Magical Mishap Ch.2

Chapter 2 - The Worst Has Yet to CUM

"I'm inside you?!" Harry shouted it so loud that his voice echoed down the halls of 12 Grimmauld Place like he'd just announced the arrival of You-Know-Who himself. "How the fuck am I inside you!?"

"I don't fucking know, Harry, but you are!" Hermione shrieked back like a banshee.

She was perched on top of him like she was mounting the world's most inappropriate broomstick. Her legs were spread wide on either side of his waist, her knees pressed against the dusty library floor. Her already short skirt had ridden up completely, bunched around her narrow waist like a grey fabric belt, leaving her lower half completely exposed and absolutely nothing to the imagination about where they were joined together. Her thighs were spread wide around his hips, smooth as silk and soft-looking as butter. Between them, nestled in a neat triangle of brown curls that was considerably tidier than the wild mess on her head, was the prettiest pink pussy Harry had ever laid eyes on. And his shaft, hard as a Beater's bat and about as thick, had disappeared entirely, buried so deep in her wet flesh his dark curls tangled with her neat brown triangle.

Harry couldn't wrap his head around it. His massive prick was stuffed balls-deep inside Hermione, stretching her tight little cunt so much he could see exactly where his shaft split her open. Her delicate pink flesh pulled taut around his girth, forced to accommodate every thick inch of him.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Harry managed to croak out, his voice gone rough with shock and arousal. "How in Merlin's name did this happen?"

"How should I know?" Hermione squeaked, her voice pitched higher than a Howler. "You're the one who caught me!"

Harry tried to work it out, though thinking was proving rather challenging when all his blood and his brain had gone south on holiday. When Hermione had tumbled backwards off that ancient ladder, arms full of enormous books, he'd lunged forward to catch her on pure instinct. She'd fallen toward him despite facing the other direction, and when he'd grabbed her round her tiny waist with both hands, they'd both gone down in a tangle of limbs.

It should have been impossible, really. The odds of his rock-hard erection finding its way to exactly the right spot, of lining up perfectly with Hermione's entrance and slipping right into her dripping wet hole like a wand sliding into its holster — it was like catching the Golden Snitch blindfolded while riding a Hippogriff backwards.

When you fell off the ladder and I caught you," Harry said slowly, working through the mental puzzle, "we must've lined up just right. Your, er, your bits and my bits, they sort of... clicked into place."

"So it's your fault."

"My fault!" Harry couldn't believe it. "How is this my fault?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't the one waltzing around naked, was I, Harry!" Hermione was using that bossy, no-nonsense tone she'd perfected over seven years of keeping him and Ron from getting themselves killed, though it lost some of its authority when she was impaled on his cock.

Her cheeks had gone red as Gryffindor banners, and she was staring down at him with those big brown eyes like she'd just realized she was sitting on a Hungarian Horntail rather than her best mate.

"You might as well have been!" Harry shot back. "Why aren't you wearing knickers?"

Hermione's face went an even deeper shade of red, if that was possible. She looked down at where they were joined, then back up at his face, her brown eyes wide with mortification.

"I forgot to do the washing," she mumbled quietly, like a schoolgirl caught misbehaving. Given what she was wearing that wasn't far off. "This old uniform was the only clean thing I could find this morning."

Harry blinked at her. It was hard to concentrate on anything except how brilliant her cunt felt squeezing his cock. "So you put on a tiny school uniform because everything else was dirty?"

Y-yes," Hermione stammered, nothing like her usual confident self. She sounded so embarrassed.

That won't do at all, Harry thought, a wicked grinning spreading across his face. He didn't want or need Hermione to start feeling guilty about what happened. They were both at fault, so there was no reason to keep blaming each other.

Time to break the ice.

"So you weren't planning to wear that slutty little outfit to see Ron in Cardiff then?"

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

There it was. A voice that could stop a rampaging hippogriff dead in its tracks. For just that moment, Hermione sounded exactly like herself again, all fire and righteous indignation.

"How dare you suggest such a thing!" She smacked his broad chest hard enough to leave a mark. "I would never... I'm not some common tart who..."

She looked absolutely scandalized. Harry thought it was brilliant. Here she was, sitting on his cock in the most compromising position imaginable, her tits practically spilling out of her too-small jumper and her pussy stretched tight around his massive shaft, and she was mortified at the suggestion she might have dressed sexy on purpose.

But as he stared up at her flushed face, Harry's mind suddenly drifted back to the day with the Time-Turner. When they had rescued Sirius and freed Buckbeak. Before then, Hermione had just been his friend who knew everything and helped him with homework. She'd been all bushy hair and big teeth. But then she'd thrown that Time-Turner chain around both their necks and suddenly her body was pressed right up against his chest. Even through her school robes, he could feel how soft she was, how she had curves in all the right places. Her tits, small but definitely there, had pressed against his chest. His teenage brain had gone completely blank for a moment, every thought wiped clean except the sudden realization that Hermione Granger wasn't just his brainy mate anymore. She was a girl. A proper girl with girl bits and everything.

That summer at the Dursleys had been absolute torture, and not just because of the usual reasons. Every night when he'd tried to sleep, his brain would replay that moment over and over. The way Hermione had felt pressed against him, all soft curves and warmth. He'd lie there in his tiny bedroom, staring at the ceiling, trying to think about anything else. Quidditch. Potions homework. Even Snape's greasy hair. But his treacherous mind kept drifting back to the weight of Hermione's body against his.

His body would react every bloody time, his cock getting hard despite his best efforts to think about something else. He'd roll onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow, mortified by his own reaction. She was his friend, for Merlin's sake. His brilliant, bookish friend who helped him with homework. And who Ron fancied. But teenage hormones didn't give a toss about guilt or friendship.

The first time it happened, Harry had tried to ignore it, waiting for his erection to go away on its own. He'd counted Quidditch statistics, recited Transfiguration theory, even tried to remember Professor Binns's most boring lecture. Nothing worked. His cock remained stubbornly hard, throbbing with need.

After lying there for what felt like hours, sweating and frustrated, Harry had finally given in. He'd slipped his hand under the covers, wrapping his fingers around his shaft with shame and relief. It had taken embarrassingly little time, just a few quick strokes while he imagined Hermione's body pressed against his again, and he was spilling into his hand with a muffled groan.

The guilt had been immediate and crushing. But it happened again the very next night. And the night after that. By the end of the first week, Harry had given up pretending he could resist. Every evening, he'd lie in his narrow bed and let his mind wander back to that moment with the Time-Turner.

He'd picture Hermione pressing against him deliberately. In his fantasies, her tits would be even fuller than they'd felt that day, heavy and warm against his chest. Sometimes he imagined what it would feel like to touch them, to cup them in his hands.

Then he'd cum with a strangled groan, spilling over his fingers. The guilt would hit him afterwards, every single time. He'd clean up the mess and swear he'd think about literally anyone else tomorrow night. But when night fell and he was alone with his thoughts, it was always Hermione.

Before the Time-Turner, Hermione had just been his clever mate who happened to be female. After it, she was the girl who'd made him realize what all the fuss was about. And now here she was, eight years later, sitting on his cock like his most perverted teenage fantasies had finally come true.

The memory of all those nights wanking over her made his traitorous cock give an enthusiastic twitch inside her warm cunt, making them both gasp. The movement sent a jolt of pure pleasure through Harry's entire body, and he watched Hermione's eyes go wide as she felt him throb inside her.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione snapped, using his full name in that tone that usually meant he was about to get a right proper telling-off. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You feel absolutely brilliant," Harry groaned before he could stop himself, then immediately wanted the library floor to open up and swallow him whole. Preferably without Hermione still attached to his bits.

"I beg your pardon?!" Hermione's voice had gone squeaky again.

"It's not my bloody fault!" Harry protested. "My cock's got a mind of its own!"

"Well, you need to get control of yourself this instant!" Hermione declared, though her voice was wobbling like a pudding that hadn't quite set. "Remind that oversized appendage of yours that it's buried inside your best mate's girlfriend!"

"Why don't you tell that your greedy little fanny!" Harry shot back, his filter completely gone. "It's squeezing me so bloody tight I couldn't pull out if I wanted too!"

They glared at each other for a moment, both red-faced and breathing hard like they'd just finished a particularly brutal Quidditch match. The silence stretched between them, filled only with the sound of their panting breaths and the distant muttering of portraits somewhere else in the house.

Then, because they were both completely mental, they burst into hysterical laughter.

Harry would have said that before this morning, he and Hermione had been through just about everything together. They'd faced down trolls, time-traveled, hunted Horcruxes like they were collecting Chocolate Frog cards. They'd been closer than most mates, really, after everything they'd survived during the war years.

And now here they were, joined together in the most intimate way possible, laughing like a pair of escaped loons from St. Mungo's because the alternative was probably going completely barmy.

"Seriously, Hermione," Harry said once he'd managed to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry about this whole mess."

"It's quite alright, Harry," Hermione said, though her voice sounded breathless and her cheeks were still flushed pink. "I'm still grateful." She raised her palms in a clear stop gesture. "Not about this. Definitely not about this. But you were just trying to save me. This is just something stupid that happened because I'm a clumsy cow. It's fine. We're fine."

An unexpected relief washed over Harry. What had happened was so bad, but it could have been far worse. He'd been more worried about mucking up their friendship than he'd realized, and hearing Hermione say they were still alright made something tight in his chest finally relax.

"Thanks, Hermione. I honestly don't think I could live with myself if I'd completely cocked up our friendship."

"Really, Harry?" Hermione said, raising one eyebrow, her lips twitching in that way she did when she was trying not to smile. "Cocked up? That's how you want to describe our current predicament?"

They dissolved into mad laughter again, the sort of slightly hysterical giggling that would have earned them concerned looks from any passing portraits and probably a few choice comments about "young people these days" from the more ancient residents of Grimmauld Place.

Was it mad that Harry felt rather proud of how they were handling this? This moment could have been absolutely miserable. The sort of thing that would have destroyed their friendship forever and sent them both fleeing to opposite corners of the wizarding world.

Instead, they were managing to find the humor in what was possibly the most embarrassing cock-up in the entire history of magical accidents and making it something they might eventually look back on with...well, perhaps not fondness, but at least without wanting to Obliviate themselves.

Up until that point, Harry was fairly certain that anyone he told might find it rather difficult to believe, but perhaps not entirely beyond the realm of possibility. After all, the wizarding world was chock-full of stories about magical mishaps and unlikely coincidences. Mad things happened all the time when magic was involved and there were plenty of tales out there where a witch accidentally ended up impaled on a wizard's cock, right?

Harry thought that while most reasonable people might agree it was extremely unlikely, magical accidents had achieved a sort of grudging acceptance in their world. The sort where people were willing to accept that these things might conceivably happen, despite how utterly improbable it actually was.

So if anyone was already raising a skeptical eyebrow, Harry wanted to make it perfectly clear that they hadn't even reached the truly unbelievable bit yet. For all the fantastic and frankly bizarre nature of what had occurred thus far, compared to what they were about to discover, accidentally ending up with his cock buried balls-deep in his best friend was relatively mundane.