Archive of Our Own

15 March 2010

Harry Potter pushed the wooden door open and strode into his classroom. “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” he called out to the students as he made his way to the front of the room where his desk was situated. He dropped the stack of parchments he held onto the desk and turned around to face his gathered seventh years. They looked at him expectantly, waiting for the day’s lesson. Some gazed at him in awe and he tried not to let it bother him that his reputation from the war still followed him. Others looked at him with only respect. Those were his favorite students.

“Someone tell me what we know about dementors,” he said, and immediately several hands shot into the air, but none faster than Hermione Granger’s. He laughed and waved for her to answer. “Go ahead, Miss Granger.”

She nodded and put her hand down, sitting a bit straighter in her chair, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, sir, we don’t truly know much,” she said in her patented way of explaining things to everyone as if they were less intelligent than her – which they likely were. It was a quirk of hers that he found funny, even endearing, though he knew most of her peers were less amused by her obvious brilliance. “We don’t know where they came from or how they were created. We know that they guard Azkaban Prison and that they feed on human emotions, specifically negative emotions, mainly sadness. They cannot be killed, but they can be fought off with the Patronus charm.”

“Correct, Miss Granger, take five points for Gryffindor.” He did not miss the excited smile that appeared on her face for just a moment, nor did he miss the soft grumbling of the students in the room who were not as enthusiastic about Gryffindor gaining more points. According to the Headmistress, the other houses had suffered in the House Cup since Miss Granger’s first year and she did not let up for their final year of schooling. “Dementors currently guard Azkaban, no matter how many times I’ve attempted to get them destroyed. Because,” he held up a finger, “Dementors can be killed. But that’s a lesson for another day when you’re older, because it is incredibly difficult and dangerous. The Patronus charm is also difficult, but I think you all are ready to begin learning it.”

“Sir?” another student – Allison Brock of Hufflepuff – asked, her hand rising to the air.

“Yes, Miss Brock?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the small blonde. “Something to add about the Patronus charm or dementors?”

“No, sir,” she cringed. “I was just… I heard that you managed a corporeal Patronus when you were only in your third year. Is that true?”

He sighed. He thought that as the students got older they would care less and less about what he had been up to as a student all those years ago. Harry was starting to think he was only getting more famous instead of less. Did Ron and Neville have the same problem? His third year had been…had it been 17 years already? He was getting old.

“Yes, Miss Brock. I did indeed cast my first corporeal Patronus during my third year. The school had been ‘under guard’ by dementors with the escape of my godfather, Sirius Black, from Azkaban. It was an unfortunate time and I almost died. If it hadn’t been for my Defense teacher at the time, I might have died before I could see the summer.” Soft murmuring rose from his seated audience of students. All except one turned to their neighbor to say something or other. Miss Granger, however, just looked at him calculating and respectful like she was sizing him up. He met her eyes and she flushed once more, the red creeping into her pale, beautiful face.

She’s your student, Potter, he chided himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how beautiful she was, with her warm brown eyes and bushy brown hair, fair skin and long legs under her skirt. It had been a problem for him since the first of September when he had shown up for his first day of teaching after leaving the Aurors. He had noticed her immediately in the Great Hall, sat somewhat off by herself, reading quietly as she sipped her pumpkin juice. He was quite sure she had noticed him noticing and he counted himself lucky that she hadn’t said anything about it.

“Now,” he said, straightening from his desk and pulling his wand from the holster at his thigh. The murmuring stopped, and all the faces that had been turned toward their friends realigned themselves back to the front of the room. “Who can give me the theory behind the Patronus charm?”

Again several hands went up and again Hermione Granger was the fastest. She was near bouncing in her seat, waving her fingers in the air as if he wouldn’t notice her otherwise. He smiled and waved for her to go on.

“The Patronus charm is powered by happy memories. Specifically, one truly happy memory. The happier the memory you can recall and focus on, the more power your Patronus will have at casting.”

“Five more points, Miss Granger.” She nodded with a smile. “When I first learned the Patronus charm, it took months for me to get it down, so I don’t want anyone here to be discouraged by slow progress. This will not be on your NEWTs, so there is no need to worry about mastering the charm before you sit your exams in a couple of months. We’ll do one Patronus lesson per week from now on. The other day of the week that I have you in my class, we'll review the practical and theoretical lessons you will be tested on. Does that sound good to you all?”

“Yes, Professor,” echoed through the room, bouncing off of the stone walls.

He walked away from the desk and stood at the halfway point between it and the front row of students, holding his wand aloft. All of their eyes were focused on him or the tip of the wand.

“Expecto patronum,” he said softly, and a blue-white stag streaked out of his wand to prance around the room. Gasps of shock and awe rose from the students as the stag did two laps around the room before stopping and alighting on his hooves next to Harry, watching over the students. The looks on their faces made him chuckle. They all had dreamy stares with grins splitting their faces. He could even see some with a tear in their eye.

“You may be feeling a bit cheery at the moment. That’s normal when you’re around a Patronus, especially one as powerful as mine – not to toot my own horn. The Headmistress and Professor Flitwick have similarly powerful Patronuses and theirs will give you the same joyous feeling. That feeling is what fights off the dementors; that pure, unbridled joy. Who wants to come up here and give it a try first?”

He was surprised to find that Miss Granger did not raise her hand. When it came to practical lessons, she was always the first to volunteer, just as she was when he asked a question. He’d come to rely on her eagerness in learning this or that spell. His brow furrowed and he flicked his eyes to her, but she did not meet them. He scanned the room for another student and settled on Adam Prescott.

“Mr. Prescott, come on up here and give it a try.”

Harry walked back to his desk and rounded it as Adam made his way to the front of the room from his seat in the back. Harry pulled open the bottom left drawer and pulled out a bar of Honeyduke’s chocolate . He had picked it up in Hogsmeade just the day before specifically for this lesson, knowing students would need the sweet candy in order to not fall over on their arses when the spell took all the energy out of them.

He met Adam back where he had been standing and stood next to the tall, brown haired boy. “All right. Now, have you got the memory you want to use?” he asked the boy.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Keep that memory sharp in your mind. Focus on what you felt when you experienced it. Let that happiness fill you. Then, once you’ve got it, give us the incantation. Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Prescott.”

Harry took a few steps away and watched as Adam prepared himself. He looked over the students and saw many of them closing their eyes just as Adam did, likely thinking of their own memory. Adam opened his eyes slowly and raised his wand in an outstretched arm. He took a deep breath. “Expecto patronum!” he yelled. A white mist trickled out of the wand and floated in the air.

“Not bad for your first time,” Harry said, trying to counteract the frown on Adam’s face. “Remember, it took me months to get the spell down. Some adult wizards never manage a corporeal Patronus at all, so do not be disheartened if it takes you a long time to succeed in this. Go ahead and try again, Mr. Prescott.”

Adam breathed in deeply again before repeating the incantation. More white mist streams from his wand slowly, floating through the air like a cloud. Adam flagged a little, swaying on his feet. Harry grabbed his arm to keep him upright and handed him a piece of chocolate.

“Eat this,” Harry said as Adam took it. He turned to the class. “The Patronus charm is an extremely difficult spell to handle. It will take a lot out of you, especially this early on when you’re first learning. I fainted multiple times when I first started.” The class chuckled at that and he grinned at them. “Yes, Harry Potter, Savior of the wizarding world, fainted while learning a spell. Just keep that in mind when you inevitably do the same. I must warn you all not to practice this spell outside of this classroom until you manage at least a semi-corporeal form. I don’t want to hear about you fainting in your dorm. My Gryffindors especially should be wary of getting me out of bed because you fainted.”

Adam went back to his seat and Harry took his place again. “Now you’ve seen how it’s done. I want everyone to get up from their seats and come get a piece of chocolate from me. I’m going to push your desks to the wall. You will each practice the charm. Take two attempts and then eat your chocolate. If after that you feel like you can handle more, take two more attempts and leave it at that. I’ll be walking around to help you with any questions you have.”

The students got up and with a flick of his wand Harry sent the desks to the wall to stack on top of each other as the students formed a single file line. He broke off a piece of chocolate for each of them, handing it to them as they took their place in front of him before moving off to start their practice. Hermione Granger was the last in line, and when she took the chocolate from him, her hand grazed his and she lingered for just a moment, looking into his eyes. He couldn’t identify what he saw in them, but he was sure it was nothing good. She walked away and took her spot toward the front and he went back to his desk to grab another bar of chocolate.

He watched them all find their memories. They stood with their eyes closed, breathing evenly, their arms hanging down their sides. He remembered what it felt like, all those years ago in Remus’s office, trying to form a happy memory. It was difficult with all that had already happened and the life he had lived, but eventually he had settled on one and it had been the most amazing feeling to finally send his stag running through the air.

He moved around the room as some of them started working on the spell, their happy memory found. Harry found himself weaving between them, watching them work, but always somehow ending up back near Miss Granger, who was still reviewing her memory. He glanced at her every so often, a frown on his face. He hadn’t expected her to have any trouble with finding a memory. Over the year he had gotten to know her a little bit and thought she was a generally happy person. She had friends in her house and as far as he knew she had a good life at home in the muggle world.

He had to correct a few students’ pronunciation, but otherwise the rest of class went smoothly. Every one of them had managed to produce white mist and nothing more, but he congratulated them nonetheless, hoping to ease some of the frustration that was clear on their faces.

“All right everyone, let’s take our seats, please.” They all stood to the side as Harry put their desks back in order. They sat down and packed their bags as he spoke. “That was a wonderful first attempt, especially when you’re limited to one hour. Class is about to end, so I just want to remind you all not to practice this charm outside of my class. Are we all understood?”

He got a round of nods and agreements and was satisfied with that. “No homework for next class except to review for your NEWTs. We’ll be reviewing in class as well on Thursday. Class dismissed.”

The class left their desks, bags hanging off of their shoulders as they began to file out of the classroom. Harry’s shoes click-clacked on the stone floor as he turned and went to his office. It was only Monday, yet he had an entire stack of essays to grade. He should have done them over the weekend, but he had been distracted all weekend and they slipped from his mind. It was fortuitous that he had only his seventh year class on Mondays, so nobody was expecting their work to be returned today. The third years tomorrow morning, however, would be expecting their essays on werewolves: how to identify them, the struggles they face with their curse, and comparing the laws of a decade ago with the new ones that afforded them equal rights to unafflicted wizards.

He entered his office and sat in the chair, pushing his glasses up on his face. His fellow teachers, when they joined him for a drink or two after dinner, often described his desk as an organized mess. Harry found that it was an apt description. There was a slew of parchment scattered about in loose piles. On the left were the essays he'd yet to grade with the lower years on top. To the right were the graded essays that would eventually be put in folders separated by grade level when he got around to it.

Harry flicked his wand and the small liquor cabinet in the corner opened. Another flick had the fire whisky and a tumbler floating toward him through the air. He snatched them out of the air and poured his drink, setting the bottle in the back right corner of his desk, and settled in for a long night of grading.

4 June 2010

Harry sat at dinner in the Great Hall to Minerva’s left, listening to the low chatter of students in the background as he attempted to shake off thoughts of the seventh year Gryffindor with bushy brown hair. He took a swig of firewhisky and ignored the arched eyebrow from Minerva that he could see out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you feeling well, Harry?” she asked softly.

It was still odd having her call him by his first name. All throughout school it had been Mr. Potter this or Mr. Potter that, and she had always been Professor McGonagall or Headmistress. As soon as he had graduated, however, she had insisted they use each other’s first names, out of respect for their various actions during the war.

“Just fine, Minerva, thanks,” he said, smiling weakly at her. “Just a bit of a headache. I think I’ll go back to my office and get a potion. I have papers that need grading, anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes and leaned over, putting her hand over his as he prepared to stand.

“It’s not the nightmares, is it?” she whispered. If only, he thought grimly. No, I’ve just got a student I can’t stop thinking about in ways professors should not think about their students.

“No, no. Nothing like that.” She nodded and he stood from the table. Taking a step back, he pushed in his chair, and started making his way out of the Great Hall. Hagrid waved at him as he passed the last chair on the left at the staff table, and he waved back. He walked down the middle of the room, ignoring whispers of students as he passed between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students eating their dinners or doing homework. He walked through the grand, two story high doors that stayed open throughout the day and turned right to the marble staircases. The tapping of his shoes against the marble accompanied his steps as he climbed the flights all the way up to the third floor, down the corridor and around a corner.

He pushed open the door with his hand and walked briskly through the room and into his office, where he collapsed on the small, comfortable red sofa. He groaned as he settled into the plush piece of furniture. It had been a gift from Neville when Harry joined the staff. Neville had been the Herbology professor for three years at that point, taking over when Pomona retired to travel and find new, undiscovered plants. He performed the usual flicks and waves of his wand, bringing the firewhisky and tumbler to him. He poured and set the bottle aside on the small end table to his right as he brought the glass to his lips, attempting to banish the thoughts that plagued him.

His attraction to Hermione Granger, Head Girl and Brightest Witch of the Age, had been getting steadily worse all year. Just the previous day during their Patronus lesson, he had caught himself staring at her. The way her hair fell down her back and shoulders, the way her blouse accentuated her chest, they way her long, pale legs climbed on and on, ever upwards until they disappeared behind her skirt. Worse, she had caught him staring, and he knew that she had done her own staring. He would occasionally catch her looking at him with dark eyes and red cheeks, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. He wondered if she knew how it tightened his pants to watch her chew on her lip, or the way her brow furrowed when she was working out a problem.

What was happening to him? It wasn’t like him to lust after women, especially not women that were 12 years younger than him – not to mention his student and one of his own lions. But every time he looked at her, or caught her looking at him, he couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like. He was completely shite at relationships. The war had done its damage to him, leaving him almost incapable of forming meaningful relationships. He found some solace in burying his face between a random woman's legs, but the relationship always soured before it got serious. He could ruin this bright, beautiful girl if he gave in to his desires – and if he was right, her own desires as well. But it wasn’t just lust he was feeling for the girl. Somehow, between her smiles, the occasional small touch to his arm, her beauty and her intelligence, it was growing into something much more dangerous.

He knocked back the drink in his hand, feeling the warm liquor settle in his stomach, and poured himself another and drank that one as well. If he drank enough, maybe he could forget for just one night about the girl, her long legs and slim neck. Before long, he had four more drinks and his mind was blissfully empty of anything that wasn’t the colors he could see in the back of his eyelids.

A knock sounded on his office door, rousing Harry from his peaceful nothingness. He figured it was Neville coming to check on him for having skipped dinner in the Hall. “Go away, Neville,” he groaned. “I’m fine!”

There was no reply except for another knock at the door, gentle but insistent. Harry sighed and stood from the couch, head swimming, swaying for a moment on his feet before the room stopped spinning. He checked himself over in the mirror next to the door, rubbing a hand down his face and through his beard. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was its usual riot, but otherwise he thought he looked fine enough for Neville to go away quickly.

He gripped the door handle and pulled it open. “What, Nev?” he said angrily, until his eyes took in the sight before him. In front of him, arm raised with a hand poised to knock, was not Neville Longbottom, one third of the Golden Trio. Instead, it was the object of his desires, the reason he was drunk, Hermione Granger. He swallowed and quickly looked her over with wide eyes. She had already discarded her robes, leaving her in her white blouse and the skirt that hung down to the middle of her thigh. She had no makeup on that he could discern, so her pink, plump lips were untouched aside from the bottom lip that was caught in her teeth. He groaned, feeling the tightness in his pants beginning to return.

“What can I help you with, Miss Granger?” he said, leaning to the side against the door frame. “It’s getting late. Don’t you have rounds?”

“No, sir,” she said softly. “I don’t have rounds on Fridays. I thought you knew that.”

“Apologies, Miss Granger. I’m not feeling well, maybe you should…” He cut off as she leaned forward, rising up on her toes and inhaled the breath he’d just released. Her face was just inches from his. He could smell the shampoo she used on her hair – vanilla with hints of strawberry. It filled his nose and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself.

“Maybe you’re not feeling well because you’ve had too much to drink, sir.”

“Reasonable deduction, Miss Granger,” he sighed, and opened his eyes to find that the short witch had taken a step closer. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, sir, I was wondering if you might be able to help me with the Patronus charm,” she said, taking another step toward him. “We’ve been working on it for nearly three months now and I still can’t manage a corporeal form.”

“Come in,” he said, though he couldn’t believe he was saying it. His mind was screaming at him to make her go away. It was late, she had other things to do, he wasn’t sober enough to deal with this right now. All the reasons that he should tell her to bugger off and come back tomorrow ran through his mind only to be betrayed by his own mouth. He stepped back into the office, pulling the door open further. She ducked under his arm and stood in the room as he closed the door and turned around.

“Have a seat, Miss Granger,” he said, waving his hand at the sofa. He took his spot at the other end and glanced at the firewhisky still on the end table, wondering if he could get away with another drink. When he looked back at her as she sat, the small sofa suddenly seemed even smaller than usual. There was hardly any space between them and his heart started to beat faster, pounding against his chest. “If I recall correctly, you are the furthest along with the Patronus charm. You’ve nearly got a corporeal form, it’s just still barely indistinct. All you need is more practice or a more powerful memory.”

She turned in her seat, bringing her right leg under her and leaving her left hanging off the side of the sofa. “That’s just it, sir. I’m not actually using a memory for my Patronus.”

He turned to face her, his face screwed up in confusion and brows furrowed. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to stop using a memory to power the Patronus charm after they had mastered it, but for someone starting out, it was highly unusual. “Miss Granger..”

“Please, sir, call me Hermione,” she said softly, smiling at him with a low blush on her cheeks.

“I don’t think that’s wise, Miss Granger. What do you mean you’re not using a memory to power the charm?”

She scooted closer to him on the sofa, closing the already minimal distance between them. If she shifted just another inch, she would have to sit in his lap, and that brought too many images to his mind to be healthy. The tightness in his pants worsened and he shifted his legs in an effort to hide it. Her breath was warm on his face as she leaned closer to him. Her breath tasted of mint instead of the expected pumpkin juice and dinner, as if she’d cleaned her mouth with a spell just after finishing her food and made her way to his office. “I started with a memory, sir. But I found nothing quite worked, so I’ve been using a dream I’ve had several times over the year that makes me happy.”

“That’s interesting. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of someone using a dream to fuel the charm. Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger. However, if your dream is getting you this close to a corporeal Patronus, can you not just alter the dream when you recall it to suit your needs?”

“I can’t, sir. I don’t know if I could alter it. I think the only thing that would work is if my dream came true. That would certainly give me the happiness required to perform the charm to its fullest potential.”

He could guess what her dream was. It was likely similar to the ones he had been having at an increasing rate all of this year. It was a dangerous dream for them both. He should tell her to leave right now, make her get out of this office so he could calm himself down and have another drink. Tell her that she shouldn’t be in his office this late at night. That it was inappropriate. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. And then she threw her leg over him to sit in his lap, her legs on the sofa to either side of him. His hands immediately went to her waist as he felt her warm, damp center through her knickers pressing against the bulge in his trousers.

“Miss Granger,” he groaned, looking into her dark brown eyes. “You should not…”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Professor,” she whispered, leaning her face ever close to his, her only lips only an inch or two away from his. He inhaled her breath with every word she spoke in her hushed, sultry whisper. “Would you like to know what my dream is?”

“What is it?” he groaned. She rolled her hips, eliciting a moan from his lips that put a devilish grin on her face. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, her hot breath tickling his skin.

“I dream that you hold me back from class and bend me over your desk,” she said, and nibbled his earlobe. Her lips trailed down to his neck, flushed and slightly sweaty from the drink. “I’ve dreamt of it so many times, sir.”

All notions of propriety left him with the feel of her lips on his neck. The thoughts he had of telling her to go, making her leave, were gone and replaced by the incessant need to feel all of her, to know every inch of her skin. With his hands on her hips, he turned her over, throwing her down onto her back on the sofa. He loomed over her for only a moment before crashing his lips into hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, making her skirt bunch up at her hips.

The first taste of her tongue was better than magic. It was soft and wet, but insistent as she shoved it into his mouth, her hands winding through his hair. He groaned into her mouth and received a moan in return as he pressed his bulge against her center. It wasn’t a sweet kiss like its should be for one so young. It was furious, a hungry snogging, with quick gasping breaths when they separated for half a second, when the need for air was too pressing.

He sat up, panting, and she came up with him, her hands flying to untuck his shirt. She pulled it out of his trousers as his hands wound into her hair. She pulled the shirt up and pressed her lips to his abdomen, the muscles twitching under her touch as she moved her hands down to his belt. He groaned, feeling her arm nudge is erection through his trousers as he belt clasp came undone in her fingers. Next came the button and then she was pulling down the zipper. She didn’t waste any time fumbling with any part of it. It was only a moment since he sat up and she was hooking her fingers into the waistband of his briefs, pulling them and his trousers down. His erection sprung to life against her face. She wrapped a cool, slim hand around him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, looking down into her big brown eyes as she pressed her lips to the tip before wrapping them around him. He thrust shallowly into her warm, wet mouth and she moaned, her hands sliding up his chest under his shirt. Her hands were soft as they climbed up his abdomen to his torso, all the while she sucked him and he tried not to buck his hips.

His grip tightened in her hair as his balls did, the pressure building. She was everything he had been dreaming of since he started teaching, everything he wanted, and now that he had her, it was almost too much. He gazed at her through hooded eyes. She didn’t take her own eyes from his, not even as she took him into her throat and gagged around him.

“You are so bloody beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with a finger. Her eyes fluttered closed at his touch. “So pretty with my cock in your mouth. I’ve been dreaming of this, too.”

She moaned around him once more before pulling her mouth off of him and taking a deep breath, opening her eyes again. She laid back down the couch, clutching his shirt to pull him down atop her. He kissed her again as his fingers worked the buttons on her blouse, his saliva soaked erection pressing against her center. He got the top button undone and pulled her shirt apart, pulling her bra down to expose her breasts, trailing his lips down her neck. Her hands came to the back of his head, holding him close to her chest as he reached her breast.

The mounds of flesh weren’t large or small, but the perfect size to take into his hand as his mouth worked the other one. He sucked at the skin and enjoyed the mewling sounds she made, rolling her hips to grind against him. He marked her with a small purple bruise to the top of her breast before swirling his tongue around her pretty pink nipple. He sucked on it, nibbled it gently, and she bucked her hips into him.

“Fuck me, sir,” she moaned, a lustful fire burning in her brown eyes. “Please.”

"Let's go," he grunted, sitting up and getting off the couch, buttoning his trousers so they didn't fall down to his ankles. He tugged her hand and she stood, following along as he went to the fireplace. His belt jingled as they walked. Reaching it, Harry took a pinch of powder from the stand next to it.

"Where are we going?" she asked, not having bothered to cover up her chest.

"My quarters," he said roughly, glancing at her hardened nipples. He threw the powder into the flames and they turned a bright green. He stepped into them, pulling her close, feeling her chest pressed against him. "Harry Potter's room."

The fire consumed them and a couple of seconds later they were walking out of the floo, their lips locked together in a passionate dance. Harry walked backwards to the bedroom, pulling with him until he passed the open door. He turned her around and gripped her arse through her skirt, making her squeak as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed where he laid her down on top of the unmade sheets, releasing her from his mouth as he straightened. She scooted back on her arse as he released the button of his trousers and shoved them to the floor with his briefs. His cock swelled even more at the sight of her in his bed, shouldering off her shirt and pulling her skirt up around her waist to reveal her bare, wet center. She smirked at him and spread her legs as she moved to lay her head on the pillows.

Harry climbed into the bed on hands and knees until he was settled between her legs, leaning down to capture her plump lips again. He reached down, taking his cock in his hands and running the tip through her slick folds.

“Oh, yes,” she gasped, already squirming, her arms stretched out to the side.. “Please, I’ve waited so long.”

“Too long,” he agreed, groaning as he pushed into her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Her walls gripped him tightly as he pushed another two inches into her. She bucked her hips and her hands went to his face, pulling him down to her lips, whimpering as he buried himself inside of her fully. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him into her, but he was already thrusting, working his hips to snap against her thighs. She was tighter than any woman he’d ever slept with before, already so wet that there was no need for a lubrication charm.

“Merlin,” she breathed as they separated again and Harry latched onto her neck. “Fuck, that is so good, yes, yes.”

Her moans and needy sounds drove him to pound into her harder, the sound of their bodies smacking together filling the room, echoing off of the walls. His head was empty of anything except the pleasure he found in between her legs and the taste of her tongue in his mouth. Harry sat up and took her wrists in one his hands, pinning them above her head as he continued to slam into her. He looked down at her, at her gaping mouth and her breasts jiggling with each thrust, at her hair splayed in a halo around her, and used his other hand to pinch and pull her nipples.

“Oh, gods,” she moaned, her eyes fluttering. He smiled down at her and trailed his fingers down through the valley of her breasts, down her flat stomach and to her clit. She writhed as his thumb rubbed a circle on the bundle of nerves. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Gods, you are so loud, so beautiful. You’re absolutely perfect, better than I ever dreamed.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust, his cock bottoming out inside of her with each forward thrust of his hips. He could feel the pressure building in his groin, the first sign of his approaching climax. Her legs dropped from his waist quivering. “Are you gonna come for me, Miss Granger? Are you gonna be good and come for me?”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” she wailed, the last word drawn out and thick with the pleasure he was sure he was giving her. He continued circling her clit with his thumb, his other hand keeping her own hands pinned above her hair so that he was leaning forward slightly, looming over him. He could feel the sweat running down his arms and chest and could see the droplets running down her own body. The room reeked of sex and sweat, filling his nose and logs, fueling some primal need inside of him, the base need to fill her with his seed rising up in him as he neared his climax, but he held it off, wanting to watch her face as he made her come.

“I want you to come, Miss Granger,” he purred. “I want you to come for me right now, be a good girl and –”

“Oh, fuck me, yes, gods, I’m coming!” she wailed, her whole body shaking with the force of her orgasm. Her mouth was wide open and her eyes were screwed shut as she trembled with pleasure, her walls clenching around him even tighter than they had been. She looked like an angel as she came undone underneath him, and it only brought him to his own release.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out of her. “I’m going to come.” Before he could pull his cock completely free from her tight walls, her eyes shot open and her legs came around him and pulled him back into her. “Merlin, fuck.”

“I…fuck, I want…you to come…inside me,” she moaned, her words halting as she moaned between each one. “Please.”

His jaw was tight as he tried to hold himself back. “Are you safe?” he said through clenched teeth. She nodded and he collapsed on top of her, the sweat on their bodies mixing as his cock twitched, pulsing with each spurt of seed he poured into her, groaning against her neck where his face was buried. Their breaths were synced, labored and heavy as they came down from their respective highs. He could feel her pressing kisses to his hair and neck as she ran her hand softly up and down his sweat soaked back.

He wrapped an arm around her middle as he raised his head, rolling over onto his back and pulling her onto his chest as he kissed her. It was the opposite of their furious, passionate snogging. This time it was slow, languid, almost lazy as they explored each other’s mouths fully. His hands trailed down her back to her arse. The soft, full globes of flesh filled his hands and he squeezed. She moaned into his mouth and he felt his cock twitch, already beginning to rise for another round. She separated from him his mouth and smiled down at him as she sat up and reached behind her to wrap slim fingers around him, stroking him through his groans until he was hard again. She shifted down and hovered over him with her legs on either side of his hips until he was pressed against her entrance, slick with their combined releases.

She arched an eyebrow at him and he nodded, bucking his hips to thrust into her, making her press a hand to his chest to keep her upright as she began riding him, their moans filling the air once more. She leaned down and slipped her tongue into his mouth as he wrapped his hands around her waist and he lost himself to the pleasure of finally having her.

5 June 2010

Soft sunlight streamed in through the window on the right wall of his bedroom, filling the room with its brilliant glow and warming the skin on his face. His eyes still closed, he frowned, aware of a heavy wait on his chest, his left arm and leg. He was warm and naked – unusual as he didn’t generally sleep naked and he wasn’t under the duvet. Hair tickled his neck and chin as the face pressed to his chest shifted and the memories of last night came rushing back to his mind.

Harry groaned, using the hand that wasn’t under the Head Girl to rub his face. What had he done? He couldn’t remember much at all. He remembered leaving the Great Hall and going to his office where he was going to grade papers. Then there was the firewhisky and things got blurry after that, except for the crystal clear flashes of the things they’d done to each other before collapsing with the exhaustion in their muscles. He remembered looking down at her face while thrusting into her, remembered her grip in his hair as he swiped his tongue across her clit, and remembered especially the way she had stopped sucking his cock when his climax came, instead sitting on it so he could come inside of her.

Fucking hell, Potter. You have a few drinks and you shag your student. He was in deep fucking trouble now. Any moment she would wake, and he’d have to make a choice between her and his job. His job was the easy choice. The right choice. Something he could have for the rest of his life if he wanted it, stable and free of hardship except the odd annoying student. She, however, was the hard choice. He could have her. For a few months, a year maybe, but after that he would ruin her. Leave her a broken husk of herself like the last few women he’d attempted to date. It wasn’t their fault. It was his. He was broken, damaged by the war, no good for anyone, especially not a witch as bright as the one murmuring against his skin in her sleep.

He turned his head and looked down at her face, so peaceful in sleep with none of the exuberance it held in the classroom when she was bouncing up and down in her chair, her hand raised to answer a question that would undoubtedly earn their house a slew of points. There were no lines of stress, no sign that she was unhappy with life. She was pure, untouched by the hardships of war, of a madman out to kill you and your friends because had failed to do so when he killed your parents.

What would they think of him now, his parents? He felt like a monster and was certain they would be the first to tell him that he was one. He was 30 years old and a professor. He was her professor, her head of house. She was supposed to be able to come to him with any problem and he had taken advantage of her. He should have told her to go as soon as he opened the door and saw her face. If he hadn’t had so many drinks…but no, that was just an excuse, and a bad one at that. He did what he did, and it was no one’s fault but his own. He took responsibility for his actions and always had, whether for good or ill, and this would be no different.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The exaggerated rise and fall of his chest must have woken her, because she tilted her beautiful face up to look at him.

“Good morning,” she mumbled through sleepy eyes, smiling softly and snuggling further into him, though he wasn’t sure there was any further room to do so. She was already pressed into him as close as one could be. He could feel her breasts against his skin, warm and soft, and one of her legs was thrown over his. He smiled at her, but it must have appeared sadder than he’d meant it to be, because her own smile faltered and she pouted, scrunching up her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Harry stroked her spine slowly with her finger and the corner of his mouth twitched up at her shiver. Best to give to her straight, he thought. “This was a mistake,” he said quietly, the sad smile on his face growing even more so. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done this and we can’t do it again.”

She sat up sharply and shifted so she was straddling his waist. He felt the sticky mess on her thighs against his hips. The pout on her face would have been adorable if it wasn’t going to break his heart. “What do you mean this was a mistake?”

“This,” he said, waving his hand between them. “I was drunk and should have told you to go immediately. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I should have told you to go before things got so…heated. I took advantage of you and it was wrong. You’re my student, one of my lions, and I took advantage of that.”

Her pout turned into a frown, but she didn’t look sad. Instead, she looked angry with her eyes hard and almost…vengeful, Harry thought. She leaned down and pressed a pointed finger to his chest as her face got closer to his. “You,” she said harshly, “did not take advantage of me. I took advantage of you. I watched you leave the Great Hall. I went to your office. I knew you had been drinking and I sat in your lap.” Her voice rose higher and higher with every statement. Harry was glad for the silencing charms on his door and walls, otherwise Neville next door would be bursting into the room to witness this, and that was almost the last thing he wanted. “I sucked your cock and I told you to fuck me. How does any of that point to you taking advantage of me?”

Harry sat up against the headboard, scooting back, holding her by the waist so she didn’t fall. “Miss Granger,” he sighed. “I –”

“Oh,” she laughed mockingly, angrily. “When you’re eating my pussy and fucking me it’s ‘Hermione’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘good girl’, but the next morning we’re back to Miss Granger? And I suppose I can no longer call you ‘Harry’ and instead have to revert back to ‘Professor’?”

He didn’t remember calling her by her first name, and definitely did not remember calling her either of those other things, nor did he remember her ever using his first name. “I don’t remember that,” he said softly. “But that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter that you initiated it, that I was drunk, or that we both wanted it, because I’m still your professor. I still have power over you due to my position as your educator.”

“So,” she started, the anger leaving her, replaced with acceptance. “When I graduate in less than a month we can continue, pick up where we left off? Is that what you’re saying? Because if you are, that’s fine. I waited 10 months to finally get you into bed, I can wait one more.” Her eyes were bright once more, with hope and happiness. It made his heart shatter. He tried his best not to glance at her breasts – or any other piece of exposed skin besides her face.

“No,” he said softly, and watched the heartbreak settle into her eyes and face. “Because even after you graduate, you’re still too young, too beautiful, and too good for me…Hermione. You’ve no idea the kind of things I’ve done, the kind of things I’ve been through. They don’t publish that kind of stuff in the books you read in the library.”

A tear escaped the corner of her eye and she turned her face away from him as she wiped it away with her hand.

“Look, it’s not you. I mean that. You’re beautiful, intelligent, determined. Everything about you is incredible. But you’re too young, first of all –”

“I’m 18. I’ll be 19 in just a couple of months. I’m not that much younger than you – you’re only 30 for Merlin’s sake.”

“First of all,” he sighed, his hand squeezing her waist softly. He would miss holding her like this, having her bare flesh under his hands. One night with her wasn’t enough, but anymore could ruin her completely. “But the most important thing here is that you still have a future. I’m not good at relationships. I always end up burning them to the ground, bridge and all. I’m not good for anyone, much less you. You’re going to do a lot of good in this world, Hermione Granger. You won’t accomplish any of it if you’re busy trying to fix a broken man."

She leaned down, burying her face in his neck. He felt the warm air of her breath against him as she started to cry in earnest, her back shaking with quiet, muffled sobs, tears falling to wet his skin. Harry wrapped his arms around her and held close, telling himself that it was okay for now. He could hold her now as long as he let her go soon.

“Have you ever thought,” she said, her voice trembling as she choked back a sob to speak. “That, maybe, if you let someone in…maybe you wouldn’t be so broken? I don’t see a broken man when I look at you. I see a man who has been through too much for anyone’s good but still gets up every morning to teach kids how to defend themselves should they ever need it. You’re a good man, Harry Potter, even if you think you’re broken, or a monster, or whatever else you might tell yourself when you can’t sleep at night.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You don’t know what it’s like. How do I tell someone that I have nightmares where I watch my godfather, the closest thing to a parent I had left, fall into the Veil of Death? How do I tell someone about the people I loved, who died, visiting me in my dreams, begging for me to help them, to bring them back?”

He didn’t realize that he had also started crying until she raised her head to look at him and brought her hand to his cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb. He took a shaky breath as she leaned forward once more and pressed her lips to his softly in the sweetest act anyone had ever bestowed upon him. “You tell them like that,” she whispered against his lips. “I care about you. I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you throw this away. I…think I love you. And I know you feel the same way about me. This wasn’t just lust for you. I know it wasn’t.”

“You’re wrong,” he lied. “I don’t love you.” He knew it was weak, that she’d see right through it. He didn’t believe it himself. He’d never loved before, he thought, until this girl came into his life. He didn’t even know what love was until she filled a hole in his heart that he hadn’t realized was there. This young, beautiful, brilliant girl, who could do such wonderful things for the world. How could she love a man such as him? A man who had more dead loved ones than friends? A man who had more nightmares than dreams?

“You’re a terrible liar,” she said softly, smiling sadly. “But I won’t push you now. I’ll wait for you.” She brushed the back of her hand down his cheek and he closed his eyes at her touch. “I’ll wait. And when you decide to let me in, when you decide that you believe the words I’ve said, then you can come to me, and I will be there for you. I will listen.”

She kissed him once more, their tears mingling on their cheeks, before she pulled away from him and left the bed. He watched her gather up her clothes, putting on everything she had taken off the night before. Then she left the room. He heard her shoes on the floor, and then the floo activated. “Defense Office,” he heard her call, and then there was the whoosh of the flames, and she was gone, leaving him naked and alone, crying softly in his bed.

12 June 2010

Everything is shit, Harry thought as he woke up. It had been a week since his tryst with Hermione and every day was worse than the previous. He couldn’t expel her from his head. She was always there behind his eyelids, looking at him with soft, sad eyes, telling him she loved him, that she would wait for him to believe her, her words ringing in his head.

He groaned and rolled over in his bed, burying his face in the pillow that somehow still smelled like her shampoo, though the smell of sex and sweat had gone when the elves washed the sheets. Maybe the scent of vanilla and strawberries wasn’t actually there and he was imagining it, just like he imagined he could roll over and see her there smiling up at him through sleepy eyes.

It had taken a nightmare the night after breaking it off with her to realize he hadn’t had one the previous night. He didn’t know if it was solely because of her or because he was too exhausted for his mind to conjure up any of the horrible images it usually did, but that one night of reprieve had been heavenly – but even that could be explained by the fantastic sex. It had all started coming back to him throughout the next day, bits and pieces remembered through the haze of alcohol induced amnesia. It made it hard to teach when he was trying to give a sixth year lesson on the unforgivables but all he could think about was his name on her lips as she quivered underneath him.

Worse were his lessons with the seventh years twice a week. He had avoided her all weekend, choosing to take his meals in his quarters, or with Hagrid, or even out in the greenhouses with Neville. His friend had been curious about the sudden change and Harry wasn’t sure that Neville believed whatever excuse he had given. He never ate in his office, fearing that she might stop by for a visit, though he didn’t think she would go back on her word. When Monday came around and he had his class with her again, he had panicked and considered calling off clases for the day. But she had come through the door and sat down in her seat like she always did. And if she smiled sadly at him whenever he accidentally met her eye, he pretended not to notice, even if it made his heart hurt.

Thursday had been even worse, however. His seventh years were all moving along nicely with the Patronus charm, far better than he had really expected. Many of them were nearing a corporeal form, and one even had. When Hermione had stood in the middle of the room and raised her wand, his breath had caught in his throat. Then a blue-white otter had burst out of her wand and pranced around the room throughout the air. It surprised him even further by stopping to inspect him for a moment before joining its master. He looked up at her and found her grinning at him, a twinkle in her eye. It filled him with shame when he should have been happy for her. He saw the disappointment in her eyes when his congratulations sounded flat and that had only shamed him more.

That was two days ago, and here he lay in his bed, still alone, wondering if maybe she was right, if he could believe her. Ever since she left his room that morning a week ago, his head was at war with his heart. His heart wanted to go find her, tell her he believed her, tell her that he thought he loved her too. Because, didn’t he? He’d been watching her for 10 months, pining for her, growing to love everything about her. The way her face lit up when she got a question right or when she performed a spell perfectly or when she received her essay back and found that she had scored perfectly. He wished he could see her face when she got her NEWT results back over the summer. He knew she would get straight Os and be one of the select few in Hogwarts history to do so. She might even faint from the joy.

But his head told him it was too hard to open up to her beyond the questions he had asked her. It was too dangerous to let himself love her and be loved in return. He would only hurt her in the end, his mind told him, so just leave her alone and let her move on. What good could he bring her? Would his love be enough to offset the pain he would cause or the sleepless nights when he kept her up all night with his thrashing?

What good was it doing asking himself these questions when only she could answer them? Sighing, he reached across the bed over to the nightstand. He opened the small drawer at the top and fished around for the piece of parchment he’d acquired in his third year. When his fingers felt it, he snapped it up, shut the drawer, and sat up against the pillows. He pulled his wand off the other nightstand and pressed the tip to the parchment. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he whispered, and watched ink spread from the center of the map and out to the corners, showing him a magical map of Hogwarts

Footsteps marked people on the map with a banner over them stating their name. He saw everyone in the castle as long as they weren’t in the Room of Requirement or the Chamber of Secrets, but as far as he knew, he was still the only Parselmouth around. He scanned the map, but didn’t see her right away through the mass of people that were in the castle. He pressed the tip of his wand to the parchment once more.

“Hermione Granger.”

All of the footsteps and names disappeared until only one was left. He smiled to himself and shook his head. He should have realized she would be in the library, even this early on a Saturday morning. He thought that maybe she was studying for NEWTs, no matter that she didn’t need to, and maybe he shouldn’t disturb her. But he needed to talk to her.

He went to the small desk in his room that he only ever used to send letters. Parchment, ink, and quill were already laid out as he took the chair. He scribbled a quick note asking her to meet him in his office and took it to Hedwig’s perch. His first friend was getting on in years, but she was still as spry as ever, and still threw a fit if he used any other owl to send a letter.

“Hey, girl,” he said softly, tying the short note to her leg. “Need you to take this to Hermione.” She chirped and nipped his hand playfully before taking off through her charmed window. Harry took off the gray sweatpants he had fallen asleep in and dressed in actual clothes fit for being seen in outside of his bedroom. A minute after sending the note with Hedwig, he was stepping out of the floo in his office and sitting down on the sofa, breathing rapidly, wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake. His heart started to race and he nearly flicked his wand to get a drink, but he wanted to do this sober. He didn’t want her to think he’d only asked her to meet because he was drunk. She deserved better than that.

She arrived much faster than he expected her too with a soft, gentle knock to his door, two raps of her knuckles. He stood and smoothed down his t-shirt as he made his way to the door. Taking a deep breath, Harry opened it slowly, to find the witch of his dreams standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, trainers on her feet. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but strands of it still fell to frame her face. She had a slight flush to her cheeks and was breathing rather hard.

“Did you run here?” be blurted out.

She ducked under his arm as she darted into the room and took a seat on the sofa. “No. Yes. Sort of. I walked really fast.”

Harry chuckled as he closed the door, feeling more at ease than he had been a few moments ago. He walked toward her and sat next to her on the small sofa.

“I just…when I got your note…you’ve been avoiding me all week and I got excited. Well, excited might not be the right word, because I’m incredibly anxious right now. But I thought that if you were going to reject me that you’d just keep ignoring me and trying not to look at me. But you sent a note and asked for a meeting and I thought that, maybe, well, that… you know.”

“I do know,” he sighed. He turned in his seat to face her and held out his hands, palm up. She didn’t even look at them before placing her hands in his. He wrapped his fingers around them and stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs as he gazed at her. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe thinking isn’t the right word. More accurately, I’ve been at war with myself.”

He could tell that she was trying not to smile and get her hopes up, but the hope in her eyes shined like a beacon in the night to sailing ships.

“There’s a lot wrong with me, Hermione. There’s more wrong with me than you could ever guess.”

“I want to help you,” she said quietly.

“I know you do. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want to tell you everything. You were right last week. It wasn’t just lust. It started that way, back in September when you caught my eye on the first day of school. You were sitting off by yourself during the Sorting Ceremony. I asked Minerva what the deal was, and she told me a little about you. ‘That’s Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of the Age’, she said to me. Immediately I was intrigued. Your beauty was clear but then I had you in my class and you made your brilliance known to me. I wish I had you around years ago,” he chuckled darkly. “But then, you may have ended up dead or horribly disfigured, so I’m thankful that you weren’t. But now I’m getting away from the point.”

They both chuckled, and he wiped a tear from her cheek. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Go ahead.”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. Anyway, as the months passed, it grew into…more. I have to tell you, Hermione, that I never meant for it to happen. I’d never loved anyone before, really. At least, not like this. I barely knew you at first, but the more I did get to know you, the stronger it became. So, yes, you were right. I think I do love you, too.” She smiled brilliantly. “But, again, there’s a lot wrong with me. If you really want to do this and be with me, then there will be sleepless nights and I’ll probably say something occasionally that’s hurtful, and I might not apologize until I can calm down. That’s one of the things I hate the most, actually. Ron and Neville have learned to deal with it, but I still hate it.”

“You mean it?” she whispered. “You’re willing to do this? Be with me? Let me in? Let me help?”

“I am.”

She squealed and jumped into his lap, hugging him near to death. Not many people had ever really hugged him. Luna did occasionally, but other than that, he wasn’t used to them. He found, however, that winding his arms around her and holding her close was beginning to be one of his favorite things in the world.

”Listen,” he said softly, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. “I’m not perfect. We’re going to have problems. And nobody can know about us until after you graduate, and even then nobody can ever know this started when it did. I’d lose my job in an instant, no matter how much Minerva sees me as a nephew of sorts.”

“I know,” she said, sobbing, but he thought that it was a happy sort of sob, expelling a week’s worth of pent up emotions in her joy, her relief. She pulled away from him and took his face in her hands. “I know you’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. Nobody is. But I want this to work. I’ve never met anyone like you. I don’t care that you’re a bit messed up. You’d be insane not to be. I don’t care that you’re a little older than me. You still… I can’t even explain. You just have this way about you. I think I fell in love with you the first time you gave me points.”

He chuckled and tears welled in his eye. He almost thought he must be dreaming to be doing this. “Pinch me,” he said softly.

She laughed, but did not pinch him. Instead, she pressed her nose to his. “You’re not dreaming,” she whispered, and tilted her head to kiss him softly on the lips.

They would have problems, he knew. It wouldn’t be perfect, and it could very well end horribly. But this time, he really wanted it to work, and he would try his best to make certain that he never hurt her, not even a little bit.

24 July 2018

Harry laughed as he ran down the beach, his daughter sitting on his shoulders. He held onto her still small feet as he kicked up wet sand with each step. Going on vacation to Florida for a couple of weeks had been Hermione’s most brilliant idea yet. It was hot, and the mosquitoes were annoying, but this side of the Atlantic was beautiful with its beaches of white sand.

“Oh, no, we’re going down!” Harry yelled as he ran into the ocean. He ran as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast, through the water, until it was up to his shoulders.

“Oh, no, daddy, we’re sinking!” she cried. “Mummy help!”

He could hear Hermione call something out from the beach, but was unsure of what exactly it was that she said. Harry chuckled as Rosie kicked her feet. He pulled her off his shoulders and held her by her sides out in front of him in the air. “Who’s the best little girl in the whole world, Rosie?” he asked her.

Her face split into a big grin and she pointed at herself with both hands. “Me!” she squealed. “I’m the best little girl!”

“You’re not little,” he said. “You’re almost 5 years old!”

“I can be little!” she pouted.

“Okay, okay, you’re still the best little girl in the world. Are you ready to go back and sit with mummy? I’m getting hungry, little one.”

“Yes, let’s go sit with Mummy and get food.”

Hary started walking forward as he plopped his daughter back onto his shoulders. When Hermione had told him she was ready to have kids, that she didn’t want to wait any longer to start their family, he had been over the moon. Almost six weeks later exactly, she had found out she was pregnant, and his grin never faded, even when she was sending him across the country for something weird and specific to eat. The first time he held his little girl in his hands, he had known then, that everything had been worth it.

Everything he had gone through with the war and his abusive relatives was still with him all these years later. It would never go away. But it was easier to carry, these days. Hermione had helped him more than he’d ever truly believed she could. Who could have known that just talking about things made them easier to face? No longer did the ghosts of his past beg him for help in his dreams, though he did still have the occasional nightmare and panic attack. They were rare, though, and he thought that maybe one day he would experience his last one.

The fact that she hadn’t left him, that in fact she had agreed to marry him and father his children, was the most wonderful thing to Harry. At 17, killing Tom Riddle, he’d never pictured getting to have this. The wife, the kids, the house, the vacations to foreign countries. It was never something he realized he could have. She was the only constant in his life, really. Much like the sun, Hermione provided a steady glow to counteract the darkness that sometimes creeped up in his mind.

They stepped out of the water onto the sandy shore and made their way up to where Hermione was sitting under an umbrella, a book in her hands, sunglasses propped up on her head. Her hair was in a tight bun and her legs were stretched out on the chair, her tanned skin shining in what sun could reach her. Even eight years later, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. She only got more beautiful every single day.

He sat in the chair next to her and set Rosie in the seat between him and Hermione. He leaned over and Hermione turned to kiss him.

“Are you two hungry?” she asked.

“We’re starving, Mummy,” Rosie said gravely.

“Oh, no. We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” Hermione said, reaching down to her left. Harry watched her arm move as she fished below the ice in the cooler before she brought up a bag of green grapes and a juice box. “Here you go, love.”

Rosie took the bag of grapes while Hermione poked the straw through the top of the juice box and dug in, stuffing a grape into her mouth and chewing furiously only so she could eat another as soon as possible. Her recent obsession with grapes was a hindrance when they were trying to fix supper and she wouldn’t touch her mashed potatoes while grumbling about not having any grapes, but they were perfect for the beach under the hot Florida sun.

“Could you hand me a bottle of water, love?” he asked his wife. His wife. It still filled him with unadulterated joy to call her that. It was the same feeling he got from being near his stag or her otter – pure happiness.

“Of course,” Hermione said, and reached down once more to pull a bottle of water from the cooler. She passed it to him and Harry twisted off the cap. He brought the bottle to his lips and gulped down half the battle before it was too cold and hurt his throat.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said softly, looking at her with a fond smile.

She leaned out of her chair and kissed his lips, lingering softly for a moment. “I love you,” she whispered against his skin, her breath tasting like the wine that sat in her cup holder.

“I love you, too.”

“Daddy?” Rosie asked, looking at him curiously. “You and Mummy love each other?”

“We do,” he said, knowing where this was going. It wasn’t the first time she had taken this line of question, but he was all too happy to go over it once more.

“How did you fall in love?”

“That’s a wonderful question, sweetheart,” he said, picking her up and pulling her into his lap. “You see, it all started a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Wait, that’s not it. No, this all started back home, almost nine years ago…”