There is no such thing as fate, Hermione Jean Granger has known that since she was a toddler in nappies and has believed fervently in this after all the things she has been through until now. No such thing as destiny.
No.
All little thing that happened in someone’s life has been pathed by their mere decisions, their analysis of life and what they want. Things didn’t happen for a fucking reason or because there was a great entity who controlled all. The universe didn’t have such thing as a purpose for her to fulfil. There was nothing behind the scenes.
No.
No.
And no.
It was ludicrous to just begin to think such this as fate was even conspiring in her favour.
But then if someone’s life — her life — was constructed by her decisions and intentions and whatever, why on earth had she made the decision to start fucking Draco bloody sodding Malfoy in her office while everyone was at lunch, mingling with their friends and certainly not having office-sex on a fucking desk in the office of the Minister of Magic — her office, we must say. It was tragic enough that she was being denigrated to this — him and his hands all over her arse, squeezing and gripping, his cock in and out in such movement, deep enough with the force he knew she loved and oh god, right there! — his middle finger tracing circles around her swollen clit, rapid and then slow, pressing just the right spot to make her scream — was that one of his rings?
The cold metal made her shiver at the sensation of being pressed against her wetness. She is sure his hand is already so damped that her fluids are now trespassing to the wood of her desk. Great she would have to ask Martha again for the cleaning service of last time. Not even a week — “God’s sake! Yes! Right there!” — God indeed.
His hand left her clit just to fist at the back of her hair, pulling her closet, back against his chest. “You like that?” his voice low against her ear.
She moaned.
Or was that a whine? A whimper? Perhaps a cry.
“Speak for me, love,” his grunted voice sending alerts to all her body. She could feel his smirk.
And that wouldn’t be a problem, not at all, it was just that she had been having trouble stringing words together in her brain a long time ago. It was a miracle really that she had still any brain to think at all, or that she even remembered who she was.
“More, please,” and with that he released another grunt before releasing her hair with such ferocity that she had to use her arms as columns so her body wouldn’t be jetted across the bloody office. Both hands of his now gripping her hips as he slammed himself into her.
The echo of his grunts and soft, raspy moans accompanied the symphony of her endless whimpers and moans. Draco hissed in her ear, making her shudder against him. Some combination of muscles clenching inside her, keeping his cock steady in the within of her body. She just couldn’t help but be hit by this — this frenzied train — this tidal, enormous wave that crashed again and again all over her.
Someone could walk in any moment.
But that just made it more exciting.
And as petty, as selfish and egoistical it was, she loved it.
Just as she had loved it the first time it had happened.
And the time before that.
And the time before that.
It had been like this for almost two years. Two years in which she could — indeed could — look herself in the mirror and not feel ashamed of any of it. Two years in which his kissed awoke something inside of her that no other men could.
And one year since she loved him.
She loved him. . .
He turned her around and Hermione propped herself up on her elbows, both of their eyes fixed on the spot they were going to be connected.
He eased in slowly, gently, like they had all the time in the world. Hermione’s head rolled back against the desk.
But he held her.
Held her close against his chest before he became unhinged. Unleashed at the sensation of her.
And he began fucking her endlessly. The way she wanted. The way she craved so the feelings. Fucking her so hard — so brutal, that she had to hold either side of her desk for support as his mouth became one with her once again. Raw. She was surprised still to this day how could it be that they hadn’t broken it.
Hermione’s spine started to tickle.
It starts as an aching and pulsation between her legs. She feels like she has a heartbeat in her groin, and it becomes more intense as she gets more turned on. Her being feels hot and the warmth gradually became a tingle, and her skin feels very sensitive and then at the end a sudden surge of pressure inside her in that area. She doesn't want it to stop.
“That’s it, love, come around me. Be a good girl, love, come.”
At his words, she became one with him.
When orgasm hits, it's like having a wave crash over her.
It builds up and builds up and spreads through her whole body from her toes to the top of her head. Her body arched backwards a bit and she gets a head rush as the feeling passes through her entire body.
Higher and higher and more intense to where she can't speak, she cannot breathe, she cannot think, and she arches her head backwards until she feels like she cannot take it anymore.
They were lost in their own world of pleasure as he came inside her, and they became a tangled mess of one being.
They stayed like that for a while, just breathing into each other.
And she wonders if—
Riiiiing!
Hermione huffed. He did too before the call answered itself.
“Minister Granger! Sorry if I interrupt,” came Martha’s voice, hurried and nervous.
Taking a breath, Hermione answered, “What is it?”
“It’s six o’clock miss!” said Martha. “The meeting you called starts in ten minutes.”
“Fuck,” breathed Hermione with two fingers pinching her nose. Two hours of her time that could’ve been spent in practicing, spent in fucking, honestly. “I’m coming,” and Malfoy smirked. “Prepare my papers please.”
And with that, the call ended.
Draco looked at her for a moment.
She looked him back.
“I—I should… Er… I should—”
“Oh, yeah—”
With another glance, Draco started to pull away. Hermione winced as his cock slipped out of her.
She shouldn’t say it.
She wouldn’t say it.
She would not—
“Malfoy,” came her voice. He was tucking his shirt back on.
Oh, for Merlin’s sake.
He looked at her.
Expectant.
“I—. . .”
No.
She couldn’t.
“We should stop.”
His eyes looked away for a moment, and then back at her.
“This— this is wrong and I—”
And I love—
“Guess you’re right.”
Hermione looked at him flabbergasted.
“Wh-what?”
“I’m. . . I’m moving to France,” he said, his eyes everywhere but her. “Indefinitely.”
Now he was looking at her.
Her heart hammering. And she prayed to the gods so her tears wouldn’t fall.
“There’s a job offer they made me and—”
“No,” she hurried. His brows furrowed slightly. “No, I-I mean, you don’t have to explain it to me,” and she avoided sniffing. “You — You should go. To — To France, I mean.”
“Right,” he said. “Guess I—” he shook his head. “Granger,” and with a nod, he disappeared from her office.
She stood there.
And let a tear fall.
Two days later Hermione was running across the streets of Diagon Alley. Fridays were always her favourite days since she and Pansy Parkinson-Nott had become friends.
At first it had been a bit weird when Ginny introduced them. And what could the supposed wife of the Chosen one be doing introducing Pansy and Hermione?
Well, it could be that Ginny wasn’t at all Harry’s wife, she had never been. They had ended things two years after the war, things didn’t go as planned and Ginny’s Quidditch career had many plans for her, plans in which Harry couldn’t be able to participate. So Ginny had ended up meeting Blaise Zabini, who had fled months after the war to become the coach of the Holyhead Harpies, team in which Ginny had, a year after, become a player for. Some drinks and celebrations led to other things and now Ginny and Blaise had three years of marriage and were waiting for their first child.
Now, Ginny marrying a Slytherin, came with the weight that she had to mingle with the rest of the snake gang, and incredibly, she had become sort of best friends with Pansy.
Which led to Hermione being best friends with Pany after some bumps and drinks being spilled.
When Hermione arrived at the bar she was to meet her friend, Pany was already there with a martini in hand and a flirtatious smile. “Parkison!” Hermione called. The raven haired turned away from the barman and waved a hand with a smile in her face. Hermione smiled back and went with her.
“Oh, my dear Granger!” smirked Pansy before giving Hermione a kiss on each cheek. “How come you’re not yet drunk?”
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully, “Because I just arrived, Parks.”
“Say nothing less,” Pansy turned into her leathered bar stool. “Dear! Come, come!” the bartender, a young man perhaps in his twenties, approached them both. “My friend here,” she pointed Hermione. “Is in need of a drink. . . Could you darling,” her long, fair fingers tangling themselves into his black tie, “bring us three please?”
And with that, one hour later, Hermione and Pansy were bursting not tears of laughter. Memories from when they originally met, their time at Hogwarts, and so on.
Pansy had helped a lot in bringing Hermione a bit of confidence, not letting anyone step over her or even disregard her comments. Years ago Pansy had been her main coordinator when Hermione launched herself for Minister of Magic, helping her with her speeches, new wardrove and even taking care of her newborn daughter when she could. Pansy had been the first person to know Hermione was pregnant with Rose, and even if the now Minister of Magic was terrified of the idea, Pansy just told her: ‘Being a girl is a fucking nightmare, but being a woman? Being a woman means your shit is together and no one can say no to you. You’re able to bring life to this world, and that means you can change it for the better. That is your power, Granger, being an unstoppable woman. So fuck them.’
“So, tell me,” Pansy said after taking a deep breath to calm her laughter. “How’s things with Dray-Dray?”
Hermione snorted. “Dray-Dray?”
“Don’t tell him I say that, poor thing’s gonna explode.”
And both women burst into laughter again.
It was Hermione’s turn to take a breath. “He says he’s going to France,” and her smile became nostalgic. “Indefinitely.”
Pansy took her hand. “S’pose it was his cue to tell you, now that you want to end things,” Hermione looked up at Pansy. Confused. “Oh, yeah, he told me you said that.”
Hermione’s eyes burned in tears. “It’s just that. . . It’s not fair,” she shook her head. “Not for him anyways. You know I can’t leave Ron. And Draco doesn’t deserve that I can’t choose him. Not after Astoria’s death.”
“Oh, Granger,” said Pansy, her arm placing itself around Hermione. Both heads together.
Hermione let out a sob, “I don’t want him to go…”
When she arrived at the house, after taking two vials of Sober-ups, she had lived for now a decent amount of almost ten years, she had this feeling inside the pit of her hollow heart that she couldn’t quite comprehend. She was sure the martinis with Pansy had nothing to do with it.
When the keys turned and the door opened for her, that feeling was sinking even more.
The lights were dim in her two-story house, but that wasn’t the thing that set off all her alarms, no, it was the silence around it. The only thing trumpeting in her ears was the rain pouring outside.
“Ronald?” she called. Her feet trying to made her leave. Her brain in crisis.
It wasn’t that late.
She checked her wristwatch just in case. 10:30 PM.
Well, half hour less, half hour more.
Pansy and Hermione had a lot to discuss, and time had gone flying by the time the first martini came to them.
“I’m home,” she called again, expecting her two little terrors to come down and asphyxiate her in hugs and kissed as she laughed.
Leaving her purse and keys on the countertop of the kitchen island, she ran to the second floor of the house. Her heart hammering inside her chest, trying to escape. Her mind going through all the possible scenarios. Perhaps a dark wizard yet to be caught. A robbery gone wrong. An abduction. Every possible single fucking thing crossed her mind when she opened the door of her oldest daughter, Onyx, and didn’t find her there.
Hermione ran to the other room, Rose’s bedroom.
She wasn’t there either.
The bathroom.
Nothing.
The bedroom she shared with Ron.
Nothing either.
Hermione started panicking.
Her back collided with the wall behind her, her body sliding down until it was on the floor. Her fingers fisting her hair. Tears running down her cheeks.
And then… The door.
Laughter.
“Oh, look, your mum’s home,” Ronald’s voice.
And he was so fucking relaxed.
Hermione stood up as fast as she could.
Her stilettos cackling on the wooden stairs as she swept away her tears.
“Mummy!” exclaimed Rose, her four-year-old voice sweet and excited.
Hermione’s eyes didn’t went first to her husband, nor she said anything to him, she just crouched down so both her daughters could embrace her. “Hello, my loves,” she inhaled their aroma. Roses and gardenias with vanilla. “Mummy was worried, where were you?”
And this time, her eyes did go to Ron, who was poring himself a glass of water.
“We went to granny Molly’s house!” said Onyx excited, even if she was one year older than Rose, she still was Hermione’s baby, her first one. “She gave us ice cream,” Onyx smiled. “And aunt Ginny said to give you a hug.”
And so the two little kids hugged their mum again.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and get yourselves ready for bed?” said Hermione looking both of them in the eye. “I will go with you in a moment.” Both girls nodded and went running up the stairs.
Hermione stood up and stood there for a second.
Fury all over her.
“My mum said that we should spend some days with them when the girls are on holidays, still doesn’t understand why they go to a primary school,” he chuckled while washing up his glass.
She let a second, two, three, pass.
Sure that her daughters were already in their rooms.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking them there?” her voice acquiring a dark tone. He knew, he fucking knew, that she didn’t like her children being out of her sight, much less arriving home and not finding them where they were supposed to be, that was for sure.
He finally looked back at her.
“You weren’t here,” his façade falling once his eyes fixated on her.
She let out a wryly scoff, “And what?” her brows furrowed. “You couldn’t send me an owl? A Patronus? A fucking smoke sign?!” her voice raising by each word.
“Well, I didn’t know if I would find you!” he roared. His face had growth bright red from fury. Hermione casted a non-verbal silencing charm. “You’re never home!”
“You knew I was at the Ministry! You could’ve sent me an owl there!” she shouted. This wasn’t the first time they had this fight, nor the first place. Wouldn’t be the last time either. She didn’t quite remember when they had fought about this for the first time, perhaps it had been after Onyx’s birth, or after Hermione had been named Minister of Magic, five months before her second daughter was born— yes, that had been. “And you knew after work I was going out with Pansy!”
“I still don’t understand why you go out with her!” his hands slammed against the countertop so hard that Hermione gave a jump. Every glass jumped with her.
“Because she’s also your sister’s friend!” she exclaimed back. “You don’t say fucking anything to her! But oh, Hermione? Hermione doesn’t have permission to go out with a friend!”
“You know I disapprove of Ginny’s relationship with the fucking Death Eater of Zabini—!”
“They are married, for Merlin’s sake! For three years!” she roared. Tired of the same. “And he was never a fucking Death Eater, Ronald! He’s innocent!”
“AND WHY D’YOU INTERVIENE FOR HIM SO MUCH?!” his face now hot with anger, just like his whole body. Hermione just could hope this didn’t go poorly… like last time. . . His figure started going after her, Hermione panicked, but her body didn’t respond to her brain’s commands. Ron grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her with each word he said, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! You should be helping me get her back to Harry! How is supposed to be!”
“GROW UP RONALD!” her hands pushing him away, scared of him. “Let go of me!”
“No until you tell me why are you never home! NOT UNTIL YOU FUCKING TELL ME WHY YOU AREN’T WITH ME LIKE IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE!” Hermione was crying. “TELL ME HERMIONE!”
“God’s sake! Let me go!” between cries and screams, she tried to get herself free, but each squirm she gave, seemed to anger him more.
“YOU ARE CHEATING ON ME, AREN’T YOU?!” his shout two millimetres against her face. “Always busy at the Ministry! Never home! Never with the daughters you leave every day! NEVER WITH ME!”
“LET ME GO!”
“JUST ADMIT IT!”
“YES!”
There was a beat of a second.
And then…
Slap!
Hermione breathed.
She didn’t remember falling to the ground.
Why was she on the floor with her face to the side?
Was that — was that blood in her mouth?
Her cheeks, hot from the hit, were damped with tears, but this time, they weren’t due to fury, no.
Hermione looked up, Ron was breathing heavily, perplexed at the sight of her, as if he didn’t believe what had just happened.
Just like last time.
But that had been years ago…
Ron fell to his knees, “Hermione…”
But she didn’t say anything.
“Hermione, I’m sorry… I—I don’t — I didn’t—”
Hermione got up and fled upstairs.
She went to Onyx’s bedroom first; both her daughters were there.
Silence.
“Mummy?”
Hermione didn’t say anything.
Just started packing a non-wheeled suitcase with all the clothes from Onyx she could get her hands on. Some of them had still the hangers on.
“Mummy?” this time it was Rose. Her voice worried. “Mummy are you okay?”
But Hermione couldn’t find her voice.
She just kept packing.
And once she finished overflowing the bag, she went to Rose’s room to find even more clothes and fill the bag until it wouldn’t close.
Both, Onyx and Rose, grabbed their favourite stuffed animal and hugged it tightly, seeing how their mummy went to her room and started packing another suitcase, this time with her clothes.
“Hermione, please… What are you doing?” came their father’s voice. “You can’t leave.”
Still, their mum didn’t say anything, just grabbed her suitcase by the handles and placed it over her shoulder.
Hermione went to Onyx’s room and did the same with the unexpected luggage she had packed with her daughters’ clothing. Grabbing both of the girls by the hands, they started going down the stairs.
“Hermione, please, I’m so sorry!” exclaimed Ron from the top of the stairs. “You can’t leave.”
There was a pause.
The door already opened.
Rain pouring outside.
“Oh, but I can.”
She didn’t even turn before grabbing her purse and getting her wand out and closing the door behind her.
Onyx and Rose grabbed their mother by the ends of her blouse as tightly as possible, not leaving their stuffed animals aside.
With a pop, they weren’t in their home anymore, instead, now they were in front of tall, dark and huge door.
A manor before them.
Hermione knocked as hard and fast as she could.
Rain falling over them. Teeth clattering. Skins shivering. Hairs damped and tears mixing with the furious rain.
Two seconds.
Only two seconds was what the door lasted without being opened.
A tall, blond and aristocratic-looking man stood before them.
“Hermione?” he said, eyes travelling from Onyx to Rose and then their mother.
She wept.
“Draco…”