***c/w for graphic depiction of an old, healed injury in the final section***

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze, as much as Hermione didn't want it to. She'd once again been attacked in broad daylight — she was entitled to shock, panic, concern, but none of these feelings even came close to touching her. She was too busy replaying her fight with Harry, and everything that had happened afterwards. Now that was the real shock. It was a slew of teenage fantasies sprung to life. It was insane, it was dangerous, it was breaking half a dozen rules, it was—

"Incredibly hot," Hermione admitted to her reflection during one of her bathroom breaks, which was the only time she had any real privacy. She stared at herself in the mirror, feeling but not seeing the small mark Harry's mouth had left on her neck, now hidden away beneath the collar of her blouse. She felt the ghost of his stubble on her skin, his breath against her cheek, and she shivered, turning away from the mirror and heading back into the fray.

Where does this leave us? Hermione wondered over and over again, as Kingsley chewed her out for engaging in a duel, as she listened to the report that her protection team had only sustained two minor injuries and managed to detain two of her attackers, as she watched Harry watch her.

Was he thinking about it? Was it just adrenaline, or had something else floated to the surface, drawing them together like embers swirling out of smoke? Did he really want her that badly, badly enough to shove her onto a desk and hold her like he couldn't get enough of her?

Mid-briefing, Hermione shivered in spite of herself, and Harry noticed. He cast his gaze down her body, far too much heat in it for it to be a mistake, and she fought the urge to shiver again.

What happens now?

The afternoon bled into another long, tiresome evening. She couldn't go home until the High Council ruled, and in the meantime her movements within the Ministry were strictly restricted to her chambers and her chambers only. They weren't small rooms, by any means, but Hermione felt like the walls were creeping closer, bending over her with leery grins. It didn't help that her office was packed with people, a jumble of Aurors, Ministerial staff, a handful of lackeys from Kingsley's office. She could barely get a moment to herself, let alone a moment to process the fact that she'd dueled an insane terrorist and had won the upper hand.

If it weren't for a few aches and pains, the only evidence she'd been in a fight was a small singe-mark on the sleeve of her blazer. The glancing blow to her head had left her with a thumping headache eased a little by a dose of Pepper-Up, and her shoulder was still sore from shoving the table onto its side. But Hermione didn't say a word about any of it, knowing it would only be fodder for another "I told you so" from Kingsley. So she waited it out as the day closed down, only half-listening as the men in the room argued about the entire situation three times over, skimming the written report Kingsley had brought that summarized the Aurors' findings from their trip to the Continent. The report was long, but she had to admit it was thorough.

Auror Dean F. Williams

Report on Continental Reconnaissance

9 February, 2019

Page 7

commenced second interview with Frederick A. Müller, owner and proprietor of Müller's Dark Detectors. Once again, Müller was affable, reasonable, compliant, and showed no resistance to Ministry involvement…

when questioned regarding behavior of employees, Müller was adamant that everything has remained as normal. There were no instances within the past few months — apart from occasional personal issues — that he or the Ministry could regard as suspect…

A complete list of Müller's suppliers show a heavy reliance on raw material, meaning that Müller's Dark Detectors does not source any Detector hardware from other manufacturers, but rather manufactures all components in-house. This makes it almost impossible for the Probes to be altered anywhere other than in Müller's factory…

British DMLE officials swept the factory and warehouse from top to bottom and were unable to recover any remaining evidence that the Probes had been altered in-house. However, because the modification took place some months ago…

EVIDENCE CATALOG

Evidence no. 39985

Delivery Invoice Reports, January 2019

Annoyed, Hermione flicked a few pages forward, scanning the Invoice Reports even more quickly than she had the written briefing. Then, a small note in the middle of the October 2018 Report caught her eye—

Evidence no. 39988

Delivery Invoice Reports, October 2018

Tuesday, 16 Oct

TLDH — 5 boxes reverse-osmosis Polyjuice Potion (25 100mL bottles/box) - 400 G [paid in full]

Elflock's Oddities — 2 bushels Green Beetle eyes - 50 G [paid in full]

Messelman Ltd. — 10 pallets raw titanium alloy (approx. ½ ton) - 1,000 G [paid in part]

Robertson Fine Apothecaries — 50 cases Exstimulo Potion (10 200mL bottles/box)*

*Auror's Note: This is a cataloguing error. There is no company known as "Robertson Fine

Apothecaries," and the shipment seemed to be accidentally delivered to the factory,

which has no need for large quantities of E.P. Müller contacted the local parcel service and, to his

knowledge, the package was shipped back to its original sender.

Hermione frowned, and glanced at Kingsley. He and Harry were in the middle of another conversation, trying not to watch the clock as it neared the fateful hour of six P.M. — the time that the High Council was holding an emergency meeting to discuss the events of the day. In the corner were the only remaining group of MLEP, a mixture of Aurors as well as patrolmen who were filling in for her usual security team while they were still at St. Mungo's.

"Kingsley?"

He sat up, folding his hands in his lap. "Yes, Minister?"

"I have a question about something in one of these reports."

"Certainly." Kingsley stood up from the sofa and made his way to her desk, Harry watching him with a frown.

Hermione pointed to the note and said, "Normally, I wouldn't think anything of it, but—"

"I see." Kingsley frowned down at the parchment as well. "I can understand why such a mistake would give you cause for concern. If someone wanted to smuggle an illicit substance into a factory—"

"Then a fake company name would be the way to do it. But is it correct that Müller had the materials sent back without any issue?"

"If that is what the report says, then, yes, I'm inclined to think so." He caught a look at her face and hastily cleared his throat. "I'll follow up with Auror Andrews, just to be certain."

"Thank you." Hermione flipped the thick packet closed. "And do pass on my compliments, this was an exceptionally thorough report."

"I'll be sure to do that," Kingsley replied, just as the clock chimed six.

"You'd better go," Hermione said at once, easing back into her seat. "Send my best, I suppose."

"Of course." For a moment, Kingsley looked more somber, more subdued, than she would've expected. It made her throat catch, made her want to look away. "You should try to get something to eat. It might be a while before you… well."

Go home, she filled in. "Indeed." She tried to smile, for his sake.

When he'd left, one of the Aurors — Thistlewhit, Hermione realized — piped up. "Shall we send out for some takeaway? Looks like we're in for a bit of a sit-in."

"Sure," said Hermione. She glanced at Harry, only to find him smiling at her, and quickly looked away again. "Pick wherever you'd like, and ask Jill to tap into the departmental petty cash before she leaves."

"Thanks, Minister." Thistlewhit's expression seemed to flicker. "Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

"Oh, no, just get whatever the group wants. I'm sure I'll find something."

"All right," Thistlewhit replied, though she didn't seem convinced.

Hermione bent her head, going back to the stack of untouched mail sitting on the corner of her desk. Truthfully, the last thing she felt like doing was eating, but she wasn't about to draw attention to herself like that. So she picked up her quill and went back to work, ignoring her throbbing head and Harry's gaze.

Some time later, a pile of food appeared on the table at the other end of her office, and the group fell on it with enthusiasm. Hermione could see pizza, sandwiches, salads — a whole mess of food. Soon enough, everyone else was smiling and laughing as they piled their plates and found space to sit.

Hermione had her head down again, supposedly absorbed in her work, when she felt a hand brush her arm. "Minister," came a familiar, smooth voice, and she startled, looking up to find Harry standing beside her, a plate of food in hand.

"Just in case you're hungry," he said, sliding the plate onto her desk. She blinked at it, seeing Margherita pizza, Caesar salad, half a chicken-and-pesto panini.

"Thank you," Hermione said, going a bit numb. She dropped her quill, catching the edge of Harry's smile.

"No problem." He stepped away, and she instantly missed him, then hated herself for it. "I'll get a plate for myself, if that's acceptable, ma'am?"

"Of course," she replied. "Yes, take a break. Merlin knows you deserve one."

"Appreciate it, ma'am." Again, just a flicker of that smile, then he turned away, going over to the others. Only now, with his back to her, did she see a fresh repair in the seam of his sleeve — clearly, his outfit had also suffered — and that he was limping ever so slightly.

Hermione blushed and dropped her gaze to her food, her head spinning. Of course his knee would be giving him trouble after a fight like that, it was only logical, but had it been hurting him when he lifted her onto her desk? Had he done all that, even if it put him in pain?

Enough, Hermione told herself, picking up the panini and shoving the corner of it into her mouth. Enough, enough, enough. She couldn't think about that now, couldn't think anything about Harry and the way his mouth felt on her skin, his fingers pressing into her hips, her back, his—

Hermione forced herself to swallow, her eyes watering with the effort. Merlin, this was going to be a long night.

Her prediction turned out to be accurate. It was quarter to nine before Kingsley returned, only the slight slump of his shoulders betraying his fatigue. Hermione stood up at once, trying to look for a clue, something, anything, in his face, but it was almost impossible.

He turned to the group of MLEP personnel, who were standing at attention. "Gamma Team, you're off-duty until 0700 tomorrow morning. At that time, please report to Auror Thistlewhit at the DMLE offices for your new assignment. Dismissed." He waited until they had filed out before he turned to Thistlewhit, who looked quite pale all of a sudden. "Auror Thistlewhit and the rest of Beta Team, you've been reassigned to backup detail for the Minister's personal security. Any and all reported concerns from the other subordinate teams will come through you. You will coordinate with Auror Potter, who will oversee your assignments and the assignments of those reporting to you. Thistlewhit, tonight you will accompany Potter and the Minister back to the Ministerial residence, where you will rendezvous with the other members of Alpha Team. They are out of St. Mungo's and eager to return to work, so let's do our best to make that transition as smooth as possible."

"Yes, sir," said Thistlewhit.

Kingsley gave her a nod. "Good. Beta Team, your new primary function as a unit is to help protect the Minister and coordinate the movements of the other security teams accordingly. Think of yourselves as a bridge between the two different sides of our security forces. Get a good night's sleep and report to Potter at the Ministerial residence at 0730 tomorrow morning. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the entire team chanted back to him.

"Dismissed, except for you, Thistlewhit."

It only took a moment for the others to file out of the room. Kingsley closed the door behind them, and Hermione's hands went numb. She knew what this meant. She knew what was happening, what the High Council had decided—

Kingsley rounded on them, clasping his hands behind his back. "I imagine you all have plenty of questions. Shall we sit down?"

Hermione headed for her sitting area on autopilot. She sat down across from Kingsley and Thistlewhit, and Harry sat down next to her. He was less than a foot away, close enough that she could see the royal blue thread in the fabric of his suit. She had a sudden flash of memory — specifically, how that fabric and the muscles beneath it had felt against the skin of her hands — and it took a lot to keep herself from blushing.

"Out with it," she said to Kingsley, not regretting the hard edge in her tone.

"Very well." Kingsley cleared his throat. "The High Council voted unanimously to enact Stage Two of Action Plan Delta, effective immediately."

Hermione felt no comfort in knowing that she'd been right. "I suppose your report on today's incident necessitated another report concerning the Probity Probe issue?"

"Yes." Kingsley winced a little. "They were not thrilled by my decision to delay telling them."

"Seriously?" Harry interrupted, his eyes flashing. "After they made such a stink about being assembled for matters that they deemed not urgent enough for Council attention?"

Hermione silently agreed with him, and it seemed like Kingsley did as well. "I know," Kingsley replied, several decades' worth of bureaucratic frustration behind his words. "But they all agreed to increase your security, and that we need to move you to a further state of semi-lockdown."

"What?" Hermione interrupted with a frown. "That's not a parameter of Stage Two—"

"You're not wrong," Kingsley told her. "They want to do a modified version of the existing protocol. No more public appearances, and you're only to take a handful of meetings each day in your actual office here in the Ministry. At all other times, you're restricted to your personal residence, except for two hours a week. You can use that time to conduct errands and other business, but only under the shield of a glamor or a pre-approved dose of Polyjuice."

Frustration, sudden and hot, overtook Hermione so quickly that she almost felt blinded. No more morning coffee, no more Alonzo's, no more book club. She clenched her arm rest, her bruised shoulder throbbing from the strain.

Kingsley noticed and nodded again. "I knew you wouldn't like it, but you have to comply."

"Have they considered," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice even, "that keeping me holed up in one place might actually create a much larger and more obvious target?"

"That's why they're sending over a team first thing in the morning," Kingsley replied. "They're going to do as much as they can to make your residence completely impenetrable. Within the existing floor plan, of course."

"Charming." Hermione sat there fuming for a moment. The others were all watching her, and that somehow made everything so much worse. "I suppose this means I'll be working almost entirely from home."

"Yes." Kingsley's gaze was friendly, calming, and it didn't help at all. "Jill has already been informed via owl and all of your in-person appointments have been restricted to top-tier individuals only. Everything else you can do via owl or fire-call. And, no more communal Floo ports. You'll be travelling directly from this fireplace to your home, and vice versa. An agent from the DMT was dispatched to your residence about half an hour ago, and you should now be able to access your home Floo from this fireplace."

Hermione inhaled slowly, then exhaled. "Is there anything else?"

"Not for the moment, no."

"In that case, I believe I should be going. I'd like to get home as soon as possible." Hermione stood up and made her way to her desk. "Thank you, Kingsley."

"Of course, ma'am." He seemed a little puzzled, but Hermione ignored it.

By the time he'd left and her briefcase was stuffed fit to bursting (even with its Extension Charm), Hermione's irritation had boiled down to a pleasant rolling simmer in the back of her mind. It sent tendrils of fresh heat down her neck, drawing her attention away from her headache and her stiff shoulder. She picked up her briefcase, tossed her coat over one arm, and made directly for the fireplace. "Are we good to go?"

Harry and Thistlewhit, who'd been having some sort of conversation in low tones, broke off and hastened to her. "Of course, Minister," said Harry quickly, falling into step behind her. Thislewhit copied him, and Hermione fought the urge to sigh. What a pantomime this was all becoming. She took a handful of Floo powder from the little box on the mantelpiece, then passed it to Harry. His fingers brushed her hand, his touch warm and rough, and she tried to ignore the pleasant shiver it sent up her arm.

Her home was dark, quiet, unchanged. Hermione turned on some lights to prevent Harry and Thistlewhit from running into the coffee table, wondering where the cats were. They likely hadn't enjoyed the unexpected presence of the DMT official.

Harry appeared a moment later, followed by Thistlewhit. "I'm going to see to the cats," Hermione told them, heading for the kitchen. "Please, take your time setting up whatever needs to be set up, and pass along my renewed thanks to the team."

"Certainly, ma'am," said Harry, but she was already gone.

This time, she did use magic to crack a tin of cat food. The boys showed up just as she was reaching for the open bottle of wine, and she gave Winnie a quick stroke down his back.

"You would not believe the day I've had," she told Winnie, pouring a large glass. He looked up at her with his big green eyes and meowed, his ears twitching.

Now that she was practically by herself, in the relative quiet of her home, her mind began to churn. In spite of it all, in spite of the surprise battle and the near-chaos that had followed, there was one indisputable fact — in mere minutes, she and Harry would be alone in her house, with no discernable reason that they would be interrupted.

Hermione took a large sip of wine, her heart hammering. Well, she thought, there's no turning back now.


The wood of the stairs was chilly under her bare feet, and Hermione fought off a shiver, gripping the bannister for extra support. Her stomach was jumping from nerves — a feeling she'd not had in quite some time — and she couldn't tell if the wine had made things better or worse. It had certainly given her the courage to go upstairs in nothing other than a satin nightie and matching dressing gown that she only wore in the summer.

All the upstairs lights were out, save for a thin band of golden light radiating from the gap between the guest bedroom door and the wooden floor. She swallowed, even if this was encouraging — Harry was still awake.

Somewhere, logically, in the depths of her brain, Hermione knew that what she was doing was insane. Harry had kept his distance even after Thistlewhit had left, and by the time Hermione had finished her shower, he'd gone upstairs, likely assuming that she'd gone to bed. She tried not to read too much into that, because, like it or not, she understood Harry, to a certain extent. She got the feeling that he was giving her space, letting her be the one to make the next move, if there was even a move to be made.

No — everything rested on this moment, this decision. She could turn around and go right back to bed, and they could chalk it all up to adrenaline and relief, letting their brief moment of poor judgment fade into the past, where neither of them would speak of it. It wouldn't exactly be the first time we did that, she thought, somewhat ruefully. She wondered, again, if this was a continuation, rather than a beginning.

Impossible, she thought, because it was sort of true. What had happened between them today was impossible, and in spite of her best efforts. And yet, it had happened all the same. Which was par for the course with Harry Potter.

Hermione also wasn't entirely certain why she was doing this, why she was choosing to push this even further rather than let it go. She had to admit that it was a little out of desperation — she hadn't had someone between her legs in quite some time, much less someone who knew what they were doing. After all, Harry was a man, and in her experience, men didn't usually turn away no-strings-attached sex. Even — and sometimes especially — if the sex was with their superior.

Because, she reminded herself as she crept up to the guest bedroom door, that's all you're offering. An outlet. Stress relief. An arrangement of convenience, not of fate.

And with that, she gripped the doorknob, twisted, and pushed the door open, stepping into the bedroom before she could second-guess herself.

Harry sat up on the bed, surprise written plain as day across his face before he schooled his expression into what was becoming his usual mask of bland professionalism. He'd undressed, but was lying on top of the covers, and there was an open book lying face-down a foot away from him. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so he couldn't have been reading. Maybe he'd been waiting. "Minister, I— I didn't know you were up."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Her mind spun, suddenly going blank, because Harry wasn't wearing a shirt.

The fine dusting of chest hair that she'd caught a glimpse of the other night was still there, overlaying a thick layer of muscle and tapering to a faint shadow over the waistband of his pajamas. But, unlike the other night, now she could see everything. His lightly tanned skin, the mole just below his left pec, the several — no, dozens — of old battle scars that marred the canvas of his body. Most of them were small and long-faded, but there was one gash near his left hip that looked rather puckered and pink, no more than a few weeks old. Then there were his arms, corded with muscle and leftover summer freckles, and his hands. Deft, knuckly, broad. Soft.

She lost herself for a moment in the reality of this, in knowing that this was what Harry looked like on the edge of forty. He looked perfect, but not because he looked perfect. He was so much healthier now than he'd been when they were younger — rosy from eating several square meals a day, lean but not skinny, muscular but not carved out of marble. He could probably throw her halfway across the room if he wanted to.

That thought brought a fresh wave of color to her face. Spindly, gawky Harry had become an adult when she wasn't looking. Wasn't paying attention.

He mistook her stunned silence for embarrassment, and chuckled ruefully, sweeping a careless hand across his torso. "I know, it's a bit of a shock. Perks of the job." Harry shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and putting his hands on his knees. It made his biceps stand out, lovely and smooth in the low light. "Did you need something?"

If only you knew, Hermione thought, then gave herself a mental shake. She gently pushed the door closed behind her, the sound of the latch seeming to echo in the air around them. Harry's gaze darted to the door, then to her face. Even now, he was impossible to read.

Steeling herself, she slipped out of her dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor, and took a few steps forward, closing the gap between the doorway and the bed. Within moments, Harry was even more real than he'd been before, like he'd come into focus. He was still watching her, inscrutable. And then, the distant heat of his body became a firm reality against her own as she swung one of her legs over both of his, lowering herself into his lap.

Her heart was beating in her ears. She draped her arms over his shoulders, grazing a light trail up the back of his neck with her fingernails. His mouth parted, and his face was so close now, within inches of her own.

A beat passed, and she briefly wondered if he was going to push her off, spouting excuses about propriety and rules. It was possible — this was a gamble, and she knew it. The heat of the moment was one thing, and almost ten hours later was quite another.

But then. Then.

His hands slid up her bare thighs, the touch going from gentle to possessive when he gripped her hips, his fingers pressing through the satin fabric down to the bone. Hermione swallowed a gasp and brought her hand up to his jaw, thumbing a spot just below his ear.

"I believe," she whispered, her heart giving another painful thud, "that we have some unfinished business."

Harry huffed, and just the hint of a smile flitted across his face before he leaned in, closing the ever-shrinking distance between them.

Hermione had expected him to kiss her, but her confusion was quickly replaced by a searing wave of surprise when he pressed his mouth to her neck. This time, she couldn't hold in her gasp as his hands edged under her nightgown, sweeping up her bare skin. His touch was just as rough and just as smooth as she remembered, and those memories alone made her shiver. He mouthed slowly, relentlessly, at her neck, her collarbone, her jaw, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass as he pulled her even closer, nearly flush with his chest.

Harry was methodical, even dedicated, as he made his way up her neck to her face. His mouth was soft, but his thin layer of stubble dragged at her skin, and she relished the burn. Hermione clung to him, eager and unashamed of it, her thighs gripping his, and when he finally, finally, brought his mouth to hers, it felt at once like a new beginning and an end. Closure with infinite possibility.

He kissed her just as relentlessly as he had earlier that day, but with none of the fever of battle. This kiss was silky with need, his mouth plush and wet against her own. She kissed him back just as thoroughly, shivering again when his tongue swept through her mouth, along her teeth.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, snatching breaths where they could, and Hermione felt like an exposed wire, electric and jumpy and languid all at once. She tangled her fingers in Harry's hair, squeezed his shoulders, gripped his arms, everything she could do to ground herself in the moment, to remind herself that this was really happening. She could have gone on like this forever, but she was burning for more.

Then, in a flash, things changed. Harry's teeth snagged on her bottom lip just as one of his hands slid up her torso. As he grazed his teeth along her lip, he grazed his thumb across her nipple.

Hermione bucked, her belly turning to liquid when the action brought her inner thigh up against the warm, rigid length in Harry's pajama bottoms. Harry broke away to groan into her neck, but he didn't stop. His other hand found its way to her other nipple, and he set a merciless, burning rhythm, circling them with his thumbs until they hardened and peaked beneath his touch. He lapped at her neck, his teeth occasionally grazing against her skin, and Hermione moaned, loud enough that she blushed at the sound of herself.

Her brief insecurity vanished when Harry pulled away to look at her, his gaze dark and heated. His breathing was heavier than normal, and he had her pinned with his gaze when his thumbs stopped moving.

Breathless, nearly drunk with arousal, Hermione was momentarily confused — what was he waiting for? But then, he leaned in again, keeping his eyes open and his mouth just out of reach of hers. She was waiting for a kiss when his fingers shifted, brushing her nipples, and then he pinched.

Hermione surged against him, pleasure searing hot through her veins, and her momentum pushed them back onto the bed, brought her crashing down to Harry's mouth. She kissed him with ferocity, grinding down against him, desperate to have him inside her, and he huffed against her cheek, clearly pleased with himself as he kissed her back, his hands sliding her nightgown up her back. The cool air of the room prickled against her bare skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat of Harry's body, and she rolled against him, from her hips to her chest, wishing she could swallow him whole.

Harry made quick work of her nightgown, pulling it up and off and flinging it into the corner of the room. She gasped at the feeling of her skin meeting his, the faint tickle of his chest hair against her breasts, but then it was gone. He pushed her up the bed, pulling away to take off his pajamas as she sank down into the pillows. His cock sprang free, swollen and red and a little larger than she'd expected, and her mouth watered at the sight of it. Harry kicked off his bottoms, and the action brought her attention to an even wider array of scars.

The one on his left hip — the pink, jagged chunk that still looked fresh — was at least four inches long, and she realized it had to have been a knife wound of some sort. There were a few other marks on his thighs, white lines of various sizes and shapes that she assumed were from curses and jinxes glancing off his body. And then, then. There was his knee.

She couldn't see all of it, just a brief glimpse when he moved his leg, but it was worse than she'd imagined. The skin and muscle around his right knee was permanently swollen and disfigured, a blend of mottled purples and reds that made the bulging knots of scar tissue look fresh, even though she knew the wound was several years old. The scar tissue licked up and down the side of his leg like flames, tapering to thin points just a few inches above his ankle and below his hip. She couldn't imagine how much it had hurt when it was fresh, how much it must still hurt him now. Her breath caught a little, the sight of his body a sharp prickle of reality in the midst of this heady fantasy.

But then he was on her again, his mouth sealing over hers with fierce intention. She melted against him, all other thoughts surrendering to the pure tingle of sensation sweeping through her body, and she parted her legs, clenching his torso with her thighs. Harry's body was deliciously heavy on top of her, and she rolled her hips, relishing the thick heat of his cock as it grazed against her crotch. Harry moaned into her mouth, his hands slipping where they gripped her waist, so she did it again. This time, the head of his cock caught the edge of her arousal, sliding wet and hot against her, and they moaned in unison, sparks flying up Hermione's spine.

Harry broke away, and she frowned at him before he muttered off a few contraception spells, looking down at her, the heat in his gaze almost overpowering. His hand slid down between her thighs, and she almost throttled him because honestly, this was no time for foreplay. But then, then, two of his fingers slipped inside her. His fingers bent, pressing her open, and he watched as she bucked against his hand.

"Now," Hermione managed, from somewhere deep in her throat.

When he slid into her, it was in one sure, steady movement, and Harry made a muffled sound against the skin of her neck. She thrust up to meet him, her knees going weak at the feeling of being stretched and filled, and they hung there, still for one brief moment, then Harry flexed his hips, testing her. It was gentle, even kind of him, to take it slow, but thankfully, it didn't last long.

Harry reignited the flame that had burst between them earlier that day, ruthlessly fucking her into the bed, his teeth biting a searing hot line against her throat. His breath was muffled in her ear, and she could barely keep breathing herself, overwhelmed by the weight of his body, the feeling of his skin, the way he stretched her open but kept her close. Hermione shut her eyes, her hands sliding around to grip at the flesh of Harry's ass, driving him even deeper, shivering when the angle took him directly against her G-spot. She angled her hips up against him as she thrusted, and was met by an answering spasm when his lower stomach ground against her clit.

"Yes," she breathed, digging her nails into his skin. "Just like that."

Harry moaned in reply, mouthing at her collarbone. It was wet, sloppy, and Hermione clenched around him, pleasure rushing through her in a building roar. Sparks danced along her thighs, up her back, and it was so good, it was so close—

He built a driving edge, pulling her towards it with precision and ease, and the bed began to fall away from beneath her body. Hermione tangled her hands in his hair, desperate to keep him close, even as sweat made their bodies slip and slide against one another, made the bedspread snarl under her hips—

"Harry," she murmured, and he pushed a hand through her hair in reply, "Harry, on your back— Please—"

He obeyed her in a trice. When he pulled out, she instantly felt his absence, and even felt exposed in the low light until he swooped down and kissed her so thoroughly it burned down her stomach all the way to her toes. He released her lower lip with a pop and collapsed next to her, rolling onto his back.

She climbed on top of him, breathless. Harry's gaze was impenetrable, dark and glittering, and his hands found her hips, squeezing her so hard she thought it might bruise. As she reached for his cock, leaning back to guide it in, he brushed his thumb against her nipple, and her answering shudder nearly sent her off balance.

"Word of advice," she told him as he slid inside her once more. He bucked slightly, his mouth parting on a silent moan. "Keep doing that."

And with that, Hermione braced herself on his chest and began to fuck herself on his cock, gasping when the new angle brought him even deeper into her body, filled her and stretched her until she thought she might burst. It was incredible, especially once she tilted her pelvis forward and brought her clit into direct contact with his skin, once Harry reached up and began to toy with her nipples, flicking and pinching in a way that made her body hum.

Her face flooded with heat, and her hips stuttered as the wave of pleasure built to a merciless, steep summit. "Oh," she moaned, biting her lip, closing her eyes. Her body surged, tingling and twitching atop his. "I'm going to—" she gasped, her face going numb, "I'm going to—"

Her orgasm hit her like a brick wall, dazzling and relentless. Hermione blacked out for a moment, clenching down around Harry's cock, sparks flooding her stomach, her fingers, her toes. She moaned again, riding it out, shuddering when his cock pulsed through her.

"God," Harry breathed, his hands coming to rest at the tops of her thighs. He gripped her tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh, and she loved the way it felt — desperate, possessive. His hips began to thrust, small, steady movements as he tested her once again, and she encouraged it, meeting him halfway. Her body ached from it, oversensitive and languid all at once.

Harry started fucking up into her in earnest, his thighs tensing from the effort, and Hermione let all her breath out in one hot rush, almost dizzy from the sight below her — Harry, one tight line of arousal, his eyes shadowed and merciless. His jaw was clenched from the effort of holding himself back, and a part of her wanted to see that control snap, to let him go at it.

But there wouldn't be time for that tonight. She could tell he was close, relished that she was the reason for it. Hermione slid her hand up his chest, grazing across the scars, through his chest hair, over a nipple. He shuddered, his rhythm breaking, and he moaned when she squeezed the top of his clavicle, using it as a prop for her weight as she bent over him and licked into his mouth, sucking on his tongue until a fresh spasm of pleasure tickled her gut.

His hips stuttered again, and he grunted into her mouth. A handful more thrusts, sweat beading on Hermione's hairline, and he came with another grunt, pulsing inside her.

Hermione slid off him with a sigh, collapsing onto the pillows next to him. Her body was shivery, achy from doing this for the first time in a long time. Sweat was drying in the creases of her knees, on her forearms, at the small of her back. She let her breathing slow, watching Harry's chest rise and fall. It was much better than looking into his face, dreading the moment when he spoke, when he said something that she didn't want to think about, didn't want to hear.

No, this was easier. Guessing which curses caused which scars, as macabre as it was. Her gaze slid across the raised, slightly purplish stain from Slythrin's locket, faded after all these years but still there. She fought the urge to touch it, lay her hand across it, cover it from view.

Hermione knew she was stalling. She was still in shock that this had happened, let alone under her own roof, in a supposedly professional context. And with Harry, of all people. The constant thorn in her side, the smart-arse, the one she'd had a crush on all through—

"Well." Harry's voice was gravelly, satisfied. She brought her gaze to his face, and a pang went through her at the sight of him. He was relaxed, rumpled in the extreme, languid and golden against the pillows. He was a little sweaty as well, shiny in the low light. All of it made Hermione want to jump on him again. "Now," he continued, his voice low, "do we say goodnight?"

Hermione let out her breath and tried not to smile. How like Harry to say exactly what she'd wanted to hear, for once. "Yes," she replied, shifting to slide off the bed.

The carpet was delightfully soft against her feet as she padded over to where her nightgown lay crumpled on the floor. She turned away from him as she slipped it on, because something about it was too intimate and too cowardly all at once.

"Your shoulder," he said, his voice still low. Still relaxed, not confrontational.

Hermione swallowed, straightening her nightie. She'd forgotten that the bruise was visible. "Yes." She flashed him a little smile as she made her way to her dressing gown and the door. "It's from earlier, when I pushed the table over. It's nothing, I'll put some Dittany on before I go to sleep and it'll be gone by morning."

"Okay," said Harry, and it sounded like he meant it.

Hermione grabbed her gown and reached for the door, almost too embarrassed to look at him again. Then—

"Goodnight," said Harry. The sight of him, naked and sated, sent a fresh spasm through her core. She knew what all of him felt like, now. "Hermione," he added.

Hermione exhaled in a rush. "Goodnight, Harry." And with that, she stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

She fled — fled slowly, she reminded herself — through the darkened house, and when she got back to her bedroom and closed the door behind her, only then did she breathe again. A crazed grin spread across her face, and she touched it, almost unable to believe its presence.

"Oh my God," she whispered, wrapping an arm around her torso. Her skin was still warm and buzzing, like there were sparks trapped inside her. "I just fucked Harry Potter."

And something told her it wouldn't be the last time, either.