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The Room's Demands - Chapter 04
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 11:02:47 +0000 UTCOral Arguments
Harry woke to the warmth of morning light and an unfamiliar weight pressing against his side. He blinked the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, focusing his vision on the petite figure whose bushy hair tickled his chin.
The events of last night rushed back. Hermione’s touch, the pleasure she gave him, the sight of her, flushed beneath his exploring fingers...It had been intimate in a way he’d never experienced, not even with Ginny.
Harry stilled his breath, hoping he could stretch this private moment forever. He studied Hermione’s sleeping face, discovering features he’d never noticed before. The light dusting of freckles across her cheeks, the gentle slope of her nose, the way her lips curved as she pouted in her sleep. She was beautiful. How had he never truly seen her before?
Hermione stirred, as if sensing his scrutiny. Confusion clouded her gaze, followed by recognition and a deep blush that spread across her cheeks.
“Good morning,” Harry said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” she replied, sitting up and creating distance between them. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, avoiding his eyes. “I should freshen up.”
Before Harry could respond, she’d slipped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the lingering scent of vanilla and parchment on his pillow.
He sat up, reaching for his glasses. The Room looked different in the morning—less mysterious and more mundane despite the glowing runes on the walls. The door remained closed, a reminder of their captivity. How many days now? Three? Four? Time seemed to stretch and distort in this magical space.
As always, the Room provided breakfast—tea, toast, eggs and even fruit. Harry was buttering his toast when Hermione emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp from her shower. He paused to admire the way her light blue sweater and jeans hugged her curves.
“At least the Room’s taking care of our basic needs,” she commented, eyeing the steaming teapot. Her voice was deliberately casual, as if they hadn’t just spent the night touching each other intimately.
“Everything except our freedom,” Harry replied, pouring tea for both of them.
They ate in silence, ignoring the weight of yesterday’s experience. Harry watched Hermione butter her toast methodically, her movements robotic and precise. He recognized this version of her immediately. Hermione always retreated into orderliness when her emotions became too much to handle. It was a habit he’d observed countless times during their hunt for Horcruxes.
“About last night—“ he began.
“We need to try something else,” Hermione interrupted, finally meeting his eyes. “The Room isn’t satisfied yet.”
Harry set down his cup and studied her face. Beneath her determined jawline, he noticed the fatigue etched under her eyes and the tension between her brows. “We don’t have to rush. Maybe we should talk about what’s happened.”
“What’s there to talk about?” she asked, her voice higher than normal. “We’re trapped. We’re doing what we must to escape. It’s a purely practical matter.”
“Is it?” Harry challenged gently. “Because it didn’t feel purely practical to me. And I don’t think it did to you either.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, her eyes dropping to her plate. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Harry said carefully, “that we acknowledge what’s happening between us. Pretending nothing’s changed isn’t going to help, we need to address that before going any further.”
“There’s nothing to address,” she answered curtly. Hermione breathed out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “I’m sorry Harry. I’m just—I can’t deal with this right now. We should focus on getting out.”
“Fine,” he said, unwilling to push the topic any further. “Lets figure this out then.”
“We’ve tried everything.” Hermione said, pacing before the fireplace, frustration evident in every movement. “Talking, touching, even...” She gestured vaguely, unable to reference their intimate explorations directly.
“Not everything,” he said quietly.
Hermione stopped pacing, her eyes finding his. “What are you suggesting?”
Harry took a deep breath. “What about oral?” he proposed, his voice steadier than he felt. “It’s still not...all the way. But it might satisfy the Room.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, her cheeks coloring instantly. “You mean...?”
“Yes,” Harry confirmed, holding her gaze despite his own embarrassment. “There’s not much left for us to do, is there?”
Hermione resumed pacing, her mind visibly racing. Conflict appeared on her face, triggering his guilt. He knew it was a lot to ask for, but Hermione had insisted on bulldozing forward.
“The progression is logical,” she finally admitted, her voice taking on a detached tone. “But how sure are we that it’ll be enough?”
“We’re running out of options, Hermione. Unless you have another idea?”
She shook her head. “Fine,” she agreed, her voice wavering. “But you first. I’ve never...I don’t know if I’m any good at it.”
The Room suddenly shifted. Morning turned to night, and the fireplace roared to life, casting a warm glow across a large, soft rug that appeared before it.
“The Room is nothing if not accommodating,” Harry observed wryly, trying to ease tension.
Hermione laughed, the sound strained but genuine. “At least it has good taste in decor.”
They moved to sit on the new rug, the fire warming their sides. Despite the determination in her eyes, Hermione’s posture was rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Harry reached out, covering her hands with his. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. We can find another way.”
Hermione’s expression softened, her fingers relaxing beneath his. “I know. But I’m not uncomfortable—just nervous. And...” She hesitated, then added quietly, “I trust you, Harry. Completely.”
The simple statement warmed him more than the fire. After everything they’d faced together—danger and loss, fear and triumph—that trust remained unshaken, even in this strangest of situations.
“Tell me if I should stop,” Harry said, moving to kneel before her. “At any point. Promise me.”
She nodded, her eyes wide but steady. “I promise.”
With careful movements, Harry positioned himself before her. This was Hermione—his best friend, his constant companion, the brilliant witch who had saved his life countless times. Now he would know her ways he’d never imagined. After this, they would cross a threshold from which they could never return.
He began slowly, his hands gentle as they moved to her ankles. The soft wool of her socks was warm as he carefully removed them, revealing her dainty feet. It felt oddly intimate, uncovering a part of her he’d rarely seen. Hermione watched with wide eyes, her breath hitching as he moved to the button of her jeans.
“Is this okay?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, lifting her hips to help as he slid the denim down her legs, revealing pale skin and simple cotton underwear. Harry was struck by how vulnerable she appeared. She trusted him completely, and he felt a surge of protectiveness color his desire.
He took his time, pressing gentle kisses on her knees and her soft inner thighs. Hermione’s breathing grew shallow, her hands finding their way into his hair, fingers tangling in his messy strands for support. The gesture encouraged him, told him without words that she welcomed his touch.
“Harry,” she whispered, his name a soft plea as he moved higher, his breath warm against the moist cotton panties.
With gentle fingers, he eased the fabric aside, revealing her fully in the warm firelight. The sight took his breath away—not just from her physical beauty, but the trust and vulnerability she chose to share with him.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, meaning it completely.
Hermione’s response was lost in a gasp as his mouth found her. Harry kissed the length of her quivering slit, breathing in the faint but familiar musk that made his cock twitch. Hermione’s heavy panting encouraged him, guiding him in his exploration. He teased her pink petals with the tip of his tongue, wetting them with slow, steady strokes.
“Please,” she whispered, spreading her legs further apart. “Give me more.”
Harry pressed his tongue against her hot core, seeking permission into her tight entrance. When he felt her walls loosen, Harry plunged his tongue into her.
Hermione gasped at the sudden intrusion. She tugged on his hair, her body arching toward him, seeking more of the pleasure he offered.
Harry lost himself in the taste of her, the soft sounds she made, the way her hips writhed under his mouth. The velvety softness of her inner walls was unlike anything he’d experienced before.
Hermione was coming undone above him, her usual composure broken. Her breaths came in short gasps and her thighs trembled with each stroke of his tongue. Feeling inspired, Harry remembered an unusual skill from his past—Parseltongue. Though he’d lost the ability to speak the serpent language after Voldemort’s defeat, he still recalled its patterns. On instinct, he began to mimic those undulating movements with his tongue, creating a steady, gentle vibration. Hermione responded immediately, her fingers tightening in his hair as she gasped in surprise.
“Harry!” she cried out, her voice breaking. “What are you—oh!” Her words dissolved into incoherent sounds as her body responded to this technique, her hips buckling involuntarily to meet his movements.
When he focused his attention on her swollen clit, Hermione shattered completely. Her mouth parted in a silent scream as an orgasm exploded inside her. Her pussy clenched rhythmically as waves of pleasure overtook her, gushing out fluids that coated his lips and chin.
Harry stayed with her as she rode out her climax, gently caressing her while she regained her composure. When he finally sat back, Hermione was looking at him with wonder.
“That was...” she began, then shook her head, seemingly at a loss—a rare occurrence for Hermione Granger.
“Satisfying?” Harry suggested with a small smile, echoing her teasing from the night before.
Hermione laughed. “That’s one word for it.” She reached for him, pulling him towards her. “My turn,” she said, a newfound confidence in her voice as she pushed him against the cushions that had magically appeared.
Harry’s heart raced as Hermione knelt between his legs, her expression a mixture of purpose and curiosity that was so quintessentially her. Even now, she was still Hermione—the same woman who approached every challenge with resolute inquisitiveness.
“You don’t have to,” he found himself saying, offering an escape even as his body craved her touch.
Hermione looked up, meeting his eyes. “I want to,” she said simply, and the certainty in her voice silenced any further protests.
With methodical care, she freed him from his clothing, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of him. Unlike their previous moonlit encounter, the warm fire revealed his cock clearly—the impressive length and girth, the subtle upward curve, the pronounced veins that wrapped around smooth, taut skin. Hermione studied him intently, though her heavy breathing and flushed cheeks somewhat betrayed her academic intentions.
“You’re even more magnificent than I remembered,” she whispered. She traced her fingers along his length, a soft gasp escaping her lips when his cock throbbed against her. Fascination was evident in her eyes as she stared at the glistening bead on the tip of his engorged head.
Hermione collected the droplet on her fingertip, examining how it reflected the light with an almost pearlescent quality. She tested its consistency between her thumb and forefinger, entranced by its silky texture and the way it created delicate strands when she spread her fingers apart. “Fascinating,” she murmured.
Harry felt a moment of self-consciousness under her thorough inspection, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of heat when she leaned forward and placed a tentative kiss on his tip.
The sensation was electric, drawing a strangled groan from his chest. Hermione tilted her head, seeking confirmation she was on the right path. The sight of her there, wild hair tumbling around her shoulders, her lips inches from his cock, was almost too much to handle.
“Merlin, Hermione,” he managed, his voice rough with desire. “That feels so good.”
Encouraged by his response, Hermione swirled her tongue around his girth. The tenderness of her lips and the heat from her breath sent shivers down his spine. What she lacked in experience, she compensated for with enthusiasm and attention to detail, gauging his reactions and adjusting accordingly.
Harry leaned back and groaned, surrendering himself to her eager tongue. Hermione grew more confident with each passing second, wrapping her plump lips around his cock and taking him deeper. Harry’s sharp breath drew a soft hum of approval from Hermione, sending delicious vibrations up his shaft.
Hermione started to bob her head, her lips sliding up and down his cock. She established a rhythm that felt natural, her movements becoming more fluid as she found what elicited the strongest reactions. The wet sounds of her efforts mingled with Harry’s appreciative murmurs, creating a private symphony between them. Harry entwined his fingers in her hair, guiding her head to take him even deeper.
Harry lost himself in the sensation of her hot, welcoming mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him—hard—every time his cock hit the back of her throat. Hermione’s hands joined her mouth in a rhythm that quickly had him teetering on the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Hermione, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained.
To Harry’s complete shock, Hermione didn’t pull away. Instead, she took him even deeper, forcing his entire length down her throat. He could feel her gag on his shaft as she buried her nose against his pubic hair. Harry’s vision blurred when she clamped her lips around girth, triggering an orgasm that made his hips jerk uncontrollably. Jets of cum erupted from his cock, filling her mouth and throat.
Hermione remained in place, tears welling in her eyes as she forced herself to swallow every drop. Harry wanted to pull away, but she kept her hands gripped tightly on his hips, holding him steady as she milked him of everything he had.
Harry’s breathing slowly returned as the last waves of pleasure left him. Cool air met his softening cock as she released him from her lips, trails of cum and saliva dripping down her chin. Harry stared in a daze as Hermione wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, a pink blush coloring her cheeks. She moved to sit beside him, her expression was a mix of wonder, satisfaction and pride.
“Hermione,” he breathed, still recovering from his climax. “That was...I didn’t expect you to...”
“Neither did I,” she admitted softly, her blush deepening. “I surprised myself. I just...wanted to know.” A cheeky grin appeared on her face as she added, “Knowledge is important, isn’t it?”
Harry stared at her in amazement, realizing how little he truly knew about Hermione Granger. The studious, rule-following prefect had a naughtier side to her he was dying to explore.
“You’re incredible,” he simply said, at a loss for more eloquent words.
Hermione smiled, shyness returning now that the moment had passed. “I wasn’t sure I’d be any good at that.”
Harry laughed, pulling her closer. “Trust you to worry about your performance score.” His tone grew more serious as he added, “It was perfect because it was you, Hermione.”
The statement hung between them, weighted with meanings neither was ready to explore. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire dance, their bodies relaxed in the afterglow of their orgasms.
Eventually, Hermione shifted, her analytical mind reasserting itself as she glanced toward the still-sealed door. “It wasn’t enough,” she observed, disappointment in her voice.
Harry followed her gaze to the runes, which glowed brighter than ever, pulsing with golden light that seemed almost alive.
“The Room’s quite the voyeur, isn’t it?” Harry commented dryly, lightening the mood.
Hermione surprised him with a genuine laugh. “I suppose it is. Though technically, it’s not watching—it’s sensing the magic between us.”
“Is that what this is?” Harry asked quietly, finding her hand where it rested between them. “Magic?”
Hermione’s expression softened. “In a way,” she admitted. “Not the kind we study in class, but...something ancient. Powerful.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added, “Scary.”
The admission touched Harry deeply. Hermione Granger, who faced dark wizards and magical traps with unflinching courage, found this—the connection growing between them—frightening. But he understood her completely; he felt the same terror.
“We’ll figure it out,” he promised, squeezing her hand. “Together, like always.”
Hermione smiled, tension leaving her shoulders. “Like always,” she agreed.
They spent the rest of the day in limbo, neither ready to discuss what might come next. The Room responded to their anxiety with books, chess, and other diversions.
That night, neither bothered with separate beds. Without discussion, they slid beneath the covers of Harry’s bed, their bodies finding each other with newfound familiarity. Nothing more happened—both were exhausted—but the comfort of holding each other through the night felt like another form of intimacy, quieter but no less profound.
As Harry drifted towards sleep, Hermione’s head nestled comfortably on his chest, he wondered what tomorrow would bring. The Room pushed them toward something inevitable—a final boundary to cross, a truth that went beyond physical acts to the heart of what they meant to each other.
Did he want that? The question startled him. Did he want his relationship with Hermione to be something more? The answer came with surprising clarity: yes. Hermione had become essential to him in a way he’d never acknowledged. He couldn’t bear to lose her, but he wasn’t satisfied with just being friends either.
The realization should have frightened him, but instead, it brought peace that followed him into his dreams.
