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“I love you,” Harry murmured as he nuzzled her neck. “I love you, Hermione. I love you.”
His strong arms held her up against the wall, his thick cock pumping in and out of her. Merlin, he felt so good when he was pressing her up against the wall--when his lips were sucking a mark on her skin and whispering promises.
“Please…” She whimpered, though Hermione wasn’t quite sure what she was begging for. Did she want him to keep going or to stop? Grind his hips against hers or pull away? Kiss her shoulder or say those words she so loved to hear over and over again.
“Fuck, love,” he growled. “Never letting you go. Merlin, you feel like heaven. Love you. I love you, Hermione.”
Pleasure overtook her then. It wasn’t like an explosion or a crashing storm. No…sex with Harry always felt like a warm blanket on an autumn evening--a cup of hot tea on a winter’s night.
Sex with Harry always felt like love…didn’t it?
Harry came as he usually did, with a grunt of satisfaction and one last hard thrust. It ended as it usually did, too, with Harry pulling away almost immediately.
His eyes sparkled as he buttoned his trousers back up. “That was great.”
Hermione thought that maybe she should tell him they couldn’t do this anymore, that she couldn’t watch him walk away time and time again. “Harry--”
“I love you, Hermione. You know that, right?”
She nodded, righting her school uniform.
Harry grinned. “See you in Potions later?”
When Hermione nodded again, Harry walked out of the empty classroom. He didn’t bother closing the door, never did when they rushed like this.
Her jaw tingled from the way his scruff had rubbed against it. She liked him with the beginnings of a beard. It suited him, made him look more mature. His cologne--because he wore that now--and the scent of sex hung heavy in the air. It was an intoxicating combination that Hermione thought she may never get tired of. Her knees were weak, her hair felt matted to her head, and the result of Harry’s orgasm was beginning to run down her thigh.
And yet it wasn’t the first time she’d felt these things--wasn’t the first time she’d silently thanked Lavender for teaching her the less academic kind of charms. Being able to quickly fix her hair and unwrinkle her clothing kept coming in handy nowadays.
“Miss Granger?” Hermione blinked, her eyes coming into focus. Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway with a concerned look on her face. “Are you alright, dear?”
How long had she been standing there, lost in her own head? Had her professor seen the tear slip down her cheek?
“What? Oh. Oh, yes. I’m fine. Just lost in thought.” The lie felt sour on her tongue.
The look the old woman gave her made it clear she didn’t believe her. Still, the Professor didn’t pry. “Alright, well. Lunch break is nearly finished. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
---
Hermione pulled her dress into its proper position, smoothing out the wrinkles.
“That was great, love,” Harry said. He zipped up his trousers and looked around the room. He smirked. “This is a first. The bloke’s bathroom at the Leaky Cauldron isn’t somewhere I’d ever imagined having you.”
Having her. Like Hermione was a possession, a toy. She cleared her throat and gestured towards the door. “I suppose we should…”
He took a step towards her. His hand on her jaw was tender. His thumb stroked her cheek like she was something precious. “You know I love you, right?”
She nodded, her heart swelling with emotion. “Of course, Harry. I love--”
“Great!” He grinned and smacked her ass. “Let’s get back to our friends, yeah?”
Hermione waited precisely three minutes before following Harry out of the grimy bathroom. She immediately went for the bar and ordered a shot of fire whiskey. Thankfully, Tom chose the bottle from the bottom shelf and poured her a healthy glass. That was good. Hermione didn’t want a smooth sip. She needed the cheap stuff--something that would burn its way down and destroy the awful feeling that resided in her middle.
Sipping slow, she merely watched Tom work. It was soothing, in a way. Tom’s movements were practiced and rhythmic.
“Hey!”
Hermione froze at the sound of Ginny’s voice, fear rushing over her skin. Ginny. Harry’s girlfriend. The woman Harry went home to every night…Did she know? Did she know what had just happened in the bathroom? Did she have any idea how many times they’d--
“Earth to Hermione!” Ginny yelled over the loud conversations around them. “Are you getting this round? I can’t remember. I thought it was Dean’s turn, but then I saw you up here.”
No…of course, she didn’t know. If Ginny knew, then Hermione would likely already be in St. Mungo’s.
Hermione pasted a smile on her face. “Just needed a moment, but I don’t mind getting the next round. Another pitcher of butterbeer and ten glasses of Ogden’s, right?”
“No! It’s your birthday. I’ll get this one. Besides,” Ginny grinned conspiratorially, leaning in like they were discussing some grand plot. She motioned over to where Ron sat at their group of tables. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
---
She tried to blink the tears away as she watched everyone congratulate Harry and Ginny.
Mrs. Weasley had insisted on throwing an engagement party--no doubt ecstatic that her daughter was marrying The-Boy-Who-Lived. Truthfully, Hermione was surprised at how grand it was, although perhaps she shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t as though the Weasleys didn’t have money now. They could certainly afford a gathering of this size.
No, it was more surprising that Harry had gone along with it. He’d always hated big parties and large groups--especially in the months following the final battle.
If Hermione were honest, though? This feeling was less surprise and more…shock. The experience of the unexpected.
That feeling of loss that hit like a bludger.
“You alright?” Ron wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
She cleared her throat. “Of course. I’m just so…so happy for them.”
And Hermione was happy for Harry and Ginny. Harry deserved this--deserved a large, kind family who would love him. He deserved the bright smile that graced his handsome face every time he looked at Ginny. But just last week, he had promised to love Hermione forever.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Ron murmured into her hair. “Finding your soulmate at just eleven years old.”
Her throat constricted with emotion, with guilt and regret and loss. Because Ron wasn’t really talking about Harry and Ginny--he was talking about them--And all Hermione could think of was the moment she met Harry on the Hogwarts Express.
“I’m going to go to the loo.” Hermione stepped out of her boyfriend’s embrace.
He had stars in his eyes. Love shown on his face so bright that it made her heart ache as he smiled. “I’ll get you a drink?”
She dipped her head in a slight nod before exiting the room and making her way up the stairs. There was, of course, a bathroom on the main floor of The Burrow, but she needed a break. She needed to be able to take a breath--to calm herself without the others wondering what was wrong.
Ron was kind and sweet, and she loved him. Didn’t she? He was one of her best friends. He just...wasn’t Harry. He didn’t make her feel like Harry did.
A small sort of peace settled over her as she splashed cool water over her face. It felt divine on her heated skin. Steeling herself, she exited the room. Instead of turning towards the stairs, however, she turned left and headed down the hall. How many times had she slept in these rooms? How many times had she and Ginny stayed up talking? Or the long nights where she, Harry, and Ron would plan their next move? Or those moments where she would dream that maybe--just maybe--Harry would change his mind.
“Hermione?”
She froze, the sense of peace slipping away.
“Hey, Harry,” she turned to find him walking towards her. “Shouldn’t you be--”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the nearest room. It was Ginny’s old room. Of course, it was. The moment the door was closed behind them, Harry had her backed up against it. His hands gripped her waist as her back hit the hard wood of the door.
“Harry--” she tried again, but he cut her off with a searing kiss. It was the kind of kiss that never failed to have her knees going weak--never failed to have her melting against him. It always reminded her of that first time he’d kissed her. Everything seemed so simple then.
“Fuck, Hermione,” Harry growled into her mouth, his hand moving to palm her breast. “You look so good today. Need you. Need to be inside you.”
“Harry…” She tried to protest, but his name rolled off her lips like a moan. Her fingers curled into his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Hermione gasped as he spun her around. She’d just barely caught her footing when Harry bent her over.
“Might want to brace yourself, love,” he whispered in her ear. He had one hand gripping her hip--the other working on unbuttoning her shorts and pushing them down her legs. “This is going to be hard and fast.”
She felt movement behind her. Harry was freeing himself from his trousers.
She could imagine what he looked like in that moment. His pupils would be blown wide with the prospect of pleasure. His hands would shake slightly in anticipation. In a moment--when he finally entered her and began to thrust his hips against hers--sweat would bead at his temples. He would lick his lips as he watched his cock slide in and out of her center. When his bright green eyes looked at her, there would be emotion in them--love, maybe?--and their connection would be something almost sweet.
Perhaps that was why he stood behind her now. A deliberate connection like eye contact would be too much, considering it was his engagement party to another woman. Still, Hermione wanted to believe that the feeling was still there.
“Oh fuck, yes. Hermione…” Harry groaned as he entered her. “Been wanting this all day. Needed inside your sweet cunt the moment you walked in.”
His crass words made her bristle. Harry had never really spoken to her like that before. His words were always kind and loving. He thrust into her, and Hermione couldn’t deny the physical pleasure coursing through her. She couldn’t deny the small sense of pride she felt at being the one he wanted. Harry cared for her. He loved her. That’s why he was here with her right now instead of downstairs.
A moan escaped Hermione’s lips, and Harry stilled. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved a hand to that hot place between her legs. Two fingers circled over her clit. Hermione had to moan again--she couldn’t help it.
“I didn’t cast a silencing charm, love. Do you think they can hear you yet?”
“What?” Hermione turned her head to look at him. “Harry, we can’t! They can’t--”
He pulled out of her only to slam back in. The sound of his hips slapping against her ass was so loud in the small room. “Then we’ll just have to be quiet. You can be quiet for me, can’t you, love?”
“Harry,” she whimpered before biting her lip. She wasn’t so sure she could be quiet. She wasn’t sure that she could hold back her cries of pleasure because this was Harry. And Harry knew her so well. He knew how to make her scream and weep and beg. He knew how to touch her. “Please…”
“Fuck, yes,” he swore. And then he started fucking her in earnest, his cock and fingers giving her as much pleasure as the filthy words falling from his mouth.
Harry came with a grunt and one final thrust, as he usually did. Hermione came on a cry that was far too loud for their current circumstances. Perhaps, in the deepest parts of her, she hoped they would be found in such a compromising position--hoped that everyone would finally see Hermione’s love for her best friend and the way Harry cared for her in return.
His panting breaths were hot against her back. “Bloody hell, Hermione. That was awesome. Better than usual, I’d say.”
A bitter kind of disappointment filled her. Why, she didn’t know, but there was always that let down after their…their interactions. It was that moment when guilt and doubt filled her--the moment when she knew Harry would walk away, and that was the last thing she wanted him to do.
“Hermione?”
She froze at the sound of Ron’s voice in the hallway.
“Hermione?” He called out again. “Where are you?”
“You better answer him, love,” Harry whispered, though he still hadn’t pulled out of her. It was, perhaps, the first time he hadn’t pulled out of her immediately.
“I--I’m in here!” She called out as she tried to pull away from Harry. He just tightened his grip on her hips. Her voice was breathy as she said, “Just needed a moment to myself.”
She could practically feel Ron’s concern through the closed door. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”
“Yes! I’ll be down in a minute or two.”
“…Okay.” He paused. “Are you sure?”
Harry chose that moment to slowly pull his cock out of her, and Hermione could feel his come begin to slip out of her as well.
Was she alright? Had she ever been? When was the last time she had truly felt okay with anything? Fifth Year? Or perhaps it was Sixth Year before Ron hooked up with Lavender and Harry started comforting Hermione? It was fine at first, so when had it all gone wrong? When they were on the run or in the days after the battle? During Eighth Year or the first time he’d owled her to meet up afterwards?
“Hermione?” Ron said again.
“I’ll just be a minute, Ron. I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. Hermione thought that, perhaps, she hadn’t been fine in a long time.
When she re-entered the kitchen--alone--a few minutes later, only George remained, the rest of their friends and family already gathered outside for a pick-up quidditch match.
“Hermione!” George exclaimed.
“Hello, George.” She could only hope her voice sounded steady. “Everyone else is outside already?”
He looked at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “Ginny, Fleur, and Luna are already over at Potter Manor. They’re waiting for you.”
Oh...right. Ginny wanted to celebrate with all the girls. “I--It must have slipped my mind. I was upstairs, taking a moment away from the mayhem and--”
“Yeah, that’s what Harry said you were doing.”
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, and she looked at George with wide eyes. He knew. The look he gave her said it all. He knew what was happening between her and Harry. Between her and his little sister’s fiance. She couldn’t speak--couldn’t breathe . If he knew, then he would surely tell Bill or Charlie. And fuck . Ginny would find out. And Ron. Merlin, Ron didn’t deserve this.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” George murmured. He sounded so sad. “I mean. It’s not great, and you need to tell Ron. But, Hermione…Harry’s using you. I love him like a brother, yeah? But he hasn’t been the same since the war. What he’s doing to you isn’t right, and it’s not your fault. You know that, don’t you?”
She swallowed against the emotion clogging her throat. The thing was…George was wrong. It was Hermione’s fault. She was too selfish to push Harry away--too in love to tell him “no.”
She had tried to say “no” a few times now--tried to tell them that they should stop--but Harry had looked at her with such...such love and devotion that she hadn’t been able to hold her ground. He had promised that things would change and that they were meant to be together.
“Hermione?” George was looking at her expectantly.
“I…” Hermione trailed off. She couldn’t look at him anymore. She didn’t want him to see any more of the truth than he already knew. “George, It’s not…It’s just…I mean. He--He loves Ginny. And I love Ron, of course. But Harry--he loves me, too.”
It sounded like a weak excuse to her own ears, and it must have to George too because his look softened into something like pity. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like that George knew or that he pitied her in this situation. George just didn’t understand. Harry loved her. Harry would always love her.
“Yeah…okay…” He finally said, smiling sadly as if he understood completely, and waved her towards the Floo. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
---
“You look beautiful, love,” Harry said, his hips still rocking into hers. They’d already come--already reached the end--but he had yet to pull out. “This dress...Merlin, you look perfect.”
“Harry…” Hermione whimpered. Her body was too sensitive to keep this up, and they were going to be late. She, especially, couldn’t be late today.
Finally, finally , he pulled out of her, and she felt something close to relief. When had being with Harry become…this? When had it become something she almost dreaded--wanted over as quickly as possible?
She reached for her wand to rid herself of the evidence, but he stopped her, his eyes fixed on the spot where his seed was beginning to leak from her core.
“Don’t.” Harry took her wand before helping her stand. “I want you to feel it…want you to feel me today.”
Swallowing thickly, Hermione nodded. It was sweet...wasn’t it? That Harry wanted to be so close to her today?
With a huge, boyish grin, he took a step towards the door and threw her wand back to her. “You do look good, love. That color--cream or whatever? It’s nice. But then, it’s not like you can really wear white on your wedding day, can you?”
Harry winked and left the room.
Hermione refused to cry. She refused to cry on what should be the happiest day of her life--and it would be. Ron was one of her best friends. He was sweet and kind and cared for her. He loved her, and she loved him.
She just…she loved Harry more. She’d been in love with Harry for as long as she could remember.
Hermione was smoothing her hands down the front of her dress, trying to remove the wrinkles when she heard someone clear their throat.
“Are you a witch or not?” The haughty voice said just before Hermione felt a wave of magic ripple over her.
She looked in the mirror to find her dress in pristine condition once again, her hair perfectly coiffed. Luna and Ginny really had done a fantastic job with her hair and makeup. And, apparently, so had Draco Malfoy.
“Thanks.” She smiled, though it likely didn’t reach her eyes.
It had Draco rolling his. “Mother taught me. How do you think I always looked so good in school?”
“Whatever,” Hermione scoffed, though it was all in good fun. Draco was another of her best friends--someone she genuinely enjoyed spending time with. Even he and Ron got along well nowadays, so going out with the two of them brought her a joy she didn’t often feel.
She looked in the mirror again. She could do this. She could walk down the aisle with Draco and have him give her away to Ron. She could stand there in front of everyone while Kingsley bonded them for life. She could dance her first dance with Ron.
Nothing else mattered today--not Harry’s years of promises. It was just her and Ron.
“He’s using you, you know,” Draco interrupted her thoughts.
She froze. Why did everyone keep telling her that? It wasn’t the truth. So she told him so. “That’s not true. He loves me.”
“Granger…” His voice was so un-Malfoy-like, so soft compared to his usual posh drawl, that Hermione couldn’t help but turn to look at him as he spoke. “He doesn’t love you. You don’t treat someone you love the way he treats you.”
“But--”
“No buts, Granger. You’re not a stupid person. You were at the top of our class, and you’re not just book smart. You understand people and emotions and all that rot.”
“Draco--” she tried again.
“So you know what he’s doing is wrong…Listen, what would you tell a friend--Astoria or Pansy or Luna--if someone was treating them this way?”
“I’d tell them to leave, of course. They don’t deserve to be treated that way.”
The words were out of Hermione’s mouth before she could stop them. Her eyes went wide.
Draco merely raised an eyebrow.
“I--I…” She stuttered, unsure of what to say. Harry loved her, didn’t he? The others just didn’t understand. They didn’t know Harry the way she did.
“Alright, Granger.” Draco stood straighter, his face morphing back into that pointy, aristocratic mask she grew up with--the one her friend often wore to hide his true self. He offered her his arm. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
---
Hermione stared at the ceiling over his shoulder. They were as close as they could be at this point in her pregnancy, her swollen middle pressed between them.
“So fucking gorgeous like this,” Harry panted between thrusts.
She didn’t respond, just bit her lip and closed her eyes.
“It’s mine,” he growled. “Has to be, doesn’t it? Can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you, love.”
She might have made a noise of agreement, but she wasn’t sure. Her focus was all on trying to fight the tears building behind her eyelids. She couldn’t cry. Not now. She could break down after he left.
“You fucking glow, Hermione. Oh--fuck yes! You feel good. Look fucking amazing. Growing my--my child, and--”
He pulled out suddenly, wrapping a hand around his cock and jacking himself until his hot seed covered her stomach. Hermione immediately reached for her wand, needing to clean herself. She needed it off of her. She needed him off of her.
“No,” Harry stopped her movement just as he’d done a hundred times before. “My baby is in there. I know it.”
With that, he began rubbing her middle in wide circles, spreading the evidence of their sin across her skin.
“Harry--” She spoke for the first time since he’d walked in the door.
“I love you, Hermione, and I’ll love our child. You know that, right?”
She could only nod because the look in Harry’s eyes said that he really, truly believed that he loved her.
“Right.” She tried to smile.
In return, he smiled that brilliant smile of his and stood. As Harry dressed, his eyes kept moving to her stomach, to the possibility that she was growing his child.
“Okay.” He grabbed his wand. “Ginny is just about to pop, too, thank Merlin. Her cravings have been ridiculous, you know? She’s about as lovely as a blast-ended skrewt when she’s pregnant.”
Harry kissed her cheek before he left, and if he tasted the salty wetness of a tear, he didn’t say anything.
She couldn’t stop the tears from falling as she rose to get dressed. Of course, she never could stop crying afterwards now. They had all been right--because Ginny was pregnant, and Hermione wasn’t completely sure whose baby she was carrying, and this was no way to treat someone you cared about.
Hermione was hurting Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. She was surely letting Minerva down, who gave her these pitying looks when they met for tea, and Draco’s eyes were almost indecipherable when he looked at her. Almost.
There was pity there, too.
They’d been right all these years, but so had Hermione. Harry loved her, though she wasn’t so delusional as to think it was real. Harry only thought what he was feeling was love. He only wanted that which he couldn’t have. He was covetous--greedy.
She was suddenly wet between her legs, and a slight twinge of pain shot across her swollen middle.
A sob wrenched itself from her throat.
“Hermione?” Luna’s mystical voice wafted into the room.
“Come--come in,” Hermione stammered. She must have missed the sound of the floo in the other room.
As soon as Luna entered, she started waving her hand through the air and occasionally grasping at something unseen to throw it over her shoulder.
Hermione wanted to laugh, but another small pain distracted her. “Please stop--er--cleansing my aura?”
“If you insist.” The other woman sat on the bed next to her, as if sitting next to a half-dressed pregnant woman was an everyday occurrence. “Anyway, it’s time, isn’t it? We should be off to St. Mungo’s?”
Hermione nodded, not bothering to ask how Luna knew.
“And you are ready for the outcome?”
She laughed. “For a baby? I’m not sure anyone can be completely prepared for--”
“Hermione.” It was the most serious tone she had ever heard Luna use.
“I--” Hermione looked away, unable to meet her friend’s intense blue gaze. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
And they did, didn’t they? Everyone knew. They’d all known all along.
Luna nodded. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
Another slight pain caused Hermione to grimace and clutch her stomach.
Luna stood and held out her hand. “Alright, Hermione. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
---
The whistle sounded louder than usual in the crowded station, and Hermione had never been more thankful that the Hogwarts Express was always on time. They were in a hidden alcove across the platform, but it still felt too risky.
Harry’s head dropped to her shoulder, and he withdrew his hand from under her shirt. He let out a ragged breath. “Fuck. Train’s a bloody cock-block.”
She pasted on a smile, hoping it passed for something close to natural. “It’s still too soon, anyway. You know that. Remy’s just a few months old, and there’s only so much magic can do.”
He grinned then--that heartbreaking grin that made her heart skip a beat. Or it used to. Now, it usually caused a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“We’ve already done it twice since she was born. I just can’t help myself, love. You look so bloody hot when you’re pregnant.” He leaned in and kissed her deeply. “Besides, he and I are two and two. Next one needs to be mine, doesn’t it?”
Hermione turned to look at their family. She expected Harry to leave, but he merely stepped close to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She had to stop herself from stiffening--had to stop herself from crying or raging against the fates. This was supposed to be a happy day.
Years ago, she had hoped that things would be different--had hoped that she and Harry would be standing on the platform together just like this, seeing their kids off to school.
They were, in a way, but there was Ginny, doting on James as little Albus and Lily whined about not being able to go to Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley flitted around her children and grandchildren, ensuring everyone was safe and ready.
And Ron--sweet, loving, innocent Ron--was bent to one knee, giving what appeared to be an encouraging pep talk to their oldest child. Ron had loved Harrison Ronald Weasley from the moment he was born. No one seemed to realize that Harrison’s eyes were green, not brown or blue, or that his hair nearly always stuck out at odd angles. No, those facts were merely forgotten.
Or, more likely, they were ignored. Neither Minerva nor George, neither Draco nor Astoria nor Luna nor anyone else mentioned Harrison’s physical differences.
When Remy was born, no one mentioned her bright green eyes either. Even at just two months old, her hair showed signs of being an unruly mass of black curls. Ron, of course, loved her, too. Just as he loved Rose and Hugo with their red hair and freckles.
“Harry--” Hermione started but cut herself off when he ground his cock into her ass. She once again thanked Merlin that no one could see them.
“Our kids are so perfect, Hermione,” he murmured into her ear. “Loved watching you grow and swell as you carried them. Love your hips and your breasts. It’s so bloody hot, knowing I did this to you first. I hate that he’s touched you, but the first one was mine. I’ve changed you, Hermione. Me .”
“Harry--”
“You’re mine. I love you.” He kissed the side of her neck and ground himself into her one last time.
She felt cold as he stepped away. That feeling wasn’t new, though she often couldn’t decide if she felt colder when he touched her or when he walked away.
Before Hermione could form a response, Harry patted her ass and came around to face her. The glint in his eyes was a bit dangerous as he tilted his head towards their family. “Don’t we have somewhere to be?”
Hermione watched him walk away.
Placing her hands on her stomach, she once again fought back tears. Harry would get what he wanted. Her next child was undoubtedly his, as Ron had respected her wishes to wait until the Healers gave her the “all clear”.
In a way, she supposed she was getting what she wanted, too. Ever since she was eleven--throughout the battles and aftermath of war, throughout her entire life in the wizarding world--it was all Hermione had ever wanted.
Somewhere to be.