It hurts when he thrusts inside her, but not as bad as she’s feared after hearing stories in her dorm. She whines and cringes as he sinks deep into her, and bites her lip at the slight pain as he pushes all the way through. He’s not gentle, and, in a way, she’s glad. The hurt fades as he begins to move, in and out with deep thrusts that have their skin slapping together. He bites her breast and holds her hips so tight she knows she’ll have bruises.

After the initial discomfort, it starts to feel good. She moves her hands beneath his shirt and scratches his back hard enough to hurt. He bucks forward and drives her hard against the wooden table. Hermione looks at him and watches his face, memorizing every detail of her first time. It’s not what she dreamed of, he’s not the person she usually cast in the role, but she knows now that reality isn’t like dreams. It’s real and they’re alive and, sometimes, that’s all that matters.

It’s over soon after it begins. He spills inside her, his hips jerking as her muscles instinctively squeeze him, and he groans against the sweat-slick skin on her neck. She’s sore and tense, feeling as if something was missing, and isn’t sure if that’s all it is. He shifts and kisses her, bruising her lips as his hand moves between them. His thumb rubs her, his fingers twisting the sensitive nub of flesh that makes her body rock against him. She moans into his kiss when she finds release, trembling beneath him as he keeps moving in and out.

When he pulls out, she feels like she needs to pee. She’s wet and sore despite it feeling good after the pain faded. She glances down to look at him, to see what he’d been pushing inside her, and thinks it’s rather ugly. It’s limp and she flinches when she notices a faint trace of blood mixed in the fluids that cover him. His hair around it is darker than that on his head and curlier, and she notices freckles on his lower belly that disappear into the curls.

He notices her looking and stares for a moment before he reaches for a hand towel that’s lying on the workbench. He cleans it with a whispered charm and then wipes himself off, alternating between looking at what he’s doing and looking at her. When he’s done, he uses a charm to clean it again and then hands it to her silently.

She takes it and considers just doing a cleaning charm on herself, wondering why he didn’t, and then she realizes she’s not sure if that would work well on such intimate parts of the body. Until she does more research, she decides to just use the towel. It feels rough against her sensitive areas, but she manages to wipe away most of the evidence of what they just did.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally after long moments of silence.

“I didn’t say no,” she points out softly as she slides off the workbench and picks up her jeans and knickers. She gets dressed mechanically, not having to think while doing such a routine activity. One foot then the other, pull them up, zip and button.