Unlike a Sister (Harmione)

Chapter 35: The Fourth Rule

Looking back on it, Harry should've known that if you carry on an affair with Hermione Granger there will be rules.

Rule Number One: They would take all appropriate measures not to get caught.

Here, he supposed, it was fortunate that she was clever and that he was an Auror. With his knowledge of tactics and her of spells, they developed a formidable plan.

When they met for the first time after the trial, for example, she taught him an obscure fragrance charm that, instead of leaving behind an overly flowery aroma, simply mimicked the caster's natural scent. A few weeks later, after one particularly heated encounter left dark crescents on her throat and scratches on his back, she produced a tonic of murtlap essence from her bag that instantly calmed the redness. This was not long before she showed him a variation on the repairing charm that mended torn clothes seamlessly.

Like most Aurors, Harry maintained a network of confidential informants and he taught her many of the same precautionary and diversionary measures. First, there would be no predictable pattern as to when they met. Taking inspiration from her use of the Protean Charm in their fifth year, he modified two galleons so they could tell one another when they could next meet. (This only had the slight drawback of Harry getting unconscionably aroused whenever he felt the coin grow warm in his pocket). Over those months, they got used to seeing each other at odd times: in the pre-dawn stillness before they had to return home to help with breakfast, over rushed lunch hours, and in that glorious interval between work and dinner during which the setting sun joined his hands in threading her curls.

Second, in the event they needed to communicate directly, they would obscure their patronuses. And finally, they would maintain appearances, including making sure they were seen taking their biweekly lunches in his or her office at the Ministry.

Rule Number Two (really a corollary to Number One): They would never do anything at work or in their own homes.

The room by the garden was their sanctuary. The summer after the trial, the garden was a riot of green, the wisteria vines bending low with the weight of their blossoms and the leaves of the bird cherry trees glinting brightly in the sun.

When the weather was fine, they kept the French doors open and there were moments when he could not distinguish the heady fragrance from the garden from her skin beneath his lips. Afterwards as they lay still, limbs entwined, they would listen to the birdsong and she would tell him what they were-starlings and robins and magpies-and he would laugh, marveling at this suburban girl from Hampstead who seemed to know everything.

It was not always so peaceful, though. There were other moments-when they hadn't seen each other for weeks or could only steal a half-hour away-when he needed to be inside her so badly that he took her against the wall the moment the door closed, rutting into her as sharp, desperate gasps left her throat, her hands braced against the wall.

And another time...when he saw her lips encircle him for the first time, her hands gripping him cautiously, her pink tongue flicking across his head...he had stared at her dumbly for what felt like ages. When she was done, licking her lips primly, something came over him. He turned her over and fucked her hard into the bed, wrapping her curls around his wrist and calling her a good girl for taking his cock so prettily. And, shock of shocks, Hermione Granger liked being called a "good girl." She had come so violently and so quickly that he had laughed-which sent a rush of color across her face-and she came again.

But the surest way to make her come was with his head between her legs, so Harry spent more time on his knees than a sinner who'd found god. Until that first time, Hermione had always felt a degree of discomfort with the act. Ron usually performed it with desultory attention that-while feeling nice-never seemed to lead anywhere. Harry, she was quite certain, could spend hours down there if she let him-finding new combinations of tongue and lips like she was some foreign language he was determined to master...and he did master it. She felt almost embarrassed at how easily she came, at how much she begged when he kept her on the cusp, at how her legs went both rigid and numb as the dark waves coursed through her...and his smug, self-satisfied smirk when he rose over her and kissed her dazed lips.