Work Text:
Livid was the best word to describe her—no, wrathful. Wrathful and barely holding onto her angry tears as she stalked through the Auror department, her hair twice its normal size, crackling with stray magic. Loose parchments on the junior Auror desks she passed blew astray in her wake, desk lamps flickering as she disrupted the magical systems in place about the DMLE.
A part of her always knew that getting with Ronald after the war was settling, that he would never satisfy her mentally, emotionally, or physically. She loved the boy he was, and had gotten so wrapped up in her crush and the battle of getting him to acknowledge her that she’d convinced herself they needed to be together, that it would affirm everything, that she was right. Because she needed to be right, it was all she was good for.
The war and months on the run were the beginning of their demise. For months they ignored the conflict mounting between them, only given a reprieve when Ron abandoned her and Harry in the woods. That time apart left her raw and betrayed and desperate for him to come back if only to fight with her again because at least they’d know he was alive.
Following his return, they spent months mending what they’d broken with cruel words and hot tempers. And by the final battle, they were almost back to what they were before—friends.
But then there was death and more death. They lost Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin, Lavender, and for a few moments, Harry. They were so lost, so vulnerable.
Their physical collision as the dust of the devastation settled was a desperate cry for comfort. A need for the familiar, some connection, some validation that everything that had happened was for something. That good could still occur for them, to them. That they were still there, alive. They survived.
Continuing the sexual favors and meetings after the first time was her mistake. Like wool drawn over her eyes, she hid behind the relationship, the barest efforts from the wizard, passing it off as love because it was what she thought she needed. But unchecked and unopposed, the once innocent comfort grew into something it should never have been allowed to, and she lost control entirely.
Soon they were married, a step she knew was wrong even as they took it.
Living together was torture for her and her particularities. Ron was still a boy, a slob. He still needed mothering. She grew tired of the role.
Their differences were so apparent but neither wanted to admit the mistake they had made choosing each other, so instead, they argued and threw things and let their unhappiness fester.
It became a game. Who would give in? Who would concede? Whoever did, were they the winner or loser?
What Hermione had never expected was for the wizard to abandon her in their tempest of marriage and stray outside of their vows.
She had been waiting for him to tell her he was done, waiting for him to tell her he couldn’t stand her as his wife anymore and that he was leaving her. She tried to do it herself several times, was willing to lose this once if it would free her from the discontent suffocating her, going as far as approaching him to get it over with. But when she opened her mouth to say the words, her voice betrayed her and nothing came out. So she needed him to do it. The prospect of being alone was more terrifying than the horrible relationship they trapped themselves in for three years.
Unfortunately, it also turned out that his adulterous behavior cut deeper than she could emotionally handle.
Even though she hated their marriage and couldn’t stand to live with the wizard—could barely stand to look at him anymore—she loved him for their history. For who he was to her and what they’d been through together. Learning he had gone behind her to another witch was… the straw that broke the camel's back.
Storming into her husband’s shared Auror office, the door slamming shut behind her, Hermione notices her husband’s absence first, her over-imaginative mind running away with his possible alternate locations. She whirls on Harry, chest heaving as she tries to control everything she was feeling enough to say what she needs.
“Hermione?” Her best friend says, green eyes welling with concern as he stands from his desk. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Did you know he’s been seeing another witch?” she hisses, a hot, traitor tear trailing down her cheek.
The wizard stiffens, fists clenching beside him as his expression loses its friendliness, “What?”
She nods, thinking as much. Ron had been intelligent enough not to clue in Harry to his extracurricular activities knowing their mutual friend would tell her immediately. Following the war and Ron’s abandonment, Harry had never quite been as close with Ron as they were as children. Not even their partnership now had mended what was broken.
One of her trembling hands buries in her curls, suffering a few sharp pricks from the sparks of magic collecting there as she tries to figure out what to do next. She had planned to confront the wizard, get a confession from him, and finally, start the process of freeing herself from their rash mistakes.
“Hermione?” Harry is suddenly beside her, his hands reaching out to bracket her wrists and draw her attention. “Tell me what he did. What happened?”
Standing in his shadow, a few centimeters between their faces as he looms above her, an angry set to his thick black brows, Hermione can’t help but mourn the feelings she’d suppressed for this wizard for so long. Her fierce defender, caring friend, and most trusted ally.
Harry’s expression softens, eyes growing sad, “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” she prompts, another few tears slipping down her cheeks.
Shaking his head he collects her into his arms and holds her tight against his chest.
Melting into the safety and warmth of her best friend, she lets go of everything she’d been holding onto. The regret and anguish of staying in her marriage despite the lack of fulfillment of her wants and needs. The pain of sidelining the one person she considered family above everyone else for years and keeping her distance to ensure she wouldn't act inappropriately as a married witch. The gut-wrenching abandonment that coursed through her since learning the truth about her husband.
“Harry… I need out.”
“Sorry,” he begins to release her.
“No.” Hermione grips his Auror robes. “No, not you. Not this…”
“Oh…” he breathes near her ear, understanding.
“Where is he?” She sniffles.
“He’s been taking lunch out of the office,” Harry confesses.
Tensing, she puts it together. “So he’s with her…”
“Hermione…” Harry sighs apologetically.
“Deep down,” she pulls back, wiping at her face, “deep down I want him to be happy. But right now I just want him to hurt as bad as I do.”
“Are you going to leave him?” He helps wipe at her tears, thumbs rubbing gently across her cheeks.
Shutting her eyes Hermione admits for the first time, “I’ve been trying to leave him since I married him.”
Harry’s green eyes widen, “There’s no chance for you two, is there?”
“No,” she confirms, glassy-eyed.
A look of contemplation overcomes his anger and tenderness for her, something akin to want.
Suddenly, he kisses her. She gasps into it, forgetting to reciprocate. But as soon as the wizard begins to pull back, second-guessing himself, she surges forward.
This wasn’t their first kiss. They had shared moments in the tent when it was just them, in fact, they were each other’s firsts for quite a few things. But following the war, Ginny swooped back in and Hermione was left drowning, desperate for anyone that could offer her a life preserver.
Pushing him away to catch her breath, Hermione continues backing Harry up to his desk until he’s sat on the edge, his hands sliding around her waist to draw her into him again. Their tongues tangle as his fingers grip at the swell of her arse and her hands tug and pull at his robes until they can slip beneath and explore his warm skin.
“Hermione,” he hisses as she pinches his nipple, the low groan following her name fueling the burning in her belly. She kisses along his jaw. “Tell me now if we should—fuck—stop.”
“I love you,” she whispers against his skin instead, licking up the column of his throat. “I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want this to be one time, Hermione,” he tells her as he begins to drag her skirt up her legs centimeter by centimeter, exposing more and more skin.
“No, not once,” she agrees, pulling back to look him in the eye in a moment of seriousness and vulnerability. “It always should have been you.”
Melting at her words, he cradles her face in his hands and reconnects their lips, kissing her slowly and deeply, filling her with the love she’d been missing.
Keeping their mouths on each other as much as possible, they relieve each other of clothes, dropping them into piles on the ground. Harry’s hands slide up her bare stomach, cupping her breasts as her fingers work on his belt and trousers, trying to get them off.
“Merlin, you’re beautiful, love,” the wizard groans in her ear, peppering her skin with kisses. “So goddamn beautiful.”
Freeing his zip, Hermione’s hand slides into the waistband of Harry’s pants and she grips him, beginning to fondle his half-hard cock, earning a bite along her throat as his hands move down, past her skirt that he hiked up on her waist to her bare arse. His hands go between her legs to hoist her up onto his hips as he turns them and sets her on his desk, clearing it in its entirety with the sweep of an arm, everything crashing to the floor as she laughs against his chest, kissing down his sternum.
Hiking her legs up around his hips, she abandons his hard member to shimmy his trousers and pants past his bum, setting her feet on the ledge of fabric stuck on his thick quidditch thighs, pressing it down to free him further as the wizard dips to suck her nipples into his mouth.
Moaning loudly, she begins to recline back, pulling him after her when there’s a knock on the door.
Harry cusses and finds his wand, quickly tossing up a privacy charm and the wards. Abandoning his wand on the floor again, he sinks to his knees between her legs giving no warning before his tongue is inside of her.
Back arching, her knickers and nylons dangling from one of her feet, Hermione keens, fingers winding into Harry’s black hair, tugging it loose from the man-bun he sports.
Sucking on her clit, his hands find hers, lacing their fingers as he continues to feast, licking and sucking and nipping at her until she’s coming undone around him, legs trembling on his shoulders.
Harry stands as she catches her breath, licking his lips as he rids himself of his dragonhide boots and the trousers at his ankles. He leans over her, kissing her as he reaches between them, stroking himself.
Hermione presses on his chest, moving to sit up, spitting in her hand for lubrication and taking over pumping him as she looks up at him, welling with happiness for the first time since she can remember. “Are you sure?”
“I love you too, Hermione.” Harry nods, kissing her as he shuffles forward, the head of his cock dragging through her folds. “Contraceptive?”
“I’m off the potion since R—” her stomach turns and she shuts her eyes. Since Ron won’t touch her.
“Hey,” he stops what they’re doing, his touches becoming caring instead of stimulating as he pulls her into his chest, his forehead leaning against hers. “I’ve got you.”
“Cast the charm?” she asks, taking a deep breath to settle her fears and lingering hesitation.
He leaves her a moment to find his wand again and casts the contraceptive charm on both of them, setting his wand on the desk this time as he lines himself back up. “Deep breath.”
She moans as he hilts himself inside, her eyes rolling back into her head at the pressure and stretch. It hadn’t felt so good in so long and this, Harry, was perfect. Her breath stutters just like it used to when they were experimenting in the tent and Harry’s hand comes up to scrunch her curls, waiting for the okay to move.
Tilting her hips slightly to get a better angle, Hermione nods and winds her arms around her wizard’s back as he begins thrusting into her at a hard pace, rubbing up against that spongy place inside of her that made it hard to think straight. Her nails cut paths through the skin on Harry’s back as he slams in and out of her, their skin slapping rhythmically.
She kisses him, biting at his lips as she moans and he pants, murmuring praise the way she loves.
Her spine begins to hurt where it rubs against the hard wood and she pushes Harry away, sliding off the desk to turn over and lie across it.
His fingers loop into the skirt still bunched around her waist and he slams back inside, pounding her while using her skirt material for leverage.
This angle is heaven and he hits deeper and deeper.
Eyes fluttering, her legs begin to tremble and she moans, “Harry, I’m close.”
“Let go, Hermione.” One of his hands slips around her and his fingers pinch and tease her clit, adding a touch of pain to their pleasure, sending her spiraling into a second orgasm. “Bloody hell you’re squeezing me so fucking tight!”
He continues to fuck her through the orgasm and she whines, the ache of it starting to get to her. Luckily, Harry takes that opportunity to switch their position.
Sliding out of her, he hooks an arm around her hips, kissing the back of her neck as he walks them across the office to Ron’s desk, carrying her most of the way. He sits his bare arse in her husband’s chair and guides her back onto his cock, letting gravity sink her down onto him. She shakes, slumped back against him as she pulls her legs up onto the chair to either side of his thighs, her hands gripping the arms of the chair tight as she supports herself a few inches above Harry’s lap. Without wasting time, he begins to rock up into her, helping her to support her weight as his thighs clap against her bum from below. They don’t stay like that for long, her legs too weak after two orgasms.
Standing up, Hermione turns and straddles him, sinking back down so she can rock and grind herself on his lap all the while leaving marks on his tan skin.
“You’re so good, love. Such a good girl,” Harry kisses her jaw, dragging his teeth along her skin. “I’m close. Keep rocking just like that.”
His hands settle at the base of her spine, helping her keep the pace she set as she begins to clench on him, her clit stimulated with each forward motion, pushing her toward a third orgasm.
“Harry, I love you,” she murmurs against his ear, her nails embedded in his shoulders as the chair protests beneath them.
“I love you, Hermione.” Harry grips her hips, his muscles beginning to clench erratically, abs coiling, legs tensing. “What do you need?”
Shaking her head, she begins to come apart, her fingers pinching one of her nipples tight. Harry continues to rock her on his lap a few more times until he too is coming, a groan permeating through the office as they ride through their mutual orgasms.
As they breathe hard in each other's arms, Harry’s cock and spend still deep inside of her, neither notice the third person in the office watching them quietly, just arrived from a secret meeting with his mistress, a few tears dripping from his cheeks as he smiles about his marriage for the first time in years.