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"Oh, oh, God, Hermione--I-I didn't mean to!" He stammers, his eyes wide as he stared at the mess he made of her stomach. The sight was confusing - Hermione, who had always been so pure, so innocent, even as she sighed his name into his shoulder, asking for more, and her eager croons as he readily complied. Hermione, who had always prided herself on her classification system of her exstensive collection of books and kept track of her record time on cleaning her windows without a wand.
And now she was covered in the sticky goo, chest heaving with slow pants and her wild hair spilling across the pillow. "I can fix that, just let me--" he cried, pushing himself up with wobbly arms and searched frantically for his wand. "Bugger! I'm really sorry, honestly. I didn't mean for this to happen, I really didn't. Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry," he said quickly, this time scrambling for his shirt he had long ago thrown across the room.
Hermione watched with an amused smile, surpressing her giggles with a hand to her mouth. "Harry, it's okay. Really. I don't mind. In fact, it's quite normal for this to happen," she said, peering over the bed to catch Harry's crouched form.
"Got it!" he said, clutching the shirt with a tight fist as he settled back on the bed, resting a gentle hand on her knee before dabbing the corner of his sleeve on the brunt of the mess, wadding up the fabric after every frantic wipe. "No, no, it's not /normal/, this is so completely wrong! Hermione, I--I understand if you don't want to... Well, after this, I can't imagine you wanting to..." he trailed off, his face scrunched up in embarrassment. He continued with his ministrations, rubbing away at Hermione's skin with the clean patch of his shirt in a circular motion, as if tidying a table.
Hermione grabbed onto his arm with a furrowed brow, willing him to stop. "Harry, please."
"Look, it's almost gone, see! Just hang on a bit," he muttered, wiping with serious determination.
"Harry! You're smearing it everywhere! I didn't mind before, but now you're definitely mucking it up. If you want it off so badly, go get a wet paper towel and throw that in the hamper," she said, pointing a finger to the dirtied shirt.
"Right, right. Of course," he mumbled, looking away for a moment before picking himself up from the bed, carrying his shirt by the finest tip as he walked into the bathroom to toss it away with the rest of the laundry bin. And then he was back with a few sheets of paper towels dampened with water in hand, offering Hermione a sheepish smile. "I suppose you'd want to do it yourself or shall I--"
"You've done enough, frankly," she snapped, snatching the bundle of paper towels from Harry's outstretched hand and sat up to carefully wipe the come from her belly, pressing her lips together in a firm line. Harry sat beside Hermione, wary to touch her, afraid she would only be irritated. "I really am sorry, Hermione," he said quietly, hunched over as he watched her dejectedly.
Soon enough, Hermione had finished, although her stomach was still sticky and she was in need of a shower. She easily reached over for her wand by the bedside table, precise even in a spur of passion, unlike Harry. With a flick of her wand, the napkins had vanished and she turned over on the bed, for the first time glancing at Harry. He looked so sad and painstakingly embarrassed that she sighed and lightly wrapped her hand around his ankle, fingers curling against his skin. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Harry's head snapped up at the apology. "Wha--no, you haven't anything to be sorry for! I was the one who--"
"Came on my stomach, yes I know, Harry," she interjected, and she was quick to notice the harsh blush spreading across his cheeks. "But I didn't mind, truly. I was only upset that you got me all messy," she refuted him, shooting down any idea that would spark his guilt.
Harry still appeared desolate, fiddling with his thumbs bashfully. "Harry. Harry, look at me, please."
Very slowly, Harry lifted his head and for a short moment, he resembled his eleven year-old self, a young boy swimming in a bundle of stained castoffs with such a lost look in his eyes to rival the scar stamped on his forehead.
"Harry, come here, love," she murmured, running her hand along his thigh with a gentle touch. Harry could not help but listen, crawling over until his knees just barely bumped against her legs. "Harry," she said again, reaching out to gingerly tug his hand and pull him forward. He finally sank to the bed, and Hermione smiled softly. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. And you certainly needn't worry about me not wanting to... Well," she laughed and wrapped her arm around Harry's waist. Harry, all the more reassured, smiled bashfully and Hermione, encouraged, hooked a leg around his hips with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Hermione..."
She ignored him, rolling him over to his back and straddled his waist, and pressed her lips to his neck with a smirk.
"You little minx."