Hermione loved her husband, that was never the problem. She loved her family, especially her children. They were never the problem either. She loved her career in the Department of Mysteries. She loved her personal library. Hell, she even loved Professor McGonagall. None of these were ever the problem. The biggest problem in Hermione Weasley's life was her love for her best friend, Harry Potter. Her love for him, that was always more than just platonic. Her love for him, that never let her tell him no. Her love for him that currently had her pressed against the wall, his cock pounding into her dripping pussy, crying out for him to go harder and faster. Yes, Hermione loved Harry, loved his cock, loved his dirty words, loved the way he held her after their couplings. But Hermione also hated him. Hated that she loved him more than Ron, loved him more than her family. Loved the way he slid through her folds, always letting her cum first. She would always love Harry, but she would always hate him too. They could never be together, they had too many responsibilities. So she took his love, and his cock whenever she could, and in as many ways as possible. And she'd love him for the moment, and then once they came down from their high, the hate would creep in. She'd hate them both and vow to never do it again. He'd agree knowing they both were lying. He'd tell her it was the last time, and they could get over their attraction, their need for one another. They'd tell themselves their spouses were enough, their families were enough. But the next time they met, their resolves would crumble. Clothes would come off, teeth would clash, lips and skin would meet, bodies pounding together in a rhythm as old as mankind. And the cycle would begin again. And as much as Hermione hated Harry Potter, she loved him, and she knew it would never change.