Chapter Text
The kitchen of Grimmauld Place was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the enchanted stove and the occasional clinking of cutlery as Harry lazily stirred the leftovers from the previous night's dinner. The aromas of roasted vegetables, spiced gravy, and perfectly tender meat filled the air, a comforting reminder of Molly’s culinary magic. Harry, clad in nothing but his boxers, moved with a languid grace that spoke of both exhaustion and contentment. His dark hair was still tousled from sleep, and the faint circles under his eyes betrayed the long hours of pleasure and indulgence he had shared with Hermione the night before.
His back bore the marks of their passion—angry red scratches that crisscrossed his skin, fading bruises from her eager hands, and two distinct bite marks that had broken the skin when she’d reached the peak of her ecstasy. Harry smirked to himself as he worked, the memory of her moans still fresh in his mind, her voice like a melody that played on repeat in his head. His body ached in ways he hadn’t expected, but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, he was already planning how to top last night’s escapades.
The sound of soft footsteps made him glance over his shoulder just as Hermione stepped into the kitchen. She was a vision—her curls still wild and untamed from sleep, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of the morning. She wore a loose tank top that skimmed the top of her thighs, barely hiding the swell of her breasts, and the familiar red underwear that he couldn’t take his eyes off. It wasn’t just the color he loved; it was the way the lace hugged her curves, the way it teased him mercilessly.
For a moment, she stopped in her tracks, her gaze falling on his back. The marks of their passion stood out starkly against his pale skin, each one a testament to the night they’d shared. She almost felt a twinge of guilt seeing how ragged he looked—his movements slow and his posture slightly hunched—but then her eyes wandered lower, taking in the way his muscles flexed as he moved. Her guilt melted away, replaced by a renewed hunger that ignited in her core.
“Good morning,” she finally said, her voice soft but tinged with that teasing lilt he adored.
Harry turned to greet her, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he took her in. She crossed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself against his back. Her hands splayed across his stomach, fingers tracing the taut muscles beneath his skin.
“Hey, you’re in a good mood,” he murmured, tilting his head to kiss the top of her head. Her scent—something sweet and warm, like vanilla and sunshine—washed over him, making him close his eyes for a brief second.
“Yeah, thanks to you,” Hermione giggled, resting her cheek against him for a moment before glancing at the stove. “Did you cook?”
“Merlin, no,” Harry chuckled, his voice low and rich. “I woke up late and just heated up the leftovers Molly packed for us. You’re lucky I managed that much.”
Hermione laughed softly, the sound vibrating against his skin. She watched as he reached for a pair of vials on the counter, handing one to her with an amused glint in his eye.
“Here, drink up,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“What’s this?” Hermione asked, though she already had an idea as she uncorked the potion.
“Something to ease the aches and perk you up,” Harry replied, leaning against the counter with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. “Don’t lie to me, Granger. I know you’re hurting all over.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the blush that crept up her neck. “I am,” she admitted, raising the vial in a mock toast before downing the potion in one go. The taste was bitter, but she barely noticed. “But it’s a happy ache.”
“Good,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Because we’ve got plenty of time to do it all over again later.”
Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand and guided her to the table. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver up her spine, and she had to suppress the urge to pull him into another kiss right then and there. He pulled out a chair for her, a small but thoughtful gesture that made her heart skip a beat.
“Eat,” he ordered, his tone playful but firm. “You’ll need it.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Hermione quipped, smirking up at him.
Harry snorted, shaking his head as he placed a hand on her hip. “Be careful, or you’ll end up calling me that in public,” he teased, giving her a light smack on the bum as she sat down.
Hermione laughed, the sound full of mischief. As he moved to take the seat beside her, she grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward her. Her lips crashed against his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fiery, consuming, and left no room for doubt about what she wanted. She nipped at his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to whisper against his mouth.
“What are you doing to me, Harry?” she asked, her voice breathless yet demanding. Her fingers tangled in his hair as her lips hovered close to his. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“I noticed,” Harry replied, his voice low and gravelly. His hands slid up her thighs, stopping just shy of where she wanted him. “So eat now, so we can start fucking again, Hermione.”
Her cheeks flushed a deeper red, but the fire in her eyes didn’t dim. She gave him a playful shove as he finally took his seat, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders before digging into the plate of food in front of him. Hermione watched him for a moment, her mind already spinning with plans for the rest of the day.
They still had time—plenty of time—and Hermione fully intended to make the most of it.
xxxxx
Harry relaxed on the couch, his breaths shallow and rapid as his fingers combed through Hermione’s soft, unruly hair. His hand gently pushed her closer, guiding her movements as she knelt before him. Her warm lips wrapped around him, her tongue teasing with deliberate, sensual strokes. She looked up at him through her lashes, her brown eyes shimmering with affection and mischief. Harry groaned deeply, his head falling back against the cushions as she sucked him deeper, her pace unrelenting.
A faint gag escaped her, but she never wavered, her dedication leaving him trembling. The sheer intensity of her gaze, filled with love and desire, left Harry utterly undone. His mind barely had time to catch up to how they’d ended up here.
After lunch, he’d barely registered Hermione flicking her wand at the dishes, sending them to the sink with a wave, before she turned to him. Without a word, she had tugged him to the couch, deftly stripped off his clothes, and taken control in a way that left him both stunned and utterly captivated.
“When did you get so damn good at this?” Harry asked, his voice a mix of amazement and ragged breaths.
Hermione released him with a soft pop, a proud smile gracing her flushed lips. “Well, it certainly helped that we’ve spent so many mornings practicing.”
Harry barked out a laugh, the sound rough and filled with affection. He could vividly recall the countless mornings he’d woken up to her, already between his legs, her devotion setting the tone for his day in the best way imaginable.
Her hand continued its steady rhythm as she leaned in to gently tease his tip with her tongue. The sensation sent a shudder through him, and he instinctively gripped her hair tighter. “Are you close?” Hermione asked, her voice low, her breath warm against him.
“Yes,” Harry groaned, his tone taut with anticipation.
Hermione’s lips curved into a triumphant smirk. She stood fluidly, her eyes locked with his as she stripped off her clothes. The sight of her bare skin glowing in the soft light left him breathless. Straddling his lap, she sank down onto him, inch by slow, torturous inch. A gasp escaped her lips as she took him fully, her body adjusting to his.
“Do you want me to come inside?” Harry whispered, his voice rough with restrained desire.
“Yes, Daddy,” Hermione purred, her lips brushing against his ear as her fingers trailed down his chest.
Harry groaned, a mix of arousal and exasperation coloring the sound. “You’ve got to stop calling me that,” he growled, though his tone betrayed how much he secretly enjoyed it. “Or I’ll spend the rest of the day imagining our little family.”
Hermione giggled, her laughter soft and teasing as she began to move. “What if I don’t want to stop?” she countered, her pace deliberate as she ground against him. “Imagine it, Harry—a little one with your green eyes and my brown curls.”
Her words struck a chord deep within him, igniting something primal. His hands moved to her hips, gripping tightly as he pulled her closer. Their movements turned rougher, more desperate, driven by raw need. Hermione’s head tipped back as Harry’s lips found her neck, kissing and nipping with an intensity that sent shivers racing through her.
“Come for me,” Hermione pleaded, her voice trembling as she neared her own peak. “I want all of you, Harry. Please.”
Her words were his undoing. With a groan that sounded almost pained, he thrust deeper, his focus solely on her. Hermione cried out as she shattered around him, her body trembling as she rode the waves of her climax. Her release tightened around him, pulling him over the edge. Harry’s name fell from her lips like a prayer as he followed her, spilling into her with a shuddering groan.
The room was quiet save for their mingled breaths. Hermione slumped against him, her chest pressed to his as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Harry wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he tried to steady his breathing.
“That was…” Hermione murmured, her voice muffled against his skin. She pulled back just enough to look at him, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Incredible.”
Harry chuckled, his hands running lazily up and down her back. “You’re making me like this ‘Daddy’ thing more and more,” he teased.
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Of course, you do,” she said dryly. “But remember what I said.”
“I know,” Harry replied with a smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her skin. “Still doesn’t stop me from wanting to make you pregnant, you know.”
Hermione’s blush deepened, and she hid her face in his neck. “You’ve got one more day to enjoy this fantasy,” she mumbled, her voice shy but playful.
Harry hummed thoughtfully, his hands moving to cradle her hips. “And then it’s back to reality. You’ve got your Potions Mastery exams to prepare for, and I’ve got the Wizengamot to deal with.”
Hermione stiffened slightly, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes. “Wait… does that mean—?”
“Just kisses for the rest of the week,” Harry interrupted, his tone firm but teasing. “I want you focused entirely on your exams. No distractions.”
Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him in disbelief. “You mean… no more sex?” she asked, her voice laced with indignation.
“Exactly,” Harry said, his grin widening at her outrage. “Just cuddles and kisses until your exams are done.”
“But what about my morning rituals?” Hermione pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably. “Not even a quick one?”
“Nope,” Harry replied cheerfully. “I want you to focus, love. Once your exams are over, we’ll celebrate however you want. Deal?”
Hermione groaned, dropping her forehead against his shoulder. “I hate you so much,” she muttered.
Harry laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “No, you don’t.”
A soft, reluctant giggle escaped her. “No, I don’t,” she admitted quietly.
Her arms tightened around his neck, and Harry held her close, a content smile on his face as the playful banter gave way to comfortable silence.
xxxxx
"I don't think this is safe…"
Harry murmured, struggling against the invisible ropes binding him to the bed. He was naked, blindfolded, and utterly at Hermione’s mercy.
"Relax, Harry, I'm not going to do anything… that crazy to you," Hermione giggled. "I'm not Luna."
"Don't even say her name right now!" Harry hissed, his tone half-warning, half-pleading.
Hermione let out a peal of laughter, the sound light and teasing. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."
There was movement on the bed, soft and deliberate, and Harry was left to wonder what she was planning. He had humored her request to tie him up, half-expecting her to take a dominating stance, but so far, she had only prepared— for what, he still didn’t know.
All of a sudden, a warm, sticky liquid touched his shaft, spreading over his skin. He tensed, almost jerking in surprise.
"Wha—what's that?" Harry asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.
"…just some lubricant," Hermione murmured, her voice low and steady.
Before he could ask another question, she began to stroke him slowly. The slick sensation combined with her hesitant yet deliberate movements made him moan loudly, his head falling back against the pillow.
"O-oh," Harry groaned, his breaths ragged. "T-that's actually… really nice."
Hermione’s soft laugh filled the room as she continued her ministrations, her fingers gliding over him in a rhythm that was both cautious and teasing. Harry would have preferred if she went faster, tighter—but there was something undeniably intoxicating about her shy, tentative touch.
Her free hand wandered up to his face, her fingers trailing over his jaw, cheeks, nose, and lips. When her fingers brushed against his mouth, Harry instinctively opened it, drawing one in and sucking gently.
Hermione gasped at the sensation, her movements faltering as she processed what he was doing.
Encouraged by her reaction, Harry sucked more purposefully, his tongue swirling around her finger. When she slipped a second one into his mouth, he hummed in approval, his hips bucking slightly, trying to coax her other hand to resume stroking him.
For a moment, it was a wordless exchange of sensations—Hermione’s breath hitching as Harry sucked on her fingers, while she slowly resumed her strokes, her inexperience overshadowed by the sheer intimacy of the moment.
"I'm close, Hermione," Harry murmured between licks, his voice trembling with need. His hips began to move in rhythm with her strokes, desperate for release.
But suddenly, her hand stopped.
Harry gasped, his body taut with frustration. He was so close—just one more stroke would’ve sent him over the edge.
"W-why did you stop?" he groaned, his voice hoarse.
Hermione giggled mischievously. "I want you to know how it feels to be denied an orgasm, Potter."
Harry let out a loud groan, his frustration palpable. "Oh, come on! You enjoyed it as much as I did!"
"Exactly," Hermione said, her tone playful but firm. "Which is why I want you to enjoy it too. Your turn to go crazy."
Before he could retort, Hermione straddled him, her thighs framing his face. Harry’s breath hitched as he felt her warmth so close to his lips.
"Besides," Hermione purred, leaning down to whisper near his ear, "do you really want to make a mess on the bed? I want you to come inside me, Daddy. You promised."
Harry shuddered at her words. She was going to drive him absolutely mad today, and he couldn’t even move. Well, technically he could—the magical ropes would dissolve with a simple wandless incantation—but he wasn’t about to spoil her fun.
Before he could protest, she lowered herself onto his mouth, and Harry instinctively began lapping at her, savoring her taste as he worked to please her.
"Yes," Hermione moaned, her voice shaky. "That's my good boy."
Her praise sent a surge of pride through Harry, spurring him to redouble his efforts. His tongue moved with precision, alternating between soft, teasing strokes and firm, deliberate pressure. Hermione’s moans grew louder, her hands gripping his hair as she ground against his face.
"P-Parseltongue," she gasped, her voice trembling. "Use your P-Parseltongue."
Harry smirked beneath her, focusing his mind as he let out a soft hiss. His tongue moved in unpredictable, serpentine patterns, mimicking the motions of a snake.
"Yes! Yes! Just like that, Harry!" Hermione cried, her body trembling as she rode the waves of pleasure he was giving her. Her moans filled the room, growing louder and more desperate.
"I'm close," she whimpered, her voice breaking. "So close, love, please…"
But just as Hermione felt the dam about to break, Harry stopped.
Her body froze, and she looked down, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "H-Harry? Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice calm but laced with mischief.
"W-why did you stop? I was about to come," she whispered, her tone almost pleading.
"I know," Harry said, smirking.
Hermione gasped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Stick your tongue out again! I want to come! I was so close!"
Her tone was meant to be commanding, but it came out more like a desperate plea.
"No," Harry said firmly.
"No, no," Hermione whimpered, her voice breaking with need. "Harry, please. I want to come, please. Stick out your tongue. I’m begging you!"
Harry shook his head, his smirk widening. "Nope. You denied me my orgasm, so I’m just returning the favor."
Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. "That’s not fair! I’m supposed to be in control here!"
She slid off him, pressing kisses to his lips as her hands roamed over his body. The taste of herself on his lips didn’t bother her—if anything, it spurred her on. "Please, Harry, please," she whispered between kisses. "Once I come, I’ll untie you. You can tie me up and do whatever you want to me. Just please let me come."
Harry almost grinned at her desperation. Could she even hear herself?
Harry kissed back and Hermione moaned again as he slowly licked her lips, her chin, and nipped on her neck. Hermione longed for his touches and she slowly moved her body closer to her face, his tongue trailing towards her until she reached her chest.
Hermione leaned forward and guided her breasts on his mouth and to her delight, Harry started sucking on her nipple. She let out a loud moan.
"Oh, that feels good," Hermione whispered. She let out a gasp as Harry bit her softly, sending electricity inside her body. "That's it, love, yes, oh," She let out some quiet whimpers, enjoying the intoxicating feeling of Harry sucking on her breasts.
Hermione's hand found his shaft again and she started stroking as Harry continued sucking her. Hermione's howls filled the air and Harry was getting guilty of denying her release.
"Sit on my face again, I'll make you come. But wait for my signal, okay?" Harry ordered.
"Yes," Hermione whispered back, her voice tinged with excitement as she straddle his face again, lowering towards his open mouth.
She let out a gasp as Harry quickly used his Parseltongue with the intent of breaking her. She rode his face, as the sweet release she was denied earlier was now back and she was ready to explode again.
But then, her breath hitched, she remembered Harry's order. She couldn't come yet without his approval. She whimpered as she looked at him, took off his blindfold and pleaded with her eyes. "I want to come, Daddy," She begged.
Harry just stared at her, his tongue continuing to vibrate inside her as he lapped on her core.
"Please, Daddy, please," Hermione whimpered. "Can I please come?"
Hermione's body started shivering as she tried to pull herself away from Harry's face, she was so close to breaking that she decided to stop sitting on him, not wanting to come when he hasn't allowed her yet.
To her surprise, Harry broke free from the ropes and pulled her back in his face, his tongue now focusing on her bundle of nerves and started attacking it.
"Come, love," Harry ordered.
And she did. Hermione let out a scream of pure bliss as Harry held her down on his face, his mouth open to continue licking her and to absorb everything that she's squirting out on him. She didn't even have the chance to ride the waves of pleasure as Harry was the one who managed to do the movements for her. Her body jerked from being too sensitive and she begged and cried for Harry to release her but he just continued licking her until she was done.
When her overwhelming orgasm finally subsided, Harry sat up and cradled Hermione in his arms, holding her close as she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her breath was warm against his skin, and he felt her lips press against his collarbone—a mix of kisses and soft murmurs. Hermione cursed him playfully under her breath, her voice thick with exhaustion and affection. Her trembling hands clutched at the back of his shirt, grounding herself in his touch.
"You did wonderfully," Harry said softly, his tone laced with pride and affection.
A faint smile graced her lips, though her earlier attempt at control flashed in her mind, reminding her of how fleeting her dominance had been. She let out a quiet laugh, half-amused and half-resigned, at the way he always managed to take charge.
"It's my turn now," Harry murmured, his voice dropping to a low, commanding growl. There was a glint in his eyes, equal parts teasing and mischievous, and the intensity of it sent a shiver down her spine. "Remember what you told me? That I could tie you up and do whatever I want with you?"
Hermione froze for a moment, her gaze locking onto his. His devilish grin was undeniable—a look of someone who was both exhilarated and entirely in control. His hair was disheveled, his face still wet from her release, slightly flushed, and his expression had that captivating blend of softness and dominance.
"I—I didn't mean—" she stammered, her mind racing as her words faltered under the weight of his unwavering gaze.
Before she could finish, Harry had gently lowered her back onto the bed. His movements were deliberate but unhurried, giving her just enough time to anticipate what might come next. Her heart raced as he reached for his wand and murmured the same spell she’d teasingly used earlier.
The invisible bindings felt firm but not uncomfortable as they secured her wrists to the bedposts. Hermione glanced at him, her wide eyes filled with both curiosity and apprehension as he held up the blindfold. His grin deepened as he leaned closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against her ear.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by something deeper—a quiet trust that only they shared.
"I won't deny you anything this time," Harry murmured, his tone softening as he gently tied the fabric over her eyes. His fingers lingered on her temple for a moment, brushing a stray curl away from her cheek.
Hermione swallowed hard, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her nerves. The blindfold heightened everything—the sound of his steady breathing, the warmth of his hand as it rested briefly on her arm, and the subtle shifts in the mattress as he moved beside her.
"You can come as many times as you want," Harry whispered again. "And as many times as I want to as well."
A nervous laugh bubbled up in her chest, but it mingled with anticipation. She tugged lightly at the bindings, testing their hold, and let out a soft sound of surrender. Despite her reservations, excitement coursed through her.
"For the next hour," he continued, his voice low and teasing, "we’ll see just how much you can handle."
"Harry," she whispered, her voice catching slightly as he leaned in closer.
"Relax, Granger," he replied, his tone now tinged with playfulness. "You're mine, right?"
xxxxx
Harry cradled Hermione in his arms, her trembling frame curled against him as he gently rubbed soothing circles along her back. The tension in her body lingered, a vivid reminder of the intensity of their earlier moments together. Hermione’s breaths were shallow, uneven, each exhale laced with the remnants of exhaustion and satisfaction.
Her hair, a wild mess of curls, tickled his chin as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her soft murmurs were incoherent, a mix of contentment and disbelief at how thoroughly she’d been unraveled. Every so often, her body gave an involuntary shudder, as if it couldn’t fully let go of the sensations he had drawn from her.
“Hey,” Harry murmured, his voice low and tender, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. “You okay?”
Hermione shifted slightly, her head tilting up just enough to meet his gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes shone with warmth despite the lingering haze of fatigue. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Just… just hold me for now.”
Harry’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. “I’m sorry I got so excited back there,” he began, his tone a mix of amusement and guilt. “I just—”
Hermione cut him off with a kiss, her lips pressing softly against his in a gesture that was more reassuring than passionate. When she pulled back, there was a faint smile on her face. “Don’t apologize,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I liked it. I liked it so much that if I had any energy left—and didn’t have work tomorrow—I’d be begging you to continue.”
Harry chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Really?” he teased, his eyes narrowing slightly as a mischievous grin spread across his face.
Hermione blushed deeply, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as she tried to hide her embarrassment. “Don’t make me regret saying that,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his chest.
Harry’s grin softened into something more tender as he kissed the top of her head again. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
Hermione tilted her head back, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made his heart skip a beat. “You’re not so bad yourself, Potter,” she replied, her lips curving into a sly smile.
He shifted slightly, adjusting her weight in his lap as he let his gaze travel over her. Her flushed cheeks, the faint sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her hair framed her face—all of it left him in awe. She was utterly captivating, and in this moment, completely his.
His eyes flicked down to her wrists, and his expression darkened slightly. Gently, he took her hand in his, turning it over to examine the faint redness that lingered. His thumb brushed over the marks, and a small frown tugged at his lips.
“Maybe we should save that for special occasions,” he said softly, his tone thoughtful. “A reward for when we really deserve it.”
“A reward?” Hermione asked, her brow arching in curiosity.
Harry nodded, his grin returning. “Yeah. I think we both know we’d never get anything done if... certain activities became a nightly norm.” His grin widened as he added, “So maybe we save those for when we’re really, really stressed or have something to celebrate.”
Hermione bit her lip, her mind clearly turning over his suggestion. She couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed those moments of surrender, how deeply she trusted him to take control. But she also knew he was right. Their passions had a way of consuming them entirely, leaving little room for anything else.
“I’d like that,” she finally said, her voice steady and filled with quiet conviction.
Harry leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the agreement. When he pulled back, his green eyes sparkled with affection.
For a while, they simply sat in silence, the crackling of the fireplace the only sound in the room. The warmth of the flames wrapped around them like a comforting blanket, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Eventually, Harry broke the silence, his voice teasing. “You don’t suppose you’d want to continue tonight, do you?”
Hermione let out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes at him. “Merlin, no,” she replied, her tone light but firm. “I do have my limits, you know. Besides…” Her voice trailed off as a faint blush crept up her neck. “It doesn’t help that you’re so... well... big.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he let out a deep, genuine laugh. “You flatter me, Granger,” he said, his grin wide.
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked away. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
Harry shifted beneath her, his arms tightening around her as he leaned in close. “Do you want me to draw you a bath?” he asked softly, his voice filled with care.
Hermione’s eyes softened as she looked back at him. “That sounds lovely,” she admitted. Then, with a hint of mischief, she added, “Take one with me?”
“Of course,” Harry replied without hesitation. “I’ll spoil you until we both fall asleep.”
He stood, lifting her effortlessly in his arms as he carried her toward the bathroom. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder, her lips brushing against his neck in a soft, lingering kiss. In that moment, as the warmth of his embrace surrounded her, she felt utterly cherished, her heart full and her mind at peace.
xxxxx
The living room at Grimmauld Place was bathed in soft morning light streaming through the partially drawn curtains. The warm golden rays danced across the polished wood floors and ancient tapestries, illuminating the elegant yet slightly eccentric decor. The air smelled faintly of parchment, coffee, and the lingering aroma of breakfast, mingling with the comforting hum of the house's magical wards.
Harry stood near the coffee table, a small bag in his hand, his posture relaxed but purposeful. His black button-down shirt clung perfectly to his frame, tucked neatly into khaki slacks that emphasized his lean, athletic build. The Potter and Black family rings gleamed on his hands, subtle but unmistakable symbols of his heritage and authority. His hair, as always, defied complete taming, giving him an effortlessly roguish charm.
"Good luck with work today," he said, his voice low and warm, as he handed the bag to Hermione with a faint smile.
She took it with a curious look, tilting her head. "What's this?"
"Sandwiches for lunch and some apple juice I picked up from the supermarket," Harry explained casually. "I also added some chocolate frogs in case you need extra energy."
Hermione peeked inside, her brows lifting in surprise. The neat wrapping of the sandwiches and the careful selection of items struck her in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “When did you have the time to do all this?” she asked, her tone touched with amazement.
Harry smirked, shrugging lightly. “I was trained to move fast in the kitchen.”
Hermione frowned, her lips parting to respond, but Harry cut her off with a soft laugh, his emerald eyes twinkling. “Don’t. That was a terrible joke,” he admitted, grinning as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
His voice softened as he continued, “I’ve got some work to do on the Muggle side of London, so you might be home before me.”
Hermione nodded absently, her gaze lingering on him. The way the morning light played off the strong lines of his face made her heart flutter, and she couldn’t help the way her eyes trailed down, appreciating how utterly handsome he looked.
“You look... really good today,” she murmured, her voice almost shy.
Harry quirked a brow, his lips tugging into a teasing smile. “Just today?”
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “And also yesterday, and the day before that, and—”
Her words were cut off as Harry stepped forward and captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss. The heat of it stole her breath, and her hands instinctively clutched at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid down her back, firm and possessive, before settling on her bum and giving it a squeeze that made her moan softly against his mouth.
When he finally pulled back, Hermione whimpered in protest, her cheeks flushed and her breathing uneven. Harry cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he studied her with a mix of amusement and longing. “Are you sure we don’t have time for…?” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.
Harry chuckled, his grin laced with mischief as he shook his head. “No. Besides, you need your energy and focus on your Mastery this Friday. After that, I promise, I’ll reward you. Okay?”
Hermione sighed dramatically, though her lips twitched with a small smile. The ban on her morning ritual with Harry had been a cruel, self-imposed rule to help her focus on her studies, but it didn’t make resisting him any easier.
Harry noticed her pout and smirked, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. He pulled the fabric aside, revealing the curve of his collarbone and the faint dusting of hair at the base of his throat.
“Here,” he said with a mock sigh, his voice teasing but thick with affection. “You can have one bite, and then you have to go to work. Deal?”
Hermione squealed in delight, pushing him back onto the couch with more force than she’d intended. She straddled his lap in a flash, her hands fisting in his shirt as she kissed him with fervor. The soft groan that escaped his lips only spurred her on, and she felt a rush of triumph as she pressed her body flush against his.
Her fingers trailed up to tangle in his hair as her lips traveled to his neck. Without hesitation, she bit down, hard enough to break skin. Harry gasped sharply, his hands gripping her hips as the sharp sting gave way to a strange, addictive pleasure.
Hermione pulled back slightly, licking the small bead of blood that welled up before sucking on the spot to soothe it. A faint bruise began to form, dark against his pale skin, and the sight filled her with a heady mix of pride and possessiveness.
She didn’t stop, leaning in to bite the other side of his neck, but Harry caught her face in his hands, his green eyes blazing with both amusement and warning. “I said just one bite,” he reminded her, his voice low and firm.
Hermione pouted but nodded, though she didn’t stop the slow, teasing roll of her hips against his lap.
“Hermione,” Harry groaned, his resolve wavering as his grip on her hips tightened. “You’re going to make this week so much harder for us if you don’t behave.”
His words carried a playful edge, but his body betrayed him, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. The tension between them crackled like lightning, neither wanting to let go, yet both knowing they had to.
With a deep sigh, Harry lifted her from his lap, setting her gently on her feet. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in the proud smile she wore as she admired the fresh bruise on his neck.
“I’ll see you when I get home,” he said, his voice softer now, though his eyes still burned with restrained desire. He guided her toward the Floo, his hand lingering on the small of her back. “Goodbye, love. Good luck with work.”
“Bye, Harry,” Hermione replied, her tone sweet but laced with a hint of mischief as she stepped into the green flames and called out, “Tonks Residence.”
As the fire whisked her away, Harry sank to his knees, bracing himself against the couch as he struggled to steady his breathing. “Fucking Merlin,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I almost lost it there…”
The week ahead suddenly felt impossibly long.
xxxxx
After dealing with a mountain of paperwork and visiting the Muggle businesses he had inherited—unfortunately—from the Black family, Harry was ready to call it a day. The Black family’s ventures in the Muggle world ranged from properties to odd investments that Harry still hadn’t fully understood, but they were profitable enough to warrant his attention. He couldn’t just let them fall apart, even if the sheer mundanity of managing them grated on his nerves.
Just as he’d finally closed the last ledger and left the office, his two-way mirror buzzed insistently in his pocket.
Harry had spent months perfecting the replication of Sirius’s old mirror during the quieter months after the war. What started as a pet project had turned into a practical communication system for his closest friends and allies. He’d made versions for Hermione, Ron, the Weasleys, the Tonks family, and even the Malfoys.
Draco’s mirror, however, was an exception. It had initially been created as a private communication line between Harry and Narcissa. Harry had grown unexpectedly close to the elder Malfoy woman after saving his life during the war. Narcissa, in turn, had developed an almost unshakable loyalty to Harry—not unlike a fierce protector, though she framed it under the guise of respecting his role as Lord of the House of Black.
Lucius, thankfully, had been long gone. His death after the war had removed one of Harry’s lingering grudges, making it easier for him to tolerate the family. Over time, the lines between grudging respect and genuine camaraderie had blurred.
Draco, of course, hadn’t made things easy at first. It took years of mutual prodding—and the occasional intervention from Daphne and Astoria—for the two to find a rhythm that resembled friendship. Or something like it.
Harry found himself tolerating Draco’s company more often than he would have expected. As it turned out, Draco matured into someone tolerable—almost likable—when he wasn’t scheming or trying to one-up everyone around him. Harry even found it oddly refreshing to have someone he could banter with freely, someone who could dish out insults as readily as he could take them. If Harry was being honest, he kind of missed the days when they could exchange barbs without restraint.
Today, Draco had used his mirror to summon Harry, claiming something urgent had come up. With a raised eyebrow but little hesitation, Harry agreed to meet him at a Muggle coffee shop nearby.
As Draco arrived, the sight of bustling Muggles milling about the café made his eye twitch involuntarily. He couldn’t deny the slight discomfort he felt being surrounded by non-magical people. Years of conflict, coupled with a wizard upbringing, had ingrained in him a kind of unease in Muggle spaces.
Still, he reminded himself, he couldn’t afford to be so rigid anymore. The war had changed things, and so had Astoria. His wife was not only tolerant of Muggle-borns but actively supportive of laws to protect their rights.
A few minutes later, Harry stepped into the café and immediately spotted Draco seated at a corner table. The Slytherin’s silver-blond hair caught the light streaming through the window, and his posture, as always, exuded an air of aloof confidence. But what truly caught Harry’s attention was Draco’s attire—a garish Christmas sweater in Slytherin green, complete with a cheerful Santa Claus emblazoned across the front.
Harry’s lips twitched as he fought the urge to laugh outright. Draco, in all his aristocratic glory, had somehow decided this sweater was the ideal disguise for blending into Muggle London.
“You’re the only person I know who drinks iced coffee even when it’s winter,” Draco drawled as Harry finally approached after taking his drink, lifting his steaming mug of hot chocolate in a mock toast.
Harry rolled his eyes and dropped into the chair opposite him. “Piss off, Malfoy,” he retorted, tugging off his gloves and tossing them onto the table. He placed his iced coffee down with a casual thud, the condensation pooling onto the polished wood.
Draco smirked, clearly enjoying himself as he leaned back in his chair. There was something oddly comforting about their dynamic, even if it often veered into irritation.
“What do you want?” Harry continued, his tone exasperated but tinged with familiarity. “A Christmas gift?”
Draco’s smirk widened, and with a deliberate flourish, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. He placed it on the table with an air of mock ceremony, sliding it across to Harry.
“What’s this?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he picked up the envelope.
Draco didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his attention to the window, his grey eyes scanning the street as if searching for something. Snowflakes drifted lazily past the glass, and the faint sound of holiday carolers floated in from somewhere nearby.
“We found them,” Draco said finally, his voice calm and measured, though his gaze remained fixed on the scene outside.
Harry froze. His fingers tightened around the envelope as he stared at Draco, the weight of those three words sinking in.
“What?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.
Draco glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. “Granger’s parents,” he clarified.
The envelope in Harry’s hands suddenly felt heavier. The room seemed to grow quieter as his mind raced. He barely registered the sound of mugs clinking in the background or the distant laughter of children outside.
“They’re alive?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draco nodded once, his composure never faltering. “Alive,” he confirmed simply.
Harry swallowed hard, his grip on the envelope tightening. It was all in here—everything Hermione had been searching for, everything she had lost during the war. For years, she had carried the weight of not knowing. And now, in this unassuming envelope, there was finally an answer.
Draco stood abruptly, brushing imaginary lint off his ridiculous sweater as he adjusted his coat. “I’ve done my part,” he said breezily. “You’ll tell her, of course.”
Harry shot him a look that could have melted steel. “Coward,” he muttered.
Draco smirked, entirely unbothered. “I'd like it if she didn't know you forced me to use my connections outside the country to look for them,” he replied, tossing a final glance over his shoulder as he strode toward the door. "Happy holidays, Potter."
The bell jingled softly as he stepped out into the snow, leaving Harry alone at the table. For a moment, Harry simply sat there, staring at the envelope in his hands.