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“Hermione!” A furious shout from her Head of Department hit her in the back. Granger flinched but didn't slow her pace, continuing toward the office. Although, from the outside, it looked more like an escape.
“Granger, for God's sake! Stop it!...” Potter’s outraged protests were muffled by the closing door. She literally needed fifteen minutes to catch her breath, treat her injuries, and change into a fresh uniform. Only then would she be ready to face the angry tirades of her best friend and, incidentally, her boss.
Hermione crossed the office and pushed the hidden door panel that led to the bathroom. When Blaise Zabini left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he secretly whispered to the girl that his was the only office equipped with such a luxury as its own bathroom, and if Granger wanted to secure this treasure, she should hurry.
By hook or by crook, the girl managed to secure this exact workspace for herself. First, it was set apart from everyone else. Second, it was closest to the Apparition point. And third, the coveted shower and private toilet were the ultimate dream of every Auror. Harry had watched, bewildered, as Granger fought for the desired office even as a Deputy. He had even clarified a couple of times if she truly needed that dark corner, given there were offices with a view of London, and some even had their own coffee machine. But Hermione was uncompromising, and now, more than ever, she was glad for her persistence.
After closing the wall panel from the inside, Granger ripped off her stained Auror jacket and the shirt underneath, blindly tossed her boots, which could easily be thrown away. The Dissolving Potion had left scorched marks on the dragon hide, but fortunately hadn't burned through to her foot. Her trousers and underwear followed the boots. Sighing in relief, the girl stood in front of the small mirror above the sink, trying to assess the damage. It wasn't as bad as she had thought. A couple of bruises on her ribs, a scratch on her cheekbone, a bruised hip—she could live with that.
Turning the shower knob all the way, Hermione stepped under the scalding spray.
She loved hot showers, the kind where, just a bit more, and her skin would peel off, and with it, all things external and superficial, leaving behind only a pristine layer. Lately, the girl had increasingly wanted to shed her skin, like a snake, to renew herself, to get rid of obsessive thoughts and fantasies.
Sighing in relief, Granger turned off the valve and reached for a towel.
“I’ve always wondered how you can stay under that scalding water for so long?” The husky voice of the Head of the Auror Office made Hermione freeze halfway. Motherfucker. How did he know her little secret? Shit, shit, shit.
“I think you should either plunge back into that boiling cauldron you call a shower, or finally come out,” his voice dripped with mockery, and Granger, gritting her teeth, snatched the towel from the hook, wrapping it around her steamed body, and stepped out of the cubicle.
Drops falling from her hair traced a path down her sharp collarbones, getting lost between the hemispheres of her breasts, currently hidden by a small piece of terry cloth. Potter didn't understand what the hell had driven him to follow her here, of all places. He could have waited in the office. But he was so angry, so worried, that he only came to his senses when he saw the smooth curves behind the frosted glass, enveloped in steam.
And now, watching her wet hair frame her shoulders in curls, their tips caressing her forearms, Harry wished he were in their place. To trace every curve, to taste the velvet of her skin, to lick up every droplet, to consume her sudden gasp... Potter shook his head, driving away the temptation. If he did that, he would most likely end up more bruised than the last suspect Hermione had brought in.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The girl quickly recovered and was already fully expressing her displeasure.
“I came to get a report on your crazy actions,” the temptation was gone, and Potter remembered that he had actually intended to give her a proper dressing-down.
“I didn't know you debriefed all your subordinates after they took a shower,” Hermione raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. The movement caused the towel to gap slightly, revealing an attractive cleavage.
“Not every subordinate of mine risks their head to go after a necromancer all alone,” he recalled the frightened face of Auror Watts, who had brought a note to his office that morning, and Harry’s blood boiled again.
“I told you where I was going, and besides, we had to hurry. If we had delayed...” Potter had to listen to these explanations every single goddamn time his personal headache rushed into the thick of things.
“You could have called for backup, or sent a Patronus to me!” Harry roared, losing his patience. He couldn't imagine what he would do if Hermione got hurt.
“Stop it, Potter. I’m one of your combat units, and calling the Head of the Department for help in catching some half-baked sorcerer... Do you even hear yourself?” Displeasure and resentment sparked within the girl, corroding her composure like the Potion on her boots. He couldn't tell her what to do. She was just his Auror, just a friend, one of many. Yet, the fire of an Avada Curse in his emerald eyes gave her already dry skin goosebumps.
Granger decided she'd had enough and headed for the exit to finally get dressed; she felt uncomfortable without her wand. But her plans were interrupted by a hot hand that gripped her elbow, firm but not painful. Hermione turned to vent all her feelings about her friend, and didn't expect Harry's face to be so indecently close. Her breath hitched, and all the words meant to put Potter in his place vanished from her mind.
“You’re not one of,” Harry growled right against her lips. “You never were, and you never will be.”
His hot breath scorched her, making her toes curl, and her heart raced like a greyhound. She had to say something. She had to run. Immediately.
“I don’t need special treatment,” Granger breathed out, drowning in the emerald sea. Her elbow burned, as if his hand was branding her, and that heat spread throughout her body, concentrating in her lower abdomen. Close, too close.
Potter smiled somewhat maliciously, took a deep breath, and threw his head back toward the ceiling, as if addressing someone in the heavens:
“Merlin knows, I tried.” The girl frowned, not understanding what he meant. But before she could ask, he pinned her against the door with a rough, possessive kiss.
Harry Potter tormented her lips, as if punishing her for all her transgressions, nipping and tracing with his tongue, plunging inside. Hermione thought it was just another delusion, a fantasy of her aroused mind; just a second more, and it would all vanish.
She didn't know how to react to the kiss, and just as she was ready to respond, she was sharply turned around, finding herself facing the mirror. In the reflection, she saw Potter's searingly passionate gaze as he stood behind her, holding her shoulders. A single movement of his hand, and the towel flew somewhere into the corner, leaving the girl completely naked. She had never been shy about her body, but in front of Harry, her cheeks flushed, and Hermione twitched, trying to break free and give a good smack to this bastard who was playing such a low trick on her.
“Look at you,” Potter growled, stroking her bruised ribs, her battered hip, the hematoma on her stomach. “This wouldn’t have happened if someone had been with you.”
Granger was breathless with every touch. Her chest swelled, her nipples hardened, displaying her body's reaction to his movements.
“You can’t know that,” she whispered, exhaling. Trying not to show how much every touch affected her, how much she wanted him to roughly crush her in his arms and fuck her right here, in front of this damn mirror. And after, let the world burn.
“This wouldn't have happened if I had been with you,” Potter trailed kisses and nips down Hermione's neck, forcing a drawn-out moan from the girl. She didn't care what would happen later. She capitulated to him, the white flag was raised, the Boy Who Lived had won again.
“Fuck, your skin is like silk. I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Granger melted with every touch. It seemed his hands were everywhere, rolling her nipples between his fingers. Arching her hips, she pressed back against the evidence that Harry wanted this just as much as she did. Wiggling her hips, she rubbed against the large bulge through his trousers, earning a light smack on her buttock.
“I’m going to punish you,” a second smack made her cry out. Heat spread through her crotch; everything inside her pulsed with desire.
A strong hand pressed on her lower back, and Hermione arched, spreading her legs wider. The sound of a belt, and she felt the velvety skin of his cock rubbing between her parted buttocks. Wiggling her hips one more time, hinting, demanding, the girl felt a sharp thrust and a glorious fullness. A loud, synchronized moan, and the first movement marked the end of their friendship. She didn’t care. She wanted more, deeper, rougher.
Potter increased the pace, thrusting into her hips fiercely and mercilessly, exactly as she wanted, as if he had suddenly mastered Legilimency, recognizing her desires. Wrapping her slightly dry hair around his fist, Harry pulled her back, forcing her to arch more.
“Open your eyes, Hermione. I want you to understand that now you’re going to be careful,” Granger snapped her eyelids open and met Potter’s nearly black gaze. His other hand massaged her clitoris, pushing the girl past the brink of pleasure.
“You’re going to be careful,” each word vibrated with the movement of his cock inside her. “You’re going to call for backup,” his actions became chaotic, his hand more actively stimulating the sensitive nub. “Because you’re not one of... You’re mine, and only mine...”
With those words, Harry's movements completely lost control. Hermione felt a wave of pleasure washing over her, every muscle in her body tensing, and then it came—an explosion, like a new star igniting. Granger cried out hoarsely, arching harder, trembling all over, clenching Potter’s cock with her inner muscles. A minute later, she felt him spill into her with a low growl, biting her shoulder.
Pulling her closer, still inside her, Harry used two fingers to turn her face toward his.
“I can’t live if I lose you. Stop walking on a knife-edge,” there was no more aggression, only eyes filled with fear.
Hermione smirked, traced her fingertips over his prickly stubble, and tilted her head, pressing her forehead right against Potter’s lips.
“All it took was risking my life a couple of times for all this to happen?” It was a rhetorical question, but for some reason, she found it funny.
“I’m just an idiot,” Harry laughed, lifting her chin and kissing her tenderly.