went rigid for a moment and had a difficult time keeping her knees from buckling. She realized she had had a mild orgasm. Followed, a moment later, by another. And another. Until she pushed him away. Bloody Hell, that bint was a genius! They were both breathing hard.

She was so wet she could actually feel liquid running down her legs.

"What happened next," Hermione asked once she had her breath back.

There was a long pause. Then, "She, uh, took my hand and put it on her . . . on her . . . well, lower," he whispered.

Again, Hermione had to mull that one over before reaching a couple of conclusions. First, she was going to finish this investigation properly. Second, if the bint's breasts were bare and she had put Harry's hand down there, then the bint had been bare there, too. She sighed, whether from anticipation or not she couldn't say, but a moment later her skirt and knickers joined her blouse and bra on the shelf and her wand was back in her hair. She grabbed his right hand, guiding it to below her waist. She gasped as his fingers slid lower; "Like that?" she asked unsteadily, shifting her legs apart slightly, feeling his fingers brushing her pubic hair.

Neither said anything as he massaged her right breast with one hand while the other massaged something else far further south and very, very slick. Hermione had discovered masturbation when she was eight, but it had never felt as good as what Harry was currently doing. Either Harry was a quick learner or he wasn't nearly as clueless about girls as he seemed. Harry was a lousy actor, so she figured it had to be the first possibility.

She managed to gasp out, "Then what happened?"

"She pushed me down to my knees," Harry breathed out in barely a whisper.

"Oh," she said. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed. "Like this?" Harry sank down her front. She shivered as his breath washed across her breasts, then stomach, and finally her thighs. "And then?"

There was a long silence. "She surprised me by pushing my head back, and freezing me in position. Then she pulled a potion bottle from somewhere and poured it in my mouth. She said, 'Don't worry, little Slytherin-Gryffindor, this won't harm you in the slightest. It's a family recipe from my great-great-great-great-grandmother, who was a potions prodigy,' she giggled at that point, 'her husband was quite a disappointment, it seems, so she cooked this up so he could please her perfectly and completely — as many times as she wanted. It's my present to you, little Potter.' Then she giggled again while whispering, 'little,' again."

He paused a second. "It burned like a mouthful of hot-sauce, not heat-hot, but fiery-spicy hot. I thought my mouth was on fire! Then burned all the way to my stomach. And then it made me . . . feel really hot . . . down there," he finished awkwardly.

Hermione was furious, that bint had forced Harry to drink a potion that did who knew what to him. She was definitely going to kill that witch. Although Harry didn't seem too upset about it.

His you-know-what? That was just cute.

"Then she, she, unfroze me." He stopped speaking for a moment.

"And then what, Harry," she prompted.

She could tell he was reluctant to continue

"Remember, we're re-enacting," she said, "I won't get upset at anything you do, you're just showing me what happened. You're not taking advantage of me in any way."

He sighed softly, his breath hitting her in a sensitive place and sending shivers down her back.

"She pulled my head forward and said, . . . well, she said . . . um she said to do this.'" And he leaned forward and demonstrated.

Yes, Hermione decided, Harry's tongue was longer than normal, because he was doing things with it that her mother's romance books, and the medical books she had read about anatomy, said should not have been possible. Seconds after that, she heard him start hissing in Parseltongue and she thought she was going to lose her mind. By the time he finished she was leaning on his shoulders and her legs were too shaky for her to stand. She slid down until she was sitting on the floor with Harry. It was really hot in this broom-closet!

No wonder the prefects had to patrol the broom-closets at night! And no wonder the upper-years kept getting caught in them!

Maybe she wouldn't kill that bint, Hermione thought, distractedly. She had taught Harry quite well. It shouldn't be possible for his tongue to do what he did. But, oh, wow, he sure knew what to do!

She leaned her forehead against his again. She sighed softly, "And then what happened?"

"She, uh, she grabbed me." Hermione could hear him swallow again. He went back to using both hands on her breasts, his breath feeling hot on her skin, but cold where he had sucked.

"Where," Hermione whispered back, her mind blank, focusing more on what his hands were doing. She was not nearly as objective about this as she should be, she knew. But she didn't care. This was Harry doing it, her best mate, and she simply didn't want to stop him.

"Um, down there," came the whispered answer.

Down there. She mulled that over a moment before she realized he meant down there on him! That. . . that. . . that bint had groped her Harry? How dare she! "You mean like this," she said putting her hand on the front of his trousers. As her mother's romance novels had said, it was rather obvious he was reacting positively to her kissing. She ran her hand down the length of it. It seemed a bit longer than she had read such things were, but that was probably her inexperience. Plus, it was too dark to really compare his length to the ones shown in the anatomy books.

He squirmed under her hand, drawing back slightly. "Not, not exactly," he said evasively.

"Then exactly how?"

"Um," he tried to not answer.

She rested her forehead against his head. "Harry, remember, we're re-enacting what happened, here. So, exactly how?" He took a breath and said, "She vanished my clothes."

Hermione took a startled breath. That. . . bint had directly fondled her best mate, Harry. Her mind raced. The thought of Harry being naked with that other girl was intolerable, but the thought of a naked Harry sitting so close to her made her pulse race. Well, race faster. If she was to get the whole story, she had to go forward. She swallowed, and grabbed her wand again. Moments later, his clothes and robe were stacked neatly by her blouse and bra. Quite a useful charm, that one was. Laundry charms, which she had thought were so-so, were much more useful than expected.

And she now held two wands. For a long time, it seemed, neither student moved. She had never felt anything like what she now held. It was both soft and hard at the same time, and very, very warm. His breathing, she noticed, was ragged and loud. Hers wasn't precisely measured and even, either. She tilted his head back and pressed her mouth to his, kissing deeply.

"And then what," she finally remembered to ask.

Again, he was silent for a long time. "Then she said it was my turn, and she . . . pushed me down and . . . sat on me," he whispered.

Hermione's thought about that. It didn't sound so bad. She sat on him, so what? Then she remembered what some of her mother's racier novels had said, and she ran to the logical conclusion of what he had to mean. Her mind went blank for a few moments.

"Hermione?" he said hesitantly.

She shook her head. Heh. It wasn't that bad. After what her Harry had just done, it made perfect sense to her. Her Harry. After what they had just . . . re-enacted . . . so far, well, what could you expect? Besides, she had to finish what they had started to find out what that evil bint had done to her Harry. It wasn't as if she wasn't really in control of her feelings, after all, was it? She could stop this at any moment, if she wanted, not that she did. That's right, she could. But, she was researching! She was helping a mate! That's right, it was research. It wasn't pure, unadulterated lust, which didn't want to stop, that wanted to know what it felt like to do something like that. Especially with her hero.

Her mother's books always said how pleasurable it was, so this was just her research to see how accurate those books really were.

She had never done anything like this before, but there was no way she was going to let that bint win. Harry was her best mate, he had saved her life, and she was going to prevent that scrubber from ruining his life.

Plus, while she had always fantasized about her first time being when she got married, she couldn't think of anyone better than Harry. Even if they never married he was the one she had a crush on, he was the one who put his life in danger to save hers, he was her best mate. If not him, then whom else? She pushed Harry onto the floor and straddled him. She held him in her hand, then raised herself and slowly lowered herself. The sensations were amazing!

Much later, she found herself randomly drawing designs on his back as he lay atop her. She liked the feel of him where he was, and when he had tried, once, to pull back, she had locked her heels behind his knees and trapped him in place. She didn't know if it was always like this, but compared to what her mother's really trashy romance novels said — the ones she hid in her underwear drawer, stuffed under the tiny, frilly things that had maybe one square inch of cloth, total — this was way much more fun than they had suggested.

"Why," she asked conversationally, "did she do it?"

Harry sighed and pushed himself up onto one elbow, too relaxed to do more.

Her fingers continued to draw patterns on his back, she just couldn't reach as much. She wasn't sure why she was doing it, it just felt like something she had to do to keep her hands occupied.

"I did ask her. What she said is a bit confusing." He paused a beat.

¸.•*¨*•.¸

"Ah, my little Slytherin, you don't understand?" The girl giggled above him. "You are a Gryffindor, through and through, according to the rumors from last year. And yet, here you are, the heir of Slytherin."

"Heir of Slytherin? I can't be!" Harry objected. "My best mate is a muggle-born!"

"Hush, you," she said and wriggled. They were still connected, so that effectively shut him up via distraction. "If you're going to open your mouth and say something," she said teasingly, "suck on this and say something snakey!" She leaned down pressed a nipple to his mouth.

Later, she resumed explaining.

"You killed the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord claimed to be the heir of Slytherin, and he managed to prove it with some of the things he did. The least of which was his parselmouth abilities." She rocked back and forth on his waist.

"You killed the heir of Slytherin. I checked quite thoroughly through all the genealogy records here last year, and at home over the summer, looking for a likely successor to that position. I discovered a quaint little fact in my research. While most have completely forgotten about it, there is this little understood section of magic. It's called, Right of Conquest. It's a tricky little piece of magic, and rarely invoked. You can't plan for it, or it doesn't work because you planned for it!" She sighed. "It's like a Life Debt, where you save someone's life, in that respect."

Despite their position and "connection," her voice took on the tones of a lecturer. Her frequent wriggling made it difficult for him to concentrate — and she knew it. Her own pleased expressions suggested it was for her benefit, not his. She enjoyed dominating him, proving she was the one in control and that he was helpless under her.

"Your case, though, is the perfect example of it in action. The Dark Lord was the last of the Slytherin Line. He came to your home on that day, and killed your parents, leaving you the last of the Potter Line. He made an unprovoked attack upon you, an attempt to wipe out a pure-blood line — the fact that your mother was muggle-born is of no consequence. In that attempt, something you did, or something you were deeply involved in, killed the Dark Lord instead. You were acting entirely in self-defense. You did nothing to provoke the situation — how could you? You were a toddler. However, at the end of the conflict, you, the last heir of the Potters, were alive and he, the last of the Slytherins, was dead, by his own actions.

"Therefore, in defense of your life from an unprovoked attack, by Right of Conquest, you acquired the Dark Lord's titles. You became the heir of Slytherin. As will your children." She bounced happily on his lap. "It's why you're a parselmouth. Magic granted you that ability as Conquerer."

She interrupted her story by again rocking on his waist, pressing a breast to his face, and insisting he talk snake.

A bit later, she resumed her explanation.

"You are such a clever Slytherin, though, aren't you? You must have known this, and asked the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor. No one would ever suspect that the heir of Slytherin would be a Gryffindor. Genius. And, then, you followed it up with acting like the consummate Gryffindor, earning the ire of most of those in Slytherin House — the fools. No one suspected anything."

He opened his mouth to object.

She pressed her chest to his face. "Ah, ah! What did I say about opening your mouth?"

Later, she gave a satisfied sigh.

"So, you see, I wasn't sure. You were just so . . . Gryffindor!" She gave him a brilliant smile — he could see her white teeth in the dim light. "But then came Halloween." She sighed. "That proved nothing, though. Anyone can claim to be the heir, many have. It's the proof, though, that they always fail to provide. And to reveal it in such an amateurish way? Without getting anything in exchange?" She rolled her eyes.

"But the Dueling Club," she gave a quiet laugh, "that was the proof in the pudding." She laughed again. "Oh, sure, some people can learn to understand parseltongue, as I'm sure the Headmaster can do, and fewer still can speak it after years of training. But, if you had spent years learning to speak it, I'm sure you would have gone to great lengths to conceal the fact — can't have a parselmouth in Gryffindor, now can we? It would ruin all your hard work at hiding it. But you didn't even realize you were speaking it. Something only a true speaker of the tongue will do, unless they concentrate on not doing it."

She wriggled, again, delighting in his expression as much as her own pleasure.

"But you are young, and you were surprised." She rolled her eyes. "Serpensortia, really?" She snorted and shook her head. "Especially after being instructed to only use the disarming charm? How stupid. Still, you handled it well." She smiled in victory. "But now I knew for sure. You were the heir of Slytherin."

He nodded slowly. It sounded logical, but that didn't explain their current position. He narrowed his eyes at her dark form outlined in the dim light of the closet.

She laughed again, more robustly. "I'm a pure-blood," she said. "I'm getting married after graduation. It's an arranged thing," she said flippantly. "Heir and a spare, you know? Normally, I wouldn't dare to do this. Virginity is everything. But he took care of that on the train — the betrothal gave him certain 'privileges' which he has not been shy of exercising frequently." He could almost hear her smirking.

"And then, the idea of having sex with the Heir of Slytherin? Well, I couldn't pass up the chance, could I? And I'm also your first! No one else can ever claim to have done that!" She loomed over him, her breasts brushing across his face, back and forth, distracting him. "I hope you don't mind? It's one of the reasons I gave you the potion, you know. It enhances certain of your . . . features — I'm sure you'll figure them out." She giggled. "Your girlfriends will always treasure their times with you, no one else will ever measure up except my husband, once we're married, and they will never have a chance at him. I'll also give him another of Great-grand's potions to ensure his fidelity. It's legal once we're married." She sighed. "Another family-secret potion."

She became more energetic in her motions, and laughed delightedly.

"I will always know I shagged the Heir of Slytherin. No matter what my husband might accomplish, he will never top the Heir of Slytherin!"

¸.•*¨*•.¸

"And it's not like her future husband can complain — she won't tell him, and I certainly won't," he said resentfully. "That's all I was to her, a trophy! She doesn't know me, and doesn't care to know me. The only thing that's important to her is that she thinks I'm the heir to Slytherin, and better than her fiancé." he concluded angrily. "And that she forced me to cooperate. She knew far more spells than I do, and I had no choice but to cooperate. Especially after that potion. When she started moving, there was nothing I could do to resist."

Hermione wasn't sure about how exceptional Harry was in shagging, but decided she would have to accept what a more experienced girl had said. On the other hand, she certainly had nothing to complain about since entering this broom-closet!

Hermione was outraged at the bint's reasoning for why she had attacked Harry, but she forced herself to look at it from a pure-blood's point of view. A conservative, pure-blood, point of view. From that point of view, it did make sense. The fact that it was her Harry, though, that was being shagged simply because he was the heir of Slytherin was not acceptable. The bint had used Harry much the same way some of the man-whores used women — as marks on a list, notches on their headboard.

However, in the afterglow of what the two of them had just done, Hermione wasn't nearly as bloodthirsty as she had been before. She wouldn't kill the slapper, mainly because she had taught Harry some very useful tricks. Not once in their several bouts had Harry 'misfired.' He always waited until she had climaxed before he did — or was that the potion? And his recovery time? What recovery time! Everything she had read said that the male had to have a rest, a recovery period, to 'recharge.' Harry didn't.

And contrary to what the bint had said, Harry wasn't little by any stretch of the imagination! The key word there was stretch! Although she really didn't have any previous experience to compare to, just what she had held in her hands a short while ago, and was now comfortably buried inside her, seemed to indicate so. She knew how big her hands were, and skinny, scrawny Harry was longer than four hands, and she couldn't get her fingers all the way around it. Harry was definitely bigger than average, in both dimensions, she concluded.

"Did she mention the potion again?"

"No. Except I should always remember the contraceptive spell or potion."

Hermione froze, mind blank for a second. Then she relaxed. She had taken a contraceptive potion at the beginning of the term. Madam Pomfrey had assured her that it would last for four months.

She pulled him closer and hugged him. Everything felt just so . . . right!

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you do this?" He paused, thinking about what he had said, "Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he said hurriedly, as if afraid she misunderstood what he meant. "I'd have to be crazy to complain! Just, why?"

It was her turn to sigh. She wished there was enough light to see his expression. She thought about how she should answer. She couldn't come right out and say "Because I love you," although she had been thinking that the moment he penetrated her, every time they did it, and each time she drew a pattern on his back since then.

The romance books had clearly explained that the woman should never be the first to say that, it always resulted in scaring off the man. The woman ended up spending the rest of the book trying to get him back!

Women wanted love, men wanted sex. Women wanted a long-term relationship, men wanted sex. The trick was to get the man to understand that a long-term relationship meant lots of sex.

Plus, based on what she had heard the older girls saying, those three words, "I love you," were the kiss of death to any budding relationship with a boy and the cause of many teary nights for the ones that said it.

"You love me?" He sounded incredulous. He was as rigid as a board.

Shite. How had that snuck out?

She closed her eyes, not that she could see very much in the darkness. Damn. She took a shaky breath. "What's not to love? You're kind, you're sweet, you're thoughtful, you're brave, you saved my life . . . ." she let her voice trail off. She was still drawing patterns on his back, repeating a couple she had seen on the cover of a witch's romance novel Lavender had left lying about. She couldn't help but think, 'I love you,' as she did it.

"You love me?" he repeated, softly.

She gave a sad laugh, it was all going to shite, she might as well confess all, and hope they could still be mates. Maybe he wouldn't mind.

"Harry, I've had a crush on you from the first time I saw you on the train. You looked so cute. And you were so humble. You were nice to me when you didn't even know who I was."

"You do? You did?"

He still sounded incredulous.

"I've never had any mates," she said slowly. "In primary, nobody seemed to like me. I thought that if I was smart, they would like me, they would want to be my mates. The teachers liked me because I listened and studied. The other kids, though, didn't. It didn't take me long to discover that the ones who said they wanted to be mates only wanted to copy my homework — like Ron does. As soon as they didn't need my help, they dropped me. I kept hoping that would change, but it didn't. I ended up reading books as an escape.

"Then my Hogwarts letter came, and I thought, 'Aha! That's why nobody liked me, they somehow could tell that I was different!' And then you were nice to me on the train. Then we arrived at the school and classes started. It was a repeat of primary, for me. Except you. You didn't avoid me when I tried to sit with you, like the others did. The only time you avoided me was when Ron pulled you away and sat with you first.

"I kept thinking, if they can see how smart I am, they'll like me, but they didn't. I was pretty miserable. At home, at least, when I left school I'd see my parents and they'd tell me how wonderful I was and I knew they loved me. Here? I'm stuck. In the dorms, the other girls ignored me at best, taunted me at worst. You didn't.

"And then Halloween came. I was crying all day in the girls' toilets. I had just about decided to chuck it all and go home. At least at home, I had my parents! But magic is so much fun! I started wishing, really and truly wishing, I was dead — then I wouldn't have to choose.

"Then the troll came in. I guess my magic was trying to help me. I wished I were dead, and magic said, 'well, here you are. Now you can die!'

"Then you came in with Ron. Ron just stood there like a lump, gaping, but you, you started throwing stuff. And then you actually attacked the troll! Then Ron knocked the troll out with the same spell I had tried to help him with earlier, the berk.

"My crush had just saved my life! That was when I knew I loved you. And I decided to stick with you. And you let me. I know Ron complained, he has no idea how far his voice projects, but you listened to all my bossiness and stayed my mate.

"Of course, I knew you had no idea what was going on. As far as you were concerned, I was a just a bossy boy in a dress," she said sadly.

"I don't know how much you know about boys and girls, Harry, but girls grow up faster than boys. We start thinking about things between boys and girls long before boys even notice girls are girls! Plus, I'm almost a year older than you, I'm thirteen and you're twelve!"

"Harry, do you know what puberty is?"

Silence. "Um, not really." He was clearly only a little curious. Which was really funny considering their position and what they had just been doing.

"Puberty is basically when you start to grow hair in your groin and armpits. Boys start to develop muscles and grow big, while girls start to develop curves and grow breasts.

"Most girls start puberty sometime between ten and twelve, boys are eleven to thirteen. Girls have their first period when they're about twelve. You know what periods are right?"

A heavy sigh, then, "No." He shifted his weight. Because he was still connected to her that caused a shift inside her, making it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.

She rolled them over, putting her on top. That was a bit of a mistake as they ended up getting distracted from their conversation for a while. She ended up on the bottom, again. Not that she was going to complain, mind you!

Eventually, Hermione returned to the topic at hand. She took a deep breath. "Puberty is when girls' bodies start releasing eggs to make babies. It's a once a month cycle. The egg is released into the womb, it waits to get fertilized. If nothing happens by the end of the month, the body flushes the egg out and starts over. It's why women bleed once a month. You've heard about tampons and pads, right?"

She felt him nod. He had to have seen the package while emptying the trash at Dursleys. He might not know what they were, but he had to have seen them, at least.

"I had precocious puberty, meaning my puberty started when I was ten. So, I've been more aware of boys and what that means than most girls." She paused, then continued sadly, "Yet another thing that separated me from the other girls.

"Well, anyway, I knew you wouldn't be interested in girls and dating and stuff for a few years. So I decided to be your mate and to see if maybe, in a few years, you might like me as a girlfriend, not just a mate."

She paused, waiting.

He shifted again, "So, you did this because you love me?" He emphasized this by pushing with his hips.

Her breath caught in her throat, "Uh, yes." She pushed back. The conversation came to a halt for several minutes as they were again distracted.

"I'm sure that other girl doesn't love me, but she did this, anyway," he said, musing.

"Usually, only boys and girls who like each other a lot do this. Ones who want to get married. Some just do it for fun, though. I'm sure you know a few on the boys' side."

They were quite for a few moments.

"Nobody has ever said they loved me," he stated quietly, his breath tickling her ear.

She was running her fingers on his back. She stopped, staring up at his outline in the dimness of the broom-closet. "Never?"

He shrugged, "I'm sure my parents did when I was a baby, but I don't remember that far back, and nobody has said it since."

She hugged him. "I'll say it. As many times as you want. I love you."

He nuzzled her neck for a few moments. "I don't know what love is. I've never seen it that I can recall." The last came out somewhat bitterly.

"This is merely one tiny part of it," she said softly.

They remained together for several more minutes. Hermoine was surprised. She hadn't expected him to say he loved her, but to hear him say he didn't know what love was, was a shock. He could love her and simply not realize that the feeling he felt was love! Or not.

"Do you feel the same way about me that you do about that other girl?" she hesitantly asked.

He thought a few moments. "No. I like you, you're my best mate. I don't even know who she is. What we did was fun, but it was more about her forcing what she wanted from the Boy-Who-Lived than anything else."

Hermione smiled, even though he couldn't see her do it. I'll take that, at the moment, she thought. "Well," she said, "You don't have to tell me that you love me, just tell me that you need me!"

Harry held her tight for a few minutes, saying nothing. "Hermione, I do need you, you're my best mate and I don't know what I'd do without you," he finally said.

She remembered a passage from that witch's romance that she had snuck a look at, "Harry, I love you. Where you go, I will go. What you want to do, I want to do. Your mates are my mates, your enemies are my enemies. I will protect you with my life." She continued to draw on his back. "I am yours to do with as you want." She paused, then added, "Does that sound good to you?" She pulled him down close and hugged him tightly.

"Breathe, Hermione," he said weakly, "I need to breathe."

She let go and went back to stroking and drawing on his back, blushing furiously and glad it was too dark for him to see.

"It sounds a bit over the top, actually," he said by her ear, brushing her forehead with his fingers.

She giggled. "So was jumping on the back of a troll in first year for a girl you barely knew."

He snorted. "Yeah. Well, I don't know if I love you, I don't know what love is, but where you go, I'll go. What you want to do, I'll do. Your mates are mine, and you know your enemies are my enemies! And I've already protected your life once, just as you protected me when Quirrel was jinxing my broom. What makes you think either of us will ever stop?"

Both felt a happy glow at their mutual declarations. Neither noticed the broom-closet brightened for a second around them.

"Who knows what the future holds, Harry, but best mates for now sounds fine with me." She pushed her hips up at him. "Best mates with a few benefits." She hadn't lost her best mate. She wasn't sure if he wanted her to call him her boyfriend, but that wasn't important just now.

He 'hemmed,' then pushed back. They did again, what they had done before. Hermione knew she'd be walking funny tomorrow, and probably the next day, too.

Hermione knew it had to be that potion. No boy, or man, could go that many climaxes without going flaccid in between at least once. Not that she was going to complain. Harry appeared not only willing, but able to continue doing this all night. However, just to be on the safe side, she decided a visit to Madam Pomfrey was in order to make sure she was safe.

Except right then her stomach growled. Loudly. Before she could be embarrassed, Harry's stomach responded with a growl of its own. They both burst out laughing.

Hermione cast a quick tempus spell, once she found her wand on the floor — it had been dislodged from her hair during one of their bouts. They discovered that they had missed dinner completely. Two hours gone in a matter of what felt like minutes.

Harry said, "Oh, well, shite." He sighed. "Well, I have a couple of pastries in my trunk. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

"Okay." Time to get dressed, she decided. The shock of the cold air hitting her rather warm pubic region as she pushed Harry, her lover, back made her gasp. Fortunately, there was a torch in the closet, which she lit. She was hot, sweaty, sticky, and there was a bit of blood as she had been a virgin. The room just reeked of their recent activities. She cast a quick scourgify to clean herself. It wasn't pleasant, but it would do.

Now that she could see, the sheer volume of Harry's climaxes left her stunned. It had to be magic that was responsible. There was more white stuff on the floor and their bodies than could be held in both Harry's John Thomas and bollocks. And more poured out onto the floor every time she moved.

She cleaned the floor meticulously. She didn't want to leave any of the copious amounts of evidence of what they had been doing out for someone to find.

She went to cast the spell on Harry and stopped dead. She had never seen him without a shirt and what she saw sent cold spikes into her belly. He had been watching her, as any young male would have watched a naked girl. When he saw where she was looking, he quickly turned sideways and pretended nothing was wrong.

"Harry," she said slowly, "look at me."

He gave a sick smile and said, after clearing his throat, "I'm looking."

But he wasn't looking at her, he was staring over her shoulder, avoiding her gaze.

She took two quick steps forward, grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face her. He resisted for a moment, then stared at the floor.

On his chest and stomach were a couple of thin stripes — scars. Old scars. She pushed his shoulder and turned him around. He tried to resist, but she just pushed harder until he acquiesced. His back was the same, but the scars thicker, more frequent, and layered one atop the other, indicating abuse going back many years.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed. Her primary teachers had once given a talk about child abuse and the signs of it. With a distinctly morbid curiosity, she had hit the library on the subject and found several books on the subject, including one with pictures. What she saw on Harry was beyond what she had seen then.

The Dursleys were unfit to be parents and when the police saw these scars both would find themselves in for a long stay in a government facility at the pleasure of Her Majesty.

Even more disturbing, though, was that as many times as Harry had been in the Hospital Wing, how had Madam Pomfrey never noticed them? And Madam Pomfrey wasn't incompetent, she couldn't have missed such clear signs of abuse. And if she had, why had Harry been sent back to the Dursleys last summer? It couldn't have been a simple mistake, not with abuse like this.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione gathered him into another hug. He stood stiffly in her embrace before finally relaxing into it. "Harry," she said, muffled slightly by the fact that her face was pressed into his hair, "You're not going back to them. If I have to kidnap you, you're not going back to them!" She kissed the back of his head.

He had no reply, he just shrugged.

"Once I tell my parents, they'll make sure you never go back to the Dursleys."

He stiffened again.

"Harry," she said fiercely, "I love you. Do you think I'm going to stand by and let them treat you like this! And unless you want to go back to them, you're going to have to tell the authorities what the Dursleys did."

He sighed, then she felt him nod. "It won't do any good, though," he whispered.

"But first," she took a step back, "we need to get clean before we go see Madam Pomfrey!"

He turned to face her, "What?" he started to object.

She put her hand on his chest — his bare chest felt warm under her hand — "We have to find out if that potion she gave you did anything damaging, silly!"

"Oh."

She stepped back and cast a scourgify on his chest, and then another lower. She hoped he hadn't noticed the faint traces of her blood. Then she turned him around and checked his back again.

"Oops."

"Oops what?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Oh, well, it's nothing." Now that there was light to see, and she was looking, she could see that she must have gotten some of her blood on her hands during their first time and picked more up whenever she fondled him. That and she had added a few scratches of her own to his back while they were occupied.

She had left faint blood streaks of what she had drawn on his back. She felt embarrassed that she had gotten her blood all over his back, not to mention the scratches. She cast scourgify several times to make sure she removed all traces of her drawings. She'd have to check her books for a spell to heal minor scratches.

"Nothing?" he said, clearly amused at her actions.

"Well, I may have scratched your back a couple of times," she said regretfully.

He looked back at her, then grinned. As hot as her face felt, she knew it must be beet red.

A few minutes later they were dressed. As they were about to leave the closet, she remembered that she had a couple of questions, still. She rested her hand on his arm. "Harry, what happened after? With that girl."

Harry stood staring at the door for a moment before sighing. "After we . . .finished, she told me that if I told anyone about what had happened, that there would be consequences. Then she stunned me. When I woke, she was gone. The broom-closet was spotlessly clean and my robes were in a stack on the floor."

"What consequences? Did she mention any?" She could see him blushing. "Come on, Harry. Best mates, remember?"

He took a breath, "She said if I told anyone, I wouldn't get dragged into a broom-closet several more times."

¸.•*¨*•.¸

If a certain young laddie were a puppy full grown,

. . . I'd let him know where he could bury his bone.

¸.•*¨*•.¸.•*¨*•.¸.•*¨*•.¸