Chapter 3: Caught in the Act
The door banged open. "Ginny, have you seen my Charms notes? I swear I lent you—" Hermione’s voice cut off abruptly, sharp as a snapped twig. She stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide behind her glasses, taking in the scene: Harry, rigid against the doorframe, his face crimson, the impossible-to-miss bulge straining obscenely against his jeans. Ginny, turned towards him, a slow, predatory smile still playing on her lips, radiating pure, knowing satisfaction. The lavender scent clashed violently with the sudden, icy shock radiating from Hermione.
"Wh-what in Merlin’s name?" Hermione stammered, clutching a thick Arithmancy tome to her chest like a shield. Her gaze darted between Harry’s humiliation and Ginny’s blatant triumph. "Stop this! Both of you! Right now!" Her voice was high-pitched, cracking with disbelief and a rising tide of indignation. "Someone could walk in! Your mother—"
"Relax, Hermione," Ginny drawled, her eyes never leaving Harry’s anguished face. "Just helping Harry with... a problem. Seems we woke something up." Her grin was wicked, deliberate.
"Ginny!" Hermione snapped, taking a step forward, her own cheeks flushing now. "This isn't funny! It's... it's inappropriate!" The heavy Arithmancy book, already teetering atop the pile in her arms, chose that precise moment to slide free. It hit the floorboards with a resounding thud, followed immediately by the cascade of two more volumes and several scrolls scattering across the worn rug.
"Oh, bollocks," Hermione muttered, flustered. Instinctively, she dropped to her knees, shoving her glasses back up her nose as she scrambled to gather her things. Her worn cotton blouse, buttoned high at the neck but loose-fitting, gaped open as she leaned forward, reaching for a scroll near Harry’s feet.
Harry’s breath hitched. Directly below him, Hermione’s bent position offered an unimpeded view down her blouse. Past the cotton collar, he saw the gentle swell of soft, creamy flesh, the delicate lace edge of a pale pink bra cupping the sweet, full curve of her breast. He could see the faint shadow of the valley between them, the soft skin stretching taut over her ribs as she stretched. It was accidental, innocent, and utterly devastating. The image seared itself into his brain, mingling violently with the memory of Ginny’s near-nakedness moments before. His cock jerked painfully against his jeans, a fresh wave of desperate heat flooding him. He whimpered, low in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from the forbidden glimpse.
Ginny saw it all. Saw Hermione’s oblivious exposure, saw Harry’s transfixed stare, saw the agonizing throb in his jeans grow even more pronounced. Her smirk turned feral. Before Harry could react, before Hermione could even register his gaze, Ginny closed the small distance between them. Her hand snaked down with shocking speed, fingers finding the stiff metal of his zipper.
"Ginny, no—" Harry choked out, panic warring with overwhelming need.
But she ignored him. The rrrrippp of the zipper being yanked down was obscenely loud in the suddenly silent room. Hermione’s head snapped up, her eyes widening impossibly further as she saw Ginny’s hand vanish inside the open fly of Harry’s jeans. Harry gasped, hips bucking forward uncontrollably as Ginny’s cool, confident fingers closed around his rigid cock, pulling it free into the warm, lavender-scented air. He was fully hard, thick and straining, the flushed head glistening slightly at the tip. Hermione gasped, scrambling back on her haunches, dropping the scroll she’d just picked up, her face a mask of stunned horror and something else – a flicker of fascinated shock.
"See what you did, Hermione?" Ginny purred, her fingers tightening, beginning a slow, deliberate stroke from root to tip, her thumb swirling roughly over the sensitive slit. Harry groaned, deep and guttural, his knees threatening to buckle. "He’s been dying to see your tits all morning. Ever since you bent over that sink downstairs." Ginny’s eyes locked onto Hermione’s, challenging, commanding. "Poor bloke’s practically bursting. Show him."
Hermione stared, frozen. "I... I won’t! This is insane!" But her voice lacked its earlier conviction. Her gaze flicked between Ginny’s rhythmic, possessive stroking of Harry’s cock and Harry’s face, contorted in agonized pleasure, his eyes now pleading with her, begging silently.
"Please, Hermione..." Harry groaned, the words ripped from him as Ginny twisted her wrist on the upstroke, sending jolts of fire up his spine. "Just... just let me see... please..." His voice was raw, stripped bare. He needed it. Needed to see her, to connect the innocent, bookish Hermione with this sudden, overwhelming surge of lust she ignited in him. The contrast was maddening, intoxicating.
Hermione’s breath came in shallow gasps. She looked trapped. The sight of Harry, so desperately aroused, so openly wanting her in that raw, physical way... It sparked an unfamiliar heat low in her own belly, a treacherous flicker beneath the embarrassment. Ginny’s hand moved faster, the slick sound of skin on skin filling the room, punctuated by Harry’s ragged breaths. His hips began to piston in tiny, helpless thrusts into her fist.
"Don’t be a prude," Ginny urged, her own voice breathless now, her eyes dark with arousal as she watched Harry unravel. "Look how hard he is for you. Look at him begging. Just show him those pretty little tits you keep hidden away. He’s dying for it."
The pressure was immense – Ginny’s command, Harry’s desperate pleading, the throbbing heat between her own legs that mirrored the frantic rhythm of Ginny’s hand on Harry. Shame warred with a sudden, shocking curiosity. With trembling fingers, her face burning crimson, Hermione slowly, hesitantly, brought her hands to the top button of her blouse. She fumbled, her eyes locked on Harry’s glazed, hungry stare. The button popped open. Then the next. And the next.
The blouse fell open, revealing the pale pink lace bra beneath. It was simple, practical, yet impossibly erotic in that moment. Harry’s groan was pure animal need. Ginny’s strokes became faster, harder, her grip tightening almost painfully. "That’s it," she breathed. "Now the bra. Let him see them properly."
Hermione hesitated, her hands hovering near the clasp between her breasts. The flush spread down her neck to her chest. But Harry’s desperate, "Hermione... please..." tipped her over the edge. Her fingers moved with clumsy urgency. The clasp gave way. The bra straps slipped down her shoulders. And slowly, shyly, she pulled the cups aside.
Harry’s vision blurred. Hermione’s breasts were fuller than he’d imagined, pale and soft, tipped with small, dark pink nipples that hardened instantly in the cool air. They were perfect. Vulnerable. Utterly desirable. The sight, combined with Ginny’s relentless, expert pumping, sent him hurtling towards the edge. His balls tightened, the pressure building unbearably.
"Fuck... Ginny..." he gasped, his voice breaking. "I’m gonna..."
"Do it," Ginny commanded, her voice husky, her eyes fixed on Hermione’s exposed breasts. "Look at her while you come, Harry. Look at Hermione’s tits."
Hermione whimpered, but she didn’t cover herself. She watched, mesmerized and aroused by the raw lust on Harry’s face, by the sheer intensity of his need focused solely on her body. Ginny’s hand blurred, a furious, slick piston. Harry threw his head back against the doorframe with a strangled cry, his hips jerking violently forward as the orgasm tore through him. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot from his pulsing cock, splattering onto Ginny’s fist, his stomach, and the rug below. He shuddered violently, gasping for air, his eyes glazed but still locked on Hermione’s breasts.
Ginny milked him through the last tremors, her own breathing heavy. Hermione stared, transfixed by the sight of Harry’s release, the glistening mess on Ginny’s hand, the overwhelming evidence of his desire for her. Her own nipples were painfully hard, a damp heat pulsing between her legs she couldn't ignore.
The sudden, loud call from downstairs shattered the thick, post-orgasmic silence like a hammer on glass.
"Ginny! Hermione! Harry! Breakfast is getting cold! Don't make me come up there!" Molly Weasley’s voice echoed up the stairs, sharp and impatient.