It wasn’t supposed to happen.
Both of them knew it, and those five words were probably the best way to describe the bulk of their lives so far. Even though it felt like something had been building in the long nights at Grimmauld Place, as they sat in front of a warm fireplace, each of them listening to the crack and pop of the embers, she’d known.
He wore his heart on his sleeve, no matter how jaded he seemed to be after years of having the darkest Wizard who ever lived rattling around inside of his brain. For a man, which Harry had undoubtedly grown into, who joked so much, she saw through him. It was easy for her to make out the cracks, to feel them when they were pressed skin to skin, her fingers clutching his broad shoulders as he pumped into her -- easiest to see the deep fissures caused by a war far too young when his head was tipped back as he laughed about something she’d said.
If she had to say when she had realized that perhaps her feelings were more than physical, that maybe somewhere along the lines he had stopped being just her best friend, and had turned into something that the had agreed not to do -- it must have been six months in. If she had to pick a moment, it was likely the time that the two of them had sat on her sofa while she cried softly. It had been a Saturday night, and they had gone out to get an early breakfast, but she’d turned around when Ron had been in the restaurant with his newest conquest.
Or maybe it was when he flooed into her flat one early morning, with an overnight bag packed, and he was telling her to pack one as well. Harry was holding a trinket in his hand, a rusted ring that had without a doubt come from one of the dustiest corners of Grimmauld Place, and he’d fashioned it into an international portkey. It had been an overnight trip, one of the several times people had mistakenly assumed they were together , and they’d made do with one bed for the night.
Neither had batted an eye at the circumstances; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t slept at each other's side during the war while they were on the run for a year.
Hermione woke that morning, and Harry was holding her to him tightly. It wouldn’t have been enough to make her cheeks heat up, but there was the fact that a certain part of her best friend was pressed firmly against her arse, and she couldn’t help but squirm.
But really, she supposed it all started with that damn slow dance in a tent as the world was crumbling around them, and Harry was holding her up.
It wasn’t meant to keep happening.
They both acknowledged that it shouldn’t happen again after they’d woken up in his bed following a night where Ron had confided in her that he planned to propose to his long time girlfriend, and he had wanted to tell her before everyone knew. Acting happy for her ex had been so exhausting, and pretending not to be hurt that he gave Padma Patil everything he hadn’t given her had only led to her drowning in self pity as she held a bottle of firewhiskey by the neck.
So when they fell into bed, a fumble that was nothing but clinging to each other as she peeled his robes from his shoulders, unbuttoning his auror uniform with shaky hands until she could run her hands over his scarred chest.
Her best friend was there. She and Harry had grown closer following his split from Ginny. So many nights she had stayed in Grimmauld Place until she moved into a flat that didn’t have a trace of her life with Ron in it.
But as he found her in one of the spare bedrooms in the Burrow swallowing booze as if it were a sport barely a week later, Harry broke his promise. I won’t let it happen again, he’d told her in the sleepy morning hours where she was draped across his chest. And for a week, she thought it to be the best. Until he was right there, his lips pressing feverishly against hers while he lifted her to sit on the dresser. In a room where he had slept beside Ron for several summers, he brushed her hair over her shoulders so he could press his lips to them while he slipped the thin straps of her dress down.
With whispers of how she was worth so much more than she believed, more than Padma Patil -- even though she argued it was cruel to tear a woman down to reassure her --, and that Ron had surely lost out, Harry bottomed out inside of her.
It was the lack of the silencing charm that made her so hot, she told herself that night. The thrill that they could be heard as her head knocked against the mirror, the dresser bumping against the wall with each hard thrust. And when she came undone around him, crushing her lips to his harshly, he’d taken her moans for himself.
It was only the beginning of their mutually beneficial relationship. In which he continued it as the played nice with Ron, and Padma before he would take her again, and again. And her knickers were ruined, and come dripped from her swollen cunt.
Hermione sat at the edge of the cafe, lifting her travel mug to her lips as she pushed the tab back with her thumb. Wisps of steam floated up from the opening. The tea was still much too hot to drink, but the smell was relaxing. On one of the corners of Diagon, she enjoyed the window seat as her eyes swept over the cobblestone streets.
Around her, the world seemed to stir to life; magic was in the air - quite literally considering she was in wizarding society -, machines were turning on around her, and there was an incessant drip drip from one of the faucets behind the counter. The sound of whistling kettles so early in the morning woke her up well enough.
Tapping her heels against the tile, Hermione didn’t even look up when fingers brushed across the back of her neck. Her swallow went unnoticed by Harry as he threw himself into the seat across from her. “Thought I’d find you here.” He wore a lopsided grin, and for the upteenth time, she was struck by just how bloody good he looked in uniform.
She snorted, gripping her cup in her opposite hand as her quill shot into her hand. “Yes, well, it’s only -”
“Would you like to know what I think is funny?” Harry asked her, completely ignoring her, and she huffed. “You couldn’t do that,” he pointed to the quill in her hand, “with a broom, but if it’s to work..” He smirked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, the point of her high heels connected with his shin. “I can summon a broom, thank you.”
“Yes, but can you ride one?”
A slow smirk curved her lips. “I happen to prefer quidditch players to brooms.” Her voice was soft in the cafe, and her heart thudded against the inside of her rib cage as his eyes narrowed on her. She felt hot under the collar as his gaze slid from her face to her cleavage. “Don’t you dare even think about it, Potter. We’re both due at work in under half an hour. Not to mention it would really be best for me to arrive early to discuss,”
Harry leaned across the table, his eyes alight with mischief. “There is a such thing as a Notice Me Not charm, Miss Granger. Surely you would have learned that in Hogwarts.”
She sipped her tea, wincing as it scalded her tongue. “Surely you remember that discretion is a key thing we’ve both agreed on.” Hermione replied. “Kingsley told me yesterday that I could prep for the meeting at home if I liked.”
“Oh?” He drawled, and she was more than aware of how his fingers twitched, and how he wanted them caressing her skin immediately. “The bill of Werewolf Rights must require all of your attention.”
“Mmhm.” She murmured, blowing on her tea before taking another sip. “It’s time consuming. I’ve spent more time with Adrian Pucey in the last five months than I want to admit.”
There was a flicker of something, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. “Ah, Pucey is a prick, and he has a nasty habit of fucking his coworkers.”
It was something that he already knew, but Hermione knew just what buttons to press to be sure he was tearing her clothes from her once they landed in her flat, or Grimmauld Place. Pucey trying to get into her knickers during their late hours at the Ministry had only led to Harry fucking her over her desk.
Under a silencing charm, and locking the door, he’d walked her backwards while pushing her robes from her shoulders. After being bent over her desk as he slid into her, it was understandably hard to get any work done. Not to mention he’d spilled a bottle of ink in her hair as well.
Harry dropped the facade, cutting the game he was so fond of short with a growl of, “Yours, or mine, Hermione?”
Hurrying into the alley so they could apparate, but only because his lips were already on hers, his fingers twined in her freshly styled curls.
“Neville and Luna are planning a Halloween party.” Hermione called from her kitchen, popping a grape into her mouth. Harry snuck behind her, stealing several of them before lifting her on the counter. Knowing exactly where it was leading, she closed her legs before he could slide between them and convince her. “I think you should go.”
He arched an eyebrow, leaning on the counter next to her lazily, and staring up at her. “What is that?”
Even as she attempted to answer he pressed a grape into her mouth. “Harry!” She scolded after swallowing. “It would be fun, and I think you need to get out.”
“There it is,” he sighed. “Hermione, I know you mean well, but,”
Her shoulders deflated, and sure, she knew this was partially about how she felt, but it wasn’t so easy to admit she wanted him to go with her . “If you don’t want to go, I won’t nag you then.” Hermione muttered, turning to pull another grape from the stem. “Did you have to pick up the sour ones?”
“I happen to like the sour ones.” He defended, but he traced lazy circles over her skin. “Why do you want me to go?”
Hermione smacked his hand away. “I just think it would be good for you. It’s not as if you’ve done anything for Halloween in so long,” she broke off, staring at the splattered paint on her jeans. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes widened behind his glasses, and they slid down his nose, and Harry peered up at her over the lenses. “What could you possibly be sorry for, Hermione?”
Her shoulders slumped as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Doesn’t it seem selfish that I’m trying to coax you to celebrate a holiday you hate?”
He laughed, and the tension slipped away from her. “Selfish? Maybe, but not for the reasons you’re worried about.” Harry murmured, pressing his lips to the patch of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.
“Harry,” she warned, playfully shoving him away. “You can’t just shag me whenever you like.” Even saying it, she burst into laughter at the way his eyebrows drew together.
He moved to stand in between her legs, gripping her thighs as he parted them. “Really? I rather thought that was what we’d been doing for over a year.” His voice was soft, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up.
Hermione remembered the day very clearly, a mildly cool day in February when Ron came to her flat to inform her he would propose to Padma before the end of the week. And a week later when Harry happened again, it was impossible to keep their hands to themselves. There was something about him, something that was just a tiny bit dark, and it drove her crazy.
She knew from when Ginny had been her friend that Harry was apparently too gentle in bed, and he was boring .
It was such a laughable lie because she was certain there had been an imprint of her body in the sheets of his four poster bed in Grimmauld Place, or that they’d broken the drywall in her flat when he pushed her against it. No, he was anything but boring.
Lifting her head, a smirk played at her lips - which were still bruised from when he’d snogged her immediately after crashing into her fireplace. “Maybe I’ve just been shagging you whenever I liked.” She said, her fingers curling beneath the counter.
He laughed under his breath. “What a coincidence it’s always whenever I want to fuck you then.” Harry told her.
It didn’t matter the sorts of things he’d whispered in her ear before, or the things that he’d done to her, his words always made color rise to her cheeks. “Well half the time it’s when you’ve been gone for weeks at a time for a mission, you know. By the time you get back..” She trailed off.
It wasn’t like she couldn’t use another wizard to satiate her needs when Harry was gone, and she was teetering dangerously toward the topic of how she didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. “Toys aren’t as satisfying.” She settled with.
Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you taking a portkey when I’m gone.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he slid his fingers through her belt loops, and tugged her forward. “Do you really want me to go?”
Hermione nodded, brushing her hair out of her face as it slipped from her ponytail. “I think it would be good for you to see everyone again.”
“I see Ron at work everyday, Hermione. You shouldn’t worry yourself so much about whether the two of us remain friends, or not.”
She frowned, folding her hands in her lap. “There’s no logical reason for the two of you to have a falling out though, Harry. It’s not as if you’ve had a row..why wouldn’t you remain close?” Hermione couldn’t hold eye contact.
“It’s hard to stay best mates when I’m fucking his ex-fiance.” Harry mumbled, gripping her chin between his thumb and his index finger. “Look at me, Hermione. Even if the two of you are on good terms now, he hasn’t quite forgiven me for picking sides.”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s married.” Hermione rolled her eyes, hopping down from the counter. “Fine then, go for me. I want you to go for me. Is that a sufficient enough reason?” She put her hands on her hips.
Harry smirked, pushing his glasses back into place. “You could have just told me that, and I would have come.” He said. “Come back here.”
Glancing at him, and then at the doorway that opened into the hallway, Hermione shook her head. “Catch me,” she shrugged, and she was gone.
Harry’s laugh echoed in the kitchen, off of the pots, and pans hanging over the center island.
An owl landed in the window sill of her kitchen, shaking, and droplets of rain spattered against the countertop. Setting her mug down, Hermione took the letter from Jaxie, stroking the top of her head.
A rusted key landed against the granite counter with a thud, and she glanced at it before opening the letter once more. In scratchy handwriting that she could notice anywhere, Harry had written -
I know you thought I was only joking about a portkey, but I need you.
Her breath was caught in the back of her throat. Flipping the parchment over in her hands, she searched for an explanation, of what had happened on the mission, but Harry hadn’t written anything else at all. “Typical,” she muttered under her breath, eyeing the international portkey. She realized it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision of his part. To give her an international portkey made only to take her to him would have taken some time.
At the very least a few hours, and Hermione bit her lip when she wondered what reasoning he’d given the head auror, because he must have given one.
Nodding to herself foolishly, she spun on her heel before she could change her mind. Hermione ran down the corridor and pushed the door of her bedroom open. She pulled Harry’s favorite lingerie from the drawers of her dresser. He’d bought the set as a sort of joke earlier that year. Despite the fact that they weren’t in an established relationship, he insisted that she deserved to receive a gift for Valentines Day.
As unoriginal as it was, it was a red set, with matching garters. Hermione stripped out of her pajamas, already not wearing a bra at all, and slipped her arms through the straps. She only thought about it for a moment - it wasn’t as if they would be doing anything else. Hermione grabbed the long coat from her closet, nibbling her bottom lip as she dragged her heels out from the back of the small space.
Buttoning the coat up, and twisting in front of the mirror to be sure it covered her arse just in case she appeared in a public place, she was satisfied. Hermione tied the sash around her waist, and stepped into the open toed heels, making her way to the kitchen quickly.
Grabbing the portkey, she sucked in a breath as she vanished from her flat and landed in his hotel room. “Are you okay?” She asked, her eyes widening at the cut under his eye. “Hary?” She walked toward him as he stood slowly from the chair.
He was still in uniform, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, but his cloak was draped over the back of the chair. “I’m fine.” He murmured, grabbing her by the hips, and kissing her without saying anything else. His fingers tugged at the sash, letting it fall to the carpet as he set to work on the buttons.
She whispered his name, flattening her hands over his chest. “Tell me what happened.”
“It was nothing.” He insisted, and his eyebrows drew together in frustration as he worked on the buttons; she thought he might just rip it open and be done with it.
Hermione shook her head, swatting his hands away. “Harry..” She peeked up at him, taking in his disheveled hair, and the way his eyes were so dark, they were hardly green anymore. “Don’t lie to me. It must have been something for you to want me to come here.”
He hissed something she couldn’t hear under his breath. “We were on a mission - me and Ron.”
“Ron and I,” she joked half heartedly, her heart thudding when he smiled, even though it was such a smile curve of his lips.
“Ron and I,” Harry corrected, “were on a mission with other aurors. We’ve been searching for a werewolf without a pack that we suspect is responsible for three deaths. We cornered him tonight in the woods.”
Hermione shuddered at the look of him. “It’s a full moon.” She murmured, running her hands over his arms. “You could have been killed.”
“Nearly was,” he admitted softly, flicking the third button down from her neck open when she allowed him to.
“Oh, Gods.” Hermione gasped. “This can’t be all that happened.” She stated, her fingers hovering over the deep cut on his cheek bone.
He shook his head. “We had a good healer with us. Hermione, I don’t want to focus on it right now.”
She gaped at him. “You could have died, Harry! What would I have done without you?” It wasn’t quite enough to make him realize what she was saying. He was too oblivious, and emotions were high as he stared back at her. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, Hermione.” He told her, cupping her face. “I’m safe, Ron is safe, everyone was safe. It was only me who was injured.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Probably because you threw yourself right into the middle of it, didn’t you?”
“The werewolf would have killed Ron, but that’s not important right now. Hermione, look at me.” He tilted her chin up. “I wanted you here because you make me feel alive, and -”
Hermione threw her arms around his neck, and pressing her lips to his, cutting him off mid sentence.
Not that he complained as he walked her backward toward the large bed, the back of her knees meeting the mattress. Whimpering as he bit her bottom lip, Hermione tore his shirt open, not caring that buttons flew in all directions. Her actions were met with a low growl from the back of his throat. After throwing the ruined shirt in the floor, Hermione unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down his legs. Whispering his name under her breath, she leaned backward to see the look on his face when he pushed her coat open. “Well?” Hermione teased breathlessly.
Harry’s eyes, nearly blackened with desire, raked over her body while he watched her hungrily as she slipped the coat off. “I don’t deserve you.” He rasped, running his hands up her sides before cupping her breasts through the expensive lace. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
Her back met the soft bed as his lips skimmed her neck, and her collar bone, dropping lower to slide his tongue over the curve of her breasts. “Harry.” She whimpered. “If he’s here, we should silence the room.” Her back arched as he bit down on her nipple through the fabric.
“Already did it, Hermione. Ron’s in the room next to mine.” He parted her thighs, running his fingers over her sensitive clit. “But you’ve always enjoyed the thrill of knowing we could be caught, haven’t you?” Two fingers pushed her knickers out of the way, sliding inside of her.
She panted, fisting the sheets below her. “It would cause a fight,” she argued, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your friendship by making him angry.”
Harry looked up at her, smirking. “Make no mistake, he would be jealous because he knows he fucked up.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it?” He asked her, pausing to lean down, unclipping the garters, and dragging her skimpy knickers off of her with his teeth. Licking her clit, and holding her legs down as she shook against him, it was all he could do to look up at her as her head fell back.
She whined when he pulled away from her, kissing her hard instead. “It’s impolite to tease.”
He arched an eyebrow. “If he were to find out right now that you’re here with me, he’d be jealous.” Harry said quietly. “I wouldn’t care though. Let him be jealous, and let him know that you’re simply fucking mine.”
Hermione shrieked as he pumped two fingers into her, moving quickly against her as he took her nipple between his teeth. His words combined with his actions, it was all so much for her, and the dangerous thought of how she could spend forever like this was brought to the front of her mind.
He could have drawn out the foreplay, he might have if it weren’t for the circumstances. With her pleading with him to stop teasing him, and him so eager to fuck her, neither of them really ever stood a chance.
As demanding of a person that she was, this was when she could let go of control. So when he told her, “Get on your hands and knees.” Hermione was eager to listen.
The sheets were destroyed beneath them. She whimpered as his fingers threaded through her hair, tugging her back to him and he kissed the base of her throat. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Harry teased her, gripping his cock and sliding it against her folds.
She nodded, moaning when his hand closed around her throat. He was only rough sometimes, and feeling his hand against her throat, his fingers applying the smallest amount of pressure, it drove her crazy. “Harry -”
He cut her off by pulling her backward, thrusting into her all at once. Her shriek rattled the mirror that sat atop the dresser across the hotel room. “Fuck.” Harry hissed, pulling her hair lightly, and slamming into her.
On Halloween, Hermione had gone with Harry to visit Godric’s Hollow in the morning. With her arms looped through his, she was silent while laying her head on his shoulder. Each year since the final battle, it seemed to gut her even more when he broke apart from her to kneel in front of the Potters’ graves.
Ron had come with them once upon a time, after the war was over since Hermione had been there with Harry the very first time. It was the only time their third part had apparated with them, and Hermione couldn’t say that she missed his presence. An awful thing to think, but he was the jealous sort, and he and Harry just weren’t getting on well anymore.
Sometimes Hermione wondered if he realized what the nature of her relationship was with Harry. It would certainly make sense, but...she also knew Ron could never stay quiet about their arrangement.
In the very beginning after it was clear they would never be able to keep their hands to themselves, Hermione had been the one to joke about two rounds of firewhiskey that they simply just couldn’t fall for eachother. It sounded easy, but as time wore on, her feelings grew. At the point they had reached now, Hermione would rather have him as her friend, benefits and all, even if it meant he always felt so close, but so far away.
“Come here,” came his quiet voice, and the only sound was leaves crunching beneath her feet, “will you sit down beside me?”
She lowered herself to the ground, crossing her legs in front of her. “Are you alright?” Hermione took his hand in her own, running her fingers across his knuckles. “Harry?” She asked, alarmed.
Her best friend was already grimacing, pulling his hand away. “I know they’re bruised.”
“They’re busted!” She corrected, her voice high, and shrill. “Did you get into a fight?” Hermione took his hand again, more gently this time, and turning his hand over in her own. “Harry?”
Seeing as he wasn’t about to get out of the conversation without answering her, he said quietly, “Adrian Pucey picked a fight he couldn’t win.”
Hermione gaped at him. “Harry!” She scolded, swatting his chest. “If you’re going to be head auror one day, you can’t brawl with other Ministry workers.”
He shrugged. “If he hadn’t said anything,”
She snorted. “I seriously doubt that Pucey could say anything that,”
He cut her off by kissing her. It wasn’t something she was surprised by anymore, but he only ever kissed her when it was fueled by lust, and he was moments from throwing her onto her bed. Yet they were - reality had her ripping away from him. “Harry!” She scolded, glancing to the two headstones in front of them. “This isn’t the place for that.” Hermione told him weakly, lacing her fingers together so she might stand a chance of keeping her hands off of him.
“They’re dead, Hermione.” Harry said easily, a chuckle in his voice, but there was something in the low timber of his voice that sent a chill down her spine. “Mum and Dad aren’t watching me snog you, you know?”
Heat pooled in her cheeks. Spluttering, she shook her head. “That’s not the point. You’re just trying to distract me, and I want to know why you - you’re the reason he wasn’t at work yesterday, or today, aren’t you?”
Harry said nothing.
“Won’t you tell me why?”
Harry sucked in a breath, standing to his feet. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s obviously something if you hit him, and by the looks of it, multiple times! What were you thinking? What if Kingsley was forced to terminate you? Harry, you could lose so much, don’t you realize that?” Hermione rambled, climbing to her feet, and nearly rolling her ankle on the uneven soil. His arm shot out to catch her before she could fall. “Whatever Pucey did -”
“Forgive me if I didn’t want to listen to him brag about his plan to get you into bed.” Harry told her, his voice flat, and his eyes bright with anger.
Hermione’s mouth went dry. “Harry..” He turned his back to walk away, and she caught him by the back of his jumper. “I appreciate you defending me.”
“But?” He asked, rolling his eyes as he pulled her to his side to apparate. “There’s always a but with you, Hermione Granger. If you’re going to scold me, you’re wasting your breath.
She was supposed to meet Harry at his flat, and then go to the party together, but that wasn’t quite how it went. Hermione still hadn’t picked up the costume she’d ordered from a shop, but with three hours to go, she thought she had plenty of time.
Three rapid knocks on her front door said otherwise. Scrambling for the door, Hermione didn’t worry about changing out of Harry’s shirt. It was an old, worn t shirt that he’d left a few nights ago. Paired with a comfortable pair of jeans, she’d been lounging on the couch while waiting for him to come by.
“Took you long enough - Luna?” Hermione stuttered, taking in the sight of Neville and Luna at her door. The pair of them already noticing her shirt, she rambled on. “What are you doing here?”
Neville arched an eyebrow. “We could use some help setting up for the party tonight, and I knew you had the day off. We were hoping..”
Hermione nodded. “Of course.”
“Is that your costume?” Luna asked her, pointing toward her shirt.
The Chudley Cannons logo was stretched across her breasts, and the hem hung well past her waist line. “I’m sorry?” Hermione blinked, stepping aside for them to come inside.
“It would be comical if you were Harry for Halloween. The two of you are so close that you could imitate him.” Luna said.
Seeing at it was the only way to be sure it didn’t rise any questions, Hermione nodded. “Do you think it’s too silly?”
Luna shook her head, grinning, and flouncing past her. “Not at all. In fact it’s rather brilliant, I think. Just imagine all of the jokes you could make.” She patted Hermione on the back, which Hermione supposed was meant to be encouraging, but she realized she wasn’t funny at all, and she’d dug herself quite a large hole.
Hermione had sent him an owl while she got dressed in her bedroom. Grabbing a button down that he’d left in her bedroom last night, shrugging it over her shoulders, and leaving it open as he always did. Working product into her hair so it didn’t look quite so unruly, and working her hair into sleek curls as she had done for the Yule Ball.
Her note said nothing more than don’t bother picking up my costume. I’ll explain later. I’ll have to meet you at the party. Hermione transfigured a pair of her reading glasses into a more Potter-esque pair. Glancing in the mirror, she sighed, and knew that she couldn’t be Harry Potter without a lightning bolt scar.
What had she gotten herself into?
Ron noticed her first, and his eyebrows drew together. “You’re dressed like Harry.” He stated, watching his wife move away from his side and across the room to talk to Neville, and Luna. “Why?”
She took a long drink of firewhiskey, a trace of it dribbling down her chin. “Yes, it’s Halloween. I wasn’t sure what else to be, so I chose to be the Boy-Who-Lived.” Hermione said with a shrug of her shoulder, turning to fill her glass once more.
The party was in full swing around them, with thumping music, and too much booze already. “You don’t drink Ogden’s, Mione.” He said, his features contorted in confusion as his eyes raked her up and down.
“Harry does.” Hermione replied, tipping the glass to her lips, and wondering again how she had managed to put herself in this situation. “I can’t just dress like him, Ron. I have to act like him too.”
“But you’re not just wearing clothes that resemble his.”
“What?” Hermione stuttered, her eyes widening. “What are you talking about?”
He reached out, his fingers skimming against her neck as he touched the collar while he didn’t notice her recoil. “Holy shite, Hermione who left this on you?” He shouted, and heat pooled in her cheeks.
Hermione ripped away from him, her palm slapping against her neck to hide the love bite. Just as she stepped backward, she knocking into someone. Pressed against Harry’s hard chest - she realized as she looked up -, and his arms gripping her shoulders to steady her, her heart only beat faster.
“Giving her a hard time?” Harry asked, but he didn’t comment on her ‘costume’, and his hands didn’t fall away.
“She has a love bite the size of a small country on her neck, mate.” Ron gaped.
Harry’s fingers wound up in her hair, loosening the low ponytail she’d put it up in when it was stifling in the room. Letting to fall around her shoulders, he stepped away from her. “Must be the possessive kind of bloke to leave a mark like that then.” Harry rumbled, winking at her when Ron wasn’t looking.
“As I was saying, this is Harry’s shirt - both of them. What did you do, Hermione, steal his clothes? She’s you for Halloween, mate.”
Harry’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “You certainly look the part.” He murmured, taking the glass from her hands, and draining it. “Nice scar.” He laughed.
Grinning, and her heart pounding in her chest, Hermione was stuck by an idea. Wincing, and stumbling back against the table - it was a fake move, but she pulled it off well -, her hand flew up, her fingers brushing tentatively against her forehead. “Oh,” she whimpered under her breath.
Harry fell for it, rushing forward to grab her before she could fall . “You alright?”
Not able to hold it up for long without giggling, Hermione ran her fingers against her scar. “My scar hurts.”
Ron’s laugh echoed around the room, and she fell into a fit of giggles as Harry glared at her. The hard look on his face softened, and he tousled her hair. “Hilarious.” He growled in her ear, squeezing her hip.
“Thank you.” She drawled before making her way around the room.”
She wasn’t sure why Pucey had been invited. Sure, he worked at the Ministry, but no one particularly like him. Especially not her, but Harry might loathe him more. His nose still bruised, he glared at Harry whenever he saw him. But when his eyes landed on Hermione, she was on her own, which he took as an open invitation to strike up a conversation.
“Pucey,” she greeted, collapsing in a chair, and crossing her legs, “are you enjoying the party?”
“What the bloody hell are you?” He asked pointedly, rolling her eyes when she told him that she was Harry. “Why would you want to be that prat?”
“He’s not a prat only because he shattered your nose.” Hermione said. “I heard you deserved it.” Glancing up as a familiar hand settled on her shoulder, she saw Harry. “What?”
“Come outside with me.” He said, glaring at Pucey who had visibly paled.
She nodded, rising from the chair, grabbing her glass, and followed Harry onto the dimly lit balcony. “It’s pretty tonight.” She murmured, staring up at the sky, and sipping her drink. Firewhisky was too harsh for her taste, but for the sake of appearances. “Harry! We’re in public!” She hissed as he pinned her to the wall, her eyes widening.
“Notice Me Not.” He growled, cupping her chin and pressing his lips to her. His tongue sliding along the seam of her lips, and his fingers sliding down her stomach, and to the apex of her thighs. “You know what seeing you in my clothes does to me.”
Her laugh bubbling over, she murmured, “I thought it was only when I was wearing nothing but your shirt,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his tie as she pulled him forward, “you know, completely naked with only your button down to cover my breasts?” She smirked as there was a low rumble in his throat. “Harry,” she whimpered as his hand slid into her jeans, and into her knickers. “We can’t -”
The door leading to the balcony slammed open, and she clamped her mouth shut. Wide eyed, and staring at Harry, they were only steps away from Ron, and Padma. Harry lifted his finger to his lips, telling her to be very quiet, or they would be caught. Two fingers thrust into her cunt, curling against her, and making her head fall back against the stone wall.
With Padma making inane chatter, Ron finally dragged his wife back inside. Hermione wasn’t sure how long they had stood outside because she was preoccupied with biting her lip to hold back her moans.
“That wasn’t fair.” She murmured. “Let me come,” Hermione whimpered, pressing her hips forward, grinding against his hand.
There was a mischievous look in his eyes that she knew all too well. Harry slid her jeans down, letting them pool around her ankles as he parted her legs. Tugging her knickers down with his teeth, Harry held her gaze as his tongue slid against her clit, and she muffled her cries.
“Harry, Harry, please,” she moaned, too loudly by mistake, and a shadow on the other side of the door froze in place. Pumping his fingers faster, and with a final swipe of his tongue, Hermione came.
Harry dressed her once more, buttoning her jeans, and rising to press her trembling body to the wall. As he kissed her, winding his fingers into her now disheveled hair, Hermione could taste herself, but above that - there was something different.
Something that had her rattling as she slid her arms around his neck. “Do you want to leave?” She asked, halfway hoping he would take her back to his flat and take her for the rest of the night.
“Not yet.” He murmured, kissing her more sweetly than he ever had.
It was after Hermione faked parseltongue in front of several of their classmates, meeting Harry’s eyes in the crowd, that Hermione realized she was quite drunk. Remembering there was a reason she drank maybe one, or two glasses of wine, and not firewhiskey, but it was already too late.
Considering she’d brandished a broom, a new nimbus model she was told by Harry, but she wasn’t certain where from - she was pretty sure she’d just summoned a broom from a shop in Diagon Alley. A piece of merchandise they certainly would never see again unless they wanted it in pieces since she’d agreed to a friendly flying competition. Only she wasn’t friendly; she was competitive and she wanted to win.
Staring at Harry, who was still shaking his head, and chuckling, he took the broom that Neville offered him. Dubbed a competition between two Harry’s, Hermione wasn’t certain how she wasn’t going to break her neck. As they stood close on the grounds, with everyone watching from a distance, no one heard him. “I thought you preferred quidditch players, Miss Granger.” Harry teased.
“I prefer winning.”
“That’s a shame.” He commented, holding out his hand, ready to summon his broom. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
Hermione nodded, holding out her hand. “The only thing you’ll be doing is catching up.” She grinned, waiting for Neville to tell them to go. “I think the winner should choose what we do tonight.”
“What?” He choked, looking over at her. “What do you have in mind?”
“You, fucking me from behind.” She murmured, winking, and using the way he was distracted to her advantage. When Neville yelled, signalling the start, Harry was still stunned into silence as she mounted her broom, and took off.
Harry was after her perhaps ten seconds after, at Ron’s screaming, and he was nearly catching up to her. But it wouldn’t have been ‘Two Harry’s competition’ if she didn’t perform some of the stunts that had nearly made her heart stop during his matches.
On the first lap around the grounds, Harry lost the distance he had ahead of her when he thought she was going to fall from her broom. Except she’d only rolled on her broom, and she was shooting ahead of him, her laugh loud against the wind. On the second, she faked him out again, and on the final, Hermione was certain he’d let her win.
Back on the ground, she accepted the congratulations of their friends - nevermind that she wasn’t expected to win -, and Hermione looked over at Harry. There was a dark look on his face that had her stomach twisting.
She’d always thought there relationship would come out eventually. Of course it would, but she thought it would be something they planned, or maybe it would never be uncovered if they chose to end it.
Hermione didn’t like the think of the last outcome much. She had never expected for Harry to let the cat out of the bag, much less publicly, but as he took long strides toward her from across the room, there was something definitive in his expression, and she froze in place. Ron was behind her, prattling on about the Canons, and, “What are you doing, mate?” He asked as Harry came to stand in front of Hermione.
With their closest friends behind them, Hermione wasn’t sure what was happening. “Harry, are you -”
He tugged her to him by her - his - shirt, and then he was kneeling down, and then he was kissing her. Despite the shock, her eyes widening, and Ron’s shout, it was impossible to not melt into the curve of him. A low whimper left her, barely audible to anyone not standing right there, but Harry had made such a show it that it was impossible for anyone to have missed the display.
Snogging her thoroughly, tangling his fingers in her hair, and not pulling back even when he ought to have. She was breathless, fisting her hands in his shirt. “What was that?” Hermione whispered as he pulled away. “Harry?”
“We’re leaving now.” Harry announced over her head, keeping her at his side, and apparating with them both.
They landed in his dark flat, and he was pushing his shirt from her shoulders while she fumbled with the button on his trousers. “What was that, Harry?” She gasped.
“I should have done it a long fucking time ago.” He rasped, tearing her shirt over her head. “Gods, you’re just everything, did you know that?”
With her chest rising and falling with each short breath, she stared at him. “What?” Hermione squealed, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he backed her to the wall. Her spine met the wall, his fingers cupping the nape of her neck.
Harry pushed her jeans to the floor, hooking his fingers into her knickers and sliding them to the floor. “You fucking know everything about me.” He told her, leveling his stare. “From the silly shite with my scar, and the parseltongue, you knew everything. How I drink my firewhiskey, to my flying tactics, and to the bloody way I challenge others to drinking contests. Each time you brushed your hair out of your face like I do, it was a struggle not to snog you right then.”
“Attempting to outdrink Seamus was not my finest moment, but -”
He peppered kisses down her neck, and traced her clavicle with his tongue. “Nevermind that - and how you lost so badly, but you knew everything, Hermione. How?”
“I like to know things.” She whimpered as his already hard cock was pressed against her as he lifted her to pin her to the wall.
“Hermione -” He started.
“I think I’ve always watched you.” She admitted in a breathy gasp as he slammed into her. “I must have, but I only realized that I, well, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Harry didn’t freeze, and as much as she teased him for being oblivious, it was obvious he knew. “You don’t have to tell me when you started seeing me as more, and you don’t have to say anything back to me right now, but.” He cut himself off with a groan as she rolled her hips against him. “You’ll never let me live it down, but how ridiculous I must be to be the last person to realize how fiercely in love with you I am.”
Hermione’s moan broke as he thrust into her, and she tugged on his hair roughly. “Harry, oh my Gods.” It was a sob wrenching from her throat as she rested her head in the crook of his neck. “I love you.” She breathed. “How on earth could I not?”
Harry murmured into her skin that he would take her out tomorrow to properly show her off. And she supposed it was a combined feeling of the confession she hadn’t expected to hear or to make, but she came undone around him with a few words. “I love you.” He repeated, his eyes bright as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Me too.” Her grin was lopsided. “You know, I still won that match.” Hermione smirked, squeaking when he ripped her from the wall, and carried her into his bedroom.