A Different Shade of Grey
By: Elban Fehl
Rated R
Ship: HHr
The (unlovely) procedure: previous plot and characters are JKR's, WB, etc, etc., blah blah
blah. A response to the erotic novel series, Fifty Shades of Grey.
Author's Note: A fleshing out of the plot, the interaction of outside characters (Ginny, and
the argument that she never “knew” Harry like Hermione did, but was paired with him…?), and
especially Adult!Harry and why he is how he is. I hoped to show that HHr within this universe is
more than “mere pleasure buddies”.
Nevertheless, a smothering of sexy smut and love! Sexually-driven humor! More Gin/ Ron bashing!
More from Dominate!Harry! and Submissive!Hermione! In a couple days' time I had over 800+ hits
for the first chapter; so, I only hope it gets better!
Love it? Hate it? Review it!
~~~
As I went inside from the cold, shrugging winter's snow from my shoulders, I relieved the
scarf from about my neck and threw my pack of cigarettes on the counter. I stared at Hermione
working over a hot stove, my hands on my hips.
“The Hell do you think you're doing?” I spoke with that authority, the same sort that
instantly made her look up at me.
Her hand had gone to the stove's knob, heating one of the eyes. “Ron wanted oatmeal, and the
bacon—“
“Hermione!”
Both her and my head went to Ron's shout.
He had lifted his mug and shook it, meaning for a refill.
I went from distressed to furious, but Hermione began first:
“Ron! I am not your mother!”
“Ronald!” I barked above Hermione. I held back wanting to stomp a hole in Mr. Freckles.
Gin never minded, her hand stuck in a Magical-O's box with two buds of music in her
ears.
“The fuck, mate? Get off your lazy arse and pick up the damn pot!” I ended.
“Fuck! All right…,” Ron went to get up, in a fit, pushing the chair he sat in and the table back
an inch.
Ginny, her knees propped against the table didn't move when her they went forward that inch.
She was too caught up in her sugary cereal, and another clothing magazine.
“…You don't have to fucking yell, mate…,” I heard Ron mutter under his breath, pouring his
own coffee. “For fuck's sake…”
“Stop—“ I pushed Hermione away, forcing myself not to go back outside for a smoke. I suddenly
grew the urge. I tipped one out, but never lit it; letting the taste of tobacco develop in my mouth
as I prodded her back. “Stop. Let me do it.”
I took hold of the fucking oatmeal bubbling in the pot, the fried bacon.
“Ron!” I yelled from my side.
I saw him jump in my peripheral. “The fuck now?”
“Come get your damn breakfast.”
“Let me do it…,” I heard Hermione at me in whisper.
I looked down at her, the short distance of my height with the cigarette wagging at the corner
of my mouth. “I'm fixing your breakfast, love. Something healthy—brain food for your big
presentation this morning at the Ministry. How about pumpkin pancakes and fruit?”
She shied away from smiling, being interrupted when Ron barged in and dipped out his brown
oatmeal, the fatty bacon lying in oil.
She turned back to me when he'd gotten done acting up in front of us to prove a point.
“At least allow me to make yours…,” She gave me one of those puppy-dog faces, big eyes, and
pouty lips. “Pretty please?”
Her warm hand went to my arm.
I didn't care if it was seen or not.
I leaned in, cradled Hermione's head in the palm of my hand, and led my lips to her
forehead. I scratched the back of her head affectionately, softly, saying, “Some eggs and toast is
all. I don't want to see you standing here any longer than that.”
When my hand left the confines of her bushy hair, I lowered to give her bum a firm pat. “I mean
it.”
I smiled as I saw her going about cracking the eggs and finding the loaf of bread to toast aside
me, never straying too far. Our hips an inch or two apart, I went to pour the pumpkin batter into
the heated pan and looked over at the busied Gin, and her brother watching the telly, completely
unconcerned and unaware.
Careless.
The definition of our relationships.
Hermione's lovely voice awoke me from the stare.
“Will you be at the meeting after your trip to Diagon Alley?”
I flipped the underside of the pancake, a lightly tan top now above as it sizzled.
“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”
She smiled, biting her bottom lip.
“I'll be making you some eggs, too.”
With my right hand occupied by the spatula, I rested my left on the slope of her back, the
beginnings of her left buttock.
Owned.
She looked at my curiously; curious of my words, comfortable of my actions.
“You're going to need all the protein you can get today.”
~~~
“Where the Ministry is putting a lean on the shop selling things like,” George and I traveled
about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Headquarters in Diagon Alley. We'd been discussing his jump
from the wizarding world to that of the Muggle version, and all that of which could include. His
hand reaching from his tweed jacket, George plucked a small pink bottle from an ever-flowing red
waterfall. “'Love potions,' the products that have taken the Muggle kiddies have been
things like our Ten-second Pimple Vanisher, the Aviatomobiles—“
One flew over our heads in the like of the Ford Anglia.
“—Annnd, of course our more novelty items like fake vomit! Muggles eat it up—well, you
know.”
I had my hands deep in my business coat pockets, looking around at the Joke shop and its many
customers bustling in and out of the revolving door.
The place was packed, standing-room only.
“That's great to hear, really great to hear,” I patted George on the back.
“Yeah—well,” We were on the second floor, looking over a balcony at the giddy patrons enthralled
within the happy environment of whirling and twirling, blasting and flashing. George gripped the
balcony's rail. “I only wish Fred were here to see this—to see the shop branching out to the
Muggle world! He'd have a ball, indeed.”
I smiled and gave George's shoulder a friendly pat, showing that I understood. “He
knows.”
George turned to me with a smirk. “We're not going to hug now, Harry, are we? Because you
know I don't swing that way, mate.”
I laughed louder than the Weasley Wonderous Wand that popped in a shine of slivered lights.
“I'd like to invest.”
“Harry Potter—a businessman?” George scoffed with the smirk. “And here I thought you'd lost
your marbles!”
“Well, my galleons aren't getting any younger; and besides, I'd like to help. That is,
if you want. I could very well take it back—“
“Oh, no! We'd—I'd appreciate the extra bit of gold in our coffers! We need better
foundation in the Muggle world, if some mishap happens.”
“I'll take the risk.”
“And, if it utterly, terribly fails and all the gold is flushed down the hole?”
“I really wouldn't care,” I shrugged. “A friend to a friend. Are you expecting to fail?”
George chuckled. “Touche, Harry. Touche.”
“And if profits skyrocket?” George asked.
“I'd like a percent.”
George laughed. “What happened to a `friend of a friend'?”
I smiled. “I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid. I trust you. It'd be nice to have a little
change between now and Aurorship.”
~~~
I took a casual stroll towards the left, underneath the old, crooked sign half-hung on the side
of some trashy pole at the end of the main road.
Knockturn Alley.
Being “Harry Potter”, I caught a few odd glances from my fellow wizards and witches.
What would I tell them?
I'd smile, and tell them all to, “Go to Hell”.
The glances got more interesting the more I paced through the seedier parts of the Alley,
turning into a shop with more…unseemly objects displayed in its windows.
The Buzzing Broomstick.
I was instantly greeted by an old witch that wore fashion straight from the 1960's.
“Mister Potter!” she wheezed, hands outstretched behind the immaculate glass counter. What
lacked outside, the store had: unsullied and sparkling clean, and big, bright lights everywhere.
“My favourite customer! Come to try one of our brand new toys! A shipment of Witch Parfait products
came in this morning!”
“No thank you, Sia,” I talked from an aisle of adult magazines, gorgeous girls prancing
robeless, using their wands as…
I smirked at one rather original place a blonde girl had found to put her wand in.
“I'm just browsing.”
My ears picked up on the bell jingle, a man coming in under thick robes, sunglasses on.
I chuckled quietly.
If you were going to go through all that trouble to—
My eyes landed on something interesting.
I reached out and shimmied the plastic case from the rack and examined the contents.
The Magic Wand:
A little magic that no one will ever see!
Rated 10/10 from couples who want that special spark!
My grin grew quite large at the picture of a witch…providing example of how to use the small,
three inch black circular solid object with threads and tiny bumps. The rather interesting part lay
with a remote, the “magic no one would ever see”.
I wandered up to the counter and placed the petite number on the counter.
“Ah! Always the eye, Mister Potter! The Misses will be happy indeed!”
I laughed through my nose. Sia was evidently talking about Ginny, just like the newspaper
reported and every bloody fool thought.
Hogwarts sweethearts.
I reached into my dress trousers and laid down four galleons and eight sickles from my wallet. I
laughed again at the joke inside my head. “Sure.”
I looked behind me briefly while Sia rung me up for change and noticed Mister Trench Coat in
line.
I gave him a salute, turning back around to accept a sickle and a few knuts.
“Thanks Sia. I'll see you soon I'm sure.”
“Come again, Mister Potter! You keep the lights on!”
Walking by the man trying to be so abstruse, I laughed again and said to him when I saw the pile
of video tapes in his arms, “Best of luck tonight, mate.”
I had the biggest smartarse smile on my face as I backed out of the door.
~~~
“Excuse me, sir—sir!”
With a foot hitched on the wall, I leaned back against it.
A lit cigarette betwixt my lips, I took a drag and let the smoke escape from the corner of my
mouth away from the man accosting me. Plucking the fag out, I glanced over at Arthur and those
Ministry higher-ups filing into the conference room where Hermione would be presenting her House
Elf Welfare argument.
“Well, I'll be—Harry!”
He put his hand out.
“Hello Mister Weasley,” I tapped the cig with the flat of my index finger, letting the ashes
fall on the Ministry floor.
I shook his hand firm.
“When in blazes did you pick up smoking?”
“I think it was between my death and resurrection. I always was on that precarious ledge, eh,
Arthur?”
I smirked.
Arthur laughed. “Well, don't let the officials see you. It'll surely make a dark mark on
your record if they catch you.”
“But I'm the Harry Potter,” I laughed, putting the cig back in the corner of my lips.
Flicking back my wrist, my business coat's sleeve rose to allow the exposure of my silver
watch. “Where's Hermione?”
When I looked at Arthur, I saw her walking in behind him.
She glanced, tucking a piece of her straightened brunette locks behind her ear. She looked with
nerves in her teal-coloured pencil skirt and peplum-back jacket. Then she saw me, her sight
returning from her glance with a smile, a bite down of her lip.
“Harry!” She gave a bit of a run in her black heels, arms out, alit with happiness.
She set her paperwork under her arm, the bow which had her hair swaying to and fro behind
her.
I squashed the cig out after letting it drop to the floor with my boot, kicked from the wall and
leaned into her elated embrace.
I kissed her forehead, felt of her softened curls.
“I told you I would be here.”
She smelled so sweet.
I found the irony, as she lay against me those few seconds, how she lay against the little
something in my pocket…for later.
~~~
“Where are we?”
“Does it matter?” I hushed her when I turned her around and hiked up her skirt. Some sunlight
that could have been beautiful shone from a dust-clouded window. Obviously, these Ministry uniforms
hadn't seen daylight in many a century.
I half pushed her up on this wobbly desk contraption, something.
I didn't care.
“Harry—I think it'll fall if—“
I'd had enough.
Maybe it was because we were somewhere other than the Black Room, so she thought she could
speak.
I grunted, feverishly unraveling my leather belt.
The metal hook and latch clinked together, and I ripped the slender strip from my waist
band.
I used it as a tool, the leather snapping against her exposed knickers.
A sharp cry was heard, and in the semi-darkness did I see Hermione look back at me from her
perilous position, one leg hoisted so her knee set atop the rickety, chalk-ridden surface.
“Next time I'll be swifter.” I said this through gritted teeth.
My hand rummaged around in my dress trouser pocket, the front right one and felt of my wallet,
completely bypassing the certain toy next to it.
Her glowing skin looked magical in the shifting sunrays, sepia-tone in the robes cupboard. Her
eyes were vivid, pools of glittering, metallic bronze. Her naturally pink lips slightly parted from
her shriek, her heavy breath afterwards.
She saw me find the aluminum square intermixed between plastic cards and galleons.
She saw how I tore into the square with my canines, being aware, careful not to actually tear
the rubber inside. Talk about defeating the purpose…
I let my trousers drop to the ground, and I heard her speak however softly. She knew she
shouldn't, but the moment felt right.
She asked, in anticipation, seeing my push forward in the shadows:
“Did I at least do well?”
She tilted her head back, allowing her curls to dance along her back as she moved with my
entrance, her hand against the wall with my first thrust.
I grabbed her waist, pulled her with me, and had her arch her back so her ear went level with my
mouth:
“You did marvelously.”
I slid out, and pushed in, harder, a subtle pop against her split, white, hip-hugging
knickers.
A sharp gasp came with her feel of my cheek, the back of her head on my shoulder, a moan.
The gasp made my hairs stand on end, and her extra-feminine cries, her whimpers…it drove me to
the madness of an eager schoolboy.
For a moment I held her on me by the bunched up skirt at her hips, like reins; holding her
sitting arse on my lap. The smacks of our bodies echoed the quicker I found myself, the pace
increasing at each of her little moans, her grasps of my neck and face, her nails securing
themselves in my business coat sleeve.
She hung on with all her might, her strength waning, and I felt it.
Her.
Tight.
Lovely, wet contractions.
She loosened from me, her hands back on the wall, our rocking producing high-pitched squeaks
from the desk.
She let out an incredible howl, a herald of pleasure.
I grabbed onto her shoulders and came in my final pump, holding her with me those seconds until
I let her go.
She ended up on the table, on her elbows, hands, and I ended up fallen over, too. After every
muscle tensed, I had nowhere to go but atop her, my hands catching my fall on either side of her
trembling form.
I lay my cheek in the concave of her back, going to my elbows
I lay there just hearing her settle, hearing the transformation of rapid swells flitter to
accustomed inhales and exhales.
She remained stationary even when I rose in standing.
I gave her left arsecheek a firm slap, shaking from thought, leaving behind a red mark on her
pale skin.
She looked back at me on her elbows, and I lowered again.
I pushed in as I did and held myself deep, giving her reason to close her eyes and utter a
groan. When she had reopened, she felt of my hand as I petted her head, patting it.
“You've been such a good girl.”
I smiled.
And she did, too.
“I've a surprise for you—something that you might like.”
Slowly I stood back up, and as I did pulled out from the moistness between her and my pelvis. I
watched her vagina pull with me, her tiny hole, its vibrantly pink walls straining to keep
hold.
Beautiful, I thought. Always.
I heard another uttered gasp escape from Hermione.
An ever-so-slight suction sound reverberated in the air when she had completely let go, and I
watched her body retract, a masterpiece to behold.
I yanked off the rubber and tossed it towards the musty robes.
Centuries old, it'd take a whole new century before anyone would come in here and find
it.
I bent down and pulled up my trousers, began buttoning and zipping closed my fly, readjusting
what was left of the erection unwilling to rest at the sight of Hermione's heart-shaped arse
still in view.
My hand in my pocket, I kept my eyes on Hermione—and hers—and saw them look between me and that
little something now between my fingers.
“You'll need a bit more lubrication, love.”
I set a definitive hand on Hermione's bum, leaning forward, the crotch of my trousers
pressing again against her.
I reached around and set The Magic Wand at her lips.
“Ah…,” My brows rose and I smiled when I saw her lips open and closed around the rounded end,
the swirls of ridges, and the bumps. She looked at me as I worked it around in her mouth. “Such a
good girl.”
I let that hand on her arse up and quickly smacked her buttock again in showing utmost
appreciation, following instructions.
She jolted a bit, her eyes closed, a blink, and I pried away the small cylinder from her
mouth.
I pushed up and left her view.
I lowered to kneel, that hand pulling her crease open as did my other.
I could smell her sweet scent as much as I saw it, how wet she still was, even a bit of white
foam still around her warm hole.
I pulled her open further, spreading her pink to hear her utter breath.
I went to her, smelling the thick vanilla, and then tasting it, a lick from the beginnings of
her button to her teeny, puckered pink arsehole.
I could feel her thigh muscles tense and relax, her whole body moving a centimetre at my
lapping.
I licked my lips of the remaining taste and kept open her heat with one hand and inserted slowly
the bit with my other. I watched as the toy was gently taken, consumed.
If not for this action, I'd have fucked her again.
I'd become harder than rock as the educator and observer.
I pushed The Wand as far inside Hermione as possible, to the base which flattened out in
a circle.
I gave her arse a pat first, and then another slap as I stood back up. My hand rubbed her,
feeling the rigid plastic from the softness of her pussy to the softness of her arsehole, direct
along the crease.
Hermione looked at me, her eyes a-flutter, her hands, fingers white as she gripped the
table.
I had turned the remote on, dialed the vibration to just the first slot of five: LOW, MEDIUM,
HIGH, ULTRA, and MAGICAL.
I felt the toy move within her, my hand on her posterior.
I grinned when I saw how she couldn't stand it, but loved it, wanted it—needed it now as it
grew into control, like me.
I flipped the dial so the movement went off, and her eyes immediately went straight to me.
I placed my hand atop her head and petted, combing her gorgeous dark brown strands between my
fingers.
“Until tonight at dinner, it stays.”
She didn't say anything.
She knew she shouldn't, and continued her complacent stare.
“Are you hungry?”
She nodded, those strands falling from her shoulders in that ninety-degree angle she was left
in.
I stood back up and pulled the crotch of her white knickers back so it covered the held
trinket.
I could still see the rounded base and gave it a tap, tapping her arse, too.
Her eyes closed and opened slowly.
“Get up and hide your decency,” I muttered, slipping my belt back in its loops. “Let's go to
lunch.”
She stood and shimmied down her skirt.
Just after leaving the old uniform room, just as we stepped into the hallways of the Ministry
with all its patrons wandering about did I find the remote in my pocket and flip it on low.
Hermione, always at my side, halted a step at first, but I had her keep walking.
In the lift down she held onto me with a grip, and if one could hear beneath all the noise of
chatter and radio, one could hear the slight buzzing of the on-going vibrator never quite letting
up by my hand.
~~~
I walked casually into their lavatory.
“Ron's and Hermione's” lavatory inside “their” bedroom, the door open.
She was doing something to her eyes with a pencil, leaned over the sink and close to the mirror.
She never withdrew from her look; though, knew quite well I was there, especially when my hand led
from her back, down the ruffled satin of the red cocktail dress, running a finger along the black
ribbon about her waist, and ending at her arse.
“Has he stopped bitching?” she asked, and then a gasp, a shut of her eyes.
I had felt if she had worn knickers, dragging a digit where I knew lined her crease and took the
gap between her thighs in a firm grip.
I felt of the round base of the toy still stuck in her.
I smiled, but grew serious when she decided to lift up.
I pushed her back down further in her bend and yanked her skirt up. Her delectable heart-shaped
arse, the soft, white flesh of her taut buttocks was held between two lovely lace garters. She knew
I loved them, reminiscent since I'd first broken her in and took her virginity. This moment,
however, I didn't have to painstakingly pry her tiny black knickers aside for entry. This time
I could see her stark, trimmed pussy lips on either side still holding the naughty bit.
Close, I methodically examined my Hermione, spreading the crease, spreading what little of the
pink I could whilst seeing her pretty arsehole.
I glanced up when I felt her move slightly first, and then saw her, her arms aligned with the
counter, her hands grasping the sink at the spread.
I removed my hands and instantly watched her tight bum retract. I rubbed one arsecheek, and then
its twin, asking in-between, “How many times did you orgasm?”
She waited until I said, “You may speak.”
She turned her head towards me, her beautiful brown crown, and her tassels swaying as one from a
hairclip. “Four.”
I gave her right arsecheek a pat. “I saw your last one on the sofa. I believe Ron actually
thought you were asleep with your face in the pillow and a sheet covering you. I think the moan did
it.”
“And, you showered and shaved?”
She nodded, the fringe of her hair bouncing lightly above her eyes.
“Kept it in?” With my palm flat on her right arsecheek, I gently pressed the circular base with
the pad of my thumb.
I heard the softened groan from her lips, the lower of her head in the dry sink, and I saw the
nod.
I stood up and gave her bum a slap. “Stand.”
She did immediately, the skirt of the cocktail dress dropping back to her knees.
She turned towards me so we faced each other, my left hip and her right hip touched the
counter's edge.
I tapped the white-marbled countertop, and motioned with my head. “Sit.”
She turned again in a swirl, her hands taking the edge and hoisted herself up. I stepped only
one step away and told her to, “Lean back and spread.
Straight-faced, I watched my beauty do as I demanded, the cocktail dress falling from her knees,
her thighs, exposing her slightly hidden privates. As she sat back on her bum, shifting her arms
back on the counter in tilt, she watched me as I crept back in and laid my hand upon the base.
Even that slightest of touch gave her reason to blink her eyes, draw a breath.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes,” she sighed with a nod.
Wiggling my fingers between her vagina and the toy, I felt instantly wetness from suction,
moist. I grinned at her excitement, her anticipation, another drawn breath and a flutter of her
eyes.
Just as she were about to settle did I come in and kiss her.
She opened her mouth and I dived in, lovingly licking her, teasing her tongue.
With the slowest of tugs, I gently allowed the toy to come forth. The caress suppressed her
moans, but I could feel her body tense, shake, and I knew if she could she'd try and buck back
into my hand.
As we left from the kiss did she go to lean her head back, to gasp, but I made her watch with me
that inch to go before complete release. With her own eyes directed, she looked as her pussy shaped
with the trinket, and then pop back to its tightness.
My hand went to her sex, and I kissed her again with heat. A stilted erection, I couldn't
resist pushing against her opened thigh as I rubbed her hot hole in the palm of my hand.
She was wet, and when our lips parted did I show her the toy and what she had done.
A shine shimmered from Hermione, glistening in the lavatory lighting.
“Open,” I instructed, opening my mouth as pattern for what I wanted her to do.
She followed, her juice-slathered toy atop her tongue.
She kept her eyes with mine, working the bit in her mouth as she suckled. Her eyes left me but
for a second, and in that second found my free hand back at her sex, my middle finger as
replacement while Hermione cleaned the ridged plastic.
Her tight vagina drew in that finger, clasped, and secured me within.
Stating with a morsel of anger in my tone, my penis suffocating in my trousers, “I'd ravage
you with every inch if not for the time.”
Plucking the toy from her lips did I remove a hand from the counter and placed her atop the
grown, visible snake wanting peace from my ever-tightening shorts.
A fleeting thought of Hermione blowing me passed through my mind, my eyes going to my watch
where the time ticked closer to our reserved seating at the restaurant.
I looked back at her, into her eyes as I left her rubbing my stiff penis.
“This is going back in if not for my amusement, but as you like it.” I waved the hard, ribbed
cylinder in my grasp, catching her attention from that of my manhood.
I leaned into her, and had her leave me. “Hold onto me,” I said, reaching around to hold her as
well.
I felt her arms about my back, her hands in my hair.
At first penetration I heard her sharp gasp, a moan, her fingernails clawing the dress coat. She
gripped my hair, her breasts against my chest, her body arched. I let a drop of my spit fall and
land atop the toy, giving another layer of lubrication as I observed her tiny hole re-accept
invitation. I thumbed at her clitoris, feeling the pull from a contraction. I let me fingers from
the base and watched the plastic snap against her bald pussy lips, ever-so-slightly hiding the
pinkness beneath.
Hermione had nearly crawled up on me, her arms in an embrace as she clung onto me.
She drew another long breath, her chest heaving when I gave rub between her thighs. I had her
remove her grip, remove herself from me as I declared, “Down.”
Her bum wriggling, she hopped down and stood still a moment to regain her balance with that
extra something inside her.
I reached back as I went and told her to, “Come.”
She took my hand as I led her form the lavatory, the hallway, the rooms between there and the
exit door. The lights went out by my wand on our way outside. They'd gone to the car, tired of
waiting. I could see Ronald up front and Ginny waiting for Hermione in the backseat.
They were discussing something.
Something I didn't care a rat's arse about.
I saw them look at us coming, and I let Hermione go.
I placed my dress coat along her bare shoulders, the cocktail dress strapless, to keep still her
shivering form from the cold night air.
I waited for the moment when Ron had turned to look to his side, Ginny look down, and gave
Hermione's taut arse a celebratory slap for being such a good girl on her way in front of
me.
I hoped it left another mark.
I watched her at the driver's door come around.
She glanced at me before stepping in, and then I did, our bodies, their movements jostling the
vehicle.
I heard Ronald say something of me, but tuned it out with the start-up of the Benz.
Ginny's whine bypassed defenses, and I heard her cry about how we going to a “Muggle
restaurant” and that she, “Didn't understand why we couldn't have Floo-ed to Violet Hill
for dinner”.
My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and I saw Ginny boring her eyes at me, her arms folded,
and her nose scrunched up — looking so much like her mother.
Taking the mirror, I changed the scenario, not wanting to see her, but…
Hermione, after buckling herself in, glanced up, and then noticed the change.
Our eyes had locked as one until Ron bumped me from the bothered moment, a tent propped in my
trousers, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla. Ron had taken it upon himself to start the night off
with a lovely degradation, unamusingly stating as he looked at Hermione in the backseat:
“You know how I hate red.”
Hermione crossed her arms, too.
“Well, you're not wearing it, are you?”
The foulness in my features turned to a smirk as I caught the white of Hermione's gorgeous
eyes.
I revved the engine and burned the tread, taking off and making sure I went over the curb on
Ron's side.
~~~
“Your name, sir?”
“Potter.”
“Table for four?”
“Yes.”
“This way, please.”
The hostess began her ascent, and we followed upstairs.
The crimson carpet cushioned against our shoes.
Ron and Gin stormed off, racing up the stairs to see who got to the top first, leaving me with
Hermione. I had a handful of her bum, and we got looks, or I did, at how brazen my feel of the
lovely brunette was all the way upstairs.
“This is what I want you to eat tonight,” rummaging in my pocket I pulled out a bit of folded
parchment and handed it to her.
“Healthy, and all the essential nutrients and vitamins you'll need.”
She glanced at me and nodded, the corner of her lip twitching in a subtle smirk.
“I'll take care of you,” my hand left Hermione's supple arsecheek, to hold her head, to
feel of her hair as I drew her into my lips.
I kissed her, and she responded with a not-so-subtle moan, catching a few passerbies'
cock-eyed attention.
She put the bit of parchment in her purse after having read its contents; and as she did, my
hand went from cradling her head, to her shoulder, the slope of her back, and back to her lovely
arse were I held.
I heard Ginny squeal and Ron's boisterous laughter shake the guest's quiet
atmosphere.
I shook my head and shouted, “Kids!”
Both gingers turned to me with scowls.
“Enough.” I pointed at them. “Act polite and use your inside voices.”
~~~
“And, for the Misses?”
We were arranged with Ron on my right and Gin on my left.
Hermione sat opposite and centre.
I'd let her off the hook while she spoke with the other two, and me, going about as if just
another night of trials and tribulations. Though, I did flip the vibrator on medium setting while
she spoke with Ron. When she was asked a question her eyes closed. I knew I had her.
She didn't even look at me when I shut it off, resuming as if she only had a spell.
Now, the perfect opportunity lay in front of me
She glanced from the menu at her nose at the waiter. The soft candlelight aglow on her
porcelain-carved face would have brought someone else to smile, think of adoration. My mind,
however, went to the toy between her legs, the remote in my pocket.
She went to say something, tell the waiter exactly what I wanted her to eat from the choices
when she sucked in a breath, a peep, and closed-shut her eyes. Hey eyelids were gentle; it
wasn't as if she blinked, a slow close, her pink lips parting to let escape a quick breath.
I could see her hands slowly gripping the edges of the menu, and I knew if she could get passed
embarrassment she would have moaned. Instead, she kept the mannered Hermione, even if the wild,
animalistic version of her wanted longingly to be let out, or at least from her bottled throat
where she held tight the needed moan.
I sat back in my chair, that hand still in the pocket and enjoyed the scene showing before
me.
Seconds passed, a lengthy pause between the waiter's question and Hermione's hushed
form.
I saw her want to turn, to turn her heads towards me, but feared she couldn't—any move
setting “it” off.
Only until Ronald called for her, saying in his wonderful Weasley way, “Well, out with it! We
haven't all day! I'm hungry!”
“She'll have the shrimp and chicken linguini with an extra serving of fresh, steamed
vegetables on the side,” all three, Ginny, Ron, and the waiter looked at me. Far from another short
breath escaping Hermione's slightly parted lips. I told the waiter, “Hold the cream sauce. She
doesn't like it.”
I turned the dial down, and then off, and watched Hermione's shoulders slump and readjust
herself, utterly halted and rigid that last minute or two.
Her head went down and she hid within her curtain of brown curls.
She put the menu down, and I watched her curiously as she straightened and gripped, straightened
and gripped her fingers with her palm flat on the white-cloth table.
I smirked.
“The meals should be out shortly,” the waiter bowed and left us.
My eyes went to Ron when he asked curtly, his face back towards Hermione and her stilled body,
“What in the blazes is wrong with you tonight?”
My smirked widened so much I had to hide myself with a hand for promise of being found out for
knowing something others didn't.
From behind my hand I looked concerned.
Hermione gently eased up her head, and those deep, gorgeous pools of cinnamon were placed
directly on me.
I could see her pink lips still parted, and the slightest heave of her chest.
I took up my wine glass and held it, toasting in silence.
~~~
She ate too damn slow, or maybe it was because she'd come.
Nevertheless, a moment with her fork, a shrimp, some broccoli, and what looked like a piece of
carrot in its prongs did she stop once more. She closed her eyes, the fork so close to her
mouth.
Now it parted by my hand.
I felt her foot with mine under the table, how she moved, her body telling her to writhe, that
stiletto heel running up the height of my trouser-clad calf.
It must be hard to keep those legs crossed, I joked to myself, bored and insanely horny
as I continued to watch her plead with my actions.
Gin and Ron continued to talk about something.
Some shopping trip of Gin's on my galleon.
Stupid shit I didn't have time for.
I released her, setting the dial back from medium, to low, and then to off.
She finally bit down on the combination on her fork, her eyes still closed until they opened
back on me—always on me—as she chewed carefully.
I took up my glass of wine and finished the contents in one gulp, my hand beneath the table
adjusting what was an ever-growing circus tent.
I mouthed to her, “Three minutes.”
She cocked her brow, not understanding.
I held up three fingers, and motioned off to my right with a shrug off the shoulder.
I took my napkin, wiped my mouth off and threw it in my plate.
I stood up and announced, creating instantly an audience, “I'm going to the loo. If the
waiter comes asking for dessert tell him I'll be back shortly.”
“Hurry up, mate—they've chocolate cake!” Ron slurped down his spaghetti string and belched.
“Excuse me.”
I left off towards my right and waited around the corner at the men and women's bathroom
doors. I had to step a few times in that wait to let people go by as they came in and went out, and
I smiled when I saw Hermione walking this way.
I put out my hand and she took it, leading her through the men's lavatory door.
As we went in I caught sight of some git at the sink washing his hands.
He saw us—he saw Hermione—and then he didn't see us anymore.
I'd chosen a stall and closed the door, locked it behind.
I pointed off towards the toilet, the wall behind Hermione. “Get up on the toilet and stick your
arse out.”
I watched her turn and climb up on the shut toilet seat on her knees. One hand went atop the
toilet's tank, her other on the wall. She looked back at me a second, to see my attention
elsewhere. I'd unzipped my fly and let loose my struggling erection, having reached in, too,
and pulled out the balls underneath.
She waited for me, her head dropping back in front of her, seeing the beginnings of me applying
the see-through condom.
I stepped forward and watched her jerk up, almost as if her own anticipation wavered, knowing
I'd soon join her with that first second of penetration.
I chuckled, making brief note of some guy in the next stall and another on my other side, the
sinks turning on and off.
I'm sure Hermione noted the men entering and exiting the restroom as well.
I took my tie off, wanting less of her senses informed, wanting only her mind to unravel of what
might or might not be happening in the presence of public.
I placed it around her eyes from behind and tied it in a knot behind her head.
I pulled up her cocktail dress and saw her beautiful bum, the gap between her closed thighs, and
that toy stuck in. I lowered and planted a kiss on her left buttock, gently running my fingers down
her crease until I felt the hard base of The Magic Wand.
I heard her sigh as I watched myself begin to pull it from her, my sight going to how wet she
still was, her vagina looking very soft and very swollen. I watched how it pulled her, Hermione so
wanting to keep what had been inside. My ears perked when I heard her want to gasp, to moan, a
whimper instead.
I wished to hear her moan, for me, for all the men in the room to know I had her…
The last little bit I pulled from her in haste, and she did what I so wanted.
She moaned, the toilet tank cover shaking as she tried her best to stabilize.
My dick leapt, and I had had enough.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I took her in my hands, a pull of her hair to yank her back.
I put the vibrator near her opened, panting mouth and had her hold it between her lips.
I slid my erection along the slit of her vagina, gathering Hermione's natural liquid as
perfect lube, and then slid myself in. Gradually I pushed, wanting her to feel every inch of me
spreading her out further than those three inches of plastic she grew accustomed to these last
hours.
At the base, my balls against her little nub, I reached out and grabbed the start of her
strapless dress. I knew she'd worn no bra, and when I worked the front of her dress down did I
feel her splendidly perky breasts jiggle out. I squeezed them on the onset, my hips drawn back,
slipping a few inches out. My first thrust smacked against her taut bum.
She tilted her head back and wanted to cry out; but, found it difficult, and muffled, against
the toy.
Between a slap of her arse and that of the toilet tank shifting by my pound, the one thing she
could control was the latter. The hand on the toilet found refuge with her other, both now on the
wall as she hung onto the solid surface. I found I cared not, letting another slap be heard by the
restroom attendees.
I think she wanted to crawl to the ceiling when I lost myself, the restriction of my
circumference and the beauty of Hermione, of the fuck, my hormones coursing through my veins. One
hand, and then her other crept up the faux-wood wall until she could go no more.
Her little whimpers, her little pants, how when I pulled out to push right back in did I hear a
wet suction between her arse and my thighs. It drove me mad.
I felt her go, her climax, how her stifled moan made any noise in the lavatory quiet.
I lifted her from the wall and set her down on wobbly legs, standing in heels a chore.
I switched places, unbuttoning my trousers and let them fall. I sat on the closed toilet seat
and had her straddle me, taking her arse in my hands, directing her as she remained sightless. I
kept her dress up in front so I could see her vagina split on my cream-slathered dick. She set
right down, and I had her pull her feet up above my knees, had her hold onto the points of her
stilettos as she rode me and rode me hard.
I kept her steady, and balanced, my hands firm around her sides, feeling the soft satin material
just above her perfect stomach.
She rocked herself on me one last time before I took control, stretching her deep with hammering
pumps until the first spurt struck the inside of the condom, and then a second, subsequent shots
completely filling the tip.
She tilted her head back, and I knew she had felt the loaded heat I'd given her depths.
With a hand, I ran a hand down the length of her body, from her neck, between her breasts, her
contracting abdomen and ended with a rub of her lovely, exposed clitoris. I heard her sigh, and try
and straighten back up. I eased her from the grip of the black heels and onto me. I took the
vibrator from her lips and led her blindly to my lips where I tasted her, lapping at her eager
tongue. My hands from her back, to her rounded breasts, I massaged them, my thumb and forefingers
pinching down upon her perky, cooled nipples.
She gasped behind my tie.
I sat up in our kiss and heard her heels, her feet hit the bathroom floor.
I released from her, saying in an affirmed tone to, “Stand.”
Slowly she did, and I watched myself unveil from its rendezvous inside Hermione.
I sat the toy on the toilet tank and went about disposing of the spent rubber. I saw
Hermione's dress drop back in its orderly fashion in front of her as I stood up, too, and
opened the seat. There, I dropped the used condom and hiked up my trousers which had lain around my
ankles. I zipped, buttoned, and buckled myself up—looking presentable as I reached back to
flush.
Taking the trinket from the tank, I slipped it into my pocket where the remote sat and went
about unleashing the tie blinding my dazzling brunette.
Her eyes were closed at first, and slowly they adjusted to the lights until she looked up at me,
rose in her cheeks.
I loved how her perky breasts stood at attention, like two diving rods pointing to where she
received her pleasure. I leaned in and kissed her, taking her hands, moving them as I helped her
recover above her sash.
“We're leaving,” I stated plainly, unlatching the metal lock of our stall and taking
Hermione's hand after knowing her dress had been fixed.
She stepped out first, being in front, and then me.
In silence, I saw a few eyes of men utterly taken by the things they had heard, and the sight of
my one traipsing shyly from the loo. I led her to the sink where I had her wash her hands with me,
squirting soap into her palms and seeing in my peripheral the man washing his hand on her right
side in shock.
I gave her a paper towel to dry her hands off with, took her used one with mine and tossed it in
the rubbish bin on the way out.
In my grasp, her fingers interlaced with mine, I led her out to a sight of more men coming in,
and mouths gaped at a woman being in the men's room.
At least I was courteous enough to clean up after myself, I thought.
~~~
In the stroboscopic lights of the telly, I could tell Hermione's sight was on me even if she
were with Ron on the sofa.
I sat in my chair, my bare feet up on the coffee table. Shirtless, I nursed a glass of liquor
and ice, the bottle sitting near my crossed feet.
My sight was on her, too, how she was all curled under a sheet, nestled aside the ginger who so
fondly laughed at an incoherently loud and vulgar comedian. The fire crackled in the hearth to take
the chill off.
We had gotten home.
I ended up here with my bottle.
They ended up there on the sofa.
And Gin, after a rousing verbal explosion went to bed.
When we didn't fight, we slept.
Ignoring was a better choice,
I was into my sixth glass when the comedy show went off, and off clicked the telly. Ron threw
the control on the coffee table and chuckled, “Muggle things—can't get enough of them!”
I never did quit staring at Hermione, and how she looked at Ron in-stretch, rising from the sofa
cushions and leaving her behind.
He scratched his naked belly, patting the weight he had gained after leaving Quidditch behind
for food. He still admired the sport, but bitched about how he, “could never be like them”.
So much for the mirror and its aspirations of future conclusions.
Now he pouted all day about how he missed the “good ol' days of Hogwarts”.
I spat on them, and never gave Ron ear when he'd begin to mope.
“I'm going to bed,” he turned to see Hermione, still patting that weight in the front, that
bit of Weasley-red from the underside of his navel. “You comin'?”
She looked at me and how I had my lips to my drink.
I saw life in a hallway, the liquor getting to me.
She shrugged, and sighed, standing up and letting the sheet fall from her flannel pyjamas. She
wore enough clothes for two winters and a blizzard, long-sleeves and collar included.
I watched her leave me, following Ron upstairs.
She stopped at my side, and I heard the footsteps of Ron continue without her.
She rested her hand on my shoulder.
I didn't say anything, didn't move, never looked up.
“Will you be all right here?” she asked in the softest of sweet tones.
I raised my glass and had the ice clink against each other inside with a shake.
Her hand left my shoulder, found my hair where she sifted her fingers through my messy
crow's nest in stride.
I heard her footsteps, and then the door shut upstairs.
I looked between my glass, the bottle, and the fire in the hearth.
The Firewhiskey had always been opened, the cork placed beside it. Removing my feet, I set them
on the cold floor and poured myself another glass. I put my back against the chair again and drank
myself into the night, never once shutting closed my eyes.
~~~
“Come to bed.”
I didn't look at Gin.
Though, she had purposefully blocked my view of the fire.
I set my lips back to the refilled glass and took another long sip.
I saw her go to pick up the bottle of Firewhiskey, and that's what finally broke my silence.
My eyes shot to hers like daggers, the bottle in her hands. “I wouldn't do that if I were
you.”
“I'm dumping it out,” she went to leave me, but jumped when I shouted.
I had sat up in my chair, my finger pointed at her and then down on the coffee table, “Put it
back—NOW! NOW! THIS INSTANT! RIGHT NOW!”
“Take your fucking bottle back—you fucking arseface!” she slammed the bottle back down, and I
seethed when I looked up at her.
I took the bottle from the table and set it on the ground at my feet.
“Is this about your mummy and daddy again? Or, is this about Dumbledore—maybe Severus—how about
my dead brother—“
I threw the whiskey glass across the room and had it shatter to pieces.
Gin immediately shut up.
I displayed my teeth and growled, my eyes dark to her, “…Don't you ever—EVER!—show
disrespect to them again. Do you hear me?”
“Quit acting like my father! I'm your girl—!”
“Then quit acting like the fucking child you are!” I shot to my feet and yelled her down.
She looked as if to cower in that moment, her hands at her chest, her eyes wide.
“I don't give a fucking rat's arse how fucking disrespectful you are to me—I don't
fucking care—but,” I pointed at her, an inch away. “You fucking talk like that about my family
again and I'll—“
“Do what?” She got right up in my face. She looked ever-more like her mother, and just the dash
of brazenness. “What are you going to do? Hm? Hit me, Harry?”
I stared her down.
She stared back until finally a smirk crossed her lips.
She went about as if she won, her nose in the air. “You're pathetic—just pathetic.”
She pranced off towards the staircase, but stopped, holding the banister to say back at me,
“Stay down here—stay. Get fucking drunk like every fucking night. I don't fucking care anymore.
You're not the guy I met back in—“
“You never knew me!”
Gin quieted, to say again, “Maybe you're right. You're just like all the rest. A
pathetic excuse for a man, a piss poor drunkard starting young. You'll be dead by the time
you're thirty.”
“Fuck you.”
“No—fuck you, Harry. Fuck you!” and she stormed off upstairs.
I fell back in the chair, grabbed the damn bottle and drank forth from it.
Fuck the glass.
I heard footsteps minutes after, and I had thought she had come back down. I flicked around to
curse her again, to tell her to get in bed, to see Hermione at the foot of the stairs.
My world wavered with the alcohol in me, my sight zooming in and zooming out.
It didn't help that I had turned myself so quickly.
I turned back around to resume my stare into the fire and found a few seconds in-between the
silence and more footsteps.
A shadow cast before me, and then a figure.
Hermione knelt down in front of me and placed her hands on my knees. She looked up at me in that
way, her way; the way which drove me from my grieving state of mind like so many other times. I
never quite got over my past, and the present struggles weren't all that easy. But, she was
there.
Her eyes never went to the emptied bottle, only staying with mine as I reached for her.
I placed my hand atop her head and petted her, stroking her beautiful face with the pads of my
fingers, following the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. My fingers sifted back through her
fringe, the front of her not-so-bushy, fine brown hair fell forward in tufts, landing gently back
along her forehead.
She continued to look up at me, her eyes like saucers, her mouth in a concerned, sad line, her
bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
“Climb up here,” I said in slur.
She didn't hesitate, pushing from her knees, and then back on them as she went to straddle
my waist. I looked up at her, our faces centimetres apart, and the hate—all of it—ceased to exist.
I took her face in my hands and carried her down to meet me, my mouth, where I kissed her hard. My
hands left her cheeks, to her throat, to her sides where I squeezed.
I pulled her forward, standing on her knees, and caressed down from her lips, to her neck,
clavicle, between her breasts. I held her to me in an embrace, and Hermione, reaching around and in
my blackened hair, hugged me to her warm bosom.
I picked her up easily when I stood, walked her over as her legs locked around me, and laid her
down as I did on the sofa cushions. My head stayed with her breasts even when I stopped caressing
them, loving her.
“Do you regret anything?” I asked her in my whisper, looking at her from that level, feeling her
hands comb my hair.
She shook her head and simply stated, “Nothing.”
“You deserve the world.”
She smiled.
I laid my cheek on her right breast and closed my eyes, a hand clasped around her left.
Hermione kept to him, her eyes never straying from his sleeping face. Harry looked happier when
he slept. After all those years of pain and torture, of the hate, the deaths…the cynicism, the
feeling of being left alone time and time again…even in the darkest times…
She could smell the heavy odor of whiskey on him.
The clock above the hearth struck twice, calling two in the morning.
She'd been watching him now more than an hour.
She thought it better to be in bed, more comfortable for him than cramped on the tiny sofa
seats. Not to mention the armrest digging into her back, her neck craned at an angle of soreness
over time. She moved to get up, carrying him in her arms.
He murmured something, and all she could understand was her name in the sentence.
“I have you…,” she said, standing him up, an arm about him for support.
With one gentle step after another she made it with him upstairs.
She took hold of the doorknob to the closet, turned once and back again for the magical click.
The Black Room opened and in she went. She closed the door behind and carried him to bed. Hermione
sat him down on the edge and he fell backward. She sighed, her hands on her hips before having to
maneuver him, rolling him over in a better, less wake-up-to-ache position.
She clapped as she walked around the bed to her side, leaving a tucked-in Harry and the sheets
wide for her entry. She slipped in within the darkness and pushed into Harry.
She could barely see him while he slept.
And still, he looked serene.
She closed her eyes with an arm about his broad back and fell asleep, too.
~~~
I woke from my not-so-blissful sleep with a deathly hangover.
My body was telling me, “Good for you, dumbarse!”
That I had achieved my goal.
And, what did I do?
I smiled in irony.
My first breath caught the sensual aroma of vanilla, and hair.
As I rose from the bed, pushing off it with my hands as if I were about to do a push-up, I felt
a form slither from me. I looked over in the darkness, and between my lack of vision with both my
sight and the alcohol, I didn't know how I had gotten into the Black Room. Until, I caught the
low murmur of Hermione, and the slight pull of the black silk sheet when she rolled over.
She must've been lying atop my back, and as I got up was made to fall to her side.
Still drunk, and intoxicated both from drink and the softness I found in my hands… I found
myself becoming increasingly aware of my surroundings, of Hermione's figure, my hands on her
contours.
I clapped and the ambient light flickered on.
On her back with an arm over her head she lay looking extremely cozy and at ease. Appealingly
sexy, I dropped my hand so I hovered over her side and lowered myself. Undoing the first button
from the bottom, I opened her flannel shirt, moving north. I let just the beginnings of my lips
graze her stomach, and up between her beautiful breasts where I caressed, moving again to the
hollow of her throat, her lips where I kissed her there.
Her mouth responded as if she were awake, opening to retrieve my waiting tongue, and hers.
I felt her body waken, and her first movements, wriggling beneath me against the cool
sheets.
She wasn't fully awake when I lurched over her, my arm outreached to take hold of the handle
of the bedside table. She continued to squirm, rubbing her face, her eyes, her hair, and breathe
deep. My fingers had found the box of condoms, and I didn't delay getting a handful, rummaging
around haphazardly and tossing everything but one on the floor.
I lowered my pyjama trousers as I watched her body shift aside me, still coming from twilight
sleep, her eyes opening once but shutting again.
She was tired, but I had nothing more on my mind than her.
I went quickly about it, bestial, sliding the rubber around my width and dropping the wrapper
somewhere outside my peripheral.
I took her, lifted Hermione with my strength, and turned her over, twisted her around, ending
with her arse in the air.
She was awake now, of course she was, and she looked at me just as I pulled her pyjama bottoms
down, her knickers the same. My nose to her crease, I gave her vagina a lick, instant wetness. I
heard her gasp, saw her hands sink into the bed. She looked back at me in her sleepy state when I
entered her, letting draw out this wondrous groan fall from the tip of her tongue.
I pushed her back down when she went to get on her hands, pushing her face back into the
pillow.
I heard her cry my name, plunging deeper, harder, picking up my pace when I heard my name again
in her screams.
My hands holding her thin waist, above her lovely hips, did I grind one last time in, my length
hidden. To the base, I grunted, felt it—my climax—and let go the needed want.
Standing on my knees, I gazed down at the arched back of Hermione, her body jostling with her
heavy breaths, her face covered in her hair. I gave her arse a pat, a rub, before rolling to the
left and rolling her with me. She turned as I did, falling on my side along the bed with a slight
bounce. She curved with me, connected still, in spoon.
I sifted away the loosened curls about her face and took her to my mouth, directing her head in
my hand. She found my kiss, and I devoured her, hearing her moan. Gently, I thrust, just to see her
angle back and moan. I smiled, and pulled her again to my punishing lips.
My right arm, my hand went around her form like a belt about her waist. I felt her flat abdomen,
the tiny strip of pubic hair of her mound. I smiled when she did a small jump, my finger playing
with her love button.
I pulled from her to alleviate the rubber, and fell back with her, my left arm still holding
her. I took with me the sheets to cover us, her. I reached around to cradle her head in my arms,
and said after clapping the lights off, “Sleep, baby.”
I smelled of her hair as I, too, drifted off.
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