Staff Meeting

Author's Note: Because there were complaints that the ficlet thread was cooling down.

Staff Meeting

Professor Hermione Potter sat across the mahogany table from her husband, Harry, drawing random doodles on her notes. While this was usually out of character for her, it was hot and the cooling charms just weren't working.

Since it was only mid-August, the professors weren't required to wear robes within the castle, but Hermione rarely dressed-down. At the moment, she felt like the high collar of her blouse was strangling her. Her only concession to the heat beyond the skirt she had on were the stockings she'd left off. In her years in the Library, she'd discovered a book with useful cosmetic charms. This was the first day she'd used any of them – she'd charmed her skin to darken as if she were wearing stockings.

Absently, she picked up a piece of parchment and began fanning her face. The meeting had been going on for an hour and they'd not progressed beyond the second item. Professor Filius Flitwick, the Charms teacher, seemed to be having problems with the windows in his room staying shut. Hermione refrained from pointing out the only students this would cause a problem with were the first years in their Wingardium Leviosa lesson.

She remembered that lesson with a smile. Correcting Ron's pronunciation of the spell, then demonstrating it perfectly for him. Then Seamus Finnegan blew his up, singing both he and Harry.

Her eyes found Harry's across the table. He was grinning wickedly at her. She wasn't sure if she should be afraid of that grin or not – she usually should. Five years ago, just a few months after they'd married, Professor Minerva McGonagall had offered Hermione the position of Transfiguration professor upon Minerva's promotion to Headmistress. She had also offered Harry the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Hermione knew Harry had only taken the position to please her, but he seemed to enjoy it.

What neither of them enjoyed were the interminable staff meetings. The current subject was something about the Potions dungeon.

Hermione tried to pay attention, including breaking eye contact with her husband and looking down the table at the dour Potions Master, Severus Snape.

What broke her concentration – beyond the boring topic of the desktop stains in the aforementioned Potions dungeon – was a motion in the corner of her eye. She blinked, but the movement continued.

She turned to glare at Harry, but he wasn't looking at her face. His attention seemed to be directed lower. Thinking she'd ask him later, she took the opportunity to observe him.

They were both in their late twenties, and maturity had settled well on him. No longer the scrawny boy who she first met on the train, his shoulders had broadened, voice deepened, and the close-cut of his raven-colored hair tamed the wildness and accentuated his emerald eyes. He kept in shape with a morning run and flying – but refused to tutor any student.

Hermione blinked when both his hands dropped beneath the tabletop. Narrowing her eyes, she thought she could see the muscles in his arms flex.

She was confused until she felt a rush of warmth flood her, leaving desire in its wake. He'd hexed her! Expelling her breath in a rush, she lifted her eyes to his again.

One hand was back on the tabletop, the other holding a quill to his mouth. His eyes met hers and he began tracing the quill feather across his lips. As he did, she felt it as well – a light touch tracing across her lips.

Above the table, he tortured her with the feather, trailing it across his face and neck so she could feel it as well. Below the table, he was doing something with his hand she could feel on her leg that had her nearly moaning aloud.

This continued for twenty minutes, despite the meeting they were in. Harry even contributed to the conversation in places, mostly about policing hallways after curfew.

Of course, she thought snidely even as she stifled a gasp, no one knows he still has the Marauder's Map. The students all think that Professor Harry Potter knows all. And he was willing to perpetuate that myth.

But when he moved his hand upward as he slid one finger into his mouth, Hermione couldn't take it anymore. A soft mewling sound escaped her.

To her utter mortification, Professor McGonagall asked, "Was there something you would like to share, Hermione?" Hermione glared at the angelic countenance of her husband, before shaking her head. "Perhaps you need a few minutes to compose yourself?"

"Perhaps that would be best, Minerva," Hermione managed. She dropped her notes and practically leapt from her chair. She tried to use a steady pace to exit the room, but sped to a near-run when she heard Harry add, "Maybe I should see if she needs any assistance."

Harry caught up with her halfway down the hall, pulling her into a broom closet.

"Damn you, Harry," she moaned just before he brought his lips down against hers, crushing them. Fire lashed through her when he pressed her back against the wall, grabbing her hips with his hands and nestling himself between her hips.

Frantic, he yanked her skirt up and murmured appreciatively at her black lace knickers before ripping them off. He fumbled with his trousers in his haste to remove them, before resorting to both hands.

Once they were around his ankles, he grasped her legs and wrapped them around his waist, driving himself deep. Neither of them lasted long, but stayed in that closet for several minutes to regain their composure.

Hermione had to cast a drying spell on her clothing where she'd sweat through her blouse, then cast the same on the back of Harry's shirt. He grinned his thanks then led her back to the meeting.

She thought they might have gotten away with it until Professor Snape barked, "Couldn't you wait until after the meeting?"

Hermione flushed bright red when Harry replied jauntily, "I could if the blasted meeting hadn't gone an hour over."