So, Harry," Richard Granger asked over soup. "Are you and my daughter in a relationship, or not?"
Hermione nearly spat her water.
"Dad!"
"What? Am I not allowed to ask?" Richard showed his palms in the universal 'keep calm, it's not that deep' gesture.
"Of course you can, Mr Granger," Harry cleared his throat.
"Doctor Granger," the older man said, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes, of course. Sorry, sir." Harry fidgeted with his napkin, clearing his throat.
The boy who took down a hundred Dementors at once was nowhere to be seen.
"It's… complicated," Harry admitted sheepishly.
Richard's eyes narrowed further.
"Alright!" Juliet glared at her husband. "Let them eat in peace. We'll talk later," she sent Hermione an admonishing glance.
"Yes, mum," Hermione cowered slightly.
'Lions, my arse,' Harry commented drily.
Juliet Granger, neé Chevallier, looked at Hermione in astonishment.
She didn't even know what to ask or where to begin. She just sat there, in her spacious reading armchair, and gaped at her daughter and son-in-law.
Goodness, she had a son-in-law!
"Are you shitting me?" Richard broke the tension.
"Dad!"
"Richard!"
"Gwap," Harry's tea went down the wrong pipe.
"I mean, you can't tell me that you're magically married, that somehow my daughter is a descendant of King Arthur, and that you've become magical billionaires at seventeen and expect me to believe it, do you?"
"I'm sixteen," Harry mumbled. He was ignored.
"Well, things are a lot more complicated than that. But it's the truth, Dad. I swear," Hermione set down her cup on the saucer with a sigh.
Richard still didn't look that convinced.
Hermione glanced at Harry, then extended her hand as if to grasp air.
"I mean-" her father started to ask, before leaping half a meter into the air in fright.
"Fuckin-"
His daughter had conjured a motherfucking sword from thin air, without a wand in sight. In their living room.
He didn't think anything could top Professor McWhatever's demonstration with the pig-table, and yet here he was.
A trying life for a regular dentist, that's for sure.
"It's Excalibur, Dad," Hermione said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Excalibur?" He repeated dumbly.
"Yep," Harry confirmed. He extended his own hand.
"And this is the Sword of Gryffindor," he puffed up his chest.
Richard eyed the boy sceptically.
"Should that mean something to me?" Harry deflated a bit. Hermione snickered.
"It's Godric Gryffindor's Sword, Dad. The Founder, the one who gave the name to our Hogwarts House. He's Harry's ancestor from his mum's side," she clarified. "It's kind of a big deal for Wizards."
"Ooh," Richard nodded.
"How do I know that's Excalibur and you're not pranking me?" He asked suspiciously.
"Try to lift it," Hermione offered the sword hilt-first, grabbing the blade. Her mother hissed in concern, but Hermione shook her head with a smile.
As it was bonded to her magic, the blade would never cut her- nor Harry. The same went for the Sword of Gryffindor- she had gone in a complete panic when Harry seemed to nick himself in the thigh during their training, only to discover that the Sword had never hurt him, nor had the venom touched him.
They would've probably killed themselves in the Suspension Chamber, otherwise. Cancel that, Hermione, though. They would've killed themselves for sure- she still had flashbacks from a few close calls. Maybe they'd gotten a bit careless with the whole cloak and dagger thing? Well, not exactly daggers. Still, they were knives of some kind, right? She thought it should be appliable.
Richard vibrated with excitement while trying to maintain as much decorum as possible.
He still had a boy to intimidate, after all.
"Whaa-" he almost fell face-first on the floor, while the sword didn't budge an inch.
"What on Earth, Hermione!" Her mother intervened, helping her husband get his bearings.
"The sword won't move for anyone else," Hermione explained. "Other than Harry, of course. We have the same magical signature, after all," she reasoned.
"The same magic what?" Juliet asked.
Hermione shook her head.
"It's not important- you know what? I'll let you look through the papers," Hermione resolved. "Then you'll know I'm not joking."
She took a few little things from her purse, and Juliet jumped in her chair when they became three enormous ledgers, plus a few loose documents.
Hermione had pulled out their bank statements, the copy of their genealogical trees, their marriage certificate, the paperwork that confirmed them as Heads of their Houses, and her own notes on the Bond. Also, Rita's articles from the previous few days.
She had a lot to explain to her parents. Especially since she hadn't disclosed anything that had happened at Hogwarts since the Troll.
It was going to be a long, long discussion.
Harry shared a commiserating glance with his father-in-law. Hermione and her papers were a shared foe, apparently.
Hermione indicated the red folder on the left.
'Can I show them?' She asked Harry.
'They're family,' he shrugged. 'Show away.'
"What are you doing?" Richard looked at the silent exchange with trepidation.
"Did I mention that we can talk telepathically?" His daughter smiled sheepishly.
"You what?" Juliet exploded.
"Look- just read the papers, skim the ledgers, and then we'll answer any questions. Okay?" Hermione proposed.
"You have a helluva lot to explain, pumpkin."
"I can't fucking believe this."
"Richard! Language," Juliet snapped.
"I'd say some profanity is warranted, Lettie! Iraq was less dangerous than that bloody school!"
"I'm alright, Dad," Hermione tried to calm him down.
"Barely," Juliet stressed, her eyes watery. "Why did you never tell us any of this, Mimi?"
"Because I knew you wouldn't let me go back," Hermione admitted.
"As we fucking should!" Richard yelled. "We should lock you up in your room and make you stay as far away as possible from Scotland and magic and- and everything that's apparently been threatening your life for years, while I sat at home thinking my underage daughter was making cups dance and feathers fly!"
"No, you shouldn't," Hermione said calmly. "And you can't.I'm a Pendragon. I am among, if not the most powerful witch in existence. My magic is as much a part of me as my soul, as much as Harry is. You can't take me away from them any more than you can separate me from my own bones. I'm also part of a Prophecy- Harry might be the main character of it, but our Bond and my presence are essential to the war efforts. Fate doesn't need anyone's permission to decide our lives- I am part of the Magical World, whether you like it or not- and if things continue the way they are, I am going to change it, or die trying." Hermione took a deep breath to recuperate from her rapid-fire rant, raising her gaze to look directly into her father's amber eyes.
"Countless people have died, Dad. People like me, whose only crime was to be born to people like you, without magic. People who opposed the unfair way our World works, and people who simply refused to join that madman's ranks. Harry and I are literally the only ones who can kill the bastard responsible for most of the carnage- but even if I weren't part of the Prophecy, I promised myself that I would help in any way I could. I promised, when my best friend returned from a Surprise Necromance Party with a corpse in his arms, that I would be at his side, no matter what." Hermione's declaration was final.
"But that's not all, is it? There are other reasons you don't want to leave that place behind- other than Harry and you being 'fated', whatever that means." Juliet said with conviction. Lies and omissions notwithstanding, she knew her daughter better than she knew herself.
"Yes", Hermione agreed. "After we win this war- and I swear on everything dear to me that we will- the real work will begin. Voldemort is dangerous, yes. A menace to society, a ruthless terrorist. A genocidal madman. He's all of this and more. He's so evil that he was able to split his soul, that he's able to kill and torture in cold blood daily- he enjoys it, even. But he's not the real problem- he's a symptom. He isn't even a Pureblood! He manipulated and weaponised what was already there for the taking. The rot of our World is a lot deeper than silver masks and grandiose speeches on glory and blood purity. Prejudices, laziness, mediocrity, discrimination, and narrow-mindedness. A vicious system built to discourage any progress, change or form of individuality. Built to make stagnation the standard in everything, to keep the Purebloods on top and the rest in the dust. These are the real problems, and that's what I'm going to change. Only I can," Hermione felt very self-centred and arrogant while saying that, but she knew it was true.
"Why does it have to be you? Why my daughter of all people?" Richard had deflated, resignation and sadness clear in his red-rimmed eyes.
"Who else?" Hermione said bitterly. "Only I have the means and the reasons to do it. I'm a Muggleborn, I know what we live through and what needs to be changed. I am maybe the only Muggleborn in a position of power, being part of the Wizarding aristocracy through Harry and straight-up royalty through my own lineage- the only one in a position to actually do something. No Pureblood on Earth can deny me my seats in the Wizengamot without annulling his own. I have enough magical power to deter anyone from even trying to harm people under my protection, and to eliminate any threats that could otherwise arise. I will drag the Magical World into the twenty-first century kicking and screaming, if necessary- because I refuse to let my future children live in a world like this. And I know I can pull it off, because-" she smiled slightly, remembering Hermione's letter.
"I am the Brightest Witch of My Age," she said out loud for the first time.
Do not ever forget that, even in the bleakest moments.
Harry was taken aback by Hermione's speech.
He'd never thought about it in those terms. He'd just known that he had to engage in certain situations if he wanted to live, and that was what he did- until the Prophecy was revealed to him. Since then, Harry had accepted that maybe war and battle were his destiny, what he was born for. He'd never looked too deeply into why he did what he did.
But Hermione was different, he realised. She looked at things from another perspective. She wanted change, not victory, and she wouldn't settle for surviving what Fate had imposed on them.
She was right, he realised. She was the only one who could do it.
But she was also wrong. Hermione wasn't alone in her quest for a new World, in her yearning for fairness and justice. She had him.
Harry had always fought, in one way or another.
He'd fought tears when Petunia had torn into pieces his Mother's Day cards.
He'd fought to endure Dudley's childhood cruelty.
He'd fought with his friends, at times. With his Soulmate, too.
He'd fought against Basilisks, Dementors and Dragons.
He'd fought against Death Eaters.
He'd fought against Voldemort.
But that was for the sake of survival, he knew. Survival, pride, stubbornness- everything but an ideal. A cause he believed in, as his parents had done. Something he would give his life for.
Harry had already thought about shifting his mentality about his situation before, but he'd never heard the passion Hermione had just expressed, the sheer strength of her convictions.
No one had forced James and Lily Potter to stand in front of Voldemort three times and spit in the face of his promises. James was a Pureblood- the system, as Hermione called it, was designed to give him a perpetual advantage. He could've hidden away in his Manor, could've cowered and bowed to the way things worked.
But he'd spat on that, too.
Lily could've been just another Muggleborn. She could've been invisible, could've retreated to the Muggle world, and maybe she should've- but she decided to be bright and unignorable in a world where breathing was considered a concession to people like her, instead.
Lily's kindness, her intelligence and the mark she'd left on people- it was pure defiance.
She was everything they told her she couldn't be, and she shone with it.
Harry recognised that he'd battled with everything in mind, other than the one thing that mattered most.
Because if he continued to fight with only the lives of his loved ones in mind, what would become of him once one of them died because he failed to protect them? Or once the war ended, and he didn't have to feel a physical, identifiable foe anymore?
He'd be a husk. A lifeless killing machine without purpose or value.
And maybe Hermione would pull him out of the hole, he knew that, but why did he have to fall into it in the first place?
He stood up, resolve clear in the line of his clenched jaw.
"And she has me," he said to his in-laws once Hermione paused for a moment. "I might be in the centre of this war, but I'm going to be her shield once it ends. I have a couple of seats in the Wizengamot, too- I will endorse any and all motions she presents. I will support her with everything that I am and that I have, just as she has supported me for all these years. We will change everything, together. This I vow," Harry looked straight into their eyes.
Hermione's eyes sparkled with admiration, her gaze so intense on him that Harry blushed slightly. Had he spoken too dramatically?
The Grangers gazed at each other for a second.
They were stunned by the maturity the two teenagers demonstrated, their clear-headedness and determination being completely uncharacteristic of their age. They were still convinced that two children shouldn't have the weight of the world on their shoulders, of course, but they'd started to realise the inevitability of it all.
Their daughter wouldn't be herself without her convictions, after all. She'd always been a stubborn, resolute child. She'd never let an injustice lie unnoticed, and she wouldn't start now.
And it seemed that her husband's head was made of the same hard material as hers.
They sighed.
"So," Richard rubbed his throbbing temples for a moment. "What do we do now?"
'That was heavy,' Harry commented, his glasses askew and his head tilted on the backrest of the sofa.
'Don't even mention it,' Hermione sighed.
They were in the Grangers' sitting room, waiting for Bill Weasley to come and put some wards on the house.
They had realised pretty quickly that having the parents of the most famous Muggleborn in Britain completely unprotected from magical attacks wasn't a very good idea. Richard and Juliet agreed very fast, after they finished their recollection of the last six years and explained their true relevance in their World.
It was the third time in two days that they recounted their stories, and frankly, they had had enough of it.
The fact that they would need to repeat parts of it to a crowd of students very soon wasn't lost on either of them- but for now, they were thankfully done.
Fred and George had sent word the day prior, saying that Lavender was planning a surprise party for them and that they'd been invited as suppliers- and friends, obviously. Not that it was much of a surprise anymore, but still. They had asked if Hermione was ready to put their plan with the modified Truth Serum in motion, and she had written her directives back with a concerning -Harry thought- smile on her face.
Hogwarts students wouldn't know what hit them.
Hermione's parents were taking a few moments to digest everything the teens had revealed.
Juliet had finished a packet of tissues before they'd gone through their fifth year, and three by the time Harry had explained his dream and Hermione had made them read that horrifying letter.
She shivered at the thought of living without ever knowing she had a daughter.
Her girl, in another world -or timeline, as the children had described it- had erased their memories and sent them to another continent to save them from the bastards who wanted her dead.
She'd been an outlaw, she'd gone on the run with her best friends, she got tortured, even- all in order to see the world rid of the menace that was the so-called Lord Voldemort.
Her baby was so brave, she thought. So smart, so loyal, so strong. She was extremely proud of her, but her worries weren't assuaged in the least by their reassurances.
Her only daughter had been in constant mortal peril for years, and she knew nothing of it. That was what delivered home the idea of how in over their head Richard and she were.
She was itching to give all of the adults in that school a good talking-to, but she doubted any of them would take a Muggle seriously, even the parents of the only Princess of the Wizarding World- not that she was able to wrap her head around the idea of her little girl being a public figure with political weight and a bank account with more zeroes than a computer code, yet.
And a husband, apparently.
Good gracious. Her little girl was married. Had they given her the talk? Juliet couldn't remember. Hermione was so often away from home that their interactions had been small and fragmented over the previous few years. Shallow, even, when confronted with the reality of her situation.
Juliet had thought Hermione was keeping them at arm's length because they couldn't understand her. Because her World was new and fascinating, and she couldn't get enough of it, preferring to sacrifice her time with her parents to stay among people like herself.
Now she knew, though, that in the last year and a half Hermione hadn't gone vacationing at the Weasleys' because she enjoyed a magical household more than her home, or because she wanted to stay with wizards and live around magic. Juliet had even resented Molly Weasley for it.
But no, her daughter had gone to stay at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, which apparently was some sort of vigilante group founded by the Headmaster of their school during the so-called First Blood War- all to support her best friend turned husband, who was the only one able to kill this mad, magical nazi they talked about earlier.
She couldn't get over the absurdity of her reality.
The fact that she never knew about two Wars happening under her nose, that her daughter had become something of a frontline super-soldier, that she had let her little Hermione, her fifteen-year-old girl, join a resistance group without knowing anything about it, and that her son in law had accomplished feats worthy of a fantasy book- with her daughter's constant involvement, of course- had destabilized her, to say the least.
More accurately, Juliet felt as if she'd woken up in the Twilight Zone.
Her husband, she knew, hadn't taken it any better.
But they had to make peace with it, in some way. She knew that Hermione would leave them to their devices in some time, until some Bill person came to ward their house, whatever that meant. Juliet planned to clear the air a little more, but these wards were apparently very important and had to take precedence over any emotional talk.
Hermione had explained it as something of a shield- that she could accept, at least. More protection was good, especially since she couldn't exactly take a knife to a wand-fight and expect to live through it.
Juliet sighed.
She glanced at her husband, who'd been pacing around the room for minutes. She decided to try the other thing Hermione had explained to her.
"Dobby!"
"Mistress Miney's mother called! Where bes the enemy?" A wrinkled creature, barely taller than a bedside table and with frighteningly big eyes, appeared in front of her, seeming ready for a fight to the death.
She'd been warned of what would happen when she called him, but she couldn't help instinctively shriek in surprise.
She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
"You are my daughter's… house elf, correct?" She asked tentatively. Richard was trying hard not to look like he was on the brink of a heart attack.
"Yes, Mrs Grangey. Me bes Dobby, the Potter Elf," the little thing said, with the same pride as one would announce being fraternal friends with Princess Diana.
Goodness, was her daughter the magical equivalent of Lady D? Would she be called Lady P, for Potter? She was starting to lose it; she could feel it. Going mad in her early forties, what a shame. Juliet thought she'd last longer.
"Er, pleased to meet you, Dobby. I'm Juliet, and he's my husband, Richard," she introduced.
"Me bes knowing, Mrs Grangey," the elf almost seemed offended. "Mistress Miney bes showing me photos. Me bes needing to know who to save when yous call," he explained.
"Ah," both Grangers nodded.
Richard gave her a sly look.
"We don't know much about by Luke SkyPotter there, personally," he explained in a hushed voice, once his wife joined him on the other side of the room. He indicated Dobby with a look. "But the way someone treats a subordinate says a lot about them," Richard looked mightily pleased with himself at his idea.
Juliet nodded in comprehension, not expecting much from the interaction.
"Say, Dobby," Richard approached the elf. "What can you tell me about Harry?"
Dobby looked as if Christmas had come early.
"Great Master Harry Potter bes the best wizard to ever live!" He shouted.
Richard jumped at the sudden shout. By the end of the day, he would feel as if he'd completed a two-hour workout. He already had bad knees, dammit.
"He bes freeing Dobby from the bad Master. He bes treating Dobby like a friend-" Dobby continued his rhapsody, with no end in sight.
"-bes the most valiant-"
"-bravest-"
"-greatest-"
"Oh, Lord."
In the meantime, Harry and Hermione greeted a tired-looking Bill Weasley at the door.
He saluted them with a roguish smile on his face. "My Lord, my Lady," he sketched a bow, laughter in his tone.
"Not you too," Harry whined. Bill laughed.
"Been happening a lot?" He clapped Harry on the shoulder and sent a friendly wink to Hermione.
"You have no idea," Hermione confirmed.
"How's Fleur?" Harry asked, ushering the Cursebreaker into the house.
"Perfect. Always on the warpath with mum, but she's good. Terrifying witches, both of them."
"You don't say," Harry sneaked a look at Hermione, snickering.
"You would know all about scary witches, Potter," Bill conceded with a laugh.
"Everyone else? How are they?" Hermione prepared a cup of tea for Bill.
"As good as they could be, in times like these," he shrugged.
"Dad spoke about meeting you at the Ministry. Bunch of vultures, they are," he added, drinking his tea with a grateful glance at Hermione. Having spent the day speaking to trainees, he was parched.
"Yeah, there's that," Harry passed a hand through his hair, remembering the sensation of having so many sycophantic eyes on him at once. He still felt sticky.
"And mum won't stop talking about how you two are still children and should stay at the Burrow, under her watch," he mimicked his mother's voice.
Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Do I look like I need her protection, Bill?" She loosened her grip on her power slightly, letting it slither across her skin in invisible waves. Bill shuddered.
"You certainly don't, but your parents need mine," He looked at the little garden through the window, searching for a good place to bury his wardstones.
"So, where do we start?"
Ronald Weasley was at sixes and sevens.
He was lying on his bed at the Burrow, the chaos of his enormous family an incessant, irritating background to his racing thoughts.
Harry and Hermione hadn't written to him even once since the train ride, and he'd known about their visit to the Ministry only through his father. And the paper, of course.
Now they had apparently contacted Bill to do something, and the Twins to do something else.
Was he the only Weasley they hadn't told anything to?
That day's issue of the Prophet stared at him in the face.
It announced their newly obtained titles as Lord and Lady Potter, as confirmed by the Minister himself in front of his staff, but hinted at a surprise article coming soon on the subject.
Would they give an interview? What was going to be announced?
He didn't know, because, again, they weren't telling him anything. He stared at the moving photograph for a few moments.
Harry was smiling slightly, his eyes trained on Hermione while she spoke with the Minister. The three of them were walking down a corridor- Harry's arm was wrapped around Hermione's slender waist, her dark curls a halo around her face and down her back. Harry's emerald eyes seemed to glitter even in the black-and-white image, completely focused on his wife. Minster Scrimgeour was nodding at something she had said, and in the last frame of the image, she turned her gaze on Harry, a sweet smile adorning her plush lips- while Harry's visibly turned cheeky.
They were the picture of a perfect couple, and Ron was finding it more difficult than ever to ignore it- especially in his self-imposed semi-isolation.
Fortunately, they should be coming to the Burrow for Christmas dinner the next day.
Maybe they'd finally bring him up to speed.
But, what if they didn't? One of the vicious little voices whispered in his ear. What if they didn't think it was necessary? That he was necessary? What if they didn't need him anymore?
What if the silence was purposeful?
No, he reassured himself. Harry and Hermione had shared everything with him after they bonded. They would do the same now.
He lay on his bed, wrangling the note they'd sent at Hogwarts and the newspaper in his hands.
Ron had to believe in his friends, in himself, because he couldn't lose them. It would be like losing his identity.
What would he be, without the Trio? Who would he be?
Could he even be someone, without them?
He didn't want to know.
"I'm knackered," Hermione moaned, falling onto their bed bonelessly.
"Me too," Harry chucked his jeans in the hamper, and almost ripped his shirt from his body- he was that hurried to take a shower.
No matter how wickedly useful the S.C.- as he called it- was, he still felt like he hadn't washed up in centuries. He looked at his wife, clad in his old Quidditch jersey and nothing else that he could see.
Merlin and all the wizards below, he wanted to jump her bones.
She was all rosy-cheeked and relaxed from her shower- the evil witch had claimed first turn while he was still talking with Sirius about the additional wards they'd asked Bill to put around her parents' cars and their private clinic- and now she was luxuriating on their duvet, her long legs bare and her curls spread on the fabric like a halo. Morgana be chained, that fucking jersey was criminal on her.
He checked for any drool at the corners of his lips.
Harry ran to the bathroom in a frenzy, vowing to take the quickest shower in human history. He had a witch to torment.
Hermione laughed softly at his haste, recognising that look on his face at once. He always had it before they… well, before they did things. Before they pleasured each other, Hermione corrected herself.
If she was woman enough to do it, she would be woman enough to say it.
Especially since she'd timed their evening chatter with the Marauders to perfection, wanting to enter their bedroom by ten o'clock precisely.
She'd considered everything: they would need about an hour in total to shower, then they would probably talk and/or snog for a while, before ravishing each other for another thirty minutes or so.
That would put them in the right timeframe.
Then she'd showered carefully, put on her slutties- most flattering knickers, and Harry's softest Quidditch jersey. It was a combination she knew would make his head spin- she even made sure that the golden 'Potter' and '7' on the back were shined to perfection.
All of that because she wanted to lose her virginity around midnight, as the first Christmas gift to both Harry and herself.
Was it corny? Maybe. Sappy? That, too. Did she care? Nope.
Did she want it? Yes. Did Harry want it? Hermione scoffed to herself.
As if her husband would say no to fucking her. Make love to her, she corrected again.
Hermione sighed to herself.
What could she do? She was an all-or-nothing kind of girl.
"Would you buy me if I were on sale?"
"The fuck?"
"Miss Granger, language!" Harry laughed.
"Sorry! I was deep in thought, and you startled me," Hermione explained herself, blushing and turning on her side to look at her husband. "Also, I think Sirius is having a bad influen-" she swallowed the rest of the word.
Her very, very fit husband was leaning on the bathroom door, dressed only in a pair of black boxer shorts slung low on his narrow hips.
May Godric forgive her, but she wanted to pull them down with her teeth.
"And it's Lady Potter, now. Or Your Highness," she added breathlessly.
Harry came closer to the bed, his palms finding purchase on the duvet and his face hovering above hers.
"My Lady," he murmured, stealing a slow kiss. Hermione mewled in approval.
He bit her bottom lip, then sucked the offended skin in apology.
He sat on the bed properly, his back against the headboard, then pulled her to lie on his bare chest.
He caressed her swollen, red lip with a thumb. "You bruise so easily," he commented.
"I have delicate skin," she grumbled.
"I love it," Harry admitted, his hands gripping her hips to make her straddle him.
"You do? And stop manhandling me. I'm not a doll," Hermione huffed- but she knew she was lying through her teeth. Frankly, sometimes she just liked to complain.
"I do. And no, because you love it."
"Why?" Hermione kissed his pulse point, dragging her tongue on his fair skin.
Harry shuddered. "Are you asking why I love that your skin bruises easily, or why I think you like being manhandled?" Hermione paused for a moment.
"Both."
'Easy. One, because I can still see my fingerprints on your thighs from when I last ate you out,' Hermione squeaked in protest, making him chuckle. 'And two, because you come very, very loudly when I handle you like a doll."
Hermione sniffed, refusing to speak further on the subject.
Especially since he was right. She loved Harry's large hands on her body; she loved that he was strong enough to pick her up and pull her closer, and she loved that he paid attention to her reaction to these things. She also loved that he seemed to never want to stop touching her- it was the same for her, after all. If she had any say in it, she would live on his lap, wrapped around him like an octopus.
God, what had he made of her?
"Now answer my question," Harry kissed her temple.
"Which was?" Hermione was still attacking his neck, leaving as many hickeys as possible.
She loved to wake up to the sight of his skin marred red and purple from her mouth.
It gave her a thrill she couldn't quite explain, nor contain.
"Would you buy me if I were on sale?"
"What kind of question is that, Harry?" Hermione raised her head, looking at him with a confused frown.
"Just answer," he pinched her bum lightly.
"Nope. I would leave you on the shelf to gather dust," she tapped his nose twice with a finger.
"Thank you, love. I knew I could count on you," he rolled them over, Hermione's laughter a balm on his senses.
"Why did you ask that?" She smiled at the sight of him on top of her. That would never get old, she thought.
"I was just thinking about your spending habits. You know, with you trying to get richer than a small nation and everything."
"I don't like the direction this is going in," she had a bad premonition. Harry ignored her.
"I mean, I know that you need money to buy- what was that? Yes, rare and useful books. And to shelter people during the war, of course," he palmed her jaw, angling her face upwards.
"But you never did tell me if your dirty books were included in the necessary expenses or not," he finally got to the dreaded point.
"Har-ry," she sing-songed, unwilling.
"No, no," he snickered. "I told you that this conversation wasn't over."
"I hoped you'd forget about it," Hermione admitted.
"I should've seen this coming. I mean, of course you'd have sex books."
"They are not sex books! It's romance," Hermione huffed, trying to cover her face- but his grip was unyielding.
"Oh yes, the timeless romance of the bookish girl getting railed for ten chapters straight by her 'academic rival'. Truly, Romeo and Juliet reads like porn in comparison."
Hermione opened and closed her mouth for a few seconds, incapable of thinking clearly with his very hard and verysubstantial dick all pressed up on her sex. The worst thing was that he knew that, too. The bastard.
"And do not discard the unforgettable love story of the secretary sucking her boss's cock under his desk."
"Oh God," Hermione's cheeks were flaming red by that point. It didn't help that Harry had started circling his hips slowly, sending sparks of pleasure through her clothed core.
"I also saw a more technical book, like a manual on sex positions-"
"Come o-on," Hermione swatted his shoulder in protest. Harry laughed, letting her burrow her face on his chest.
"Don't be embarrassed, love," Harry murmured against her forehead. He kissed the skin slowly, making his way down her face. He kissed the tip of her nose, her cheeks, and finally got to her lips, where he left a chaste peck.
"Easy to say, for you," Hermione whined.
"You know what? I enjoyed them too," he admitted. "Granted, I wasn't thinking about the characters while I read them."
"You weren't?" Hermione asked tentatively, her cheeks flushed a pink so pretty that he had to restrain himself from biting them.
"Nope," Harry continued his way down, kissing her chin, the long line of her throat, and finally meeting the barrier of his jersey. "I was thinking about us. About how much I would have loved to get my cock sucked under the table in the Library, for one," he admitted, pushing the fabric away from her collarbone.
Hermione knew that in the morning, she'd be looking at a battlefield of marks in the mirror.
She loved that idea. She loved a lot of things, in recent days.
Harry sucked, bit, and then released her skin with a wet pop. A dark, blooming bruise formed immediately in front of his eyes.
The possessive satisfaction reflected in his expression made her even needier, her hips grinding on his abs.
"There," he said quietly. "All better."
"Mhm?"
"You look so good, all marked up like this," he admitted in a low voice, stroking one of the bruises he'd left on her neck with his thumb.
'I want to…' Hermione confessed, but let her words trail off in last-second shyness.
"What?" Harry asked, unsure.
"I want to do it," she swallowed nervously.
"You mean…" Harry's eyes widened slightly. Hermione nodded.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Are you?" She bit her lip nervously.
"Do you even have to ask?" Harry was baffled. As if he wouldn't give his left nut to be with her. Maybe a leg, too.
"Yes. It's not just my first time, love."
Harry's eyes softened.
"'Course, Mi," he kissed the hollow of her throat. "I want it too. We can stop if we need to, okay? For whatever reason, at any moment. "
Hermione nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck.
'Kiss me,' she tugged slightly at the ends of his hair. It was getting long, she thought distractedly. Harry shook his head, smiling, and placed a peck on her collarbone.
'Nope. I have things to do, places to go," she playfully tugged on his ear in retaliation. Harry swiftly -if a bit unwillingly- removed his jersey from her smaller frame, stopping for a moment to admire the sight she made.
'You're so pretty,' he husked, his eyes hooded while a hand trailed down her side. 'The most beautiful girl in the world.'
Hermione scoffed, hiding her face with an arm. She lay on her back, all soft, bare skin and wild curls- if not for the smallest pair of knickers he'd ever seen in his life. Harry groaned.
'Are you trying to kill me?' he caressed the skin under the red fabric, noticing how well it matched the jersey. 'God, you planned this. Didn't you?' Hermione smiled sheepishly.
'Of course you did,' Harry said, his lips making a downward path on her chest. 'Evil, evil witch.'
Hermione's chuckle morphed into a moan once he took one of her nipples between his teeth.
Harry loved her tits. There wasn't any other way to say it. He loved to weigh them in his hands, to play with her stiff little peaks and to make them look all flushed and swollen.
He took one in his right hand, the soft mound fitting perfectly in his palm- as he knew it would.
Harry sucked harder on her hard nipple, her light moans spurring him on.
The sight of them all reddened and shiny made his cock throb against her thigh.
Hermione's back arched as if to present herself to him, to pull him closer than she already did with the hand she'd buried in his black locks.
He decided to switch, giving the other breast the same treatment.
'Harry…' Hermione loved when he lavished attention on her, loved the way he took his time to worship her body, and loved feeling his arousal mixing with her own through his magic- but she was getting frustrated. She needed something else, something more.
'Impatient little witch,' he punctuated every word with a kiss on a different part of her body, sometimes stopping to leave a mark, or to bite the fleshiest parts of her hips and thighs.
Once Harry was satisfied that her skin had been suitably ruined, he decided to finally stop teasing her.
When he looked at her underwear, Harry couldn't help but swear. They had the same effect on him that a red flag had on a bull, just as she had predicted.
Hermione had noticed that certain things just set him off in a different way- they triggered his most primal, unhibited side, and that was the effect she'd wanted. Especially since his tongue got looser the deeper he was lost in lust.
'They are too pretty to be taken off,' he toyed with the sodden gusset of her knickers. 'Should we keep them on for a while? It must've been a lot of effort to find such slutty knickers in the same exact colour as my shirt.'
'They're not slutty,' Hermione successfully hid a smirk, but spread her thighs a little more.
'They are, and you know it. You chose them to make me harder, after all, didn't you? You wanted me to lose control,' Hermione only hummed in response, not deigning to respond. That dismissal only spurred him on further.
'Mission accomplished, you fucking tease.'
He abruptly turned her on her belly, her hips raised in the air. 'That's better,' he gripped her arse in his hands, parting it to appreciate the view her choice of underwear made.
'Fuck, look at that. They don't even exist,' he played with the little strip of red lace lodged between her cheeks for a moment. The movement had the side effect of dragging the rough fabric side to side on her clit, and Hermione was unable to contain a loud moan in response. At that point, she was desperate to be filled, to quench the insatiable thirst for him that ravaged her from the inside.
'So sensitive,' he angled her hips further. Hermione decided to drop all pretences, resting her face on the pillow and arching her back as much as she could.
'Your little cunt is begging to be fucked, Mi. Can you feel it drip?' He moved the red lace away from her core, the fabric sticking to her skin with her fluids.
'Such a greedy snatch you have, love. Always soaked and ready for me. You've been coming on my face and hands for days on end, but you still want more, do you?' He pushed the tips of two fingers inside her, barely stretching the entrance. Hermione's hips protested, trying to push to get them deeper, but he held her in place with his other hand on her lower spine.
'Answer me,' he removed his fingers for a moment, deciding to get a better look at her folds. Harry knew it would fill Hermione with a mix of embarrassment and want, as he'd recently discovered how much she liked being on display for him. Fortunately, he loved it just as much.
'Yes,' she moaned.
Harry hummed in acknowledgement, then used two fingers to spread her lips open. He couldn't help but groan when a trickle of her juices ran down his hand. That got him into a frenzy.
Licking it off quickly, he stopped dawdling and dived in- he was scared Hermione would use violence if he didn't get a move on, too, if he was being honest.
His tongue fucked her hole roughly, while his fingers went to rub her swollen clit in circles. There was little to no buildup, as he felt through the Bond exactly what she needed in that moment- otherwise, he could've spent the whole night just staring at her. His whole life, for all he cared.
Hermione knew she wouldn't last long.
She'd been keyed up ever since she'd 'dressed' with the intention of making her husband as feral as possible. She had felt such a thrill while putting a thong on, feeling grown up and womanly for maybe the first time in her life. The fact that Harry had lost his head for it was a very welcome added bonus.
He flipped her on her back again, two fingers immediately taking his tongue's place.
Harry dodged every attempt Hermione made at taking his cock in her hands, fearing not lasting long enough to actually get inside her. Ultimately, he pinned her wrist out of the way with one of his hands.
He tried to run a tally of what he needed to do in the next few minutes.
Harry had taken the time to research the subject, looking up how to prepare her to take him and how to make it less painful as possible. He had gotten a lot of useful information from both her books and the pamphlets Sirius had slipped him the day prior, with a wink- but sadly, he hadn't magically gotten the endurance of an expert. That would have been nice, but would come with experience, he guessed.
Just like he hadn't lasted much when Hermione had given him his first blow job, he didn't think he would resist long under a new, probably even more intense sensation.
He resolved to make her at least come on his fingers and mouth in a preemptive apology. And to make her as slippery as possible, he added in his mind.
That was very important, he'd learned.
Maybe Hermione had it right about books. Bloody useful, indeed.
'There,' Hermione gasped, his fingers pressing something inside her that made her see stars. Harry arched a brow slightly, intrigued, and kept rubbing that spot with his curled fingers.
Hermione moaned brokenly, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, and her magic took over the remaining space between their bodies.
Harry felt her coming more than he saw it, his thumb still circling her clit in the swift circles she liked best, until a forceful spray of her cum hit his wrist.
He looked at her weeping cunt in a daze, his fingers feeling the throb and pulse of her tight walls in a way he was sure would kill him when applied to his cock.
He snapped out of it only to bring his mouth closer. Harry tried to catch as much of her juices as possible, not stopping even when his hand started cramping, until Hermione tugged at his hair, keening in overstimulation.
"Such a perfect girl," he caressed her abdomen, crawling up the bed to calm her down from her orgasm. He felt that particular one had been a bit too much for her, if the amount of liquid staining the sheets was of any indication.
'You okay?' He pushed some of her wild curls out of her flushed face. They stayed chest to chest for a long moment, until Hermione got her breath under control.
'Perfect,' Hermione kissed him languidly, her tongue collecting her own taste from his mouth. She moaned at the sensation, her pussy tingling with renewed interest.
She just couldn't get enough of him.
'I'm ready, love,' she whispered in his mind, a hand going to caress the line of his jaw.
Harry swallowed, nodding nervously.
He pressed his forehead to hers, drawing a deep breath. He opened his eyes, meeting her almost-black gaze, lust and love making her pupils swallow the golden brown whole. It was time.
"I love you."
"I love you," Hermione confirmed, a sweet smile on her face.
It wasn't their usual bedroom talk, but she decided that it couldn't have been any better. She took a moment to imprint his lineaments in her memory, from his unique, mesmerising emerald eyes to his aristocratic nose and reddened lips. He was so beautiful it hurt.
Harry realised in that moment just how fortunate he was.
He'd found the love of his life in his best friend. The most amazing, loyal, brave and beautiful witch he'd ever known- and she loved him just as much. What else could he ask for?
He glanced one last time into her eyes. One last confirmation. Hermione responded with a small eyeroll, making him smile.
Harry knelt between her thighs, lining the broad head of his cock with her folds.
He took one of her hands in his, pressing it against the mattress, and felt her reassuring squeeze. With a deep breath, he finally entered his wife's cunt for the first time.
Tight, wet, smouldering hot walls encased his tip, and he had to stop for a second to stave off his orgasm. He shook his head to get his bearings, feeling Hermione's breath increasing in tempo.
When he found the little barrier, he retreated slightly, giving a last squeeze to her hand, then sheathed himself in one long, uninterrupted stroke.
Hermione gasped, the sensation overwhelming but not unpleasant- if not for the pinch she'd felt once he broke her hymen. Harry palmed the side of her face, asking without words if she wanted him to continue.
Hermione nodded, her cunt throbbing once she got a better look at his face. Harry was flushed from the tip of his ears to the top of his chest, his lithe muscles straining to keep from pounding her into the mattress, and his black hair falling onto his darkened eyes.
There would be a time for the pounding thing, too, she said to herself.
'You can move, love,' she reassured him, only getting a rigid nod in response before Harry started thrusting slowly inside her, giving her time to accommodate his girth and get used to the pressure.
Harry was fighting for his life in that moment.
His wife's cunt was paradise, he decided. If heaven existed, then it was between her thighs- and he had to recall everything unpleasant in his life, from Umbridge to Snape, to Trelawney, in order not to fill up Hermione with the first load of many.
Because if he had any say in it, they would be doing this everywhere, anytime, and every day.
It was just too good. Too good for a teenager whose sexual experience had started developing the week prior.
But he was Harry Potter, and he would never let himself be called a two-pump-chump.
His honour was at stake. His reputation. His- fuck.
Hermione had started thrusting back.
'Mi,' he rasped, completely undone.
'Love?' She answered hoarsely. Harry's cock felt like it was splitting her in two, but it was a lot better than she'd expected from their first time.
It was still all too uncomfortable to allow her to come anytime soon, but her arousal was steadily building up- she was getting wetter and wetter, Harry's thrusts becoming sloppier by the second.
'Not gonna last much more,' Harry admitted, biting his bottom lip in concentration.
'Don't care,' Hermione gasped when he slipped deeper, her legs wrapping around his waist.
'So good,' Harry groaned, speeding up slightly. He decided to give her whatever pleasure he could before he lost it.
He palmed her lower abdomen, pressing slightly on the warm skin, and almost shot his load once he realised he could feel his cock moving inside her cunt.
'Fuck,' his movements lost coordination for a second, while Hermione let out a moan that surprised even her.
'Do that again,' she pleaded, the sensation completely new and amazing. She had to research that at a later date.
'Merlin,' Harry gasped when she brought him even closer with her legs. Her cunt was a throbbing, gripping furnace, and her earlier orgasm, together with his precum, lubricated his movements so well that his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
'Mi, I'm gonna-'
'Come, love. Come inside me, please,' she tried to match his thrusts. She wanted to know if she would feel him coming like they did in the books, if she would truly feel the blast of his seed on her cervix or if she would only feel it trickle out of her well-used cunt, mixing with her own fluids-
She was so focused on the thought that she inadvertently sent it through the bond.
'Fuck- Hermione!' Harry's hips stuttered, and his world exploded. He came in long spurts, his movements not stopping until he was completely and utterly spent.
The force of his orgasm provoked an unprecedented wave of magic to wash over the whole house, the walls trembling and the furniture shaking in place. Every trinket in their room had crashed on the floor, destroyed.
Harry collapsed onto the bed, twisting in time to lend only half-way on top of his wife. A grandfather clock chimed somewhere, indicating the start of a new day.
'Merry fucking Christmas,' he commented after a few seconds. 'I think I blacked out for a moment.'
He had such a dazed, adorable expression that Hermione couldn't contain a joyful, tinkling laugh.
Harry huffed a chuckle in response before remembering her last thought.
A devilish look passed on his face, his hand approaching her gaping folds stealthily.
'You wanted to feel my cum, uh?'
'You heard that?' She was embarrassed all over again.
'Uh-uh,' he confirmed, a finger collecting the few drops that had started leaking on her thigh.
Hermione shuddered.
Harry pressed two fingers back inside her, stuffing his spent back inside.
'You didn't come,' he observed, a second digit joining the first.
'It's almost impossible to-'
'We're going to fix that,' he interrupted her.
He returned between her knees, spreading her thighs as far apart as he could.
'You're so full,' he murmured, watching his cum mix with hers in fascination. He pushed it back and let it drip in intervals, making her hips twitch with unspoken need.
Harry took a long, broad lick on her cunt.
'Oh God, Harry. Don't stop,' Hermione moaned, hiding her face in the pillow beneath her head.
'We taste fantastic, wanna try?' He brought the two fingers to her mouth, his wife sucking on them without reservations.
'Mhm,' she confirmed, her walls clenching at the obscenity of his gesture.
'We're going to have so much fun, you and I, Your Highness.'
Neither of them ever forgot the night before Christmas of 1996.