Author's note: This is the first chapter of a five-part story. Chapter 1 was inspired by this drawing, Aurors, by midnight_ljc (aka ComfortablyLaura). Several readers asked me to continue the story, so I did. I've written four chapters and hope to write the fifth and final chapter soon. This is a single story, told from multiple points of view, depending on the chapter.
Chapter 1 - Heart Burn
You have no idea how you got here, right here, your back pressing against the hard wooden desk in Harry's office. One minute, you and Harry came up in the lifts to find something in his desk, your bodies marked with bruises from your latest encounter with Dark wizards. Moments later, his mouth was on yours, his lips pressing insistently, tongue sliding between your lips, hands wandering up and down your body, his breath hot and slick as he suckled the column of your neck.
"I shouldn't be doing this," you tell him, your breath ragged as his fingers pull at the neckline of your uniform shirt, exposing your shoulders, while his lips move hungrily down toward your collarbone. "I'm marrying Ron next month."
"I know," he says huskily, hands pushing up under your skirt, tugging on the waistband of your knickers. "Invitation's on the cork board."
Your eyes go wide even as your heart beats like a drum in your chest. Harry's right -- a piece of pale parchment bearing the words Ronald and Hermione and 8 o'clock hangs limply from the cork board not five feet from where Harry has bent you back onto the desk, his hips wedged firmly between your legs.
"Her-mi-on-ee," he breathes, his tongue licking the shell of your ear in a slow, deliberate motion that almost makes you come on the spot. One hand finds its way under your shirt and seeks out your nipple; as Harry rolls it slowly between his fingers, his other hand snakes between your legs, his fingers finding that spot that now throbs just for him.
"Oh God," you moan as his fingers continue to work their magic on you. "Oh God, I shouldn't, but this feels so good. You feel so good, Harry."
He leans away from you momentarily, his fingers leaving your body, and you find yourself aching for his touch. Cool air rushes beneath your skirt as Harry slides your knickers down your legs, letting them dangle from one ankle. You bite your lip, your back arching as his left thumb strokes between your legs; from the corner of your eye, you watch his right hand undoing his belt and pushing his pants and trousers down past his knees. His thumb presses hard, moving in circles that your body matches as you roll and shudder beneath his hand. Your legs spring up of their own accord, bruised knees rising high above the desk, your left foot hooking between Harry's legs as he slides onto his forearms and hovers above you.
"So stupid," he mutters as he drags his lips up and down your jawline while his body rocks slowly between your legs. "So stupid for so long. Wouldn't let myself be selfish back then. I let you get away. Not tonight. Not…now," and he's sheathed inside you, filling you up until a tear leaks down your cheek.
"Why now?" you murmur as he rocks slowly, pushing your back into the desk. "I wanted you six years ago, Harry….ohhhh…I loved you….oh God…but then I almost died and then there was the Prophecy and you wanted Ginny and I thought you'd never want me so I went after Ron, and he's been good to me, Harry, better than I ever thought, and I love him now, not the way I loved you, but ohhh, no, don't stop--"
Harry's lips cut you off. He pushes harder, you push back. It's a dance you could have done, should have done, back before you convinced yourself that you and he would never be together like this. But now you are, and it's better than you'd ever thought it could be (not that you'd thought about it, because you knew you shouldn't).
And you feel worse than you ever thought you could feel.
His thumb finds your hot spot again and you arch against him once more, your pelvis rolling beneath his as he pumps harder and faster. Your foot slides up his backside, urging him on as you shiver and moan his name. Harry shakes as he comes, beads of sweat falling from his forehead onto your face. The sweat rolls down your cheek until you can taste it with your tongue.
His sweat tastes bitter, like the bile that's rising at the back of your throat.
He pulls out, turning around as he fixes his clothing. You pull your knickers back on and straighten your skirt, then cast a quick Reparo on the shoulder of your shirt so that Ron won't ask why it's torn.
"I'd better leave by myself," you whisper, your hand resting lightly on his arm as he sits, shoulders slumped, on the edge of his desk. "See you Monday."
Harry nods, looking at you sidelong from beneath his long black lashes. "See you then."
On Monday morning, you go back to work, just as you have every Monday for the past four years. You walk briskly to your cubicle, ignoring the hum of gossip among your co-workers, not letting your eyes linger on anyone else's workspace -- until you pass Harry's office.
It's empty, stripped bare of personal belongings. The jumble of parchments on the cork board is gone too -- and so is the invitation to your wedding.
A tear rolls down your cheek until you can taste it. It's more bitter than salty, but not as bitter as the bile at the back of your throat.
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