Hi, friends! Here is chapter two. I'm glad that it's been liked so far, but do keep in mind that this is just a short story, and there's one more part left! I finished it today, actually. So that will upload on Sunday!

This was preread by mcal, who cheered me on like the majestic lady she is, and it was edited by myself. If you notice anything super off, please let me know in a comment or private message. I'm still testing out new page breaks, so let me know if the formatting gets wonky anywhere! Hope you enjoy!

There was a bottle of vodka in her freezer that had been abandoned by Ron, and it was perfectly chilled. So cold it bit her throat as it slid down, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut because it tasted so bloody terrible. With nothing to chase the foul liquid with, Hermione took several shots—if they could be considered as such since she drank straight from the bottle.

Of course, there were perfectly good glasses in the cupboard, but she slumped against the counter. She brought her lips away from the spout with a pop!

James Potter had kissed her, and God help her—she'd loved every blissful moment spent against him. Perhaps it was merely a string of seconds knotted together, but Hermione relived them with each desperate swallow.

What would have happened if she'd stayed?

Hermione knew what would have happened.

She'd have woken up tomorrow morning in a bed that wasn't hers, bare under soft sheets as muscled arms slipped around her hips.

Her head spun as the booze settled in her stomach, and any sense of right and wrong she'd had was totally fucking shot. I should have stayed. What was it Ron always said?

Drunk words are sober thoughts.

Granted, her best friend had said that the morning after she'd dumped him while beyond pissed in a shitty dive bar Charlie ran, but the words still rang true anyway. Hermione wished that she'd stayed in that pretty hotel room with a balcony and a view.

Had there been a message from James—either through tinder or a regular text message—Hermione probably would have told him to come to her flat.

It was such a terrible idea.

She ought to be grateful that he hadn't contacted her at all in the last hour, but all Hermione could process was the churning sense of regret in her stomach.

~o~

Sunlight bled into the room, arching across the bed, and her face.

It was terrible.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and rolled until she wasn't facing the window. She sat up, cupping the side of her head as a vicious migraine returned. Drinking was never a good idea for her, but God, how much had she drank?

An empty bottle that had been tossed haphazardly tossed in the floor stared up at her, drained to the last drop.

Fuck.

~o~

After eating breakfast from a restaurant around the corner of her flat, Hermione stared at her mobile. Still, there were no messages from him, but that wasn't the worst part.

She was supposed to meet him at the office today. Even though it was Sunday, James was due in court tomorrow morning, and today had been the last day they were meant to go over paperwork. Hermione considered showing up anyway, determined to see the situation through, but as she read previous messages between herself and James, she changed her mind.

The messages alone made the heat coil in the pit of her stomach.

No, she couldn't see him again. At least, not in a setting where they would be completely alone.

~o~

Monday morning arrived quicker than she wanted it to, but she stepped into her best pair of heels and styled her hair. While she told herself that she was only going this because it was always good to take pride in her appearance, Hermione knew it was much more than that.

It wasn't that she wanted his attention, not in a way that led to anything, but she'd always dressed well.

And a tiny part of her did want him to have to rake his eyes over her twice to drink in the sight of her.

She was a fucking mess.

Hermione had barely slept in the last two nights as she tried to form her thoughts. A plan was what she needed, but that was nearly impossible to do when she'd slipped her hand into her knickers while reading filthy text messages, and her fingers brushed her slit.

Phone calls had gone ignored from Harry and Ron, who invited her for breakfast that morning.

I know you've gotta be angry still, but please let me make it up to you, 'Mione.

Come on, you never have a lie-in.

Hermione, please stop avoiding me.

Okay, you were right. We broke up.

'Mione?

Hermione wasted time in the parking lot, her car idling, by opening Harry's messages. Truthfully, she had been asleep, but she imagined that if she had been awake, she probably still wouldn't have answered. How could she talk to him now that she'd gone and bloody snogged his father?

She wasn't sure how she could ever make it through a run-in with Lily without blurting the truth. What if James had lied to her; what if this hadn't been the first time as he claimed? Another notch to him was what she supposed it made her, even if she hadn't followed through since she's imagined every way they could have followed through.

Hermione's finger hovered over the button, and she pressed it quickly before she could change her mind.

"Hello?" He answered, and the two syllables were slurred. "Hermione?"

There was a lump in her throat and she swallowed hard. "Hey, morning. I'm sorry I didn't reply earlier. Contrary to whatever you believe, I do sleep in sometimes."

"On a Monday?" Alright, well, he had her there. "Hannah and I broke up Saturday night."

Maybe it had been at the same time she'd been pinned to a wall by his father. Hermione's fingers curled in her hair. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you okay?"

He snorted. "Fine, actually. It was nothing, just like always." Harry hesitated, probably waiting for her to tell him that she'd told him so, but she didn't fill the silence. "Are you okay?"

How in the bloody fuck was she meant to reply? The truth was the best option—honestly was the best policy and all that rot—but it burned her tongue. "I'm fine. Had a long weekend is all."

"Oh."

Traitorous tears stung her eyes. "I should go, Harry. I'm already late to work."

"I'm sure Dad won't care. He's always liked you."

That was the absolute worst thing he could have said.

~o~

The first time Hermione saw him since the night in question, it was as he walked into court. It could have felt like a perfectly normal day, but the illusion was shattered when he spotted her. Where there had previously been lines where his brows rose—and he argued with a man she didn't recognize—James' face softened.

Hermione felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. Breath rushed from her lungs, and she made a sharp turn into the courtroom and took her seat before he could catch her.

Still, James stole several glances at her throughout the hour that followed.

The thing about being a lawyer was that you needed to command a courtroom. You had to master a balancing act of swaying the jury and convincing them that the only correct answer was the one you presented.

James did all of that.

From her seat, Hermione was riveted to watch him charm the room.

Until he looked at her again. It was a stolen glance that no one would notice, but his eyes met hers for a long moment as the defence began opening statements. Hermione squirmed in her seat, squeezing her legs together.

He didn't miss the movement and a delicious, secret smile that was all for her curved his lips.

She was in so much trouble.

~o~

For all that he tried, Hermione was never alone in a room with James. She frequently made trips to the copier, all of those trips strategically planned. Whenever he asked her to help him in his office, she elected to ask another intern—this one who wasn't pursuing a career in law—to help them sift through paperwork.

James' nostrils flared each time she slipped through his fingers. It was a small thing that no one else would have noticed, save for her, and that was because she took notice of every thing he did.

And it was exhausting.

Her days had never felt like work before this incident, but now she felt as if she were working harder to avoid James than she ever had on things that actually fell under her job description.

When he entered a room, she slipped out, feigning that she needed to answer a phone call.

By the end of the week, Hermione could feel that everything was about to boil over the edge, and honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted to be there for the fallout. It was ridiculous to stay. This wasn't something that could simply be shrugged off.

She stepped into his office Friday morning and kicked the door shut behind her. "Morning," Hermione greeted tersely. "My last day is going to be two weeks from now."

His mouth dropped open. "Hermione—" His voice was raw, and she could not stay in the room or she'd cave.

She already knew that. "I'm going to call Albus Dumbledore's office on Monday. Hopefully, there will still be a position available for me, but if there isn't…" She shrugged. "I'll figure that out on my own. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Potter. I'm just afraid there's a personal conflict of interest here that I can't overcome."

Hermione didn't wait to hear his response before making her morning trip to the copier.

~o~

James didn't seek her out for the rest of the day, and Hermione sank into a pile of paperwork that was dreadfully high. She'd spent the bulk of the afternoon in his office while he was in court, flipping through files that kept her attention.

Perhaps she was leaving, but the least she could do was her best not to leave too much work behind.

Eventually, she would need to tell Harry and Ron that she'd quit, and she had no idea what she could say to curb their questions. And there were sure to be questions.

With the blinds and curtains drawn, Hermione didn't notice when the sun went down, or for that matter, when the rest of her peers left.

So, when the office door opened, and James stepped over the threshold, her voice lodged in her throat. James appeared just as surprised to see her as he pulled his tie from around his neck. "You're still here?"

She should have just rushed out past him and left her bag to retrieve on Monday. "There was a lot of paperwork." In hindsight, it was a rather foolish response. Neither of them wanted to talk about paperwork. "I lost track of time."

He sighed. James laid his briefcase on the table and braced his hands against it as he stared at her. "Yes, I can tell. You wouldn't have let yourself be caught alone if that weren't the case."

"Can you blame me?"

James' nostrils flared at her whisper. "No, I suppose I can't blame you for avoiding me. However, I can, and do blame you for quitting without talking to me. I know this is about last weekend, Hermione."

Nodding, Hermione didn't know what to say, or where this conversation was going.

"My wants aside" —the emphasis on want made her stomach twist— "I would never want to make you so uncomfortable that you felt the need to quit."

Hermione squeezed her hands together, tightly lacing her fingers, and shook her head. "The problem is that I'm not uncomfortable."

He blinked.

"I'm not uncomfortable because you kissed me." Hermione continued, though she shouldn't. This was exactly what she'd feared—that once she started talking, she wouldn't stop. "I would say that I'm uncomfortable because you haven't done it again."

There was that choking sound of surprise again. "You left."

Standing, Hermione found that her legs were weak. "I had to. You're married, but even knowing that, I got so bloody pissed in my flat that I almost called you. I almost asked you to come for no other reason than I wanted it, but that's selfish."

James' throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Then we should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm going to quit, and you're going to still be married. That's all there is to say."

He stepped around the table, and took small steps, watching her closely. Their chests were nearly touching. "I'm not supposed to think about you."

Hermione knew that. "You're my best friend's father. I'm not supposed to think about you either, but I have."

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, James smirked. "Just what have you thought about, love?"

This was a tipping point.

They were on the cusp of something they couldn't come back from, and logic roared for her to stop and think. "I've imagined what might have happened if I had stayed, but that doesn't matter now. I left. I'm leaving."

Fingers curled under her chin, tipping her head up. "Are you?"

She didn't have a response. James' eyes were nearly black, and her legs pressed together again.

"You seem to do that a lot." He murmured, dragging his thumb across the bow of her lips. "Especially when I'm around." His voice dropped an octave. "I wonder why that is, Hermione. Could you tell me?"

Friction, she thought, and Hermione's cheeks flushed when she accidentally said it as well. "I'm leaving."

But still, she didn't move.

Not one single step.

And he still held her chin, tipping her head up toward his. "You've been all I can think about, Hermione."

She could hear herself murmur the same, even though she'd sworn she wouldn't allow this to happen. "This is wrong."

James kissed her, and his fingers curled at the nape of her neck.

"We shouldn't do this." Hermione's words were muffled by his lips.

He picked her up, large hands cupping her arse as he sat in the leather chair behind his desk.

"You're married." Hermione didn't care anymore as he pushed her skirt up around her waist, and his hand slipped between her thighs.

Hermione sank down on him as he ripped her blouse up, buttons tearing from the soft fabric. Her head fell back as he filled her, stretching her as she rocked against him with muffled moans that surely echoed in the office.

~o~

James had come to her flat that weekend, spending the bulk of it between her thighs until her moans were reduced to weak cries. At one point, she'd wondered what he'd told his wife before deciding that she truly didn't want to know. The less she thought about it, the better, Hermione supposed, and she could ignore the guilt that would crush her if it ever got over her head.

Though admittedly, between earth-shattering orgasms and working—actually working since she'd shot down the idea of desk sex—there wasn't much time to feel bad. Hermione continued to do her best, and with each day that passed, it felt as if there were an invisible mark on her back. If anyone was going to notice, it would be the secretary, and Hermione berated herself to remember that late nights were normal.

There was no way for anyone to know.

Still, the fear hung just over her head, snapping to life at the most inopportune times.

One day, James' hand brushed her hip by mistake as they passed each other in the break room. Warmth had bloomed just under his fingers, but the damage had been done when she ripped away from him, eyes blown wide. Luckily, they had been alone, and he'd only chuckled. It had begun something James liked to refer to as training.

In short, he randomly touched her.

Innocent touches that would go unnoticed by anyone if she paid them no mind.

Long fingers brushed her hips from time to time. A hand flattened against the middle of her back when he walked with her, dipping almost too low, and she had stumbled. James helped her up, righting her while looking her over with a smug curve to his lips.

The real test—which wasn't a test at all—was the scariest moment of Hermione's life to date. She and James sat at the circular table in his office. She'd done well to keep her chair a respectable distance from his, but when the door opened in a hurry, and Lily stepped inside, Hermine had nearly panicked.

Comforted that her turmoil was limited to the swirling in her stomach and hadn't made its way onto her face, Hermione smiled. James and Lily carried on what might have been their most pleasant conversation in months as they swapped keys for their vehicles.

Lily's needed to be serviced, she learned and James had apparently suggested he take it in so Lily wouldn't have to deal with it.

Hermione's heart clenched. It just—

It sounded like something a doting husband would do. What was she meant to make of that?

She didn't jump when James' ankle brushed hers.

In fact, Hermione was fairly certain she didn't breathe until Lily left the room and the lock clicked.

"Hermione?" James nudged her foot with his own.

After swallowing, she murmured, "It's good that the two of you seem to be doing better." Maybe once he'd stepped outside his marriage, James had realised he was content to return to his wife. It made her dizzy to think about it.

"We're not." He settled his hand on her upper thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "She's taking an overnight trip, but her vehicle isn't going to make it. I'd rather not have to leave you to help her."

Lifting her head, Hermione smiled. It felt so silly to be jealous—because he wasn't truly hers, but Hermione didn't say that out loud—and cocked her head to the side. "What were you planning to do tonight?"

His hand slid farther, and he rubbed her slit through her knickers. "I've paid for a room if you'd be willing to join me."

Hermione very nearly broke her rule about no sex in the office—barring the one time.

~o~

If Harry noticed that she was no longer lecturing him about the choices in his love life, he didn't mention it. Weeks later, Hermione sat across from them in a pub as music roared through speakers. So far, she'd caught the name of one of his ex's—the dreaded Romilda—and the woman had already joined them.

She still loathed Hermione.

Her mobile vibrated in her pocket, and Hermione tucked herself against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest while bobbing her head to the music. Ron complained that she'd put her feet on him, but it was a show more than anything else.

With her chest light, and her head even lighter due to the haze of booze, Hermione shot a grin at him. James had texted her, which made for a very good night indeed.

You are such a fucking minx.

Still grinning, Hermione was careful not to let anyone see just what he was replying to.

Which was a picture of her posing in front of the floor-length mirror in her flat, still clad in her knickers, but her breasts were on display as she'd adjusted herself in the best angle possible.

You asked for it though.

If he hadn't, she'd have never sent it for fear they would be caught.

Although…it was possible she wasn't so worried about being caught since Harry was not far from her at all.

Are you having fun tonight?

Not so much.

As it were, Romilda glared daggers at her when Harry launched into a story in which Hermione was the focal point.

There's a girl here that's not pleased to see me. I'm going to leave soon.

And she did leave once James asked if he could meet her at her flat.

Calls from her friends went ignored as he slammed into her, and wrapped her hair around his knuckles, fucking her until she cried out his name.

~o~

Hermione wore red lipstick, the same shade that had drawn him in originally.

A muttered fuck slipped from his mouth as the door swung shut, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You can't wear that here."

She arched a brow. "Red is a power color." Hermione rounded his desk, and leaned against the edge, crossing her ankles. "I happen to think it makes me look nice."

"Nice?" He choked. "That's not how I would describe it. It's very striking, but—"

Leaning forward, Hermione brushed her lips against his. "What is it, James?"

His fingers dugs into the leather of his chair. "Bloody hell, you know exactly what it makes me think about."

It was too easy, honestly.

"Tell me."

James glared at her, his eyes growing darker with each passing moment. "It makes me think about you pretty you look with your lips wrapped around my cock."

No one would be there for at least twenty minutes.

They had time.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, and unbuttoned his trousers, a wicked smirk forming on her lips. "Like this?" Hermione dragged her tongue up the underside of his cock. As he guided his cock into her mouth, Hermione whimpered as the tip met the back of her throat.

"Wanna see you come all over your fingers." James groaned softly, his head falling back.

Hermione sucked him, her pace quickening as the worry that someone would catch them grew.

James hissed a curse under his breath, and his hips jerked forward before spilling into her throat. His eyes grew wide as she swallowed. After bringing her to her feet, James pushed Hermione backward until her bum rested against the edge of his desk once more. "Fucking love this." He lowered his head between her thighs and licked a stripe up her cunt.

She gripped the edge of the desk, moaning while pressing herself closer to him. "James, please, we have to hurry, or we'll be caught."

Somehow, Hermine doubted James would stop even if they were caught.

The thought shouldn't have been as exhilarating as it was.

Two fingers pumped into her, curling with each stroke of his tongue, and Hermione broke apart in a chorus of broken whimpers.

~o~

Hermione met him as often as they were able. Lily's overnight trips had increased as of late, and in the months that followed, she was ashamed to say that she'd slept with James in the bed he shared with his wife.

Lately, her thoughts had turned though, and as much as she tried to ignore them, Hermione couldn't help it.

It wasn't about sex anymore.

It hadn't been about sex for some time, and she wasn't sure where that left her.

Nowhere good, that was for certain.

~o~

It had been a year.

A year of secret meetings, of near misses when it came to being caught. Hermione had long since stopped believing she should have cut it short sooner—though it would have been the moral thing to do—even if she could go back to the first night, she knew the only change she would have made would have been to stay in that hotel room.

To let James Potter absolutely fucking consumer her as he had for the past twelve months.

He kissed her until her toes curled.

Flowers had been delivered to the office on her birthday, with a card that read from you know who, which had become a running joke between the two of them.

But also, it meant it had been a year since she'd become a bloody good liar. Harry would never forgive her if he found out, and eventually, everything came to light. It couldn't stay buried forever no matter how hard they tried.

He kissed her in the mornings when he stayed the night—which had grown more frequent as Lily was away—and before they fell asleep.

James held her hand when they drove hours away to eat dinner together in public. He made the effort not to keep her hidden, and it had given her a taste of what she really wanted.

Him.

There was, of course, a problem. Hermione had never expected it to get this far, but here she was a year later, sitting on a bed in the same room where it had all began.

In love with a married man.

~o~

A bell dinged over her head, and from behind the counter, Hermione could hear a kettle whistling. There was a knot already formed in the pit of her stomach, and she pushed herself to take another step as she made her way to their usual table.

When her mobile had rung that morning, a shrill absurd sound echoing in the space of her bedroom, she'd known something wasn't right.

Harry waved to her, flagging her down, and she forced a smile. Everything was fine. This was nothing, really. It wouldn't be the first time she'd nearly combusted due to seeing her best friend—even though they had drifted apart ever since her relationship with James had begun. While he had no idea what had caused the rift, Harry still grinned at her, his eyes wide behind wire frames.

The point was, Hermione reminded herself, this wasn't the first time Harry's presence had made her anxious and it wouldn't be the last.

She slid into her seat, and shrugged out of her coat, draping it over the back of her chair. "Is everything alright?"

He pushed a mug toward her with a tight smile. "Erm, not really, no."

She'd previously thought her stomach couldn't drop any lower, but it apparently could. Lacing her fingers together tightly, Hermione hoped he wouldn't notice anything odd about her.

"I hope I remembered your regular. Milk with two sugars, right?"

It was three.

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, that's perfect." Honestly, in the large scheme of things, it didn't matter if she told white lies. Not when all of them combined could never overshadow the one she'd kept from him. "You're worrying me a bit, Harry."

More than a bit.

If he knew, he wouldn't be buying you tea. He'd probably dump it over your head.

That was true, at least.

"My parents are separating."

A ragged breath rushed out of her without permission. "What? Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." Hermione recovered nicely if you asked her, but her head was spinning. James hadn't mentioned this.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "It wasn't a shock. Neither of them mentioned it, but its clear things weren't going well."

She was going to vomit.

She'd gone to sleep the night before tangled up in James, her lips resting against the smooth skin of his throat, and he'd been gone by the time she woke up. "When did they tell you?"

"This morning."

No wonder James had been gone by the time she woke up.

"I'm so sorry." Hermione had to quit saying that. "Have you told Ron?"

Harry shook his head, and his foot knocked against hers beneath the table. "Needed to talk to you first, and it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with him around." He'd lost her. "Give me your hand."

She arched a brow. "What?"

"Come on, 'Mione. Don't fight me for once, would you?"

Sighing, Hermione held out her hand. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice how clammy it was, or the way her pulse thundered. "Why wouldn't you want to tell me this with Ron around?"

"I've been an arse."

Blinking, Hermione wasn't sure what to say. "I don't follow."

He gulped. "Right, that was vague. I mean, I haven't been a good friend to you, but the fact that my parents are divorcing made me realize that what I've really been doing is taking you for granted."

Oh.

Oh, no.

Hermione's lips parted, and she nearly snatched her hand away. This couldn't be happening.

"You know, I thought my parents would be together for the rest of their bloody lives. James and Lily Potter, everyone's always talked about them. Maybe they don't get to have that, but I want to have that."

Tears sting her eyes.

He ran a thumb over her knuckles. "Please don't cry. Do you…do you think that kind of love is real?"

She did even though she wasn't sure she would ever have it with the man she'd fallen in love with.

"That maybe it comes from where you least expect it?"

Oh, he was going to bloody kill her.

Everything always came out. It had to.

"Hermione," he breathed her name. "You've been standing in front of me all along, and I'm sorry that I'm late to notice, but I want more, so much more with you."

The doorbell chimed again.

He still stared at her, thumb tracing over the bumps of her knuckles. "Hermione?"

Tears slid down her cheeks, and she pulled away. Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I'm so sorry—" she'd always been sorry, she thought, but never quite as sorry as she felt now. "I can't."

His face crumbled, and Harry slumped in his chair. "Can I ask why?" He was so timid, so much quieter than she'd ever heard, and it fucking crushed her.

"There's someone." She whispered. "I've been seeing someone for a while now." It was the truth, but it was still a lie.

Every word she had said for a bloody year had been a lie.

"I'm so sorry."

Harry whispered that she didn't have to apologise to him, and told her he needed to go, that he was sorry he'd sprung it on her. As if he'd ever done anything wrong.

She hadn't known about the divorce. James had never mentioned having the thought to her, much less that he planned to follow through.

It felt like everything she had wanted, but what of the cost?

Whomp, whomp. One more part to go. Let me know what you think and I'll see you Sunday for this to wrap up. Thanks for reading!