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It was never going to happen.
Harry Potter sat in the back row of the Wizengamot council meeting, twirling his wand absentmindedly, and paying very little attention to the court that was currently in session. His eyes were fixed on a bright eyed, bushy haired young witch who was sitting down in the front row on the opposite side of the chamber, she was completely attentive to the words that were being spoken in the room and was writing down the minutes for the meeting feverously.
Harry couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the endless list of inappropriate thoughts that ran through his dirty old mind as the young witch attempted to flatten out the skirt that only just managed to cover over her knees. She had to still be in her early twenties, whilst he the famous war hero who had long since saved the wizarding world from evil, who was well past his prime, and who was also pushing forty.
She was way out of his league.
Nevertheless, Harry had to commend the Minister for Magic on his fine choice in selecting the new minutes taker for the council this time around, when for the past few months, it had been his own assistant – a pencil pusher by the name of Weatherby with bottleneck glasses who had sucked up to every single important person that he could find – who had been doing it. As he was Harry’s assistant, he had to listen to the Weatherby boy ramble on all day about the importance of bottomless cauldrons, so dealing with her in the courtroom from now on was going to be a very nice change indeed.
As the court session ended, and the young and stunning bushy haired girl got gracefully to her feet, and swept from the room, he wondered what lucky bastard had her as an assistant. He just assumed it was the Minister, a man named Kingsley Shaklebolt, who had always liked young assistants. It was better for appearances sake, he would always say, but that was fooling no one, and Harry tried not to think what the Minister got up to behind closed doors.
After he had shaken a few hands, and was done with formalities, Harry left as well. The Weatherby boy was waiting for him on a bench in the hallway outside, when he saw Harry, he hurriedly got to his feet, and pushed his bottleneck glasses back up the ridge of his nose.
“I have your afternoon schedule here for you, Mr Potter,” Weatherby said, squeezing his way through the other Wizengamot council members, “you have a meeting up on Level Three in one hour, that business with the Montrose Magpies, then you have your usual at two o’clock with the Minister up on Level One, and then at four o’clock, Mr Weasley has requested your presence in the Auror Headquarters on Level Two.”
“Thanks, Weatherby,” Harry said as they reached the elevator, and stepped on with the crowd of people going up. He couldn’t help but notice the fine young witch with the bushy brown hair had stepped on after him, her eyes looked towards him for just a briefest of moments before she turned and looked away, and went back to inspecting her notes. “Let me guess, you’ve finished all of your reports, and you want to know what’s next?”
“Yes, Mr Potter,” Weatherby said in an instant, knowing that it was him that was being addressed.
Harry sighed. “It’s Friday, Weatherby, I have nothing else for you to do, why don’t you clock off and go home?”
“You might need me, Mr Potter, sir.”
The elevator stopped at the Atrium, several Wizengamot council members stepped out, raised their hands in goodbye to Harry, who waved in return, and then the elevator doors closed and they began to rattle upwards again.
“I’m pretty sure I can survive on my own around her for a few hours, Weatherby,” Harry said with impatience, his eyes couldn’t help but find the young witch again, and maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn he sore the hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth. “Go home to your wife, that’s an order. I will see you Monday.”
“Sir, perhaps if I—”
“I said go home, Weatherby!” Harry said, putting his foot down, just as the elevator doors slid open, and the young bushy haired witch stepped off in quite the hurry.
For a second, he wanted to follow her, but he couldn’t, because Weatherby got out to call for an elevator going back down to the Atrium, and he saluted to Harry as the doors closed and he continued ascending. Several hours later, after sitting through the most boring meeting ever, and listening to the Minister babble on about how they should be having more court meetings to address more important topics, Harry finally arrived at the Auror Headquarters around about four thirty.
It was a Friday afternoon, the place was very empty, many who had worked there long enough knew that they would not be missed at that point in the week, so Harry strolled up the length of the room unnoticed until he reached the office at the front of the room, which contained the Head Auror, Ron Weasley. Harry stepped in, they shook hands, he took the shot of Firewhiskey from him, and then they sat back down either side of the desk.
“Good to see you, Harry,” Ron said, holding up his shot glass before drinking it, “busy week?”
“You could say that,” Harry said, downing his own, “been to one too many council meetings for my liking, if I’m honest. And today, the Minister is telling me he wants more of them, to cover more agendas.”
“You poor soul.”
Ron just chuckled and began pouring more Firewhiskey.
“Is there a reason why you summoned me here on a Friday afternoon, when I could be on my way home instead, mate?”
Ron inclined his head and handed the bottle across to him.
“Yeah, I thought I’d run something by you. Are you still being followed around by that pencil pushing assistant, Weatherby?”
Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “I sure am. He’s such a pain. Why?”
“I have a pain in the arse assistant, too,” Ron said nodding his head, “and I would do anything to be rid of her. Even if it meant taking the insufferable Weatherby off her hands.”
“Her?”
“Yeah, a bossy female,” Ron said nodding his head and rolling his eyes. “Sweet enough young thing I suppose, not long started working here, does her job well, keeps up with the work well enough, she may even be the best assistant the Ministry has ever had, but bloody hell does she talk a lot. I can’t stand her, on and on she rambles, about some of the most pointless, mundane subjects you can think of—”
“You know that’s just the same with every assistant, right?” Harry said with quite a chuckle. “You really want to swap her with mine? Weatherby keeps talking to me about the thickness of cauldrons or whatever vendetta it is he’s been reading up about this week—”
“It still can’t be worse than Spew—”
“Spew?”
“It’s an acronym, don’t get me started,” Ron shook his head and poured another glass of Firewhiskey, “the fact is, I’m sick of her, and I can’t sack her because her work is otherwise exemplary. So, I was thinking— no, sorry, I was hoping that you would consider swapping?”
“If this assistant of yours is worse than mine, then I think I ought to get some sort of compensation, so, what are you offering?”
“You know me, I don’t really have any cards on the table to tempt you, how about if I just owe you one?”
Harry contemplated this for a moment as he sipped his Firewhiskey.
“All right then, let’s just get it done, I want to go home, anyway.”
They spend the next ten minutes doing the paperwork, promised to send owls to each of their assistants to report elsewhere after the weekend, and then they shook hands and were done.
Monday morning arrived in no time. The weekend, for Harry, had been a bit of a blur. It hadn’t helped, of course, that after his meeting with Ron, he had taken the bottle of Firewhiskey home with him and had continued to drink it on his own, at his house in Grimmauld Place, with some takeaway Chinese food, and a bunch of paperwork that he’d neglected to do during the week. Therefore, when he arrived at his office on Level One – which was saved for only the most important members of the Ministry – he had completely forgotten about the arrangement he and his best friend had come too.
The pretty young witch with brown bushy hair from the Wizengamot council meeting, the one that had been taking the minutes, stood to attention when she heard him come in, and he had the impression she had been straightening out his desk the moment beforehand, probably because she didn’t know what else she should be doing. Harry came to a stop, the sight of her had caught him by surprise, he felt himself tense up, he breathed inwards sharply, but he did not know what to say to her, and so they stared at each other from across the room for a moment.
By now, Weatherby would have told him his schedule for the day, told him about the messages he had received, and he still would have had the time to go on a rant about broomstick regulations. This young witch on the other hand, stood there in silence, she looked towards Harry with her eyes curiously wide, and considering what Ron had said about her, that she was never able to shut up, it was mystery as to why she was saying nothing now.
“Good morning,” Harry said, deciding to start the conversation on his own, as he strode forwards and held out his hand. “I’m Harry Potter, by the way, as I’m sure you know. It’s nice to meet you.”
“What? Oh, yes,” she lifted her arm enough to shake his hand, “sorry, I’m Hermione Granger, your new—”
“My new assistant, yes, I know why you’re here,” Harry nodded his head at her, “are those my messages?”
He pointed towards what she was holding, several memo shaped pieces of parchment hung from her other hand, and she said nothing as she looked down at them. She lifted her arm and held them out for him to take, which he did, and he began to sift through them.
“Thanks,” Harry said, he nodded his head as he moved passed her, then went around to sit behind his desk, and he put his briefcase up onto the side of it. “And what about my schedule? Oh— here it is, never mind.”
Granger turned to face him. She remained stood at attention, like a robot that was only programmed to do one thing, and when she was unable to execute it, she could do nothing else but just stand there. After a silent minute of Harry unpacking his suitcase, he looked up, raised his eyebrows at her, and then leaned back coolly in his chair.
“Take a seat,” Harry suggested, and Granger sat down in one of the chairs opposite him in an instant. “May I ask what duties Ron Weasley had you assisting him with whilst you were over at Auror Headquarters?”
Granger’s face went a little pink. “Note taking, mostly, making sure he was on top of his paperwork, making sure he got to his meetings on time, and making sure that his workspace was neat and tidy whilst he was away at those meetings. That was what I was doing when you came in just now, I’m sorry if I wasn’t meant to—”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine,” Harry said, waving away the thought.
“I did wonder if I had done something wrong?” Granger asked with a bite of her lip, sitting up in her chair. “I’m not really clear on the reason why he had me reassigned, not that I’m unhappy to be your new assistant Mr Potter, I just wondered if I had made some sort of mistake—?”
“You did nothing wrong, Miss Granger,” Harry said, he knew that it was a partial lie, because whilst Ron becoming impatient with an assistant who talks too much for his liking was his problem, she was still the one that had talked about subjects unrelated to the field of Dark Wizard catching. “It just happens sometimes, that’s all. I don’t pretend to know all the details, but every now and then the top brass decides to hand out a promotion, then there’s a lot of swapping around, and then we end with this, you working for me.”
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but you’re considered to be part of the top brass, aren’t you? Surely you should know?”
Harry couldn’t help but give a little smile. He could see now that she had quite a quick-witted mind, he understood now how that might have got on Ron’s nerves, but Harry had thicker skin than that, and he might like the challenge of an intellectual assistant who says things back to him, unlike Weatherby, who did all that was asked of him without question. Ron had also said that his assistant went on long-winded rants about pointless and mundane subjects but Harry hadn’t seen that from her yet.
“Please tell me now if you are unhappy to be here, Miss Granger, I could transfer you back to the Auror office, or perhaps if there is a particular department you would like to work in—?”
“No!” Granger said quickly, before putting up a hand to her mouth to stop herself, and shaking her head. “Sorry, all I was wondering was if I’d done something wrong, I didn’t mean— I’m very much looking forward to working with you, Mr Potter, please don’t take what I said the wrong way. In fact, when I received the owl over the weekend to report to you instead of Auror Headquarters, my first instinct was that of excitement, to work with the famous hero from the war, you must have so many wonderful stories—”
“Never really been much of a story teller,” Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders, and Granger looked a little worried she’d said something wrong again, and sat upright in her chair.
“I’m sorry, Mr Potter, I didn’t mean… please, tell me what it is that I can do for you first?”
“Relax,” Harry said with a smile, “and stop apologising. I do have to reply to one of these messages, so I know it’s mundane, but that can be our first order of business and then we’ll go from there. Is that okay with you?”
Granger nodded, got to her feet, fetched from his desk some parchment and a quill and waited for him to dictate the letter to her.
Over the next few days, there was a period of adjustment, as Granger began to learn what Harry needed from his assistant. She learned fast, she was much better and quicker at it than Weatherby had been, she asked more intelligent questions than her predecessor had, she understood the politics of the place better, as well as the ins and outs of everything within the Ministry, and Harry also happened to notice that she smelt nicer, too. Not that he perhaps should have noticed that particular fact, considering she was twenty years his junior, and nothing if not professional.
It began to get harder and harder for him to concentrate on his work. Granger grew bolder in his presence as the days went on, she started to stand closer to him when dictating letters or notes, she began lingering in his office for much longer periods, she would straighten things out on his desk in ways that made it almost impossible for him not to look down her blouse, and she would lean across him for reports or memos, making no conscious effort to prevent herself from pressing up against him.
And during one particular gruelling afternoon spent in his office, when he was in the middle of writing up a novel-length report of great importance, she was there conversing with him and lending a hand. At first, he thought of it as just casual office banter, but he soon came to realise, Granger was showing flirtatious behaviour – whether she meant to give these signals to him or not remained unknown – and when at last she went to go over and fetch a book about Wizarding Law from his bookcase against the opposite wall, the fact that she had to reach for the very top shelf was not lost on him, and he watched from his desk with a dry mouth as she reached and reached and that business skirt of hers kept riding up further and further.
“Okay, we’re done,” Harry said, clearing his throat and not looking her in her eye as she slapped the book down onto the desk with a small thud.
“What? Why?” Granger asked, blinking at him in confusion.
“It’s after nine o’clock,” Harry said, checking the grandfather clock that he kept against the wall of his office. “I’m not going to ask you to stay back and work any longer. We can finish this tomorrow.”
“I thought you had to have it done by first thing tomorrow morning?”
“To hell with that,” Harry said, he had got up and turned away from her, being careful to conceal the bulge at the front of his pants from her, and pulled on his travelling cloak to mask it. “I will just ask for an extension from the Minister and that will be that.”
“You can do that?” Granger raised her eyebrows at him, she almost sounded impressed by this.
“Let’s just say that it would be in the Minister’s best interest not to go against my wishes, considering certain influences I have,” Harry said as he made his way around his desk towards the exit, “go home and get some rest, Miss Granger. We will pick up the proceedings tomorrow.”
“Wait, Mr Potter… I’ll walk out with you,” Granger said, hurrying to gather up her things and her travelling cloak too.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Granger,” Harry said with a stern voice, stopping at the door and turning only his head to look at her with narrowed eyes (he was still sporting a chubby), “it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate?” She gawked at him as she repeated what he had said. “Why wouldn’t it be appropriate? What are you talking about? Did I do something wrong, Mr Potter—?”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Good night, Miss Granger.”
Harry left before she could say another word.
The following day, it was fair to say that there was quite a lot of lingering tension between the two parties, mostly on Harry’s end, because Granger had no idea why her boss was all of a sudden quite reactive to every single one of her small movements. If she went to reach for something, he would pull away, if she tried to stand closer to him, he would step away, make some excuse, and put as much distance between himself and her as possible.
They managed to finish the report before the end of the work day, and given that it was a Friday afternoon, he told Granger that she could go home early, which – despite her attempting to make a case for herself to stay back and help him clean up and put away the books they’d taken from his shelves – she eventually did. Not that it helped Harry all that much, for the last remaining hours he spent in his office, the lingering smell of his assistant continued to pour those dirty thoughts into his head.
In the end, he just had to leave, and go home.
It was a Friday night and he had a routine. He would drop into the Leaky Cauldron for a couple of Butterbeers, then he would leave around six – not before purchasing a bottle of Tom’s finest Firewhiskey – then he would stop in at the Chinese takeaway shop around the corner from his home, walk the last block to Grimmauld Place, and then end his day by entering number twelve and not coming back out until Monday.
For the first time in years that he could remember, however, his routine was interrupted by the sight of a small young figure sitting on the bottom most step of his house, waiting for him.
“Miss Granger?”
Harry came to a stop. This was the last place that he had expected to find her. He had imagined what a pretty young girl like her might get up to on a Friday night, of course, which would involve something along the lines of putting on a glittery dress, going to a popular nightclub with a group of friends, and just about having the pick of any young man her age that took her fancy. So, the fact that she was here, on his doorstep, on the outskirts of London, in a seedy neighbourhood, raised so many questions.
“Hello, Mr Potter,” Granger said, as she got to her feet, and he saw that she was still wearing her business attire from work.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to come and see you,” Granger said, she took a step towards him, but he sidestepped around her.
“You shouldn’t be here. This is very inappropriate. How is it that you know where I live, Granger?”
“I’m sorry, I caught a glimpse of it in one of your files, I didn’t mean too, but it just stuck in my head,” Granger said as Harry hurriedly climbed the steps up to his home and she followed him about half-way up before he turned back to look at her, making her stop, “may I come in?”
“I don’t think that would be appropriate—”
“You keep saying that,” Granger said, folding her arms in front of herself, and narrowing her eyes as she looked up at him, “what part about me wanting to come in and have a conversation with you out of the cold is inappropriate? And which part of me wanting you to safely walk me out of the Ministry last night was inappropriate?”
“Granger, I—”
“And inviting in a poor young girl to talk, instead of leaving her outside in the freezing cold instead, would that be inappropriate as well?”
Harry sighed and turned away. He put his key into the door, unlocked it, stepped inside, and then gestured for her to enter. Granger looked delighted as she climbed the rest of the steps and wandered into his house. Her eyes widened as she looked around, she was barely able to see much in the darkness, and there was a damp smell that lingered in the air. The house was derelict, the wallpaper was peeling, the carpet was in tatters, and the chandelier that hung from the ceiling was filled with cobwebs.
“Interesting place,” Granger said curtly.
“It belonged to my godfather, and his family, but they are a long story you don’t want to hear about right now,” Harry gestured for her to follow him up the dimly lit hallway, “the kitchen is just down here. Watch your step.”
They moved forwards in silence, ascended a narrow staircase, and then reached a cavernous kitchen with stone walls. Harry pointed his wand at the metal grate fireplace at the far end of the room, and flames erupted at once, bringing a warmth to the place that had not been there a moment beforehand. Harry seemed rather disgruntled as he put his food and bottle of Firewhiskey down and went to fetch two plates and two glasses instead of just one.
“Would you like a drink?” Harry asked, gesturing to the bottle and then holding up the glasses. “If you’re hungry, it’s Chinese food, I always order more than I need so that I can have leftovers tomorrow.”
Granger, however, had stopped at the bottom of the kitchen steps and had her arms folded in front of herself again.
“I just want to know what’s going on, Mr Potter.”
Harry sighed and slumped down into the seat at head of the long and wooden kitchen table.
“I’m sorry. I’ll write a letter, recommend that you be transferred to another department on Monday, and that will be that.”
“What? Why? What did I do?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Harry said, unscrewing the lid of the Firewhiskey and beginning to pour himself a glass. “You were perfect, Granger. The work you did for me, the reports you helped me with, the note taking, the dictating, the way you handled my scheduling. My letter of recommendation that you be moved on will be filled with nothing but praise.”
“Then I don’t understand, why are you transferring me?” Granger asked, she scraped backwards the chair at the opposite end of the table, and sat down. “I’ve enjoyed working with you, Mr Potter, why do I have to leave? It was just beginning to feel like I was actually doing important work—”
“It’s because I want to have sex with you.”
Harry just blurted it out. He knew which part of the brain that it had come from, but he didn’t know which part of his brain had let it escape, and nor did he know why no safety measures had been put in place by his brain to stop it. Once the words had reached her, Granger looked shocked, she stiffened in her chair, her back arched, her eyebrows rose, her hair seemed to stand on end, and she stared the length of the table at him for a minute, not even blinking once.
“I’m sorry, you what?”
“I want to have sex with you, Miss Granger, and I have since the first time I laid eyes on you,” Harry said, he was trying to be blunt, precise, and his damn hardest not to sound like a creepy old man. “I’ve tried my best to keep things professional, act appropriate in your presence, but having you alone in my office whilst these thoughts continue to go through my head, Miss Granger, I’m afraid it would be inappropriate.”
“Oh, so that’s what you meant, when…” she trailed away, bit her lip, and looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze as her face went flush with red, “I thought I had done something inappropriate, but instead—”
“It’s me who is inappropriate, not you. I’m sorry.”
Granger pushed her chair back, stood up, and turned away. He thought she was going to leave, just like that. However, she had only taken one step before she had stopped, turned back around to face him, and put her hands on the back of the chair. Harry had the impression she was preparing herself to say something unkind about how he could think like such a disgusting pig, but then she surprised the hell out of him.
“This is such a relief!” Granger said with a huge sigh as she put her head down on her hands, that were resting on the back of the chair. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’ve said that, how happy it makes me feel that you think that, and how much easier everything will be now.”
“What are talking about?” Harry asked her, confused.
She lifted her head and looked back at him.
“Do you think you’re the only one who has had those thoughts, Mr Potter?”
“What thoughts?”
“The thoughts that you had when you first laid eyes on me.”
“What about them?”
“I had them too.”
Granger put her hand to her chest. Harry stared at her, he wasn’t sure what she was saying, he had some inkling, yes, but he didn’t believe it, he didn’t believe her, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. His brain was always trying to get him into some sort of trouble.
“I consent, Mr Potter.”
Harry raised his eyebrows at her. “Consent to what?”
“Consent to you having sex with me.”
It was Harry’s turn to sit upright in his chair.
“Are you serious?”
“You mean you didn’t notice me flirting? You didn’t register anything when I began brushing up against you more and more? You didn’t think twice about me bending across the desk so that you could see down my blouse? And you don’t think I didn’t know you were staring when I practically insisted on collecting the books from the high shelves, so that my skirt would ride up, and you would get to see my—”
“You played me,” Harry said in disbelief, as she looked across the table at him with a cheeky grin. “You did all of those things on purpose?”
“So, you finally noticed, did you? Good for you.”
Harry slumped back in his chair. Granger began to move along the length of the table, her eyes remaining on him the entire time, that smile not going away. Eventually she reached the head of the table where he sat, hopped up onto the table right in front of him, and didn’t even bother to attempt to shut her legs, so that her skirt rode up again.
“You say that you want to have sex with me?” Granger said, raising her eyebrows at him and biting her lip as she looked him over. “I say that it’s about damn time you admitted it, Mr Potter.”
Harry swallowed hard as he got to his feet and stood over her.
“You’re actually serious about this?”
“Yes, but there’s a few things I want you to know, first.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not doing this just because I want to stay on as your assistant,” she said, putting a finger up, “I want to keep working with you regardless.”
“Understood—”
“Also, I’m not doing this to get a promotion or to get a foot in the door of a higher-level, higher-paid position—”
“Noted.”
“I’m doing this because I want you, Mr Potter,” she narrowed her eyes as she reached for his tie and pulled him towards her, “from the top of your wonderfully smelling salt and pepper hair, all the way down to that fine dump truck of an arse you call a backside. Do we understand each other?”
“Completely.”
Granger pulled him towards her the rest of the way, their lips met, and they began to kiss. It was like a fire that needed to be lit beneath them, there had been flirting, a small bit of dirty talk, but now that they understood each other, there was no want for foreplay nor any need for any messing around, they just got straight to it. Together they began to pull at the clothes they wore which remained the only barrier between them.
Harry undid his belt and his pants and they fell to the floor with his underwear briefs. Granger paused to reach for his penis and she stroked it into action as they kissed, her mouth twisted into a smile against his at the sounds he was making, purely and simply from her just touching him. She let him reach up her business skirt for her underwear, which were plain and white, and those were dispensed onto the floor along with his own clothing.
“Are you ready?” Harry asked her.
Granger nodded.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded again.
However, she decided that she didn’t want to wait on him forever, didn’t want him asking her for her consent for a third time, and so she pulled him towards her using his penis. He fell on top of her in surprise, she guided him inside of her, and slowly in he went. They both closed their eyes in a moment of bliss, she sighed, he groaned, and by the time his entire body weight was pressing on top of her, he was all the way in.
“I assume you know what to do from here?” She whispered into his ear, and he shifted his head, so that he could look into her eyes as he began having sex with her.
“How long has it been for you?” Harry whispered as he started slow.
“Long enough. And you?”
“The same.”
Silence overcame them. Other than the little grunts that came from Harry, and the breathy moans from Granger, the quiet allowed for all the dirty thoughts to come flooding back into Harry’s head. There had been things he had thought about doing to her, unspeakable things, and perhaps if the sex with him didn’t turn out to be such a terrible experience for her, she may want to do it again, and he may yet be allowed to do as he pleased with her. For now, though, vanilla sex was all that they would do, and was all that they would need to do.
His thrusts became faster, he’d not delved into such a great young cunt in years, the feeling of her tightness pressing all around him felt fantastic, like he himself had gone back to his youth, when he had first experienced the wonders of young girls at this age. When Granger went a little silent, he feared she wasn’t enjoying it as much as he was, then he looked down and saw that she had her head titled back, her mouth open, and her hands were squeezing her chest through her blouse.
“Don’t keep those to yourself, Miss Granger. I want to see them.”
Granger titled her head up to look at him and nodded. She reached for the front of her blouse and pulled, not caring that the buttons were ripped away and that they flew in every direction. She wore one of those bras that had the clasp at the front, which made it easy for Harry to snap open, and her breasts sprung free, which were round, uneven, and beautiful.
“Curvy in all the right places,” Harry said with a groan, reaching for her chest, and getting a smile from the young witch.
She was perfection to him. He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer. If at any point she was worried about him finishing inside of her, she said nor did anything to suggest he stop, so he continued thrusting until he came inside of her, his hands squeezing down hard on the inside of her thigh and on one of her breasts, and he continued thrusting to help her reach her own orgasm, until he could thrust no more.
He collapsed on top of her, exhausted. She seemed to almost welcome his weight, she ran her hand through his messy salt and pepper jet black hair as his face remained planted against her bare chest. They remained like that for a while in order to catch their breaths – Harry felt one of her hands reached inquisitively around for his backside that she had talked about admiring – and it wasn’t until Harry was strong enough to move that he looked up into the face of the young witch, and saw that she was staring at him with a lovely and satisfied smile.
“So, are you going to keep me on as your assistant, Mr Potter?”
Harry grinned at her.
“You’re not going anywhere, Miss Granger.”