A/N: Written for the HP Kinkfest. The kink was unresolved sexual tension. Prompt was, "It's only after they meet and feel a powerful mutual attraction that Harry finds out she's married and who to. Emphasis on the Unresolved of UST so no physical infidelity happens. But by Merlin do they want to. (Prefer Harry to be single)"

Dumped.

Harry pushed the word again out of mind. She gave the same reason they all gave. God, he was so tired of "You're holding back" and "It was like there was a part of you that I just couldn't reach." What was he meant to say? "Sorry Voldemort took a piece of my soul with him?" Not bloody likely.

He only ever dated over the summer holiday, as there was hardly time for romance between grading essays and planning lessons. Thirty-one years old and in his fifth year as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He loved it; the kids were old enough to learn what he wanted to teach but young enough not to understand his fame. He was perfectly content to be known as Professor Potter.

Two weeks prior to the beginning of term, Harry wandered into Flourish and Blotts to replenish his stock of quills, ink, and parchment. There were a surprising amount of students who believed showing up to class without supplies exempted them from in-class assignments. He chuckled at the thought, recognizing penance for everything he had done at Hogwarts in his youth.

He breezed by the Defense Against the Dark Arts section to ensure there were plenty of textbooks remaining. Just as he began to turn into the next aisle, Harry looked over his shoulder to see a beautiful woman scanning the shelves. There was something familiar about her ... Something—

"Ow!"

Harry stumbled face-first into a rack of books, practically head-butting the end of a bookshelf. He stepped back and placed his hand against his forehead. He grumbled a few expletives then felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned around to look directly into a pair of concerned, deep green eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"I—erm, yes?" Harry guessed. He pressed his fingers against his forehead and winced. "Just a bit of a headache, and I am well acquainted with those." Oh, fuck. Great joke, Harry. Fantastic.

The woman did not laugh and her frown deepened in concern. She used her middle finger to gently push Harry's fringe away from his forehead. Her eyes noted the scar and quickly moved along. Harry couldn't breathe, she was so close and why the hell did he have onions on his sandwich at lunch? God, she was pretty.

"Just a bump on the head, then. I am well acquainted with those," she teased with a slight smile. "My son has fallen off his broom a time or two and hit his head."

Of everything in the world, Harry could only think to ask, "Your son?"

"Yes, he turned eleven last month. I am a bit nervous sending him off, but he will be in your capable hands, professor."

"Yeah?"

"You'll know him," she said with a grim smile. "He looks like his father."

"Oh?"

"Be seeing you?" she asked.

"Yeah?" Harry asked. "No, no, definitely. You'll see me."

She squeezed his hand before turning around to leave. That woman, he thought, was nothing more than trouble. It was solid two minutes before Harry came down from the clouds and made his way to the till.

.oOo.

He saw the woman again a week later.

It was the Hogwarts Alumni Gala and he wore his finest robe for the occasion. Harry noticed the eyes first, green with a mischievous glint; then he noted her lipstick, a purple so dark it may well have been black. She danced with a man, one arm wrapped around his waist and her other arm up around the back of his shoulder. Harry's heart dropped all the way to his toes when he caught sight of the gigantic wedding ring on her finger. He nearly passed out when she turned around to reveal not only the elaborate back paneling of her red robe, but it was none other than Draco Malfoy with his arms around her waist.

Bloody hell.

Harry was absolutely undone, completely fuckstruck by Astoria Malfoy, of all people. He rolled his eyes and practically ran to the bar. He wished Ron and Hermione were there, but they never came to these things; too much politicking. Harry only came because it seemed good to, once a year, show his face in public. A couple people came over to speak about their kids and he responded with vague answers and "mmhmm"s.

He was three Firewhiskys deep when Astoria appeared beside him. She summoned the bartender and ordered,

"Firewhisky on the rocks." She leaned down to whisper in Harry's ear. "What do you think, Potter? Two fingers, or three?"

Harry choked on his drink and a flush coloured his entire face. Astoria giggled as the bartender sat the drink down in front of her.

"I meant for the whisky. Tell me, what is going on in your head?"

"You're trouble, Astoria. I don't flirt with married women, and I quite prefer it when married women do not come onto me."

"Let's not call it flirting then. Just a professor/parent conference, alright?"

"Sure."

"Are you happy?"

He grumbled, "What does that matter?" Harry considered the question for a moment before admitting, "Sometimes."

"Yes," Astoria smiled and sipped her Firewhisky. "Tell me, what's that like?"

"What's it like to be happy?"

"Mmhmm."

"It's when I am free of worry. I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore, fearing Voldemort or some other betrayal. I get to watch my friends grow their families. I get the best fucking seats at the biggest Quidditch matches, so I s'pose happiness is just enjoying moments of freedom."

Astoria "hmm"ed a response. They drank together in silence for several minutes, which was nothing short of torture. Harry felt Malfoy glaring holes into the centre of his back while Astoria's breaths evened out at his side. It was a comfortable quiet, and no one dared to interrupt a conversation with Astoria, regardless of how few words were exchanged. Harry envied the infamy which caused people to leave her be. He had to ask,

"Is it the Boy Who Lived or the professor vibe that turns you on?"

Astoria laughed and admitted, "The beard, actually."

Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers over his beard. He smiled for a moment, having never considered that someone could find it attractive. Certainly never thought Astoria fucking Malfoy would consider it attractive.

"Thought it'd be easier to hide with a beard."

"Is that what you are?" she asked. "Hiding?"

Something in Harry bristled at the question. He snapped at her.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I'm not happy." Astoria shrugged. "Do you think it makes me a bad person if I cannot look at my own husband and be happy?"

Harry chuckled and said, "I've looked at Malfoy and felt many things. Hatred, pity, anger ... But never happiness. If looking at him makes you ill then we have more in common than I thought."

"Not ill, just the same. He's always in two places at once, this constant war between pride and remorse. I wake up in the morning and never know which will win the day." She lifted her cup and the bartender was over immediately to refill it. As the liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass she said, "I think his pride is worse. The sadness, the guilt is something I can help him with. I will bear that upon my shoulders when I need to, but the pride? I will not play host to that."

"Good, that's ..." Harry nervously cleared his throat. "Good, then. But I sort of meant, why are you here with me?"

"Why should I speak to anyone else when I have you all to myself?"

She caught Harry's gaze, and his breath stalled in his throat. There was a glimmer in Astoria's eyes, looking Harry over without moving the slightest bit, the tension between them refusing to ebb. Harry felt as though he was falling, but also floating weightless, suspended in time as the moment stretched out between them.

Harry licked his lips and Astoria's eyes followed the movement. Her eyes followed the path up from his mouth to his eyes and her lips parted, like maybe she might ...

He looked away with a small shake of his head and the moment broke apart.

"You're right," Astoria said as she took another sip from her glass. She stared down into the remaining contents and admitted, "Probably shouldn't snog you in front of my husband."

"But you'd snog me in front of everyone else?"

"They wouldn't have to look."

She turned toward him and used a single finger to push Harry's fringe out of his eyes.

"This is the worst professor/parent conference in history," Harry said as he knocked back the remnants of his Firewhsky.

"Be kind to Scorpius, please?" Astoria begged.

Harry turned to look at her, aghast.

"I'm offended you think I would be anything but fair to him."

"I trust you will be, but ... He looks so much like Draco but he is the sweetest soul. Patient and happy and everything his father and I are not. He will excel if given the opportunity."

"I look forward to meeting him, then."

"And what of me, Harry Potter?" Astoria turned to face him full-on and asked, "When will you meet me again?"

"Dunno." Harry failed at his feigned nonchalance. "I've always got loads of papers to grade, lessons to plan, the occasional detention to supervise ..."

"Write me, then?"

Harry swallowed thickly, so nervous that his answer nearly got stuck in his throat.

"Why would I do that?"

Astoria reached down the bar to cover his hand with her own. Harry looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back to Astoria as she reached up to gently push his fringe aside.

"Because you'll make me happy."

And then she was gone, back to her husband as though nothing transpired. A hell of a lot of nothing that left Harry feeling like a puddle on the barstool. His breathing returned to normal sometime later that evening; he pulled out a quill and began to write.

.oOo.

The letters were innocent enough.

In the beginning, they were mostly about Scorpius. Astoria was right that he was a kind, patient soul. Absolutely nothing like Harry had been, nor Malfoy for that matter. He was a joy to have in class, and Harry told Astoria as much. He'd mention a few times Scorpius misspelled a word in an essay or that Professor Longbottom says he excels in Herbology, but preferred to keep Scorpius's business private.

Then he started speaking about Quidditch. Maybe Scorpius would try out for the team next year? What is his favourite position to play? Do you like Quidditch, Astoria? (She didn't.) Then she asked whether Harry missed flying regularly. Then she asked about his hobbies and the books he read and his friends ...

It was entirely innocent until the end. The end of their letters were personal. Astoria began with, "Thank you." That transitioned into, "Best wishes," to "All my love," to "Yours, Astoria."

Not Draco's.

Yours.

Harry's evolved in a similar fashion. "Will update you soon." "Hope to hear from you soon." "Write me soon, please." "I look forward to hearing from you." "Please, never stop writing me." Alright, that last one was a bit desperate, but how the bloody hell was he meant to respond to Yours?

He met up with Ron at a small pub in the middle of November. They hugged each other, Harry asked about the kids, and then Ron asked,

"You're in high spirits, aren't you?"

"I s'pose."

"There's a girl, isn't there?"

"No," Harry insisted. "No, of course not."

"You can't fucking lie to me, mate. Is it going to last this time?"

Harry ran a hand down his face then pressed his forehead against the bar counter. Ron patted him on the back.

"She's married."

"Fucking hell!" Ron shouted. A few patrons turned to look but he waved them off. "Never thought you'd be the type to shag a married woman."

Harry lifted his head up to say, "There has been no shagging! No sex of any kind, no touching, even, just ... We send letters."

"Naughty letters?"

"No, just ... just letters."

"Right ..." Ron frowned. "You sure this isn't one-sided?"

"She signs them, 'Yours, Astoria.'"

"Bloody hell!" Ron whisper-shouted. "You're fantasizing about Malfoy's wife?"

Harry paled immediately, recognizing his mistake.

"She's persistent."

"And you are in way over your head. Harry, I love you, you are my best friend, but ... They have a kid."

"I know. I'm his professor."

"CHRIST!" Ron groaned. "You have to stop this. Best case scenario is that you get your heart broken, and I don't even want to consider the other possibilities."

"You're right." Harry shook his head. "You're right, she is nothing but trouble, you're absolutely right."

"Exactly. Now, if you could tell Hermione that a time or two, I'd appreciate it."

.oOo.

Harry asked her over on a Sunday afternoon. He had finished grading all the papers and rehearsed this conversation a dozen times in his head. He would end it face-to-face like a proper gentleman. Of course, those thoughts vanished the moment Astoria breezed through his front door. Harry took her coat from her shoulders to reveal a plum-coloured dress that barely reached the middle of her thighs.

Trouble.

"You have a nice home, professor."

"Th-thank you," Harry stammered. He shut the door, put her coat in the closet, then turned to look at her. He realized this was an awful idea and nodded to her outfit. "That dress is no good for decent conversation."

"Did you ask me here for decent conversation?"

Harry motioned for her to follow him to the kitchen where he began preparing tea.

"How would you like it?"

"Hot."

Harry nearly lost his grip on the saucers. He placed them on the countertop and braced himself against it. He closed his eyes and counted backward from five, willing his dick into submission.

"I meant your tea."

"I was speaking of the tea." Astoria said, her voice low. "Two sugars and a generous splash of milk."

Harry focused as quickly as he could and busied himself with the tea. There were full blessed minutes of silence, but the moment he turned to see Astoria leaning forward with her elbows on the island was the moment he knew this conversation wouldn't happen. At least, not the way he wanted it to. He placed the cup and saucer on the island in front of her. Harry moved around Astoria, lightly placing his hand on her hip. She put her hand on top of his, holding it there for the briefest moment before Harry trailed his fingers around her lower back. He pulled away quickly and moved to the very opposite side of the island. A mistake, as he had a full view of the tops of her breasts.

"Why am I here, professor?"

Harry sipped some tea.

"You are here because this needs to end."

"What needs to end, Potter?" she asked, frowning. "I would argue there has been nothing to stop, much as I have tried otherwise."

"You see nothing wrong with what you are trying to do?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Well I do!" Harry shouted. "No matter how much I look forward to your letters or how many moments I spend thinking about kissing you, wondering what it would feel like to touch you ..." He paused, forgetting where that train of thought led. "Goddamn it, I had a point."

"I think your point was that you want this just as much as I do."

"But we can't," Harry insisted. "You have a child, Astoria. And a husband!"

"Who makes me more miserable with each passing day!" she shouted back. "I have tried to love him for so long and I did, at first. I was eighteen when we had Scorpius. We weren't even married, it was an accident, and I thought that we were inevitable. Without Scorp I would have left long ago, but he knows I am not happy. Draco knows. None of us know why we are still married."

"If you weren't," Harry admitted, "I would ..."

"You would what?"

"I'd tell you that I might be in love with you."

Astoria straightened her spine and held out her hand.

"Come here."

Harry obliged as though he had been placed under an Imperius Curse, unable to resist. Astoria pulled him into a hug and rested her cheek on his shoulder. They stood together for awhile, Harry rigid against Astoria's front. He felt her breasts pressed against his chest and her breath hot against his neck. Her fingers traced light, absentminded patterns on his back. Astoria pressed her lips to his shoulder but he barely felt them through his t-shirt. Harry wanted more, and as though reading his mind Astoria's fingers slowly followed the line up his spine and onto the nape of his neck. She threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled just hard enough for Harry's eyes to flutter shut. A low moan escaped and Astoria pulled the collar of his shirt aside just enough to bite down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Harry ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. It was the only thing he could think to do. If he stood there a single moment longer he would have fucked Astoria right on the countertop. On the floor if she wanted. Whatever she asked, he would do. Harry's dick strained against the waistband of his jeans, so he unbuttoned them and splashed water on his face. It did no good; nothing would erase the memory of Astoria's body pressed against him. He jumped as Astoria's voice filtered through the door.

"I know what you're doing."

"Do you?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Come to the door, I want to hear you do it."

"Y-you want to what?"

"I want to listen to you get off, and I want you to think of me while you do it."

"That last bit's definitely not a problem."

Harry shouldn't. He should not do this. He knew it was a bad idea, and yet ... He shoved his jeans and trackies down just far enough to palm his dick. Harry pressed his forehead against the door and breathed out a sigh of relief once his fist completed its first pass.

"Yes," Astoria breathed from the other side of the door. "Just like that, professor."

Harry whined, then winced at the undignified sound.

"Tell me what you are thinking about."

"Sex."

Astoria laughed.

"Be more specific."

Harry groaned, his dick hardening just by hearing her voice filter through the thin door.

"I'm thinking about fucking you."

"Good." There was a brief pause before she asked, "Are your eyes closed?"

Harry choked out, "Yes."

"Tell me what you see."

"I see, erm ... Fuck this is embarrassing."

Astoria asked, "Is it embarrassing to want me like this?"

"Of course not."

"Then tell me what you see."

"That night at the gala, your robe?"

"What about my robe?"

"The back, it had sheer panels in the pattern. I could see straight through it and wanted to count up your spine with my fingers."

"Yes."

"I see your eyes, you watching me as I have my mouth between your legs. I'd want to make you come like that, slowly, so I can see your eyes shut as an orgasm creeps up on you." God, Harry didn't know where this imaginative streak had been hiding. His dick was leaking precum.

Harry heard Astoria shift on the other side of the door. Her breaths were uneven, like she might be enjoying this, too.

"Tell me more, Potter."

Merlin's fucking arse, his cock was rock hard against his stomach. Harry sped up his thrusts and jostled the door. Astoria let out a breathy moan and Harry's eyes shut even tighter.

"I see you on your knees and feel your lips around my dick. I want you to do it slowly, to tease me so I am nearly mad with need by the time I come at the back of your throat with my fingers tangled in your hair."

"I'd do it if you gave me the opportunity."

"I—can't," Harry said, straining to get the words out. "I think about ... about falling asleep next to you with my come still on your stomach."

"God, yes."

"Then I wake up and we do it all again."

Astoria's breaths were heavy and sporadic against the door.

"I want to be inside, you, see you on top of me, underneath me, I'd fuck you against a wall if you wanted, Astoria. I just want you."

"You can have me."

Harry came without warning. Warm, sticky liquid coated his hand and even the door as he shouted a choked-off curse. Harry took a few seconds to breathe before tucking himself back into his pants. He pulled up his jeans and ran his hand beneath the faucet. Astoria was standing right outside when Harry opened the door, her face flushed. Astoria stepped forward and traced Harry's lips with her first finger; his tongue darted out to follow, tasting something sweet and tangy. Like the first bite of a fresh, ripe fruit.

"Next time you think about putting your head between my thighs, Harry, you will know what it tastes like."

.oOo.

Months passed before Harry saw her again.

It was an unseasonably warm March afternoon when he ran into Astoria at Horizont Alley. He turned away but she ran to catch up with him.

"Professor!"

Astoria pulled him into a clothing shop and they spoke while she picked expensive-looking robes off the racks. He supposed this was better, conversing under the guise of innocent friendship.

"I miss you."

He warned her, "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't admit that I want to see you?"

"You are only making this difficult."

"Making what difficult?" Astoria spat back. "You have always refused to name whatever is between us."

"What would you call it?"

"Love."

Harry's heart stopped. He thought he might faint. Astoria's fingers stilled along the edge of a sleeve.

"Am I wrong?"

He took a deep breath and admitted, "No."

Astoria summoned one of the employees and held up the robes draped across her arm. They walked in silence to the back of the shop where she would try them on. She pulled Harry into the large nook and pulled the curtain shut. Astoria turned around and asked,

"Unzip me?"

"Astoria."

"Can hardly do it myself, can I?" she teased.

"Please," Harry begged, desperation evident in his voice. "Do you enjoy testing me like this?"

"No, I will enjoy it when you finally break. When you finally give in to what we both want. Now, please, unzip my dress."

Harry complied. It was always like this with her; she knew he hated it. She also knew he would never turn down the opportunity to get closer. He pulled the zip down slowly, his restraint dissipating as he revealed each inch of pale skin. Halfway down her back, he realized she had not worn a bra. The end of the zip revealed the top of her arse, and Harry looked up to catch Astoria's eyes in the mirror.

She shrugged off the dress and Harry's eyes went wide as it pooled at her feet. Astoria was completely bare before him. There was no self-consciousness about her as she watched Harry's eyes trail across her body. He took in the roundness of her breasts and her pink nipples before she pulled her hair down so it cascaded across her shoulders and blocked Harry's view. He noted the slight roundness of her belly which led to a mass of dark curls between her legs.

Astoria's voice was low when she asked, "Like what you see, professor?"

"More than I want to admit."

"Touch me."

It wasn't a question so Harry lightly placed one hand around her waist. Her skin was soft and pliant beneath his fingers. He stepped closer so the only thing separating them was his shirt and trousers. Astoria leaned back and tilted her head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"If you asked me to leave him," she whispered, "I would."

"But you leave that choice to me." Harry placed his free hand on her stomach and looked at their reflection. "Hardly seems fair."

"What if I left and you didn't want me anymore?"

"Do you think so little of me?" Harry asked. He trailed both hands down along the sides of her waist, her hips, then let the pads of his fingers caress her bum. "As though I could ever stop wanting you."

She whimpered and caught his gaze again in the mirror.

"Do not break my heart, Harry Potter."

"You are breaking mine. This is your choice! I will not tear your marriage apart; you've got to end it yourself. I will not leave Malfoy the scorned husband, making me the man who stole his wife away. You have to leave him, I will not pull you away. And until you do, I do not want this to go on any longer. I do not want to see you again. Please, Astoria, leave me alone."

"You are a liar, Harry Potter. If you really wanted to end this, if you never wanted to see me like this, then you would have stopped writing."

She was right. As loathe as he was to admit it, Astoria was absolutely fucking right. He glanced over at the robes she'd chosen then kissed her shoulder.

"The purple one," he whispered. "I love seeing you in purple."

.oOo.

Astoria wore the robe to the Alumni Gala.

She insisted, "We have never cheated on each other."

"Oh, I would have the honour of being first, is what you're saying? What a grand fucking privilege."

The music was muted where they stood at the end of a secluded hallway. Harry needed to end it now. She refused to leave Malfoy without the guarantee Harry would be waiting in the wings. They had exchanged a hundred letters in the months leading up to this day. The anniversary of whatever the bloody hell had begun between them.

"When he is inside me, I pretend it's you."

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he stuttered out a cough. Astoria smiled and stepped closer, close enough for Harry to feel the heat of her breath. She pressed her fingertips to Harry's cheek and gently ran the pad of her thumb across his mouth.

"Your lips on my neck, your fingers in my hair, and then I think about where I would touch you."

Harry looked her in the eyes and asked, "Where?"

"Every part of you I have yet to feel beneath my fingers." Her smile disappeared as she surveyed Harry's body like she could see straight through his robe. "But more than anything, I want ..." She grimaced. "It is always whispers between us. Just once I would like to hear you say my name out loud. In ecstasy, as you come. I don't want to be quiet anymore, Harry."

He kissed her fingers then shook his head.

"I can't give that to you."

"Please?" she begged.

Harry felt his heart split clean down the middle. It would feel so good to give in. Astoria had his heart and she was always on his mind, so why not give her the final piece?

Astoria frowned and said, "You're trembling."

"I know, and I wish ... God, how have we let it get this far?" He shook his head in disbelief. "No one has ever made me feel so close to whole." Harry pushed back tears. "I laugh so much when I am with you. I wank to thoughts of you, I cry over you, and I spend my days looking forward to the next time I get to see you. But through all of that, I have never been happier because with you I know exactly who I am and how I feel. No questions."

"Never," Astoria agreed. She gripped the collar of his robe with both hands and insisted, "There was never any question of how I feel about you."

"But I know the sort of man I am, and I am not going to break up a marriage. This is a life I was never meant to have; I was never meant to survive."

"Then you should take what you want!" Astoria said, tears falling freely down her face. "Don't you want me?"

Harry pressed his forehead against hers and admitted, "More than anything. But if I do this I would be no better than him. Every time I'd touch you I would think about how wrong it was, and I never want anything about you to feel like a mistake. Astoria, I know what you want and I would give it to you if I could."

Astoria muttered against his lips, "You wouldn't be the man I love if you did."

Harry wiped a tear from beneath Astoria's eye and said, "This has to end."

She nodded and blinked away watery buildup in her eyes. Harry's heart threatened to leap out of his chest and take up residence inside Astoria's ribcage where it belonged. It was a physical ache between his lungs that deepened when he unwrapped his fingers from her waist. Astoria tilted her head and ghosted her lips across Harry's in a delicate kiss. She pulled back to ask,

"Take care of my heart won't you, Harry Potter?"

As if he could ever cherish anything more? He knew he would spend the rest of his life shoving the broken pieces of his heart back together, searching for a shadow of the love he felt for her. Astoria turned to walk back down the hall as Harry replied,

"Always."