Author's note: This chapter is the flip side of chapter 1.
Chapter 2 - Heaven and Hell
How did this happen?
How did you get from the door of your office to the top of your desk, with your partner of two years (and your best friend for eleven) lying beneath you, her legs parted for you the way you've dreamed of for years but never, never until this moment, thought she might ever part them for you?
You'd been chasing Dark wizards again, for the thousandth time (so it felt) since you'd joined the Auror division after finishing off Voldemort. She was bruised a bit, and so were you, and all you needed in your office was some of that Bruise Healing Cream that Ron's mum got from the apothecary in Diagon Alley. All you need to do is spread some of that cream on your hands, then on Hermione's arm, then on her shoulder. But you couldn't touch her there, on the back of her shoulder, rubbing that cream into that enormous bruise, without shuddering at how her skin felt beneath your fingertips. That shudder went down to your groin, and the next thing you knew, your lips are on hers, catching both of you by surprise.
You shouldn't be doing this.
She's engaged to my other best friend…
As usual, she's read your mind.
"I shouldn't be doing this," she says, her breath ragged as you pull at the neckline of her uniform shirt and begin to kiss your way hungrily down her soft, beautiful neck. "I'm marrying Ron next month."
She would say that, of course. Always the practical one. Always the moral one. Not so moral now, though, as your fingers slide under her skirt and she says nothing, doesn't even flinch, when you start to tug at the waistband of her knickers. The room is spinning around you as you fumble with her knickers and your erection strains against your trousers and all you can think of is that Hermione, your Hermione, is planning to marry Ron, not you, next month, and how did they ever get that far in that train-wreck of a relationship they'd been struggling with for years when you, Harry, had known since you were 17 that Hermione was the girl you wanted, needed, couldn't live without? But she'd run after Ron when you started chasing Ginny, and by the time you figured out who you really wanted, it was too late. Hermione and Ron were together, and they seemed happy. How could you say anything? How could you ruin their happiness? So you said nothing. You always reckoned that one day, the fights would tear them apart. Hermione would see that she and Ron weren't good for each other.
But she never did, and now they're getting married.
"I know," you answer, amazed that your brain can still function while all the blood in your body has rushed below your belt. "Invitation's on the cork board."
Not a word nor a sound of dissent passes her lips as you bend her back against your desk and wedge your legs between hers. You can feel your cock beginning to weep with anticipation. She's here, with you, responding to your touches and fevered kisses. You can feel her heart beating like a drum as you slowly, deliberately lick the shell of her ear.
"Her-mi-on-ee," you breathe into her ear, her name like prayer on your lips. Please God, don't make me stop. Please, if I do nothing else, let me have one good taste of her. Let me know what I'll be missing for the rest of my life because I couldn't tell her I loved her…
She's so soft and warm, and being so near her makes you even harder. Your hand slides under her shirt, seeking and finding a nipple. You roll the hard nub between your fingers while your other hand slides under her knickers - those silky knickers that are now wet for you -- searching for that other hard nub, the one that will make her feel the way you feel now, like you'd burst at the slightest touch.
"Oh God," she moans. You've always wondered what she would sound like if you put your hand to her body just so...and now she's doing it and that sound urges you on, despite your better judgment. "Oh God, I shouldn't, but this feels so good. You feel so good, Harry."
This is the only chance I'll ever have to do this with her. She'll marry Ron and we'll never -
The thought cuts you as it strengthens your resolve to do the worst thing you've ever done. You lean away from her, then tug at her knickers and slide them down her legs until they're dangling from one ankle. Then your left thumb finds that hard nub and strokes it while you undo your belt and push your trousers and pants down below your knees. Hermione bites her lip as her body arches against your hand. Her legs fall to the sides, inviting you to take the next step. Taking the hint, you slide between her knees and hover above her on your elbows.
This will change everything. Forever. No going back. I've been a bloody fool for too long. And now I'll be a traitor.
"So stupid," you mutter as you drag your lips up and down her jawline, your body rocking slowly between her legs. "So stupid for so long. Wouldn't let myself be selfish back then. I let you get away. Not tonight. Not…now," and you enter her quickly, before you can change your mind.
A tear rolls down her cheek. You wonder if you've hurt her. You know this will hurt all three of you.
"Why now?" she murmurs as you rock slowly inside her sweet, wet warmth. "I wanted you six years ago, Harry…ohhhh…I loved you…"
She loved me...
"...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--"
Your lips find hers and cut off her murmuring. There's no way you can stop now, no way to avoid what will tear you away from her, and from him. It's inevitable, like the tides or the sun rising in the east. You push inside her as hard as you can, hoping to claim some part of her soul to make up for never having her body again. She pushes back even harder, her desperation seeming to match your own. You slide your thumb between your body and hers, determined to make her shake and rumble as she's never done before. She arches against you again and again while you pump harder and faster. Her stockinged foot slides up your naked bum and she moans your name. It's heaven to hear it, and hell to know that you'll never hear it that way again. Harder, faster, more, need more of Hermione - more of your skin on hers, your cock inside her, where it belongs.
You're home now - but you can never go home again.
As you come, a bead of sweat falls from your face onto Hermione's and rolls down her cheek until she tastes it with her tongue. Her expression changes dramatically; wild abandon gives way to a look of ineffable sadness. It's more than you can bear. You pull out and turn away, your heart breaking, and pull up your pants and trousers. When you turn back to Hermione, she's straightened her clothing and repaired the shoulder of her uniform shirt, the one you tore in your haste to make love to her.
You lean against the edge of the desk, your shoulders slumped with defeat. You've tasted of the tree of knowledge; now you know what you'll be missing once she marries Ron. It's more than you can bear.
"I'd better leave by myself," she whispers, resting her hand lightly on your arm. "See you Monday."
You can't look her at her right now. Maybe never again. "See you then," you say, your voice level despite the jumble of your emotions.
She walks calmly, too calmly you think, from your office, apparently prepared to go on with her life. But now, that's the last thing you can do with yours. Nothing will ever be the same because you have known Hermione, and you know that no other woman will ever make you feel this way again.
And then there's Ron.
Oh God. You've both betrayed him horribly. He'll never understand. He'll hate both of us forever.
For the first time since you killed Voldemort, you cry. The tears fall until your glasses are sloppy with them. You tear off your glasses and wipe your eyes with the dirty cuff of your shirt as you hunt for a piece of parchment. Quickly you scribble a note, fold it roughly and tack it to your boss's door with a sticking charm. An empty box under your desk becomes a makeshift suitcase as you tear all your possessions off the walls, desktop and sideboard, mumbling about how you've gone from stupid to selfish to totally cocked-up in a single night.
When you finally Apparate home, you've made your decision. You can't stay and watch her marry him, and you can't see her without wanting to have her again.
Now you know what hell is.
(to be continued…)
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