As the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains of number four, Privet Drive, a sense of foreboding hung in the air like a thick fog. The birds sang their usual morning melodies, but they sounded off-key, as if something was amiss. Inside the house, Petunia Dursley, a woman of stern features and a perpetually sour expression, stirred in her sleep. Her heart raced, and she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Little did she know that her worst fears were about to be realised.
A soft knock on the front door broke the tense silence. Petunia, still half-asleep, trudged toward the door, her bare feet padding softly against the worn carpet. She hesitantly opened it to reveal none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic himself, standing on her doorstep. Behind him, Arthur Weasley, a wizard of considerable renown, towered over her, his kindly face etched with concern.
"Petunia," Kingsley began, his voice grave, "we must ask you and your family to leave your home immediately and seek shelter in a safe place. It has come to our attention that you and Dudley may be targets of Voldemort and his Death Eaters." Petunia's mouth fell open in shock, and she stumbled backwards, nearly colliding with the coffee table.
As the news sunk in, Dudley, Petunia's obese and spoiled son, sat bolt upright in bed, his chubby face pale with fear.
In the background, Vernon, Petunia's husband, stirred fitfully in bed. He snorted and turned over, muttering something about a bad dream. "We're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice muffled by the pillow. "This is our home, and we'll stay here." But Kingsley and Arthur were insistent, and Petunia, despite her hatred of magic and all things wizarding, knew that they could not risk their lives by staying.
Vernon, however, was adamant. He claimed that he was this close to getting promoted in his office, and he couldn't possibly lose it all by hiding. He demanded that he be allowed to stay at number four, and when Petunia pointed out that they couldn't possibly protect him there, he insisted that he didn't need protecting. His charm and wit would see him through any danger.
Kingsley sighed, clearly unconvinced. "Very well," he said, "but we must have someone with knowledge of Muggles to accompany you. It's imperative that you have someone you can trust to guide you through any situations you may find yourselves in."
Petunia looked at her husband, then at the Minister, and finally back at Dudley, "Well," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice, "I suppose...I could...go with him."
Kingsley seemed surprised at her offer, but quickly recovered. "That's most gracious of you, Ms. Dursley," he said, inclining his head. "We'd be most appreciative. As for your protection, we'd like to assign someone who knows the ropes when it comes to dealing with Muggles." He glanced meaningfully at Arthur, who nodded in agreement.
"Oh, you mean someone like..." Vernon began . "Someone like...Hermione."
The mention of Hermione's name seemed to hang in the air for a moment. Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, I don't see why not. Hermione has been more than helpful in the past. I'm sure she'd be delighted to assist you and Vernon in your time of need." Kingsley nodded in agreement, and a faint smile crept across his face.
As the Minister Apparated away with Arthur, leaving Dudley and Petunia to be taken care of by the Order of the Phoenix, Vernon could not help but feel a sense of pride. His plan had worked; he was going to have some quality time alone with Hermione. He watched as Petunia and Dudley were escorted to the waiting car, and then turned to face his companion.
Hermione was standing there, hands on her hips, her emerald green eyes scanning the yard. She was dressed in casual attire, a pair of worn jeans and a faded T-shirt that showed off her curves to perfection. The warm evening air had loosened her hair, falling around her shoulders in soft waves. As she turned to face him, Vernon felt his heart skip a beat.
"So," he began, trying to sound nonchalant, "shall we get going?"
Hermione nodded and started walking towards the house. "Yes, let's," she said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil she must be feeling inside. Vernon followed closely behind, unable to take his eyes off her. He had to admit, he'd always had a thing for Hermione. As a young girl, she'd been clever and bookish, but now she was all grown up, and damn, she had filled out nicely.
They entered the house, and Vernon led her to the living room. He couldn't help but notice the way her hips swayed as she walked, and the way her breasts pushed against her shirt. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "So, um, do you need any help unpacking or anything?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Hermione smiled politely, her eyes darting around the room. "That's very kind of you, Vernon," she said, "but I think I can manage. Perhaps you could show me where I'll be sleeping?" She gestured towards the hallway, and Vernon nodded, leading her towards the guest room.
As they walked, Vernon couldn't help but fantasise about what it would be like to be alone with her. He imagined undoing her shirt, feeling her soft breasts against his chest, running his hands through her hair. He couldn't help but wonder if she knew how desirable she had become.
They arrived at the guest room, and Vernon turned to face her. "Well, here you are," he said, trying to sound suave. "Is there anything you need before I leave you to it?" He licked his lips, hoping she would read between the lines.
Hermione smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "No, I think I'll be fine, Vernon," she said. "Thank you for your help." She hesitated for a moment, then added, "I should probably go and set the dinner"
Vernon's heart sank. He knew he had to play his cards right if he wanted any chance with her. "Of course," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'll just be in the other room, if you need anything." He forced a smile, trying to mask his disappointment.
As Hermione left the room, Vernon leaned against the wall, exhaling heavily. He knew he had to come up with a plan if he wanted to win her over. Perhaps he could seduce her while she was asleep? He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. No, that was too risky. He'd need to be patient, bide his time. He'd make sure she knew how much he admired her, how much he desired her, and then, when the time was right, he'd make his move.
Later that evening, after dinner, Vernon found himself lingering in the living room, pretending to read the paper while in reality stealing glances at Hermione as she worked on her laptop in the dining room. She looked so serene, so focused, that it made him ache with longing. He wanted nothing more than to be the one to make her feel that way, to be the source of her contentment.
As the night wore on, he found himself growing more and more restless. He couldn't help but wonder what she was wearing to bed. Did she have something sexy and lacy, or was she the type to wear something more modest? He imagined her slipping out of her clothes, revealing soft, smooth skin beneath. He couldn't help but fantasise about the way she would feel against him, the sound of her breath in his ear.
Finally, he could no longer stand it. He excused himself from the living room, telling her he was going to bed early. He knew he needed to get some sleep if he wanted to be sharp the next day, when he would finally have her all to himself.
He climbed the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest, and slipped into the guest room. The sheets were cool against his skin, and he rolled over, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm his racing thoughts. But try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He imagined her climbing into bed, her body warm against his, her breath tickling his neck.
He must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing he knew, there was a soft knock at the door. His heart leapt into his throat as he sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Come in," he croaked.
The door swung open, and there she was, Hermione, looking even more breathtaking than he had imagined. She was wearing the shirt and mini skirt he had given her the night before, and it was clear that they fit her like a second skin. Her cheeks flushed as she saw him looking at her, and she quickly turned away, adjusting the hem of her skirt.
Vernon sat up straighter, trying to compose himself. "Of course," he said, his voice steady. "What do you need help with?" He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her hair fell across her shoulders, the way her breasts moved with each shallow breath.
She glanced at him warily, her cheeks still flushed. "I...I was hoping you could help me with some paperwork. There's a stack of it on your desk." She gestured to the pile of documents, her fingers trembling slightly.
He nodded, trying to appear calm and collected. "Of course, Hermione. Just give me a moment to get dressed, and I'll be right with you." He swung his legs out of bed, feeling a mixture of anticipation and anxiety course through him. He hurried into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to calm his nerves.
Once he was dressed, he followed her back to the office. As they walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but notice how her hips swayed with each step, how the hem of her skirt brushed against her smooth, toned legs. He tried not to stare, but it was impossible to tear his eyes away.
Their entrance into the office was met with a collective gasp. Everyone seemed to be taken aback by the sight of Hermione in her revealing outfit. Vernon felt a surge of pride course through him, knowing that she was his, at least for the day. He led her over to his desk and motioned for her to sit down.
As they began to work through the pile of paperwork, Vernon couldn't help but steal glances at her. He admired the way she effortlessly balanced her workload with her duties as his assistant. Her long, elegant fingers moved nimbly across the page, her lips occasionally moving as she read through the documents.
He noticed that the other men in the office seemed to be just as taken with her as he was. They would often stop what they were doing to watch her work, their eyes trailing across her body. It was clear that she was the centre of attention, and Vernon felt a surge of possessiveness well up inside him.
Mr. Alan McDonald, his colleague and competitor for the manager post came to his desk. His gaze lingered on Hermione as he addressed him. "Vernon, old chap. You're looking rather smug today. I must say, you've landed yourself a real beauty there. How did you manage that?" he chuckled, eyes never leaving her.
Vernon smirked. "Oh, she's just an old friend. Nothing special," he said casually. He paused, glancing at Hermione as she worked at her desk.
Mr. McDonald raised an eyebrow. "Really? I find that hard to believe. She seems rather...attached to you." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Remember what you did with your previous intern?"
Vernon felt a flash of annoyance. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, trying to sound dismissive.
"Well, just that...I wonder if there might be more to this story. Or perhaps you have some sort of arrangement?" McDonald said, his voice low and suggestive.
Hermione was overhearing everything. The expression of Vernon showed he did something wrong .
"I hope you realise that everyone in the office is talking about you and your assistant." He chuckled softly. "They're all wondering how you managed to land someone like her."
Vernon felt his cheeks flush. "She's just an old friend," he said defensively. "There's nothing going on between us."
Later while going back home , Vernon confesses that he had an affair with a previous intern and begged her not to tell Petunia about it. Hermione listened to his confession and didn't say anything. They reached home.
Hermione went to prepare dinner, her mind still reeling from their conversation with McDonald. She couldn't help but feel a sense of unease around Vernon, as if there was something more going on beneath the surface. As she cooked, she found herself constantly glancing over at him, trying to read his expression.
Meanwhile, Vernon had retreated to his study, ostensibly to work on some paperwork. In reality, he was struggling to focus on anything but the memory of McDonald's insinuations. He knew he had to find some way to regain control of the situation,
Deciding on a course of action, he rose from his desk and made his way up to the attic. It was here that he kept his most precious possessions, including a nanny cam he had bought when Dudley was a baby. He had never actually used it, but now he saw an opportunity to use it to his advantage.
After rummaging through a box of old VHS tapes, he located the nanny cam and removed the batteries, making sure it was still in working order. He then carefully fixed it in the bathroom, just above the mirror. Satisfied with his work, he returned to his study and got back to his paperwork.
Dinner was served and they ate together in relative silence. As they cleaned up the kitchen, Vernon found an excuse to linger, offering to help Hermione dry the dishes. She politely declined, but he insisted, deliberately spilling some sauce on her dress. "Oh, clumsy me!" he exclaimed, handing her a clean dish towel. "Here, let me help you clean that up."
Hermione went to the bathroom, muttering under her breath about his clumsiness. Vernon couldn't help but feel a small thrill of anticipation as he heard the click of the bathroom door lock. He hurried back to his study and turned on the monitor, eager to see what would happen next.
As he watched, Hermione undid her dress, revealing her black lace bra and panties. He felt his heart race as he watched her step out of her soiled clothes and onto the bathroom rug. She began to wipe herself with the dish towel, unknowingly revealing her supple curves beneath her undergarments. His breath hitched in his throat as she bent down, the lace of her bra stretching taut across her full breasts.
His hands trembled as he adjusted the monitor, zooming in on her every move. He couldn't believe his luck. She was so close, yet so far away. He bit his lip, willing his arousal to subside, knowing that he had to maintain control if he wanted to see what else she would do.
Just as he thought he might lose it, she reached for a clean towel, slipping off her bra and panties in the process. There she was, naked and unashamed, her perfect body glistening in the dim light of the bathroom. He gasped, feeling a surge of desire course through him like a powerful current.
Her movements were so graceful, so sensual, that it was impossible for him to look away. He could feel his own body responding to the sight of her, his pants growing tight, his skin flush with heat. He wondered what she would do next, if she would continue to clean herself or if she might do something more.
As if reading his mind, she turned her back to the mirror and leaned against the sink, her arms folded across her chest. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, caressing the small of her back. Her skin was like porcelain, flawless and smooth. He could see the muscles in her legs tensing as she bites her lip, her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took.
Vernon's heart raced, his thoughts spinning out of control. He couldn't believe his luck. He had never seen anyone as beautiful as her, and now she was right there in front of him. He wanted her, needed her. The thought of being inside her, of feeling her warmth and softness, consumed him.
He spent the rest of the night planning his seduction, replaying the images of her naked body in his mind. He knew that he had to be patient, that he couldn't rush this. He would have to be subtle, find a way to break down her defences and make her want him as much as he wanted her.