Chapter 45

Train Wreck (Hermione Granger)

The compartment is quiet except for the steady clatter of the wheels and the low chatter of Ron demolishing a cauldron cake. Hermione leans across the gap between the seats, cups a hand around Ginny’s ear, and whispers something too soft for the boys to catch.

Ginny’s eyes flick to Harry, then to Hermione, and a slow, wicked grin spreads across her face. She straightens up, elbows Ron hard in the ribs.

“Oi, Ronnie, didn’t you say Amelia was saving us seats further down? We should go find her before the trolley witch blocks the corridor.”

Ron blinks, mouth full. “Amelia who?”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Your girlfriend, you absolute turnip. Come on.”

Ron shrugs, wipes chocolate on his jeans, and lumbers to his feet. Ginny follows, pausing just long enough to shoot Harry a blatant wink. He grins, lazy and grateful, and blows her a kiss.

“Thanks, Gin.”

“Anytime, my love,” she sing-songs, and pulls the door shut behind them with a soft click.

Click.

Hermione doesn’t waste a heartbeat. She’s staring at Harry like she’s been starving for weeks and he’s the first decent meal she’s seen. One month. One whole month of being stuck at home with her parents and nothing but her own fingers for company.

Harry lifts one hand and snaps.

Blinds drop. Lock clicks. Muffliato blooms thick and warm around the walls.

Hermione’s already moving. She crosses the compartment in two strides and drops straight into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs. The kiss is hard, hungry, no softness at all. It’s teeth and tongue and a month of pent-up frustration. She tastes like peppermint toothpaste and pure want.

Harry’s hands go straight to her hips, dragging her down so she feels exactly what one month of thinking about this has done to him.

“Fucking finally,” she mutters against his mouth, grinding down once, deliberate and filthy. “Been going insane.”

Harry smirks, nips her bottom lip. “Someone’s a bit horny.”

Hermione’s eyes flash. “Don’t gloat, Potter. Just shut up and give me what I came for.”

She grabs the hem of her jumper and yanks it over her head in one rough motion. Static crackles through her hair. The black lace bra underneath is sheer enough that he can see her nipples already hard against the fabric.

Harry’s mouth goes dry.

“Been saving this set for the first bloke who wasn’t too scared to ruin me in a train compartment,” she says, voice low, daring him.

He meets her eyes, grin sharp. “Lucky me.”

His hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the lace. She shivers, arches into the touch like she’s been waiting weeks for it.

“Touch me properly,” she says, impatient. “I’ve had to do it myself for a month. Your turn.”

Harry doesn’t need telling twice.

The black lace bra underneath is delicate, barely there, and already damp where her nipples press against it.

Harry’s mouth actually waters.

“Fuck,” he breathes, reverent.

He cups her through the lace first, thumbs flicking over the hard peaks until she whimpers. Then he leans in and closes his teeth gently around one nipple, soaking the fabric with his tongue, sucking hard enough that she jerks in his lap and grinds down again instinctively.

“Harry—”

“Shh.” He switches to the other breast, giving it the same treatment until the lace is transparent and clinging to her skin. “Been dreaming about these tits for weeks. Not rushing.”

His hands slide down to her thighs, pushing her skirt higher, higher, until the pleated wool bunches around her waist. The train lurches around a bend; the motion rocks her forward, and she braces her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. Harry uses the momentum to slide one hand between them, cupping her through soaked lace.

Hermione’s head falls forward, forehead pressed to his, breath hitching.

“You’re drenched,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Can feel you through the fabric. Tell me how wet you got just sitting across from me for the last half an hour.”

She tries to answer, but he chooses that moment to press two fingers hard against her clit, rubbing in tight circles through the lace, and whatever she was going to say fractures into a broken moan.

“Tell me,” he repeats, relentless.

“Very—”

Harry growls, actually growls, and rips the lace aside with one sharp tug. The fabric tears easily; he doesn’t care. Cool air hits her slick folds and she shudders, thighs clenching around his hips.

His fingers slide through her, parting her, spreading the wetness up to her clit and back down again. One finger circles her entrance, teasing, never quite pushing in.

Hermione’s nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents.

“Harry, please—”

“Please what?” He leans in, licks a hot stripe up the column of her throat. “Please finger you until you come all over my hand? Please shove my cock down your throat? Tell me what you want, Hermione.”

She’s shaking now, hips rocking into his touch, chasing friction.

“Everything,” she whispers. “I want everything.”

Harry smiles against her skin.

“Then let’s start slow.”

He slips one finger inside her, just to the first knuckle, and curls it.

Hermione’s back arches like she’s been electrocuted.

Harry keeps that one finger inside her, barely moving, just a gentle curl every few seconds that makes her thighs twitch. He watches her face like he’s memorising it. Hermione’s eyes are half shut, lips parted, little puffs of air escaping every time he crooks his finger again.

“More,” she whispers. It’s not bossy like she usually is. It’s soft, almost shy. Like she can’t believe she’s asking.

He slides a second finger in alongside the first, slow enough that she feels every inch. She’s so wet the sound is obscene, a slick little noise each time he pushes in and drags back out. Her forehead drops to his shoulder, curls tickling his neck.

“God, Harry.”

“Yeah,” he mutters against her hair. “I missed this too.”

He starts moving properly now, steady and deep, curling on every stroke so the heel of his hand grinds against her clit. Hermione rocks into it, small desperate rolls of her hips that match the rhythm of the train. Her breath hitches every time the carriage sways and shoves her down harder onto his fingers.

Harry pulls back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks are scarlet, eyes glassy. He leans in and kisses her slow, filthy, tongue sliding against hers while his fingers keep that same relentless pace inside her.

She moans into his mouth. The sound vibrates straight through him.

He breaks the kiss, rests his forehead against hers. “You’re close already, aren’t you?”

Hermione nods, jerky little movements. “Been close since you locked the door.”

“Want to watch you fall apart on my hand,” he says, voice rough. “Want to feel it.”

He speeds up just a fraction, thumb pressing firm circles over her clit now. Her whole body goes tight, thighs clamping around his wrist. She buries her face in his neck, teeth grazing his skin, and then she’s coming, hard, quiet gasps muffled against his throat. He feels every pulse around his fingers, the way she flutters and clenches and finally goes loose and trembling.

Harry keeps moving gently until she whines and pushes weakly at his wrist. Only then does he ease out, slow, bringing his fingers up between them. They’re shiny with her. He doesn’t even think. Just slides them into his mouth and licks them clean while she watches, wide-eyed and flushed.

“Jesus,” she breathes.

He grins, lazy and smug. “Taste like you missed me.”

Hermione laughs, shaky and real, and kisses him again so she can taste herself on his tongue. It’s slower this time, softer, but no less hungry. Her hands slide down his chest, tugging at his shirt.

“Your turn,” she says against his lips. “I’ve been dying to have a cock in my mouth.”

She slips off his lap and kneels between his legs before he can blink. Her fingers are quick on his belt, popping the button, dragging the zip down tooth by tooth. Harry lifts his hips so she can shove jeans and boxers down just far enough. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and already leaking at the tip.

Hermione makes this little pleased noise in the back of her throat. She wraps her hand around him, firm, and gives one slow stroke that makes his head thump back against the seat.

“Four weeks of this waiting for me,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “All mine.”

Then she leans down and licks a hot stripe from base to tip, slow and deliberate, like she’s savouring him.

Harry swears under his breath and threads his fingers through her curls, not pushing, just holding on.

Hermione doesn’t ease into it. She wraps her lips around the head of his cock and sucks hard, cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking at the slit like she’s trying to drink him down. Harry’s hips jerk before he can stop himself and the head bumps the back of her throat.

“Fuck, sorry.”

She pulls off just long enough to glare up at him, eyes watering, lips shiny. “Don’t you dare apologise. Do it again. I want you to fuck my face like you’ve never done it before.”

Then she sinks down properly, no teasing, no slow build. Takes him as deep as she can until her nose is pressed against his stomach and she gags once, sharp and wet. The sound goes straight to his balls. She doesn’t pull back. Just holds there, throat working around him, spit already dripping down her chin.

Harry groans, low and wrecked, fingers tightening in her hair. “Hermione.”

She hums. The vibration makes his vision blur. Then she starts moving, fast and sloppy, no rhythm, just pure greedy want. Every time she pulls back she sucks hard enough that her cheeks hollow, then slams back down until she chokes. Spit slicks his cock, runs down onto his balls, drips onto the seat between his thighs.

As requested, his hips start rocking up to meet her, fucking her mouth in short, sharp thrusts. She takes it, moaning around him, eyes locked on his the whole time. Hermione is loving it and just digs her nails into his thighs like she’s daring him to go harder.

One hand fists tighter in her curls, the other slides down to grip the back of her neck, holding her steady while she works her magic. The train rattles underneath them, masking the wet, filthy sounds she’s making.

“Touch yourself,”  he grits out. “Want you to come again while my cock’s down your throat.”

Hermione whines around him, the sound muffled and desperate. She shoves one hand between her own legs, fingers slipping through the mess he left there, rubbing herself hard and fast. Her rhythm stutters every time he hits the back of her throat.

She comes first, sudden and hard, whole body locking up, throat squeezing around him so tight he sees stars. The vibration of her moan tips him over. Harry pulls her down one last time and holds her there, coming with a rough curse, pulsing hot and thick straight down her throat.

She swallows everything, greedy, throat working until he’s spent. Only then does she pull off, gasping, spit and come slick on her chin, lips swollen and red.

Harry hauls her up by the front of her shirt and kisses her messy, tasting himself on her tongue. She’s shaking, adrenaline and aftershocks, clinging to him like she’ll fall apart if he lets go.

“Still with me?” he mutters against her mouth.

Hermione laughs, breathless and ragged. “Not even close to done with you, Potter.”

Hermione is still straddling his thighs, trembling from the orgasm that just ripped through her while his cock was buried in her throat. Her lips are swollen, chin wet, eyes dark and glassy. Harry’s hands are on her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

“Up,” he says, voice hoarse. One word, rough as gravel.

She scrambles off his lap on shaky legs. Harry stands, shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and kicks them aside. Then he grabs her by the waist, spins her, and bends her over the arm of the opposite seat in one brutal motion. Her skirt is still bunched around her waist, knickers long gone. The sight of her bent over, arse up, thighs slick, makes his spent cock twitch like it never went soft.

“Hold on,” he mutters.

Hermione braces her hands on the cushions, fingers clawing into the fabric. She looks back over her shoulder, hair wild, and grins like a devil.

“Do your worst.”

Harry steps in close, lines himself up, and slams home in one thrust.

The thick head of his cock eases past her swollen entrance, burying himself to the root. Hermione’s back arches, a sharp moan tearing out of her throat that the Muffliato barely swallows. Hermione just blinks and remembers how much she loves this. Harry pulls back and drives in again, harder, the slap of skin on skin loud enough to echo in the tiny compartment.

“Fuck, yes,” she gasps, pushing back to meet him. “Like that. Fuckkk-”

Harry sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, one hand fisted in her hair to keep her exactly where he wants her. Every thrust pushes her forward into the seat, breasts bouncing around like crazy. The train rocks hard around a bend and the motion drives him deeper; she screams into the cushion and clenches around him so tight his vision tunnels.

“Harder,” she snarls, voice shredded. “I want to feel this tomorrow when I’m sitting in bloody Charms.”

He growls, lets go of her hair, and grabs both hips with bruising force. Then he really starts fucking her. Short, vicious thrusts that jolt her whole body, the head of his cock dragging over that spot inside her on every stroke. Sweat drips down his chest, lands between her shoulder blades. He watches it slide down the curve of her spine and loses his fucking mind.

Hermione reaches back blindly, nails raking his thigh. “Touch me, Harry, please.”

He slides one hand around her hip, finds her clit, and rubs rough, messy circles. She comes instantly, a full-body spasm, walls clamping down so hard he has to fight to keep moving through it. Her cry is raw, almost pained, muffled by the cushion she’s biting now.

Harry doesn’t stop. Just keeps pounding into her, chasing his own edge, feeling her pulse around him again and again. The train whistle screams somewhere in the distance. Neither of them hear it.

“Inside,” she pants, turning her head just enough for him to see her wrecked face. “Come inside me. Want to feel you leaking out of me the whole welcome feast.”

That’s it.

Harry slams deep one last time and comes with a guttural sound, hips jerking as he empties himself inside her in thick, pulsing waves. Hermione moans like she can feel every spurt, pushing back to take him deeper, milking him dry.

They stay locked like that, breathing hard, his chest pressed to her back, cock still buried inside her. The train lurches again and he slips out slow, watching his come follow, dripping down her thighs in thick streaks.

Hermione laughs, shaky and wrecked. “We’re disgusting.”

Harry kisses the bite mark on her shoulder, tastes salt and sex. “Yeah. And we’re not even halfway to Hogsmeade.”

• Sorry for the break in posting, new chapters will be coming thick and fast from now on!