“Okay, Hermione, tell me again why we’re in a Muggle shopping centre?” Ron whined, shifting the four bags of books from one hand to the other.  Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing – he had the five bags of assorted kitchen and bath items.

She whirled on them and slammed her hands down on her hips.  “You didn’t have to come along,” she hissed.

Harry looked up at the ceiling while Ron spluttered an apology.  “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron.  “No...of course you didn’t.  Complaining about everything wouldn’t make me angry at all.”

“Not everything!” he protested.  Hermione continued to glare at him until he seemed to shrink, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

She pointed at him, then at the bench next to Harry.  “You.  Sit.  Wait.”  When Ron sat, Hermione continued, “Harry, give him your bags and come with me.”

Harry set his bags next to Ron – at which point Ron made a rude gesture at Harry; Harry blew a kiss at Ron in return – before following Hermione like a puppy, grinning.

Hermione went in and out of two more stores before Harry dared to ask:  “Are you looking for something in particular, Hermione?”

That brought Hermione to a full stop.  The slow smile that spread across her face frightened Harry deep down, but he bravely plowed forward.  “What are you looking for?”

She turned, planting a kiss on his lips that startled him, then whirled and entered a lingerie shop.

Harry grinned widely.  He hoped whatever she purchased was for both he and Ron – with appropriate teasing for Ron – but would be happy with item.  She rarely bought lingerie, so anything was a treat.

Following Hermione into the store, Harry immediately felt out of place.  It was pink.  Perfume permeated the air.  Everything on the racks was lacy and barely-there.

While it might look nice on Hermione, it was intimidating hanging on the racks.  Wiping his suddenly damp palms on his jeans, he gamely tucked his hands in his pockets and trailed behind Hermione.

Twenty minutes later, she had a half-dozen items on her arm ready to take to the changing room.

Harry paced outside the door of the changing room, listening to Hermione grunting and cursing as she tried things on.  He wasn’t sure if he should smile or not.  It wasn’t often that Hermione cursed.  Then he thought of Ron waiting on the bench with the bags and let himself smile.

“Harry?” Hermione called, startling Harry out of his reverie.

“Yes?”

“Can you help me with this?”

However nervous he was before her question, it multiplied ten-fold after.  She wanted him to enter the dressing room of a lingerie store with her inside – in lingerie.

“You really need me?”

“Yes.”  She sounded impatient now.

Nervously, he entered the changing room.

Every uneasy thought was justified, Harry said to himself once he saw her.  Hermione was standing before the full-length mirror dressed only in a skimpy bit of lace and silk – Harry couldn’t remember what it was called but thought it was some sort of animal – and it was red.  Cherry red.

“What do you need help with?” Harry asked, voice cracking halfway through his question.

Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she turned one corner of her mouth upward in a little half-smile.  “Does this look okay?” she asked quietly.

“Okay?”  Harry’s voice rose an octave as he replied.

“Mmm,” Hermione murmured, turning around to face him.  “Do you think it would drive Ron crazy?”

“Hell yes, Hermione,” Harry breathed, clenching his hands into fists inside his pockets, drawing the denim tight across his erection.

“Good,” she said fiercely.  Then she sank to her knees.  “Let me give you your reward for being a good boy.”

Before Harry could process her words, she was unzipping his jeans and freeing his erection from its constriction.  He pulled his hands from his pockets and flattened them against the wall behind him.  When she wrapped her mouth around him, all he could do was groan.

She pulled her mouth off and barked, “Quiet – unless you want to be caught.”

He swallowed hard and nodded.  She gave him a glare then bent her head and resumed her task.

Harry didn’t know what had gotten into Hermione, but he wasn’t going to protest.  He looked down at her and had to bite his bottom lip.

Hermione looked like the picture of wanton innocence.  Her breasts were framed from above by the cherry red lace and silk, her hair swinging free down her back and – at this angle – ended just above her silk-clad arse.  She tipped her head up just enough that he could see her lips – to which she must have applied more lipstick – wrapped around him.

“Oh, God,” he bit off harshly.  He had to close his eyes and scratch at the fabric-covered wall in a desperate attempt to keep some element of control over himself.

In response, she applied extra suction and dragged her fingernails down his denim-clad legs.

“What about Ron?” he whispered, voice harsh with lust.  Hermione didn’t do these things – Ron does, but not Hermione.

She released Harry only long enough to say, “Later,” then wrapped one hand around the base of his hardness and devoured him again.  She braced herself with her other hand on his thigh and worked him between those cherry red lips.

It took less than a minute for him to come, nearly biting through his lip in an effort to keep from crying out.  She rode him out, swallowing what she could.  Once he was drained, he pulled out of her mouth and sank onto the tiny bench in one corner, tilting his head back against the wall.

Through his barely-open eyes, he watched Hermione.  She stood, still clad in the lingerie.  Her breasts strained at the fabric –  Harry figured it must be a size too small, but he wasn’t going to say anything.  She licked her lips, then retrieved her wand and performed a cleaning charm on herself and what she was wearing.

It was then that he realized she hadn’t swallowed everything.  Eyes burning, he watched as the charm cleaned the spots off the silk and off her chin.

He moaned as softly as he could and felt himself harden –  again.

“Hermione,” he said, voice rough with desire.

Her eyebrows rose as she inspected him.  “Yes?”

Grinning, he stood and pulled her against him.  His jeans were still open and the contact of the lace against his erection was maddening.  He slid both hands up her back over the silk and into her hair.

“You look like a whore, Hermione.”

Then he fastened his mouth to hers, driving his tongue inside.  She whimpered and clutched at his back, fingernails scraping over the cotton fabric of his shirt.

When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.  Harry refastened his jeans.  Once that task was completed, he looked up at her again.

She was smiling at his statement, that mysterious feminine smile he didn’t understand but had learned to appreciate.  While he watched, she stripped off.

Nude, she took two steps toward him, pressing herself against him.  “Do I?”

Harry blinked, then nodded slowly.  He wasn’t entirely sure how to gauge this mood of hers.

“Mmm,” she purred.  “Good.”

Stepping back and waving her wand over herself, she was fully dressed again.  Except for the lacy blue knickers she put in his hand.

She exited the dressing room, leaving him shell-shocked.  Hermione didn’t do things like this.  Even though he and Ron had asked her several times in the past, she just didn’t role-play.

Especially role-play a tart.

Grinning wickedly, Harry shoved the knickers into his pocked and exited the dressing room – to the shock of several customers – following Hermione out of the store like a faithful puppy after she paid for the cherry red garment.

Ron will never know what hit him.