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Her Bound Heart Chapter 20
🕑 Added 2024-05-01 14:50:17 +0000 UTCContent Warnings: Bratty!Hermione, Semi-Public, Teasing.
“So he has returned.”
Harry pushed his hands inside his pockets before he joined Albus Dumbledore by the window. It would not do for the old Headmaster to see them shaking. He didn’t even know what he was afraid of.
That’s a lie, the nasty little voice in his head piped up.
He knew exactly what he was afraid of. He looked out the window at the brunette kneeling on the snowy ground next to a pair of giggling second-years, his lips twitching as he watched her teach them how to fling snowballs at their friends.
He had accepted Death as an old friend a long time ago. A part of him suddenly wished he hadn’t met Hermione. Before her, he hadn’t known fear.
Before her, you hadn’t known love either, a quieter, much wiser voice in his head reminded him.
Harry simply grunted. His attention was focused on his submissive. He chewed his lower lip, ruminating on the fact that she had defied his order to stay with Madam Pomfrey, out of sight and away from prying eyes.
“Do you have any idea how he got his body back?” Harry spoke after an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch on forever. A cold gust blasted their faces. The chill clung to his skin and seeped into his bones. A fitting setting for the conversation they were having.
“A few. None of them are very pleasant to contemplate.”
Harry nodded.
“You’ve been keeping interesting company these days, Harry,” Dumbledore said, casually changing the topic.
“You remember Hermione?” Harry asked warily. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. His intention was to keep his girlfriend far, far away from the fight to come. And while he was fond of the old Headmaster, he wasn’t naive enough to believe that his interest in Hermione Granger came from a genuine curiosity about their love life.
“It would be hard for any teacher in this castle to forget her. Her star burns bright.”
“You’ve never taught her,” Harry pointed out flatly. He suddenly had an urge to pick Hermione up and run.
Run where? They were safe here, safe as long as he made clear to Dumbledore that she would not be a participant in whatever scheme he was cooking up.
“Do you know what my father taught me about war?”
If Dumbledore was surprised by the sudden change of topic, he did not show it. He simply knitted his bushy white eyebrows together and stared off into the distance, his expression inscrutable.
“Always know what you’re fighting for,” he mumbled.
“How-”
“Who do you think told James that, Harry?” Dumbledore asked softly. “We used to have conversations not unlike this one during the first war.”
“He fought for my mother.”
It wasn’t a question.
“He fought for what your mother stood for. Not just her,” Dumbledore corrected him gently.
“That worked out well, didn’t it?” Harry barked out a laugh. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Not enough. You and Miss Granger can finish what they started.”
“Miss Granger is not going to start or finish anything,” Harry growled. He’d seen the scars. He’d stared into the haunted eyes, dispelling her disbelief every time he did something nice without expecting something in return. He’d held her the nights she had her nightmares—nightmares she still refused to talk about. She had suffered enough. The rest of her life… the rest of their lives —would be him giving her the happiness and pleasure she deserved.
“She’s a queen…” Harry checked himself. “She’s not the Chosen One. I am.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Harry felt a chill grip his beating heart that had nothing to do with the wind battering their faces.
“Voldemort wasn’t even aware of her existence until a few days ago,” Harry hissed angrily. “She. Is. Not. The. Chosen. One,” he got out through gritted teeth.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
“I did not know you cared for titles, Harry.”
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Titles? He didn’t give a shit about them. Dumbledore knew that.
Why were they going through this useless charade?
“You keep her out of whatever you’re planning.”
“It may not be that simple.”
Harry sighed. It rarely ever was, especially when it came to Voldemort.
“I lost my mother, Headmaster. I’m not going to lose the only other woman I’ve ever loved. So whatever it is that you know, I suggest you tell me. Right now.”
“You love her?”
“I do. And unless you want me to take her and leave, I suggest you tell me why she can’t sit out the war in this castle,” Harry said frostily. In normal circumstances, he’d have been more than happy to spend the next hour talking about Hermione Granger’s pretty brown eyes, her infectious smile, the tiny furrow in her brow while she studied, and the million other things he loved about her. These were not normal circumstances.
“If you do, she will die. She is not ready for what’s ahead,” Dumbledore said simply.
“She won’t die,” Harry asserted. But even as the words left his lips, he knew it was a lie. He could feel it in his bones. “Not while I’m around.”
“But you can’t be around all the time, can you, Harry? Just ask your father.”
Harry wondered if the Headmaster would survive being tossed out of the window.
“That was a low blow. And you know it,” Harry growled.
Dumbledore bowed his head in apology.
“She is a child of prophecy, Harry. Just like you. Your fates are intertwined more than you realize.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She didn’t tell you? I presumed you knew and wished to find a way to help her escape it. Running from fate never works, Harry.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry said flatly. “Hermione isn’t eager to talk about her past and I’m not one to press her on it.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s how relationships work?” Harry shrugged. It seemed weird to have the tables turned, for him to teach the old Headmaster something. “You take the part of someone that they share with you and treasure it. I cherish everything that Hermione gives me but I do not demand more.”
“Interesting…” Dumbledore traced a silver bracelet around his wrist, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the ‘G’ engraved on it. “During her Third Year, Miss Granger thought it would be interesting to sample every elective Hogwarts had to offer.”
“Sounds like her,” Harry said with a fond glance out the window.
“One of the subjects was Divination. She dropped it after being subjected to a prophecy.”
“Let me guess,” Harry snorted. “Professor Trelawney predicted she’d die a gruesome death. You do know she does that every year, right? She’s not a true seer. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t pick Divination, other than a general lack of interest in my future, of course.”
“Oh, but she is. Professor Trelawney does not understand the true extent of her powers. And what she told Hermione that night was a real prophecy,” Dumbledore murmured. “She was rather disturbed. She went to Minerva, who brought her to see me.”
Harry could feel the chill around his heart again. It beat faster, hammering in his chest in a futile attempt to ward off the growing sense of dread. It wasn’t just the prophecy, although news of that was horrible by itself. Dumbledore was being unusually candid and things had to be bad to bring him to that state.
He had learned long ago that the Headmaster did not reveal anything unless truly necessary.
“What was the prophecy about, Albus?”
“She holds the key to Voldemort’s defeat.”
Harry could feel the onset of an unwelcome headache. Riddles within riddles. Why wouldn’t anyone except Hermione speak simply and plainly?
She was the only one who had never hidden anything from him. If she didn’t want to tell him something, she simply said so and trusted him to respect her decision.
“I thought we agreed I was the Chosen One. Voldemort thinks so as well.”
“I didn’t say she’d defeat Voldemort. That has always been your destiny. She is simply the key.”
Harry didn’t like the implication. A key was a tool, and what did one do with tools once they had served their purpose?
“What were the exact words?”
“That is not for me to reveal, Harry.”
Harry frowned but let the matter lie. He knew the old Headmaster well enough to know Dumbledore would not budge.
“Professor McGonagall is looking for a teaching assistant, isn’t she?” Harry asked suddenly.
“She is. How did you know?”
“We’ve tried our best to stay in touch the last couple of years.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “She keeps trying to convince me to come back. Madam Hooch has wanted to retire for a few years now.”
“You seem to know more about my staff than I do, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sounding faintly amused. “You were always Minerva’s favorite, even if she’d never show it.”
“Give Hermione the job.”
“I didn’t know Miss Granger was a proficient Quidditch player.”
“No, not that one. Let her work under Professor McGonagall.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons. It’s not like I’m asking you to pick someone unqualified. She’s probably the best at Transfiguration on this island after you and Professor McGonagall.”
“Would you care to share those reasons with me?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” Harry paused. “Like I trust you.”
Dumbledore bowed his head at the mild jab at his habit of keeping secrets.
“I will ask Minerva what she thinks.”
“I already know her answer. She’d be thrilled to have someone as talented as Hermione working under her. All the other applicants are woefully inadequate. She was complaining about them in her last letter.”
“Very well,” Dumbledore smiled. He graciously conceded defeat, knowing he was well and truly trapped. “When would she like to start working?”
“Today. Now. You’ll prepare a teacher’s apartment for her.”
“Harry-”
“Trust, remember? It’s a two-way street.”
“Very well.” Dumbledore studied Harry’s grim expression with interest. “May I ask you a question, Harry?” he asked, fidgeting with the silver bracelet around his wrist.
“Sure. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer it.”
“What is it about Miss Granger?”
It sounded odd but Harry understood what was being left unsaid. What was so special about her? He doubted his ex-Headmaster had kept up with his private life but it would have been hard to miss it. A couple of his relationships made the Daily Prophet, after all.
The fact that he preferred not to get attached was Wizarding Britain’s worst-kept secret.
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Harry smiled.
“Your father once said something quite similar to his grandparents.”
“Huh.” Harry tilted his head. “Maybe I am dealing with some kind of subconscious fucked up Oedipus complex. Don’t tell Hermione she was right, she’ll get a big head.”
“My dear boy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Harry passed him a sealed letter. “Give this to Hermione if I die. The seal is tied to my life.”
“Why me? There are others you can entrust this to.”
“I get the feeling you know the pain of loss better than most.” Harry’s uncertain eyes flickered to the man’s wrist for a brief second. “You’ll know what to say to her.”
Harry tapped the letter with his fingers and squeezed past Dumbledore. He looked back at the melancholic Headmaster once before he began to descend the spiral staircase that would deposit him at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. The people in the castle gave him a wide berth, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation.
His foul mood melted away the minute he stepped out into the courtyard and laid eyes on Hermione. She was kneeling on the snow next to a group of bundled-up girls, with only her red cloak wrapped around her for protection. Her good humor was contagious and Harry couldn’t help but smile when she laughed at something one of the girls said.
One of them spotted him and nudged their friend, who nudged another. Within seconds, the group had cleared out well before his arrival. Only the girl closest to Hermione remained, her eyes squinting as she tried to concentrate on Hermione’s wand movements.
“Why does it have to be so complicated?” she grumbled.
“It isn’t. The movements are just a medium to help you focus your magic. When you get better, you won’t need them.” Hermione’s smile grew wider at the sight of Harry trudging through the snow to join them. “My boyfriend can do most complex charms with the flick of his wrist.”
“It's one of the few perks of having an overprotective father and a slightly insane godfather,” Harry chuckled. What’re you doing?”
“I was teaching Rose basic levitation. She’s a much better student than my last one.”
“Who was your last student?”
“Ron.”
Hermione grinned at Harry’s scowl. Seeing him jealous was so funny, especially since she had made it very clear she was his. She extended her free hand. “Do you want to join us?”
“Will you teach me too?”
Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. If there was anything their little adventure in Albania had taught her, it was that Harry was the teacher in their relationship, both in bed and out of it.
Fuck, he’d make a good professor, Hermione thought, biting her lip. The feather she was floating dropped onto Rose’s hand as her attention shifted to Harry Potter’s delicious and exasperatingly distracting arms.
“Aren’t you cold?” Hermione asked, unable to tear her eyes away from his rolled-up sleeves and bare arms.
“Not too much. It helps me focus. I cast a heating charm on the shirt. Don’t worry, I won’t freeze.”
“What if you catch a cold?”
“You’ll nurse me back to health, won’t you?”
“I have better things to do,” Hermione said with a smile.
The twelve-year-old redhead next to Hermione finally looked up at the man who had taken Hermione’s attention away from her. She scowled at the dark-haired man, narrowing her eyes when she noticed the glasses and the familiar scar.
“You’re Harry Potter?”
“I am.”
“Can you not kill Miss Granger? She’s nice.”
“I… what have you been telling them, woman?” Harry asked, glaring playfully at Hermione.
“Nothing!” Hermione reluctantly tore her gaze away from Harry and turned to Rose, gently shaking her head. “Why do you think he’ll kill me, sweetie?”
“Because that’s what all the girls in my dorm say. That you kill the girls you’re dating when you’re bored with them and bathe in their blood. That’s why you’re so powerful. Jennie says she’d still date you.” Rose chewed her lower lip as she mulled over her friend’s declaration. “She’s an idiot,” she declared helpfully.
“Quite right,” Harry chuckled, ignoring Hermione’s glare. I don’t want to bathe in Miss Granger’s blood, but I do need to steal her.”
“It was nice to meet you, sweetie.” Hermione stood and dusted off her jeans. “You’ll get it if you keep practicing.”
“Okay.” Rose nodded but didn’t sound convinced. “I will. Maybe you can come help us out again?” she asked hopefully.
“Maybe.” Hermione gave the girl a strained smile. “I’m going to be rather busy.”
“Oh.” Rose poked the ground with her wand. The feather in her hand burst into flames. “See you around, I guess.”
Hermione’s smile disappeared. She let Harry lead her away, glancing back at the girl every so often.
“What’s on your mind, kitten?”
“I have the strangest feeling. In another life, we’d have been close.” Hermione chewed her lip worriedly. “Very close. I feel like I need to be there for her.”
“Maybe you can.”
“After we win the war. Who’s going to make your battle plans if I’m busy teaching levitation charms?” Hermione grinned and bumped her shoulder against his. It was impossible to remain stressed for too long around him.
“About that,” Harry exhaled heavily. They crossed the courtyard into the Atrium, but the magically heated air of the castle did nothing to drive away the chill seeping into his skin. “Dumbledore is offering you a job,” Harry said.
“I-what?”
“Professor McGonagall is looking for a teaching assistant. I think you’d be a good fit. You should accept it..”
“You’re getting rid of me.”
The hurt in her voice. It hit Harry like a rock. He steeled himself and slowly shook his head.
“I’m not getting-”
“You promised-” Hermione’s voice quivered and Harry nearly broke at the anguish in every syllable. “You promised you wouldn’t leave. You said I wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Mione.”
He didn’t even know where they were going. They’d hopped on a staircase and it was carrying them up the floors but neither of them made any attempt to get off at any of the ones it stopped at.
“But I have to stay here. Like a caged bird.”
“You said this was your home-”
“My home is with you!” Hermione snapped. “It’s… you don’t get to do this! You don’t get to make me love you and then dump me like an unwanted pet!”
“I’m not… what if I stay with you?”
“What?” Hermione blinked. His question took the wind out of her sails and she slumped, staring at her boyfriend warily. “What about your apartment? What about work? What about the war?”
“My apartment isn’t going anywhere. Your apartment here will presumably be big enough for both of us. I’ll stay with you. It was never my intention to exclude you from anything,” Harry murmured, hopping off with Hermione when the staircase pushed against the seventh floor with a dull THUD. No more stops. No more hiding. “You think I could live without you, silly girl? I like you in cuffs, not a cage,” he whispered. He turned and rested his forehead against hers, gently brushing her pink cheek with his thumb.
“What about the rest? Work and politics and the war?”
“I’ll commute. Or I’ll take a sabbatical. I always planned to be a pampered stay-at-home husband when we married. My father will take care of politics and the war will take care of itself, okay?”
“What about the playroom?” Hermione asked, chewing her lip worriedly. Their life was in their apartment. His life was in London. So was hers, but University wasn’t going anywhere. His life was the one that was being put on pause.
He’s giving it up. For me?
The thought that she was special enough for such a sacrifice made her giddy.
“Are you insinuating I need toys to take care of my kitten, Miss Granger?”
Hermione suppressed an involuntary shudder.
“But I can’t come with you when you go do… whatever it is you plan to do?”
“Not for a while. I know about the prophecy, love. You need to prepare.”
“What prophecy?”
“The one Professor Trelawney made about you.” Harry’s hand protectively rested on her cheek. His fingers wrapped around the back of her head and he pulled her closer.
“You’re believing that old bint? She also predicted Neville would die of potato poisoning!”
“Dumbledore confirmed it was real. He also pointed out that I wouldn't be around to protect you forever.”
“Don’t say that,” Hermione growled.
“But it’s right. You need to learn how to fight, Mione. I can’t teach you.”
“Because you’ll be too busy to teach me yourself,” Hermione mumbled. The desire to steal the time turner the Ministry had loaned her returned with a vengeance. Why couldn’t they spend their entire lives in their playroom? All they needed was each other, she knew that now.
“Because I can’t bear the thought of trying to hurt you. Even in a practice duel,” Harry corrected softly. “You need to learn with people who won’t hold back, not with someone who worries when you get a paper cut. Professor Flitwick was a dueling champion in his youth. I’ll ask him if he’d be up for evening lessons.”
Hermione bit back a sob and buried her face in his chest. She grabbed the front of his shirt and scrunched it up in her hands, pulling him as close as was physically possible.
“You’re not allowed to leave me. You’re not allowed to die.”
“Since when do you give the orders, Miss Granger?” Harry teased. He blinked back tears and bent to kiss her head.
“Sorry, master.” Hermione hiccuped as she tried to control the stream of silent tears flowing down her face and staining Harry’s shirt. She waited a few seconds before speaking again in a voice so soft, it was barely audible. “I love you, Harry.”
“I love-”
“Potty and Grangy sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
“Go away, Peeves,” Harry growled without bothering to turn around and face the annoying poltergeist behind him.
Peeves ignored him.
“First comes luuuurve. Then comes marriage! Finally comes stinky children in a big honking carriage!”
“That’s not how…” Hermione pulled away from Harry and looked up at him in confusion. “We’re too young for a baby, Peeves. I promise I’ll invite you when our children get here in their… uh… carriage.”
“Too young for children, eh?” Peeves zoomed around the hallway and cackled. “Then you’ll need these!”
Harry’s quick reflexes kicked in and he pulled Hermione to the floor with him. The vial of birth control potions sailed harmlessly over their heads and smashed against the stone floor. The viscous green liquid inside splashed everywhere, coating the tiles, the walls, and the back of Hermione’s cloak.
“Peeves!”
Harry whipped out his wand before the poltergeist could react or to escape. His muttered spell hit him and Peeves shot down the hallway, sounding very similar to air being let out of a balloon.
“He gets possessive. He’s harmless. Mostly.”
“Tell that to my cloak,” Hermione muttered. She turned and tried to study the damage to the back of her cloak.
“Your apartment will be ready in an hour. You can change there.” Harry thumbed the bag around Hermione’s neck. “We still have all our stuff.”
Hermione cupped Harry’s cheek and forced him to look at her. Her soft brown eyes were strangely intense as she studied his face.
“Our apartment.”
Harry nodded at the soft correction.
“We should move,” Harry murmured after a few seconds. Her eyes were too intense. Her lips, Merlin, her lips.
“Why?” Hermione raised an eyebrow in challenge. “It’s comfy.”
Hermione wriggled and climbed on top of Harry, straddling his waist. The top button of her blouse was undone, offering Harry a tantalizing view of the black lace of her bra.
“Hermione, Peeves might be back any second.”
“Judging by the number of birth control potions he threw at us…” Hermione pressed her finger against Harry’s chest. She liked to push him, to see him lose control. He was normally so powerful, so poised. Seeing him give into his base instincts was intoxicating. She could and would never get enough of it. “Nothing we do will surprise him. Besides, I need to make sure he knows you’re mine now.”
“Hermione-”
“Mine,” Hermione growled.
“Yes ma’am.” Harry’s lips twitched. She was adorable. A small pixie trying to assert dominance. “Peeves is one thing but are you sure you want students to see their new teacher being ravished by one of Hogwarts’ biggest troublemakers?”
Hermione pouted but climbed off him. Whatever her job, she took it seriously. She rubbed her arms and watched Harry push himself off the floor. The tattoo on her shoulder hummed, soothing her roiling emotions. She was his. He was hers. And her stupid overthinking brain could go suck it.
“You ever think about-”
“What it would’ve been like if we’d been closer in Hogwarts?” Harry asked, looking around at their surroundings. “All the time. In my head, we’d have been dating by our third year and married by the seventh.”
“Confident, are we?”
“Very.” Harry happily locked his arm with Hermione’s and let her lead him down the hallway. “There is no universe where I can resist you, Miss Granger. Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something. A secret library.”
“Hogwarts has a secret library?”
“Mhm,” Hermione nodded. “I stumbled across it by accident. Ron had said something… doesn’t matter. I came here whenever I needed a break from-” Hermione waved her free hand in the air “-everything.”
They paused in front of a blank stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Troll. Hermione closed her eyes and willed the door to appear.
“Wow. This wasn’t on the Marauder’s Map.”
“What map?” Hermione opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of the familiar wrought iron door. She pushed it open and led Harry into the dark room.
“Something my father made. I’ll show it to you someday.”
Hermione gently freed her arm from Harry’s and clapped her hands. The candles dotted around the comfy room sprang to life and flooded the space with soft yellow light.
“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured. He ignored his surroundings and focused on Hermione.
“For what?”
“For Ron. For ignoring you even though we were in the same year. You have so much pain and all I want-”
Hermione leaned up on her toes and silenced him with a kiss.
“The pain is a part of me. You wouldn’t love me without it,” Hermione murmured. “And it wasn’t all your fault. Everyone told me to stay away from you.”
“Why?”
“They said you were dangerous. To be fair, I think Lavender and Parvati wanted you all to themselves. But you heard what Rose said.”
“People make up all sorts of bullshit,” Harry snorted. “Some people think I’m secretly a Dark Lord.”
“You don’t want my blood, my lord?” Hermione asked teasingly.
“I want something else entirely, Miss Granger,” Harry whispered huskily. He wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist and pulled her closer. He bent to capture her lips, only to pause and stare at something extremely unexpected. “Hermione, why do you have a spanking horse in your secret library?” he asked with a grin. “I always knew you were secretly kinky. It’s always the quiet ones.”
“What?!” Hermione squeaked. She reluctantly freed herself from Harry’s arms and looked around the room. Along with the usual red leather armchairs, coffee tables, and wall-to-wall bookshelves, there were also a few new and unexpected additions.
There was the spanking horse, a desk with leather straps for wrists and ankles, and a wall that held a rack full of kink equipment instead of books.
“These weren’t here the last time I was here!” Hermione squeaked, her cheeks bright red.
“A perfect representation of our life, don’t you think?” Harry asked softly. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. His eyes fell on the bottle of Sleakeazy and the simple black hair tie on the coffee table closest to him. It was almost as if the room was anticipating his wants and supplying everything he needed. “Can I braid your hair?”
Hermione blinked at the unexpected request.
“You can try. I don’t think my hair is suited to being braided, sir.”
Harry reached out and grabbed the bottle of Sleakeazy. He held it up for her.
“I’ve never tried it! Do you think it will work?”
“You’re dating a Potter, and you’ve never tried Sleakeazy?!”
“It’s expensive!”
“You don’t need it,” Harry accepted with a shrug. “Your natural hair is perfect. But I’d really like to braid it.”
Hermione looked around the room and smiled. He was right, the room was perfect. It was their life. Kink was not something they did. It was a part of their life. She was his partner, his love, his submissive.
It was silly that she had even considered the possibility that he wanted to get rid of her.
“My body is yours, sir,” Hermione whispered. She carefully pulled her arms behind her back and grabbed her left wrist with her right hand, locking them in place. She bowed her head and spread her legs. She held the position patiently while Harry carefully unfastened her cloak and draped it over an armchair. “May I speak without permission?” she asked once he was standing behind her again.
“You may. I think I would like to revisit that rule and some others. I like it when you speak.”
“Even in the playroom?”
“Especially in the playroom,” Harry chuckled. “I never would have guessed you’d end up having a bratty streak when I interviewed you.”
Harry squeezed a liberal amount of Sleakeazy on his palms and rubbed them together. He freed her hair and gently pushed his fingers into the brown curls, carefully coating them with the potion.
“I’m not bratty!”
“I told you to stay in the castle and out of sight, didn’t I? What did you do?”
“Not that,” Hermione answered meekly. “The girls needed help. I didn’t even think about your instructions.”
“You didn’t?” Harry gently tugged on Hermione’s hair. “Whatever happened to no lies, Miss Granger?”
“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “It was a silly instruction, sir. What difference did it make?”
Harry ignored her question.
“Why do you continue to defy me, Miss Granger?”
His fingers flew over her hair, twisting and turning strands as he secured it into a simple braid. Although her hair was normally too curly to be braided, the Sleakeazy had worked like, well, magic.
“Because I can,” Hermione responded with a smile. She closed her eyes, her entire body vibrating with happiness.
“There are consequences for that.”
“Are there?” Hermione asked cheekily. “I doubt that. It’s been one week, one day, and six hours since I was punished.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we have things going on.”
Hermione stuck her lower lip out and pretended to think. She smiled, then tilted her head to look up at Harry once he had finished braiding her hair.
“Are you insinuating there are things more important than taking care of your kitten, sir?” she asked with a pout. “I thought I’d be your priority. My bad for presuming you’d take care of me.”
She suppressed the twinge of guilt sprouting in her mind at the doubt she could feel through their connection. She knew how to push his buttons and she needed him to be possessive and worked up if her plan to help him let off some steam was to work.
Her silly, perfect man. Always worrying about her needs and never his own.
She wondered what it would take for him to fuck her ruthlessly without all these games.
“Careful, Miss Granger,” Harry growled, running a thumb down her cheek.
“Or what?” Hermione challenged. “You WON’T punish me? I don’t even remember what your belt feels like.”
Hermione bit her lip to stop her giggle when she felt him shift, his belt buckle digging into the softness of her ass.
“Do you remember your safeword, Miss Granger?”
Hermione grinned.
Notes:
Between my injury and preparing for an interview last month was a messy affair. For everyone who stuck with me, thank you! I hope this month's cool updates make up for it! The next chapter will have some fun Red Little Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf references if you catch my gist! As for 'Rose' I like dropping easter eggs. She might have a more significant role, she might not. It really depends on how the poll I run pans out! Peeves is Harry's friend in this universe, which makes me wonder if it's high time the Twins entered the story.
Comments
teresa parrado pinaque
Porfavor,sube ya algún cap de este fic, de todas tus historias la que sigo es esta,y estoy deseando saber cómo sigue gracias
Coady
I like this Hermione. A devious little submissive who know how to get what she wants from her dominant.
Matlef
I really like how the chapter went the whole way from serious, fluffy, humourous, emotional, and steamy. Great job with it!
