Harry's first Potions class had been as miserable as he'd anticipated. The dungeon was cold, the air thick with the smell of stale ingredients and simmering concoctions. Professor Snape loomed at the front of the room, his presence as intimidating as Harry remembered. From the moment the class began, Snape's dark eyes were on Harry, filled with disdain. He wasted no time singling Harry out, asking questions designed to humiliate.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Harry, prepared for the basics, answered confidently. "A powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death."
Snape's expression twisted, displeased at Harry's quick response. He fired off another question, trying to catch Harry off-guard. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"They're the same plant," Harry answered, keeping his voice steady. "Also known as aconite."
Snape's lips curled into a sneer, and he pushed further, asking about antidotes and advanced topics far beyond their first-year syllabus. Harry stammered as Snape's questions became more obscure, clearly beyond what was reasonable for a first-year to know. He realized then that Snape's grudge was something that wouldn't be overcome, no matter how prepared he was. Harry decided it wasn't worth the effort to play Snape's games; he would do what was necessary to pass but wouldn't waste time trying to please a man who seemed intent on despising him.
After a long day of classes, Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, eager to unwind. But as he reached the familiar staircase leading up to the common room, Hermione intercepted him, her expression tense and focused.
"Harry, I need to talk to you," she said, her grip firm as she pulled him down a side corridor. Harry followed, confusion flickering across his face. Hermione led him into an unused classroom, the door creaking shut behind them. She glanced around, making sure they were alone, before facing him with a determined look.
"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry asked, still trying to gauge her mood.
Hermione took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of nerves and something Harry couldn't quite place. "I need you to strip," she said abruptly, her voice taut with urgency.
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why?"
Hermione's expression was fierce, though her blush deepened. "It's for research," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "I need to understand if men's… things can get up. I need to see if you're different, and if you are, maybe I can find a way to fix it for others." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her underlying anxiety. "If you're special, I want to find a cure."
Harry hesitated, pretending not to grasp the full weight of her request. He played up his innocence, acting like he didn't fully understand what his own arousal had to do with her so-called research. But the earnestness in Hermione's eyes convinced him to go along. "Alright," he said, sounding almost casual, and began to undress, slipping out of his clothes one piece at a time.
**Hermione's Perspective:**
Hermione watched as Harry stripped, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation. She tried to keep her thoughts clinical, reminding herself that this was all for research—that she needed to know if what Lavender had said was true. But as Harry stood before her, his clothes pooled on the floor, Hermione couldn't deny the strange thrill that coursed through her. His member was soft, still small and unassuming, and she realized just how uncharted this territory was for both of them.
She stepped closer, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat. Harry's expression was guileless, his body relaxed as if he didn't fully grasp the significance of what was happening. Hermione hesitated, her gaze flickering over his naked form. She knew she had to help him along, to see if he really was different, and she couldn't let her own uncertainty get in the way.
Hermione reached out with trembling hands, her fingers brushing lightly against Harry's member. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt up her arm, and she took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of the moment. Her touch was hesitant at first, delicate as she explored the soft flesh, feeling it respond beneath her fingers. Harry's cock twitched slightly at her touch, and Hermione's breath hitched, her fingers curling more firmly around him.
She began to stroke him, her movements slow and unsure, each glide of her hand deliberate. The soft, pliable skin warmed and thickened under her touch, growing heavier as she continued. Hermione watched in fascination as Harry's member began to swell, lengthening and stiffening in her grasp. She marveled at the transformation—the way it changed shape, filling her hand, growing firmer with every stroke.
The sensation was new, the smoothness of his skin mixed with the firm heat of his growing arousal. Hermione's pulse quickened, and she leaned closer, inhaling the faint, musky scent of Harry's body. The air between them felt charged, each moment stretching out as she worked him with careful, steady movements. She could feel every twitch, every pulse of blood beneath her fingers, and the sight of him hardening filled her with a strange, guilty pleasure she couldn't quite name.
Harry's cock rose to its full height, thick and erect, standing proudly from his body. Hermione stared, her eyes wide as she took in every detail—the slight curve, the taut skin, the way it throbbed slightly in her hand. She couldn't believe she was seeing it in person; it was something she had never witnessed before, a rarity in a world where men's bodies hardly ever responded. The warmth, the heaviness, the unmistakable heat radiating from him—it was all so different from what she'd expected.
Hermione fumbled for her wand, quickly measuring the length and girth, trying to keep her mind on the task even as her own curiosity threatened to overwhelm her. She noted every detail, her breath shaky as she watched Harry's member twitch in her hand, feeling its firmness and weight. But when it came time to end the experiment, Hermione hesitated. "Alright, Harry," she said, her voice unsteady. "Now, you need to… get it down."
Harry looked at her, genuinely puzzled. "I don't know how," he admitted, his tone innocent.
Hermione bit her lip, recalling Lavender's words about using Harry. Her mind raced, and she found herself grappling with an urge she hadn't anticipated. If Lavender was right, then Harry's arousal wouldn't just fade on its own. He needed… release. A flicker of daring crossed Hermione's mind, and before she could second-guess herself, she lifted her skirt, revealing her underwear. She hesitated, but the pull of curiosity and the desperate need to understand pushed her forward.
"If… if you clean it inside me, maybe it'll go down," Hermione whispered, her voice thick with a mix of embarrassment and excitement she couldn't quite contain.
Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't question it. He stepped closer, his hands finding Hermione's hips. She gasped softly as his fingers brushed against her skin, and she parted her legs instinctively, her heart pounding in her chest. Harry positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as he pushed forward, the sudden, stretching sensation nearly taking her breath away.
Harry slid inside her, inch by inch, his thick length filling her in a way she'd never imagined. Hermione's hands flew to his shoulders, her fingers gripping him tightly as he began to move, each thrust sending a shock of pleasure through her. The feeling of him inside her was overwhelming, the heat, the fullness, the slick glide of their bodies moving together. Hermione's head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips despite herself.
Harry's hips rocked steadily, his movements unhurried but deliberate. Hermione could feel every stroke, the way his cock dragged against her walls, the subtle pulse of his arousal deep inside her. She tried to stay focused, tried to remind herself that this was about research, but with each thrust, her resolve crumbled. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their bodies echoed in the empty classroom, mingling with Hermione's ragged breaths and soft gasps.
Harry's pace quickened, and Hermione found herself clinging to him, her legs trembling as he drove deeper. She could feel the tension building, the unfamiliar heat spreading through her as Harry's cock hit places inside her she'd never known could feel so good. Her mind was a mess of sensations—the pull and stretch, the wet slap of their hips meeting, the warmth of his breath on her neck as he continued to thrust.
Hermione's thoughts blurred, her focus lost entirely as she surrendered to the pleasure coursing through her. Harry's grip tightened on her waist, his thrusts growing more urgent, and Hermione could feel herself on the brink, teetering on the edge of something she hadn't planned for. She clung to Harry, her nails digging into his back as he pushed her closer and closer to that precipice.
With a final, powerful thrust, Harry buried himself deep, and Hermione's body tensed, her climax hitting her with a force that left her breathless. She cried out, her walls squeezing around Harry's cock as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Harry followed soon after, his release hot and thick, filling her with a warmth that spread through her entire body.
Hermione leaned against Harry, both of them panting and trembling, her mind reeling from the intensity of what had just happened. She had set out to find answers, to understand Harry's arousal, but the reality of it had far surpassed anything she'd imagined. As she tried to steady her breath, Hermione realized that whatever this had been, it was just the beginning—of her research, of understanding Harry, and perhaps, of something much more complicated.