Harry Potter, Privet Dick (err, Ministry Auror) by XhaLe

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 10/01/2004
Last Updated: 10/01/2004
Status: In Progress

I wanted to become an unspeakable so I could be one of the many things I was going to do to her
body. Schlock and Awe of the pulp fiction/film noir variety. Humor, smut, H/Hr




1. untitled
-----------

It had been a long day at the office and I was glad for the opportunity to sit down in my plush
leather chair. Being an auror is hard work these days. Since the final defeat of Voldemort, the
department had been severely cut back, like a kneazle that had been fixed.

I'd just come back from a grueling case. If you'd tasted the coffee the Ministry bought
in bulk, you'd call it gruel, too. We call it the Cuppatasteslikeshit Curse, and it's quite
unforgivable. I'd just started the spell to numb my taste buds and had the mug to my lips.

That's when SHE walked in.

I hadn't seen her in years, but I'd kept abreast of her movements through the papers.
Hermione Granger had never been a little girl, even when she was a little girl. Now, she was a big
girl. She wore a cleavage-revealing summer top beneath her robes. Her tan was evident, and I
remembered reading that she'd opened a branch of St. Mungo's recently in Barbados. Her
breasts were like coconuts; larger than a handful, firm and covered sparsely with short, soft brown
hair.

She smiled faintly at me and took a seat without asking for permission. Forcibly moving my
attention from her cleavage to her face, I noticed that the rest of her had also aged well, like a
fine wine that still hadn't turned to vinegar.

"So, long time no see, Hermione," I said, opting for the easy opening.

"It's good to see you, Harry," she replied, her smile becoming more
pronounced.

"It's good to see you, too. What brought you here? Business or pleasure?" I asked.
I prayed to every god and dead wizard I could think of that the latter had brought her, but knew
that, like a prison stoolie in the general population my hopes were fucked.

"The Knight Bus," she said, "and it's business, for now."

Call the magistrate. My hopes still had a chance of the court reversing its decision.

"Tell me your story," I said. She did.

Long expository sequence minimized, St. Mungo's was in a bad way and Hermione was up an
unsanitary tributary without a means of locomotion. Potions were disappearing, mediwitches'
wands vanished while their owners were in the showers, there had been a series of other non-fatal
but minorly serious crimes committed, and no one knew where the trouble was coming from. Many
mediwitches had quit or gone into private practice and patients were looking for safer
alternatives, like an underage wizard who couldn't cast a contraceptive spell and also
didn't have the right kind of money for muggle condoms. The entire situation was like a train
wreck that hadn't happened yet, except nobody was in mortal danger. Yet.

She'd already talked to my boss, Moody. He told her that since she couldn't prove it was
Dark Magic, it was really up to me to decide whether or not to investigate. Quite frankly, the
largest wizarding hospital chain was on the verge of Gringottruptcy, and she was well aware that I
was their last, best hope.

"Please, Harry, you're our last, best hope," she pleaded, thrusting her chest
forward like a pigeon with large, coconut-shaped breasts. "I'll do anything," she
finished breathily. Apparently, she couldn't thrust and speak normally at the same time.
Brigid's Tits, neither could I.

I took a moment to think things through. Her big doe eyes continued to plead with me, and she
kept pushing out her chest. She slipped off her robe and spread it over the desk. I'd have to
clean up the spilt coffee later, before it burned a hole through the hardwood floor of the office.
Accounting would probably make me pay for it myself this time.

"I'm not sure it's worth it," I said, nodding over to the muggle file cabinet
pressed flush against the wall. "You can see my caseload is pretty severe. I'll need to
see what you're offering to make a more informed decision."

There was no reason to inform her that those files were my completed cases.

Her smile was a little more tentative than before. Her hand was shaky as it moved up her tight
stomach. Between the curves of her pendulous bosom. Under the fabric of her top. I could see her
grope around and watched as her bra parted beneath her nimble fingers. Her breasts spread apart
bouncily like botuberpus on a cold Scottish morning. She pulled her hand out from the top of her
top and slapped it down on the desk.

"This is just a sample," she said saucily.

As she lifted her hand, I saw two rectangular pieces of parchment out of the corner of my eye.
The rest of that eye and the entirety of the other one were still staring at her now-unfettered
breasts, which jiggled merrily with every motion of her arm.

Dragging my eyes away kicking and screaming, I saw the scraps on my desk were first row tickets
to the next Chudley Cannons match against Manchester Untied.

"You'll have to do better than that," I said. "I'm sure Manchester United
could beat both the Cannons and the Untied, and they're strictly a Muggle soccer
team."

She stood up and circled the small room, perching herself on the edge of my side of the desk.
She made sure I had a good expanse of thigh to ogle. "Season passes are the best I can
offer." She scooched around on her perch and let her skirt rise a few more scandalous
millimeters.

"I told you, we're strapped for galleons at the moment. Isn't there something else
I could interest you in?"

The first thing I thought of also fell into the realm of strapping, but I'd learned over the
years that leaving marks invariably ended in uncomfortable questions (and bottoms).

"Make me an offer." I knew what I wanted and she knew what I wanted, and I could tell
by the sparkle in her eye that she knew that I knew that she knew what I knew I wanted. The
question was, would she give me what she knew I knew she knew I wanted?

Clearly the answer was yes, even if the question wasn't. Clear, that is; not yes. Clear?
Yes.

Applying that greatest of feminine secrets, she removed her bra without taking off her shirt.
Balling it up, she tossed it at me, allowing it to fall down between my parted legs. She
crisscrossed her hands over her top and pulled it sensuously over her head, then tossed it to the
side.

The first thing I noticed was that her breasts were free of tan lines. I had a fleeting notion
that transfiguring myself into her suntan lotion would not be the worst way of committing suicide.
Transfiguring into Malfoy's suntan lotion probably would be. The second thing I noticed was
that the nipples followed the trend of the rest of her breasts. They too were large and sported a
sprinkling of hairs of varying lengths.

Her skirt quickly went the way of her bra. Her underwear was plain white cotton, with a little
wet spot. She blushed. I had the decency not to point out that I thought she'd gotten over that
little problem when we were still first years.

She moved to remove that last bit of cloth but I shook my head and stood. I suddenly realized
that she'd never moved from her perch on my desk and I had no clue how she'd gotten her
skirt off. I think that exceeded even the marvel of the bra removal. I was unable to recreate her
miracle and was forced to help her into a standing position.

Pulling her forward I kissed the part of her closest to me. Her skin tasted the same way I take
my coffee; sweet, creamy, and with that slight aftertaste that tells me I need to clean the cup a
little more often. She kissed me and I clutched her bushy hair, pressing through the coarse hair to
the slick, sticky lips hidden within. Our tongues dueled, and I had a fleeting thought that her
parents really should have done a better job with that chipped tooth. I pulled my finger from her
mouth to give my tongue more room to maneuver. Leaning down I grabbed my wand. The magical one. No,
the other magical one. I aimed it at her face.

"Bicuspidus Reparo," I whispered, with the manliest flick and swish I could muster
under the circumstances.

"Oh, Harry," she murmured, "we're even now."

"Nah," I replied, "it's just that I'm bent over. I'm at least a dozen
centimeters taller than you."

She grabbed my ears and pulled my lips forcibly to hers. I pushed her backward until her body
was open and ready for me, spread deliciously on top of her cloak.

I wanted to become an unspeakable so I could be one of the many things I was going to do to her
body. I finally opted, like I did when she came in, for the easy opening, even though it was hard.
I kissed the apex of her legs and once again she pulled me by my aural apparatuses to her lips –-
the other ones, this time. My ears were starting to hurt. I mumbled to her that I wasn't an elf
and groping my ears wasn't as much of a turn on as she seemed to imagine. I dove back between
her thighs. The closer she came to a climax the more I wished for some gillyweed so I could
breathe. I was finally forced to back off from Madam Hooch's worst student's coochie. I
rose above her, prepared to enter her as a wizard enters a witch.

She raised her arms to clutch at my back, urging me with the earthy pools of her eyes to take
her as my own, to make her mine, to pound her senseless, to rocken-roll her world as the muggles
say. How could I say no?

I couldn't of course. Find the hole, that is. Finally, she took my matter into her own hands
and guided me to her pensieve of love. I pushed in gently with my magical wand, no, the other
magical one, and felt the path part before me like an enchanted sword through basilisk flesh. She
gasped and writhed, grasping at me all the more fiercely as her final portal was breached. I
continued the slow, still more manly swish and flick of my hips until her sighs and cries urged me
to hasten my magical movement. She soared quickly to the heights of passion until she caught the
golden snitch of release. Then, like a time turner turning back time, time turned back and again
she followed the path upwards to orgasm.

I flipped her over and pushed in from behind, like a stud hippogriff in mating season. I'd
never done this position before and silently thanked Hagrid for letting us watch the animals,
though I'm sure he never intended for us to use that knowledge ourselves. Suddenly I remembered
that hippogriffs were singularly endowed. Well, actually they were singularly endowed with multiple
endowments. I quickly slicked a finger with her copious fluids and wormed it up her rear. As soon
as I did, Hermione's voice cried out in a screech that sounded exactly like the wail of a mated
hippogriff filly. Her entire body shook for a moment and tightened excruciatingly around me. I was
forced to pour my seed into her and withdraw like an owl dropping a Howler at lunch, or have my
finger and my John Thomas lost forever in those murky depths.

As I collapsed on top of her, I was certain that my cock wasn't the only bone that had gone
soft; I wondered if I might need some Skele-Gro in order to stand up. Or roll over.

Eventually the stupefaction wore off and we moved gingerly to separate and redress.

Hermione was the first to speak. "You know Harry, I finally figured out why it's called
the Room of Requirement. It's not because you require what's in the room, but what you
require more often than what's in the room is the room itself!"

"Though I still don't understand why I feel like a virgin every time we do it in
here," she trailed off, rubbing away the phantom ache in her pelvis. I decided not to tell her
that it was just another part of the fantasy, and that the Room always gives you what you want if
it can. You just had to be very, very specific.

"Maybe it's just the fantasy affecting your mind that deeply," I said. "You
know, getting into it and all." She didn't reply, but the expression on her face told me
she'd taken my words at face value.

She was starting to walk rather stiffly by the time we got back to our common room, but the grin
plastered on her face was irrefutable proof that she'd enjoyed herself immensely, like a
Dementor at a garden party.

Case closed.



