Warning: Brief Mature Content, Sexual Assault

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With Ginny on hands and knees, her face buried in the bed as she screamed her ecstasy, Harry's eyes stayed focused on Hermione… Lust clouded his gaze, but it wasn't for his wife. It was for Hermione.

Pearl Eye

Chapter 3

Power

Hermione had never done so much physical labor in her life. She'd been at the job for a month, and her legs ached from standing on them all day, and her arms were heavy from all the scrubbing that apparently needed to be done daily.

But fortunately she lived in a beautiful estate, where in her first-floor bedroom — the smallest in the house but still bigger than her entire Muggle studio apartment — there was an extremely comfortable bed with a fluffy comforter and pillows that somehow were both hard and soft. Just the way she liked it. She wondered if the bed was magicked to respond to what her body needed.

Looking at the grandfather clock opposite her bed, she saw that it was 6AM. Her first class of the day started at 10AM, so she had some time to help Winky before heading out. After showering and dressing in her non-magical clothes, not bothering to put on her uniform, she headed to the kitchen, where Winky was prepping for the day's meals.

"Good morning, Winky. How can I help you?"

She didn't stop her work when she said, "There are clean bath towels in the laundry chamber. Fold then stock them in each bathroom. And remember how they need to be folded — Mistress Ginny only likes them that way."

Always the quick learner, Hermione had no difficulty folding the towels with the uniformity that Ginny required. And after that first dinner with her family, she knew if her work didn't meet perfection, then they would find every reason to kick her out — she doubted even the Minister of Magic could hold them back from reaching their desire.

The Weasleys were clearly a formidable family.

It makes sense why she and Harry are married. Both wealthy with more power than I can likely imagine. But still, she couldn't understand what else Harry and Ginny could have in common. He seemed so kind and giving while she seemed cold and pretentious. Perhaps opposites attract?

But Hermione had to remember that she was holding onto her first impression of Harry, an illusion. She didn't really know the man.

She was now on the third floor, where the last room she had to stock was the master, Harry and Ginny's room. The bathroom had two entrances, one from the hallway and one from within the bedroom. Knowing they likely were still sleeping, she crept into the bathroom, leaving her cart outside so she was as soundless as possible.

After placing the towels in their designated place, she heard a loud moan that made her freeze. The bedroom entrance to their bathroom was slightly open, and she could hear the creak of a bed and the hard breathing of two people making love.

Hermione tried to creep back out of the bathroom, but her shoe squeaked on the marble floor. She cringed as everything became silent. She heard Ginny whisper, "Did you hear that?"

Fear coursed through her now. If they found her in the bathroom, they'd not only think she was a perv, but Ginny would definitely fire her. So Hermione stood frozen, praying to whatever god listening that they wouldn't check the bathroom.

Then Harry said, "I didn't hear anything." And the movement returned. If she could make a noise, Hermione would have released a sigh of release. Instead, she was forced to listen to her employers have sex. The bed picked up its steady creaking noise, and Ginny loudly moaned her pleasure. But Harry was oddly silent — she didn't even hear a grunt.

She wondered if he was just a silent lover or if he wasn't enjoying the act. Then wondered if it was her, if she could elicit pleasure from his mouth.

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. As Ginny's howls increased in sound, the slapping of skin more rapid in speed, Hermione knew she only had a small window of time to make her escape. Hermione stepped forward again, and as she looked over her shoulder to make sure the bathroom was in order, a pair of emerald green eyes connected with hers. With Ginny on hands and knees, her face buried in the bed as she screamed her ecstasy, Harry's eyes stayed focused on Hermione. Even as Harry pounded Ginny from behind, his hands on her hips, aggressively pulling them back and forth as she slid up and down his girth, lust clouded his gaze — but it wasn't for his wife. It was for Hermione.

Her eyes widened at the sight, and widened more when she realized Harry wasn't looking away. She was the one driving his movements — she was the one turning him on. Eyes connected, he quickened his strokes. And while Ginny continued moaning loudly, Harry seemed unaffected. It was Hermione he wanted in that moment. And she couldn't look away.

When she stayed in place, unmoving, his strokes gained even more momentum, and he made the first noise since they started. And as he began to lose control, eyes locked on Hermione, he came with a final push into Ginny's center. She cried out and collapsed on her stomach, but Harry, sweating and breathing hard, still looked at Hermione.

She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until he let out a shaky one. Her heart in her throat, she abruptly turned away and all but ran down the hallway, dragging the cart behind her. After dropping it off in the laundry chamber and going into the kitchen, Hermione found knives chopping carrots, onions, and celery, while eggs scrambled in a bowl, all magically floating in the air. Winky took a moment to look at Hermione, "Took you long enough. Why do you look like you've seen a ghost? We don't have any residing here... or do we? I'll have to ask Master."

At the mention of master, Hermione knew she had to get out of that house. Trying to steady her voice, she said, "N-no, I actually am going to head to school early. When I get back this afternoon, can you prepare a list of tasks I need to complete?"

When that was agreed upon, Hermione grabbed her bag of books and power walked to the ballroom to floo to school. Just as she grabbed the powder, Harry entered from the other side of the room. He was walking toward her, but just as he said her name, she disappeared in the fireplace in a flurry of green flame.

Hermione loved her classes — the content she was learning was more than she could've asked for. Her first class of the day was History of Magick, where they were currently learning about the first known wizards in the world, in Egypt. The 2-hour lecture sent some of her classmates to sleep, but Hermione was enthralled, fascinated by ancient theories around how magic came to live in human form, because it had always been around. Then her second class was potions. Because this was community college, with the expectation that students came with some degree of knowledge, Hermione was nervous that she didn't know enough. But that fear was quickly squelched as she quickly picked up on why one ingredient matched with another. The fact that she read the entire textbook before arriving didn't hurt, either.

Hermione wished she had more classes, but she'd be taking two two-hour classes daily at the college, so those with jobs and other responsibilities weren't overwhelmed with the course load.

As 2PM neared, Hermione dreaded returning to the manor. Fortunately, a classmate stopped her before she began to make her way home.

"You really are good at potions. Better than the entire class. I have to wonder why you're even here." Luna Lovegood said as she approached Hermione with another classmate, Neville Longbottom. Hermione met them halfway in the courtyard.

"Thanks! It's all so new, but I'm so excited to be here."

"Where were you before?" she asked, and Hermione gave her the entire spiel on the arrival of her inherent magic.

"You must be the first of your kind. A late bloomer." Neville said.

Luna nodded her agreement. "It's not surprising, though. Warbly Wibbles don't mature into their magical properties until the last 10 days of their lives. Then they reproduce and pass on their magic."

Hermione gave a half smile. "Are you saying I might be like a Warbly Wibble?"

Luna shrugged. "Perhaps they're distant relatives."

Neville and Hermione laughed. Hermione appreciated the girl's candor and, from what she witnessed in class, her subtle brilliance. Why she was at the school? Hermione could only imagine it had to do with her eccentric theories. Maybe they interfered with her performance at Hogwarts.

"Hermione," Luna said, "It was great to meet you. I look forward to seeing you in class again."

Suddenly, Hermione remembered she had to go home. Get back to work. And possibly run into Harry. She felt weird already that she watched her employers have sex. What was wrong with her? Why hadn't she just walked away? Why was she so entranced that her feet felt like concrete blocks stuck in the floor? Why did his eyes hold her like glue?

Now she had to face him at some point. But then again, the house was big — she could make herself scarce and only see him in the presence of guests.

Yes, she'd do everything in her power to avoid Harry Potter.

When Hermione stepped back into the ballroom through the fireplace, she saw Ginny sitting in a chair, reading the Daily Prophet. She looked up at Hermione as she stepped through and said, "Make sure you don't muddy the place with ashes when you floo here."

"Uh, yes ma'am. I'll be sure not to do that." Hermione would always find it strange to call a girl only a few years older ma'am. It was clearly a way to assert dominion.

Ginny stood from her chair, dressed in a slim white dress and red heels. Statuesque and beautiful, she imagined her very presence intimidated many. But not Hermione. However, she knew the effect Ginny was attempting to have and so played along for the sake of her job.

"I see that Winky has left a list of responsibilities for you in the kitchen. Get to it."

Hermione had to pass Ginny to get to the kitchen. And as she made her way to the door, Ginny blocked it. Staring down her nose at Hermione, she hissed through tight lips, "Tread lightly, girl. And remember your place. Don't speak to me unless spoken to. And that goes doubly for my husband. Understood?"

Now the intimidation she wanted Hermione to feel? She could feel it. The glare she seemed to have reserved for Hermione sent a chill down her arms. This woman did not want Hermione close to Harry. "Uh, yes, I understand."

"That's yes ma'am, or mistress if you prefer."

"Yes ma'am."

Ginny gave a cruel smirk and without another word walked to the opposite side of the room, exiting the door without a second look at Hermione's sneering face.

That evening, as Hermione went back and forth from kitchen to dining room to set the food Winky prepared before she left for the day, dressed in the ridiculous uniform that, even with the adjusted measurements, was too short and too tight, she again contemplated Ginny's word. The manipulative girl had found a way once more to get inside of Hermione's head.

She threatened Hermione, basically, telling her to stay away from her husband or else. Why would she even think Harry would be interested in her? Was he some kind of Lothario who cheated on his wife? The idea sickened Hermione as she remembered the way he stared at Hermione while having sex with Ginny. Was he getting off because he was a lecher, or was he actually interested in Hermione? Did he actually want her? Was he hoping it was her he slid in and out of, her hips he wanted to dig his nails into?

Hermione shuddered at the thought then slapped herself for it. These fantasies were wrong! Though over the course of the month, they'd talked more and even become friendly, he was still essentially a stranger — he still had a wall up that made it hard for people to get close! But more importantly, he was a married man! One who was also her employer. Even if he did want her, to pursue would immoral. And she couldn't see herself participating in an affair.

Besides, she thought, he likely doesn't even want me. He's apparently The Great Harry Potter. What would do want with a girl who had no power, no old money, and couldn't even perform magic? Clearly, any interest he'd have for me would be as a secret lover to get his dick wet before returning to his wife. I'd be disposable, a receptacle for his whims.

"Hermione."

The voice almost made her drop the meatloaf she carried. Standing in the doorway of the dining room was the boy who lasciviously looked her up and down the prior night. After placing the food on the table, she turned to the young man. With a small bow, she said, "Good evening, sir. Glad to see you'll be joining the Potters for dinner. I'll set another plate and let you all know when dinner is ready."

"No need to call me sir. It's Ron. And let me help you with that."

Hermione smiled, appreciative that one of the Weasleys at least wasn't a total prick. He may've had wandering eyes, but he at least seemed nice enough to help her with dinner. After getting him silverware, he magicked them on the table while Hermione did it by hand. "Thank you for helping. It's very kind of you."

He came up behind her and looked at her work. "You've got the knife and spoon confused." And with a flick of his wand, he fixed it.

Hermione's back stiffened, uncomfortable with the closeness, especially when that closeness led to his hardened member bumping into her thigh. She gasped and turned around, just for him to press into her groin. He let out a moan that turned her stomach. "You look so good in that outfit. Whenever you bend down just a bit, I want to—"

Hermione pushed him back with all the force she had. He knocked into the china cabinet, which led made him contort his face into a nasty sneer. "How dare you touch me, Mudblood!" Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his chest. "I get to touch, not you."

And just as his lips were about to plunge against hers, Harry stepped into the room, rage written all over his face. But before he could say anything or even draw his wand, Hermione had kneed Ron's erection, causing him to collapse against the floor. From there, Hermione ran out of the room, tears of frustration and fear running down her face.

"Hermione!" Harry called after her. She slammed the door to her room and sat on her bed, trying to calm her breathing. This was not what she signed up for! A gentle knock sounded and she already knew who it was. She wanted to tell him to go away, but she wanted him to stay just the same.

Conflicted, her trembling voice spoke, "Not right now, Harry. I mean, Mr. Potter."

************************************************CONTINUE HERE************************************************

"Hermione, may I come in? Please, I want to make sure you're okay."

After a moment, Hermione stood from her bed and unlocked the door. He could've easily opened it himself, but she appreciated his respect for her privacy. She opened the door and went back to her bed. Quietly closing it himself, he leaned against it, letting the silence linger comfortably for a moment.

Then he said, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

She nodded, wiping the back of her hand against her eyes. "It was disgusting. He did it like he was entitled. And he called me a name that I'm sure is akin to a slur: Mudblood."

Harry cringed as that rage she saw earlier flashed across her face. "Damn it, I'm going to kill him." He started to open the door, but Hermione said, "Wait!" and he immediately turned to her.

She again wiped the tears from her face and said quietly, "They're awful. Why are they so fucking awful?! And why are you…"

Hermione didn't allow herself to finish the sentence — he was ultimately a stranger, after all. He could be hiding that he was just as awful as them. But when she looked into his face, she knew he was nothing like them. He had a sadness in his eyes that made Hermione want to hug him. He took a step toward her, but then thought better of it and leaned against the door again.

"They're terrible," he agreed with a heavy breath. "And maybe I am, too, marrying into such a bigoted family. But there are rules… and traditions that I must follow."

"But why? Why is everyone here so hellbent on following these 'traditions'?"

"Power."

It was a simple answer with heavy implications. She understood enough that power superseded any form of government. Which must mean the Weasleys had some form of power that Harry needed.

But why would he?

"Don't they call you The Boy Who Lived? Why? Aren't you… important? More than the Weasleys?"

Harry smirked, a smirk that was empty and humorless. "So you've heard about that."

"No. I don't know anything."

This time he stepped forward, a question in his eye. Hermione nodded and he sat down beside her. She ignored the quickening of her heart at their close proximity.

"It's a story I'll tell you soon, if you don't hear it from someone else first." He put his hand on her back and rubbed it soothingly. "I'm sorry what Ron did. He won't be allowed to set foot in this house — or near you. I'll tell the Department of Magical Law Enforcement what he attempted to do. But I want you to be warned that—"

"Power might protect him."

Harry nodded. Then said, "Whatever happens, he won't get away with this."

Hermione knew Harry would take care of it. She nodded and said in a steely voice, "Kick his ass."

His smirk now had a touch of humor that didn't contradict his seriousness. "I'll do that."

Suddenly, she remembered what she saw that morning and her cheeks reddened. Harry must've noticed the change in her body language and immediately moved to the side to create space between the two. He rubbed his neck as his own face reddened. "About this morning…"

Hermione shook her head, "Don't worry about it. I should've have been in your bathroom. I'm so embarrassed that—"

"No, I'm embarrassed. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn't have… you know…" He glanced to meet her eyes and saw the regret and embarrassment in his face. "I shouldn't have looked at you like that, and I'm sorry. I feel like as your boss or whatever, it was extremely inappropriate."

"About as inappropriate as you sitting on my bed."

He jumped up, but Hermione grabbed his arm instinctively. They both stared at her hand before looking at each other. She knew then that she couldn't convince herself otherwise anymore: he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. And she knew that admitting what she couldn't hold inside anymore would be a huge mistake, and so she said, "I didn't mind. I… liked it. The way you looked at me."

It was his turn to widen his eyes. "But—"

"Thank you for apologizing. Really. But don't take away the memory by telling me you regret it."

He now sat back down, his voice softening. "I don't. At all." And he touched her hand. The contact was so innocent. So sweet. It sent warmness through her body after such a horrible day. She turned his hand over, rubbing her finger down his palm before she laced her fingers through his. He squeezed her hand in turn, then emerald met hazel again, and they both held their breath, not sure what would happen next…

Then the knock on the door sounded. Hermione jumped back as common sense returned. What the FUCK was that? she chided herself. Harry was off of the bed now too. And he opened the door. It was Ginny. She snapped her eyes from Harry to Hermione, who she glared daggers and knives and swords at. "I've sent Ron home," she said coldly. "You do as you must, Harry. It was extremely…" she looked again at Hermione, "inappropriate what he did to the help. Hermeny, why don't you take the evening off to recover."

"It's Hermione," Harry corrected, ignoring the scowl forming on his wife's face as he looked at Hermione. "Yes, take the evening off. Let us know if you need anything at all."

And with that, the two turned and left.

Hermione threw herself on her bed, disgusted by Ron and hurt that Harry hadn't even glanced back when he left the room.

A/N: This might look familiar but I'll write it again — reviews and feedback are always welcomed here :)

Up Next…

Mrs. Weasley's confrontation.