Chapter 5
Notes:
She pushed her skirt flat as she sat. To avoid wrinkles.
She poured herself a cup of tea. She had gotten out the cream and sugar but used neither. Steaming hot and bitter felt appropriate.
Movement caught her eye. The shadows across the room were moving. Back and forth. Gently, inexorably, back and forth. She couldn't help but glance up at the swaying chandelier.
She got up and turned the light off. She returned, sure to keep her eyes down. She focused on her tea. Her hands pressed her skirt down again. It was a grey pencil skirt. It fit tightly against her legs and showed off her figure. It went well with her dark stockings and tight, black, sleeveless top.
It was a good look. It was her mother's look. Hermione had a different figure so there was a real difference in the looks they presented.
Still, though.
She was aping her mother. Aping her mother and hoping that that would be enough.
She took a breath, crossed her legs at the ankles, and evaluated her black pumps. The polished leather shined back at her.
Her treacherous eyes glanced at the chandelier.
Still swaying.
She almost checked her watch to see how long it had been but wrenched her wrist back.
It was better not to know.
It was happening. It needed to happen. It was good for it to happen. Yes, it was good for this to happen.
Fantasies would be indulged in. Energy would be spent. Realization would come. Realization of what he was giving up. Realization that she was the sensible choice.
Sensible. Was that all she could give to herself?
Fuck.
She fairly stormed out of the house to take a walk around the neighborhood. Well, she stormed out then came back in and changed into some sensible flats and then walked about for a while.
The space did her good. The awareness of what was happening wasn't pressing down on her from the upstairs bedroom. Wasn't communicated to her by the swaying of chandeliers. She walked until her stomach started growling for dinner. Then she returned.
Her eyes stayed low and she didn't let herself be surprised that no one else was about. She calmly heated some leftovers for herself. Calmly went out for another walk and calmly returned to her room for sleep without looking anywhere but straight ahead. Not towards the kitchen and its swaying chandelier. Not towards the closed door at the end of the all.
She paused as she readied herself for bed.
A reminder would be nice. It might be just the thing for Harry. She left her door ajar and noted the warm air. She stripped from the outfit she had bought and worn for Harry. The one he hadn't seen. But she left the stockings, garter belt, and matching panties on. No bra or top for that matter.
She stretched herself out on top of her comforter. She made a few minor adjustments as she imagined the view of one passing through the hallway.
She lay there.
She waited.
Eventually, she slept.
It lasted all week.
Hermione felt like a ghost in her own childhood home. They weren't exactly avoiding her. They were just ignoring her, caught up in the fulfillment of their… their… whatever this was.
She couldn't quite bring herself to resent them for it. This was what she asked for. It was just, well, it was taking a bit longer than she had imagined it would.
Anyway, it was well past time to reintroduce herself and less passively than merely draping herself over her bed in the hopes of being noticed.
She donned her new swimsuit, what there was of it, and then her cover-up. A dramatic reveal might well help her make an impression. She also grabbed some lotion that was more massage oil than sunscreen.
She stalked downstairs and tossed the bottle at Harry as she passed.
"Help me with the sunscreen, would you?" she said.
She kept walking.
Out the door, past the patio, straight to the loungers by the pool. She stood until she heard the back door open again.
She removed her cover-up and let it fall to the ground. Her bikini was solid black and tiny. The halter top exposed all of her shoulders. The bikini was a narrow ribbon instead of a string. It lay flat against her skin as it climbed her waist and dove between her cheeks.
Why try to pretend that she was her mother, or might one day be kind of like her mother? She was fit. She was thin. She had her own strengths to play to.
She climbed onto the lounger, mindful of what view she was presenting to Harry.
It wasn't long before he was there oiling up his hands and massaging her feet. He spent minutes just on her soles. Her arches and heels were doted upon as never before and, despite it all, a feeling of supreme relaxation and contentment came over her.
If she had been looking for something to complain about in her relationship with Harry, she might have mentioned a lack of passion. It's not that there was none but it didn't compare to the sort of thing one read about in stories. Stories. That had been her conclusion. Stories, songs, poems, and movies must all be overselling this true love thing. Better to have the real and solid relationship. Better to keep one's head in the real world and avoid throwing away a good thing for something that didn't exist.
"Mmmmmmm," she said.
Harry had started in on her calves and it felt delicious.
For all that her mother had thrown the most unexpected of wrenches in things, she had also shown her what passion really looked and felt like. Even the merest reflection of it lit a fire within her. She should be aghast at Harry thinking of her mother while he made love to her. A part of her was. A larger part basked in the very feel of it.
Even this massage was better. Whatever else her mother had done, she had also unlocked a passion within Harry that affected everything he did. Hopefully, that would last beyond their fling and Hermione could continue enjoying the new Harry.
Hopefully, this would be the turning point. He'd keep massaging up her body. Maybe he would give in to desire when he reached her slit. Maybe he'd work his way up to her shoulders and she would press herself back against him. Maybe this time he'd fuck her for her. Maybe this time she'd exit her mother's shadow.
His hands went up and down her thighs. Gliding, pressing, groping. He didn't rush anything as he climbed. As he reached her ass, his hands snuck under and around her bikini.
He spent a good while groping and rubbing. She spent a good while moaning and humming.
One of his hands moved onto her back.
The other deftly shifted her bikini to the side and stroked her pussy. She was delightfully stuck between the relaxation of a deep-tissue massage and the increasing tension of her arousal.
She avoided looking back at him. She didn't want to see his closed eyes. Instead, she focused on his fingers pressing into the deep muscle between her scapulae. On the sensations his other fingers were sparking.
She arched her back and shifted her hips up. He recognized the invitation and began pushing his fingers in and out of her.
"Mmmmmmm," she moaned.
She felt her climax build and build. Too quickly! It was here!
"Ah!" she cried.
Then she was falling down. He continued massaging her back and arms and she kept falling and falling.
She fell asleep.
She dreamed. It was a dream of pleasure, set to the rhythm of her own moans. To his grunts. To muffled curses and cries of pleasure.
She let the dream take its course, happy to be along for the ride. The images shifted but the sounds remained steady.
She was lying on the pool lounge and Harry was taking her from behind. She was on her bed and Harry was staring into her eyes as he thrust into her. He pinned her against the wall of a broom cupboard and took her, not bothering to remove her skirt or panties. They were in a new place. Somewhere with grand architecture and elaborate furniture. Their house, she realized. Her dream took her across every inch of it, saw her fucked on every surface of it.
A movement and a tendril of reality reasserted itself. A texture. The rubbery smoothness of the lounger, sticking to her hot skin.
She was back by the pool. Was Harry fucking her in her sleep? Was he so overcome with desire for her that he couldn't stop himself? She smiled and she felt herself smile. Another mote of wakefulness, enough for her to sense her body. Enough to sense that she was still basking in the afterglow, and not currently being fucked. Not being touched at all.
She felt the muscles of her thinking face contract. A slight downward turn of her lips, a pinching of her brows.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."
The soundtrack of her dreams played on.
Her eyes snapped open, but she held her body still.
She peeked to the side but mostly closed her eyes to feign sleep.
It was her , of course.
Her mother was on the lounger next to her. She was on her stomach, too. Her knees were planted, her back arched, and her ass jutted out into the air. Harry's hands gripped her hips as he rutted with her.
" Umph! Ah! "
Something was slightly off. She had seen them together before and their fucking was usually either tender and slow or fast and rough. This seemed like some combination of the two. Harry wasn't going particularly fast but there was something raw about their expressions and movements.
Hermione risked opening her eyes a bit wider.
Her mother's face, usually so stoic, was awash with emotion. Determination, pleasure, and vulnerability shone through.
" Faster, " she whispered.
" Are you sure, Dr. Granger? " he asked.
She nodded and he obeyed. His hands squeezed her hips tighter and his hips slapped against her ass faster and faster.
Her mother closed her eyes and grimaced but the grimace slowly faded. She laid her face down and seemed to give into the sensation.
" Yes, yes! " she whisper-shouted.
The puzzle pieces came together all at once. The pace, their faces, the massage oil Hermione had brought out.
"You're fucking my mum's ass!" she blurted out.
She covered her mouth far too late to save her feigned sleep. She needn't have worried, though.
They ignored her once again.
Harry kept thrusting. Kept accelerating his pace, even.
The only change her mother made was to increase her volume.
"Fuck! Fuck!," she cried. "Don't Stop!"
He didn't stop.
Her ass and hips rippled from the rapid impacts. Her breasts swayed back and forth. Her face dug into the lounger.
Why?!
Why would her own mother do this to her?!
Many might have stopped there but Hermione took her own question seriously and tried to answer it.
This seemed cruel but her mother had never been cruel. Driven, yes, but never cruel. This wasn't meant to hurt her. It did, oh how it did, but it wasn't meant to. Or, rather, that wasn't the purpose even if it was the cost.
Harry's thrusts grew irregular, spastic even. Hermione watched his face scrunch up in pleasure as he lodged his cock deeply into her mother's ass and inseminated her bowels.
This was a message. It was one that Hermione had refused to hear with words so her mother had shown it to her here and now.
She understood the message now as well as the choice that she had to make.
The tea was delicious. I'd made it the same way I always did. Same leaves, same boiling water, same steep, and same cream.
Still, something about it just seemed more hearty, more invigorating, more more.
I drained my cup and filled a third.
"Thirsty today?" Dr. Granger asked.
I looked her full in the face, took her in as I had been doing all week. At first, there had been a niggling worry: what if the sheer magic of her faded? What if this fountain of feeling dried up. I wasn't worried anymore. There had been no signs of stopping yet. And even if such an unthinkable thing occurred, my future self would be glad to have enjoyed this time with her as much as possible.
"Always," I replied with a grin.
I had figured part of her out. Her face was hard to read, but underneath she was almost always the same. She was caring and warm but also sharp. A tease or a joke underlied almost everything she said.
"Keep hydrating then," she said, "but for now I think Hermione has something to say."
I wrenched my gaze from Dr. Granger's face and turned to the other end of the table. Hermione idly stirred her cup. She took in a breath.
"I," she said, "have come to a realization."
I focused on her. I had been feeling terrible about the situation she was in. But. Dr. Granger had asked for my trust and it had been surprisingly easy to give. I didn't know what the plan was but I was happy to let her take charge.
"I've been clinging to a false perception," Hermione continued.
Dr. Granger nodded.
"Have you made a decision?" she asked.
Hermione set her jaw and nodded.
"I'd like to share," she said.
I gulped.
"Um, please tell me if I'm getting this wrong," I said, "but are you two deciding to share me?"
Hermione looked uncomfortable.
"Not quite," Dr. Granger said. "She's asking if I'd be willing to share you."
Her hand reached out. Her fingers threaded through my hair, trailed along my jaw, held my chin, and pointed my face towards her.
"You belong to me," she said.
I gulped again.
Trepidation and a sheer sense of belonging overwhelmed me.
"This week has been about showing that fact to Hermione in a way that she would accept," she said.
That, that made sense. Neither of us wanted to hurt Hermione but we had been a bit obnoxious towards her, especially this morning by the pool.
"Mmmm," I couldn't stop myself from moaning at the remembrance.
Dr. Granger's lips twitched at me. She still held me by the chin.
"I am not against sharing you," she said. "But the wording there is important. It's me sharing you. Not us. Hermione has had to accept that fact before deciding what she wants."
She let go of my chin and I turned back to Hermione. She nodded at her mother's assessment.
"I've decided that being second in your heart is more than most girls get," she said. "It's more than I'll likely get from anyone else and, well, it's you that I want, not someone else anyway."
Something within me settled into place.
"She's not locked into this either," Dr. Granger said. "She can decide to leave this arrangement if it's not to her liking or if someone else comes along. It's not like any of us are married."
Hermione versus her mother. That's what this had been since the beginning. A competition for my heart that Hermione had lost from the moment I had laid eyes on Dr. Granger.
But now it wasn't a competition.
That reframing opened a space in my heart that had been closed off. If I could, if I was allowed to love both of them, then I could. I felt my love and affection for Hermione return. They were not as great as what I felt for her mother, but they were as great as they had been before all this.
Dr. Granger caught my distracted gaze. Her lips twitched.
Had she known how my heart would react? How?
"Though if it comes to that," she said, "I'm given to understand that the muggle and magic worlds have entirely separate legal systems."
What?!
Chapter 6: Epilogue
Summary:
What happily ever after looks like for the Granger-Potters.
Alternate title: Hermione is exasperated.
Notes:
The door closed as Harry climbed in with their trunks.
"Remember dear," her mother said, "at least twice a day."
"Mum, not here," she said.
She leaned forward to whisper.
"Plus, it's not like Harry would ever cheat on you anyway," Hermione said.
"You can never be too careful," she replied. "Plus, it's not just for him."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Would you rather a different arrangement," Her mother said with a raised brow.
"No, no, of course not," she said. "I'll make sure he gets his medicine twice daily starting today."
Her mother affected a frown.
"He's already been seen to today, but I supposed more wouldn't hurt," she said. "He seems to have an awfully high tolerance for this medication."
Hermione rolled her eyes as hard as she could.
"Goodbye, mother," she said.
Her mother laughed.
"Goodbye darling," she said and hugged her.
Hermione shook her head at her mother, at everything as she looked for Harry's compartment. She let herself in and locked the door behind her. Then she spelled the door closed, silenced, and unnoticeable. Then she transfigured the seam of the door into a single solid piece.
She turned to find Harry looking at her with an amused expression.
Her clothes dropped onto the floor.
"I'm afraid we have no choice in what's about to happen," she smirked, "Dr.'s orders."
I listened to her, I really did. Professor McGonagall was wrapping up her lecture. A lecture to which I was listening. I was also packing up as discreetly as I could. Quill dried, ink pot capped, parchment blown dry and rolled up. All of it ready to be swept into my bag.
But I was listening, so Hermione's eyeroll was uncalled for.
Professor McGonagall cast her gaze about the room and read the mood. It was Friday afternoon and this was our last class. NEWT-level transfiguration was all well and good, but many people were eager for the end of class.
See, it's not just me, Hermione.
"Very well, I can see that this is all I'm going to get out of you for today," McGonagall said. "Class dismissed."
One arm pulled up my open bag, the other swept my things inside. Standing, turning to the door, and shrugging my bag on were all done in one smooth motion.
Getting around the first corner was key. It saved literal minutes of time.
I didn't run, but my stride was very quick as I went out the door without opening it fully (making the next person have to open it again bought me another second or so of distance, which was often crucial). Out of immediate sight, I dashed to the corner. I turned it and swept my invisibility cloak out of my still-open bag and over my body.
I carefully pulled my broom out while keeping it within my cloak. To pull it off, I had to leave the top third in the bag which would look quite silly if anyone could see me. I flew up near the ceiling and darted through the corridors.
The first few times, I had gone out the nearest window. I ended up flying around the castle and dealing with crosswinds while I was at it. Through the castle was faster. The corridor ceilings were high and vacant save for the occasional ghost. Those just got a weird sensation as I flew through. Peeves, well, he got an overpowered stunner as I passed. It didn't do much harm but it seemed to distract him enough.
Turn, turn, dive, pull up, turn, speed through.
"Alohomora."
I sped through the window as it opened and sped straight for the Whomping Willow. I pulled out a rock that I had put into my bag earlier. I slowed to a halt just outside of whomping range.
" Depulso."
The rock flew right into the knot and the tree grew unnaturally still.
I flew forward and did just the right spiral dive to let me in without dismounting. Flying through the tunnel was much easier than walking, anyway, since I'd have to stoop. And faster, of course.
I flew all the way to the end. It was the one part I didn't try to optimize for time. I wasn't sure what would happen if I tried to apparate while still under Hogwarts' aegis, but I was sure that I didn't want to find out.
At the end of the tunnel, I apparated. A quiet crack and I was in the guest room at Dr. Granger's house. A swish of my wand and my clothes flew into the closet and were simultaneously replaced by the clothes Dr. Granger had picked out for me.
Today it was khaki shorts that ended a few inches above my knees and a light green polo. I jogged down to the kitchen and got started on dinner. Kreacher was nice enough to pick up and deliver the ingredients I requested each week. Once I got things chopped and simmering, I checked the time.
Excellent, everything would be ready for her by the time she got home.
I smiled as I set the table.
She pulled her bag open and checked the contents.
Check, check, check, check.
Yep, all accounted for.
She opened the door to the infirmary and walked in as confidently as she could manage.
"Ah, Ms. Granger," said Madam Pomphrey, "right on time. What was it you wished to meet about?"
She eyed the door behind her nervously.
Madam Pomphrey waved her wand at it and smiled at her knowingly.
"No interruptions or prying ears now," she said.
Then she waited.
Hermione swallowed.
"Well," she began, "I'm mostly here because I don't have a competent witch in the family to check my work and research."
Madam Pomphrey nodded.
"In the muggle world, there are doctors for this sort of thing and I thought that perhaps you could fulfill a similar role," she said.
"Of course, dear," Madam Pomphrey said.
They both waited.
"Right, so," said Hermione, "I've been doing quite a bit of research into fertility and, um, gestation, and really the whole child-rearing project in general. See, in the muggle world there are all sorts of studies and vitamins and treatments and whatnot. With those, I find it quite easy to sort through what's credible and what's bunk. But in the magical world, I've had quite some trouble, er, establishing any sort of baseline for what's reasonable and what's outrageous."
"You're not the first to come to me with this concern, Ms. Granger," she said. "Go ahead and ask your questions."
"Yes, well," she reached into her bag, "I went ahead and brewed some potions that I found in the library. By the way, can alumna access the Hogwarts library? Anyway, here's an ovulation potion and a motility potion. Can you tell if I've done it correctly? I'd hate to go to all the trouble only to find I made it ineffective or worse yet inflicted some adverse effect on our bits!"
Madame Pomphrey inspected the potions.
"Have you been trying to get pregnant for very long?" she asked.
"Er, no," Hermione said, "I haven't quite started yet."
"Hm," Madam Pomphrey said, "usually couples resort to measures like this after trying for quite some time. Years, even."
"I understand that," Hermione said. "It's just that things could work out really well if I get the timing right. I could deliver during the summer and be recovered enough to start pursuing a mastery in the fall."
"You did a fine job brewing these potions," Madam Pomphrey said. "I would personally recommend that you only use them after at least a few months of trying but they won't do you any harm. They may, um, multiply your success, though."
"Yes," said Hermione, "I'm aware of that possibility. I did have another question. Are these potions, and I guess magical potions in general, effective on muggles?"
"I'm not sure why- well that's none of my business. If anything, they would have an increased effect on muggles since they have no inherent magic and these are firmly physical effects."
"Ok," Hermione said, "I guess that's all for now. Thank you so much for meeting with me!"
"Actually, wait," Madam Pomphrey grabbed some parchment and began scratching at it with her quill. "Here are some reputable authors and titles about, hm, how did you put it? The whole child-rearing process?"
Hermione waited for her to finish and eagerly scanned the list.
"Thank you, this is immensely helpful!"
"Of course, dear. Please come back in as soon as you know. Or even if you just suspect."
She looked down at the potions then back to Hermione.
"You know, people usually give it a go for a while before resorting to fertility treatments," she said.
"That's," Hermione said, "well, that's exactly what our school healer said."
"She's right," Dr. Ganger said.
"Ugh, I know," Hermione said. "It's just, I want to get this right. I want to do all I can to make it all go right. And, well, I also don't want to seem like I'm trying to gain some competitive advantage here. So, here are the potions that I'm planning on using. They're cleared for muggle use. There's just an increased chance of multiples is all."
Dr. Granger pushed the potions across the table towards Hermione.
"I don't think there will be any need for these," she said.
"Look, mum, I know he loves you more than anything and can keep going for hours, but that doesn't mean anything about motility or fertility not to mention all the things that could happen on your end of things. Just take the potions. You don't have to use them right away, I'd just feel better if I was doing everything I could for both of us."
She nudged the potions back to the middle of the table.
"Allow me to rephrase," Dr. Granger said. "I am highly confident that I have no need of these potions."
Dr. Granger waited.
"You mean that… really?" Hermione asked.
Dr. Granger nodded with a warm open smile.
"Does he know?" Hermione asked. "No, he doesn't; he'd be leaping for joy and then would skip a month of school just to keep shagg- er spending time with you."
Dr. Granger's smile brightened.
"Quite so," she said. "Would you like to be here when I tell him?"
Hermione gave it some thought. There was a distinct lack of social precedent to follow when you and your mother shared the same man.
"I think I'll let you two have the moment to yourselves," she said. "And all the subsequent moments. Shall I make excuses for Harry missing the next week of classes?"
"Hm, an extra day would be nice," she pursed her lips, "actually, I think he will want to miss Tuesday as well."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I'd go make my goodbyes, but I'm not sure he'll notice I'm gone until Wednesday morning," she said. "I think I'll just pack up my things and sneak out."
"Yes," Dr. Granger said, "he can be quite, hm, single-minded."
Her gaze drifted off and her lips twitched as she recalled something. Hermione shook her head and left.
Throughout the year, it had occurred to Hermione that her mother may have miscalculated. It was probably the bias of the magical world that clouded her judgment.
Her mother had given her the Harry the wizard and taken Harry the muggle for herself. How could mundanity compete with magic? How could the hero of the magical Britain choose anything but the vastness of his wealth, fame, and prestige?
This was how.
Harry cradled his eldest daughter in his arms while rocking the triple bouncer with his foot. They were passing through the crazed no-sleep phase and settling into a more sustainable routine. She sipped at her tea and just watched Harry as he watched their children. He was already a great father and partner. Attentive to the needs of the children and their mothers, present, and loving in all he did.
Yes, this was what Harry would choose every time. His family. The Wizengamet, the Ministry, the Aurors, none of them would get catch ahold of Harry for as long as his family needed him.
"You feeling ready to start, Hermione?" he asked her.
Hermione smiled.
"Yes, though I must say that I am a bit nervous," she said. "Obtaining a mastery is less like coursework and more like being a journeyman apprentice. I keep itching to get ahead in the reading and start studying for final exams that don't exist."
"I'm sure Flitwick could provide you a list for extra reading if you'd like," he said. "And he's a good one. I'm sure he'll establish what's expected of you and your nerves will settle within the week."
"Thanks, Harry," she said. "I'll try to make it back as soon as I can this evening."
Harry brightened at that. Taking care of the babies was the only thing that had successfully stymied Harry and her mother's near-constant lovemaking. Hermione had recently started giving them some time away from the kids to reconnect . Hermione was still healing up herself but was sure that her mother would return the favor in the weeks to come.
"That'd be lovely," he said.
His gaze, tellingly, drifted off.
Hermione rolled her eyes and proceeded to give each of her triplets a kiss as well as her niece and Harry.
"Good luck, not that you need it," Harry called out.
People stopped and stared. The general clamor of the station hushed as they passed.
Hermione cringed on Harry's behalf.
"Good to see nothing's changed," Harry said.
"Was it always this bad?" she asked.
She was a bit surprised at his composure. She still thought of him as the shy boy who avoided the reality of his fame at all costs. Not this confident man who showed no reaction to the crowd of gawkers.
Maybe her mother had rubbed off on him. Oh. Ew.
"More or less," he said. "Especially when I first showed up. I suppose that I've pretty much repeated my 11 year absence and reappearance."
"Why's everyone being so strange?" her niece asked.
"Your father is famous, remember?"/ "Magicals are just strange like that," Harry and Hermione said at the same time.
They shared a brief glance and started laughing.
"Let's not worry about them," Harry said. "This day is about you, Cordelia. You and your siblings. It's the day you get to go to Hogwarts, get to learn magic, and get to find out exactly how strange all these fellows can be."
"Harry," Hermione playfully shoved him.
"Right, now I know you're not older by too much, but look out for your siblings and make plenty of friends so you don't mind as much when your other siblings enroll and start stealing them."
"Da-ad," she protested.
"Ok, ok," he said, "give us a hug and we'll be out of your hair."
Cordelia gave a long hug to Harry and Hermione. The triplets followed suit. They all made their way to the gleaming Hogwarts Express.
"Do you think they suspect anything?" Harry asked.
"Maybe Cordelia," Hermione said, "but I don't think so."
"So should we start up at the high table or maybe a dramatic entrance like Moody did?" Harry paused. "Er, I guess I mean Crouch."
"Well, given the comparison to an Azkaban escapee, I think I'll start at high table. It'll be easier to see their reactions that way," Hermione said.
"Hey, you should know that half of all Azkaban escapees are actually a good sort," Harry said.
"You're forgetting all the other death eaters that got broken out," she asserted.
"They got broken out by someone outside, they don't count," he said. "Come to think of it, so did Crouch. So 100 % of Azkaban escapees, by which I mean those that did so under their own power, are the right sort. Yeah, I think I'll go for an entrance. It's what this lot expects of me anyway."
He gestured to the still silent, still-staring crowd.
"Does it really not bother you anymore?" she asked.
"Eh, I don't like it," Harry said. "But I don't have to be in it. I can control my exposure and I have a home to go back to."
That he did. There were more children back at their house. Harry and Hermione were each going to be half-time professors so they could still be with all their children. Hermione would likely move to full-time in three years, when all of their children were enrolled. Harry would likely stay part-time. That one year to finish up at Hogwarts was the maximum amount of time he wanted to have to spend every weekday away from her mother.
"So mum has the kids today and we aren't expected at school for hours yet," Hermione said.
"I can do a lot with that kind of time," Harry said.
"Prove it," she said.
He grinned and grabbed her hand. They vanished with tiny pop .
Notes:
That's a wrap on the story. I had most of this written for a week or so. It still feels like it's missing something but I also didn't want to write the characters all the way into their graves.
I had also intended to put some more smut in but it didn't really flow with the cadence of the rest of the chapter. I intend to really actually finish this story with a few bonus scenes.
Chapter 7: Bonus Scene
Summary:
A nice scene that didn't quite fit the epilogue. It's possible that I may add more later but this is all that I have planned for now.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I blinked.
My eyes were open but half of me was still asleep. I stretched out my limbs.
Um. I tried to stretch out my limbs. I met some resistance.
Alertness flooded into me as my brain decided something wasn't right. I jerked to and fro and found that my arms were secured above my head and my legs to the bottom corners of the bed. I was thoroughly tied down. I was also strangely comfortable. When I wasn't thrashing, I could tell that I was bound in such a way that I could remain for quite some time without being hurt.
Who would-
"You've finally woken up, birthday boy," Dr. Granger said. "Hermione did say the sleeping potion would be effective."
"Huh?" I said.
I sat forward as much as my bonds would allow. It was a pathetic crunch. I saw her and I stared. She was fully kitted out today. A shiny black corset pushed her glorious breasts up and together. Her pale shoulders were bare except for the curls that bounced on and around them. Her eyes were covered with dark makeup and her lips painted a striking black.
I pushed myself forward, trying desperately to see all of her. Her lower half came into view and I drank in the sight even as my body shook with the effort. She wore thigh-high boots that were also shiny and black. By some magic, it followed the contours of her skin and joints perfectly and smoothly. Maybe Hermione had actually gotten her magical boots. They left the top half of her creamy thighs exposed. The contrast between the shiny black material and her pale skin made me want to dive in. I found myself licking my lips in anticipation. I could worship those thighs all day if given half a chance.
I finally looked back to her face. The shape of her lips told me that my thoughts were laid bare before her in their entirety.
"You deserve a special birthday present this year," she said. "I knew you were a phenomenal lover but you've proven to be much more than that. You are the best father and husband I have ever heard of."
She stalked forward, climbed onto the bed, and kneeled between my spread legs. She took my cock in hand and started stroking gently.
"Your birthday present is going to be the best orgasm of your life," she said.
There was something mesmerizing about the movements of her dark lips against her pale face as she talked. Something that almost made me hold my tongue.
"But today's the 30th," I said. "My birthday is tomorrow."
Her black lips smiled as wide as I'd ever seen them.
"Yes," she said, "and that is when you'll receive your gift."
I looked down to my cock in her hand. Over to the clock on my nightstand: 10:14 AM. Understanding seeped into my mind.
I gulped.
"You mean…" I trailed off.
Her smile remained.
"Oh yes," she said.
The gentle handjob I was receiving took on a more sinister note. And yet, my cock twitched and hardened in her grasp.
She noticed. She leaned forward to lick the underside of my cock from base to tip. She used only the very tip of her tongue. As she reached the head, she placed a lingering kiss that used every bit of her full lips.
She flashed me a brilliant smile. Then she left the room.
"Oh fuck," I said.
I tried to relax. Tried to let out the tension in my muscles. Tried to let my frustrated arousal fade. I took deep breaths. I tried not to think about my erect cock. That didn't work, but I had better luck focusing on tensing and relaxing my muscles. Calves, quads, abs, pecs, traps, biceps, triceps, forearms.
It worked.
My breathing was even and my cock was almost entirely flaccid.
Of course, that was when she came back in. This time she was in impossibly high heels. They, too, were black and shiny. The pale tops of her breasts jiggled as she stalked toward me. She didn't even have to touch me to get me completely hard again.
"Oh, you're a very eager boy, aren't you?" she said.
She kneeled between my legs again. She used the tip of one of her nails, also painted black, to scratch my frenulum from base to tip. The next finger copied the movement. And the next.
"I'd advise you to pace yourself," she said, "but I don't think you'd take that advice. You'd thrust and fuck and come and ruin your birthday present. So I'll just go ahead and take care of the pacing for you."
She stopped when all the fingers of one hand had gone. She grabbed my cockhead and squeezed. I felt my arousal stop building and then slowly, so slowly, start to fade.
"What do you have to say to that?" she demanded.
I shuddered.
"Thank you, Dr. Granger," I said.
"Good boy."
She waited until I started to soften before releasing her grip. Then she leaned forward and kissed her way up to my chest. She found my nipple and gently licked, kissed, and sucked all around it. One of her hands found my scrotum and began to play with my balls.
Neither of those was something that usually got to me. This situation, though. The bindings, the helplessness, the knowledge that it was going to go on and on and on without release.
"Oh, fuck," I repeated.
Dr. Granger released my nipple from a prolonged sucking.
"Not yet, dear," she said. "Not for a good while."
Then she got up and left the room again.
I was torn as she did so. I could go through my relaxation routine again. If I did that, she would come back sooner. That would be more pleasure and more torture. If I didn't, then I would stay aroused longer which would be a lesser torture, but with no pleasure.
I started taking deep breaths and clenching my muscles.
Time blurred.
I avoided looking at the clock. It would feel like hours had passed but looking revealed that it was only minutes later.
Dr. Granger kept me guessing every time she came in. Sometimes it was just a handful of caresses. Sometimes a fast and furious blowjob. A few times she pressed my cock against my stomach and rutted against it with her slick pussy lips. One time she didn't touch me at all. She was all around me, her legs between mine, her arms planted around my torso, her lips just next to my ear. She breathed on me, whispered to me, washed me in her presence without making a single bit of contact.
It didn't matter. Just like every other time, she brought me right to the edge, right to the point of no return and then left me there.
Hermione played it more conservatively and I loved and hated her for it. Her outfit was slightly less provocative. She wore dark stockings with a matching garter belt and sheer lacy bra. Sure enough, she had started to fill out after having kids. She wasn't a copy of her mother, I wasn't thatlucky, but she felt like the true adult version of herself. Her breasts and hips had widened and grown, but not so much as to stop fitting with the rest of her. She was, really, perfect in her own way. She had put on a dark red lipstick and put up her hair.
Over the course of her first few turns, she found every mark of black lipstick on my body, there were many, and planted a red mark just beside it. She wasn't quite as skilled or as confident as her mother. She didn't dare get me as close to erupting as her mother did so she evoked both less pleasure and less frustration. They didn't take exact turns or do shifts or turns. Like what they did to me each time, when one or the other came was truly random.
They were driving me crazy and I felt myself become more erratic. It started with my cock bfore it spread to the rest of me. Sometimes, I would get hard at the mere sight of Dr. Granger as she entered. She would smile and take a few quick steps forward to grip my cockhead and deny me a touchless orgasm.
Other times, my cock wouldn't so much as twitch until one set of lips or another came in contact with it.
My hips and body followed suit. I'd be unable to stop thrusting my hips one time and the next I'd just quiver helplessly. There was no decision-making process on my part. No agency. I was just a bundle of nerves and subjected to sensations and their subsequent reactions. Sometimes I swore with every breath, sometimes I was silent. Either way, I couldn't express what I felt.
I lost my willpower and looked at the clock.
2:03PM.
It had nearly been four hours.
I still had nearly ten left.
It was the first time I cried that day, but it wasn't the last. Crying was a release if not the one that I longed for. It was an emotional release. It was necessary and happened with increasing frequency as the day went on. It stilled my body. It kept me from shaking and shaking until I exploded in a more literal sense.
Time blurred even more.
I don't know if I didn't notice some of their visits or if the memory just faded within moments. Maybe my brain simply couldn't be bothered to encode memories anymore.
At some point, at least once, I slept.
Beep, beep, beep, beep!
I reached over to stop my alarm clock.
I didn't reach over because I was tied up. I was still tied up. The memories came back to me, such as they were. Hazy fragments of pleasure and pleasure-denied. My soul heaved with them before I realized it.
My breath caught.
12:01 AM.
July 31st.
My eyes found the door. I stared at it hard until is cracked open. Dr. Granger stood there, looking as pristine as she had at the start of the day. She took her time walking over to the bed and pressing the button on the alarm clock with deliberate slowness.
"Oh, my poor dear," she said.
Her lipstick was immaculate. Her outfit was pristine. She must have reapplied her makeup. Must have washed the drops of sweat and precum off of her skin and clothes.
She straddled my hips. My cock didn't rise to the bait. It refused to be teased yet again.
"Are you feeling better after your little nap?" she asked.
I took in a breath.
I took stock of my body. I was sore all over. Part of it might have been the quaking but I think it was largely the result of my flexing trick. It turns out that flexing your whole body scores of times throughout the day was quite the workout.
She pressed her pussy against my flaccid cock.
I whimpered.
While my body was sore and exhausted, the nap had refreshed me. I could put thoughts together. I was pretty sure that this memory would be encoded into my brain.
"Poor dear," she repeated. "You've been through so much."
She stroked my hair.
"It's finally time for your birthday present," she said.
I believed her with my mind, but my body refused to be subjected to more torture.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine. Her scent wafted over me. She didn't press forward but gently gave what I was ready to receive. I was passive as she kissed me. The sensation of her lips against mine at once too much and too little for me.
I started kissing her back. My lips pressed against hers, slipped between them, opened up, and let her tongue in. I felt her smile against my lips.
"I'm glad we didn't break you entirely," she whispered.
She lifted one hand to entwine in my hair as she continued to snog me. If my hands were free, I might have gently grasped her hip at this point. As it was, I slowly became a more active kisser. A little movement, a little pressure, a little tongue.
I also became more aware of her body. The tops of her breasts pressed against my chest. Her shiny corset sticking against my stomach. Her naked pussy sliding against my cock.
My cock. It was rising in slow motion, perhaps not eager to commit to full arousal after being teased for so long. But as it rose, it brought with it the frustrated desire of scores of denied orgasms.
I whimpered.
"None of that, dear," Dr. Granger said. "It's time for your present."
She scooted and gripped and then I was pressing into her. She lowered herself with deliberate slowness and immedaitaely set a steady pace. Her walls clenched around me almost painfully and it felt impossible. It felt like I was experiencing sex for the first time. Like all the pleasure I had known was the merest hint of what was possible. Of what was happening now.
Her hands pressed against my chest and her eyes bored into mine. It all spoke to the truth. The truth that I was hers. Her husband, her lover, her pet. And, more than that, that being hers was good for me. Was, in fact, the best result I could ever have gotten out of life. That the pleasure I was experiencing never would have happened without her making it happen.
I squirmed against the bonds that still held my arms and legs in place.
Yes, this never would have happened without her. And without me belonging to her utterly.
Her pace remained steady even as I lost my composure. My breathing sped up, my body started shaking erratically. I tipped toward the edge and felt all of my pent-up arousal, emotion, and energy tip with me.
Her lips twitched into a soft smile.
"Go ahead, Harry," she said.
My hips bucked and bucked. I was in as little control of them as I was of my arms and legs. A torrent of cum exploded out of me. Exploded and flowed and kept flowing in intense bursts. It felt like I came for as long as I had been teased.
Through it all, she kept up her rhythm. Kept squeezing. Kept possessing me through my gaze.
As I finally stopped, I felt empty. Like half my blood had gone out. Like I was lighter than air and might just float away. Pleasure and satisfaction radiated out from my crotch to the rest of my body.
I lay there and exulted in the feeling.
I was dimly aware of movement around me. My bonds loosened and my free arms were wrapped around Dr. Ganger and Hermione. Their hair surrounded me.
"Happy birthday, Harry," they said.
I rode my bliss into sleep.