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If there was one thing Ron Weasley was entirely certain of, it’s that he was King. His life was the textbook example of “having your cake and eating it too,” his marriage being the best example of his good fortune. He’d somehow managed to snag the brightest witch of their age and keep both her and the insidious press in the dark about his dozens of other dalliances.
He was also so fortunate as to never suffer from what others would call guilt or bouts of conscience. As far as he was concerned, a man had appetites, and when a man had a wife who worked overtime in the Department of Mysteries with her colleagues Draco Malfoy and Severus bloody Snape instead of tending to his needs…well, he was certainly justified in seeking relief elsewhere. Fortunately, his part-time job at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes left him ample time to indulge his favorite hobby.
No one in his life had ever accused Ron of being particularly bright, but he patted himself on the back for coming up with a very clever means of keeping his affairs secret. He knew better than to approach a witch in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. It would be plastered all over The Daily Prophet the next day if he did, so he stuck to picking up Muggle women in pubs. He’d tried a dating app once, but it took being the victim of a catfishing attempt just once before Ron sullenly returned to hitting on women in person.
It was easy to keep the entire operation hidden from Hermione. Even though Ron had spent much of his childhood around Muggle technology, even Arthur had never brought a cell phone home, and therefore his wife had no reason to suspect that he even knew what one was, much less that he was using one to carry on multiple affairs. His texting ventures alone would’ve made his workaholic, prudish wife blush fifteen shades of crimson.
Hermione was nothing if not a creature of habit, so when he arrived home on the evening of their third wedding anniversary, Ron expected things to go much as they had the last two years: Hermione would post little notes of appreciation for him around the house on those strange little sticky notes that Muggles used in their offices; she’d try to make a very ambitious recipe for their dinner and end up burning it, after which they’d order takeout; she’d give him several expensive presents based on suggestions from his mother; finally, she’d wrap up the evening by giving him a passable blowjob and he’d be asleep before ten o’clock.
He toed off his shoes in the entryway, fully expecting the smell of smoke to greet him at the door. When he noticed nothing amiss, he started to grow concerned. “Hermione? Hermione, are you here?”
He got no answer, but he could see three presents waiting for him on the coffee table in the sitting room. She must have forgotten an ingredient for their dinner and stepped out to the grocer. He picked up one of the boxes and scrutinized it closely. They weren’t wrapped in their usual Gryffindor red paper with gaudy golden ribbons and bows. The paper was emerald green with narrow, understated ribbons. This gift was tube-shaped and had a sticky note with Hermione’s neat handwriting attached:
I started working on this present for you over two months ago. I do hope you appreciate my efforts.
Curiosity finally got the better of him. He slipped the silver ribbon off the cylindrical box, making short work of the paper and tossing it carelessly to the floor in his haste (not that he would be the one cleaning it up anyway). He fell back onto the couch with a yelp when a neatly rolled scroll flew out of the cylindrical tube, coming to a stop a few inches from his face. He noticed a very official-looking Ministry seal a split second before it unfurled with a flourish. The snide, pompous voice of Callista Wrightheart immediately addressed him as though he were an insect:
Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley,
This notice is to inform you that on this day, June 6th, 2002, your wife’s petition for a divorce is hereby granted. Rest assured that the arithmancers in the Department of Magical Marriages performed a thorough and rigorous analysis of the projections for your marriage, and they were unanimous in their conclusion that your union was ill-advised and should be terminated immediately. As noted in the agreement that both you and your former spouse signed upon your marriage, all assets brought to the marriage as individuals will be returned to the respective owner. All other assets will be divided or sold with the assets being equally divided between the two parties. Please note that no response is required on your part, as this notification is merely a courtesy. Good day to you, sir.
The scroll promptly rolled itself back up and self-immolated. Ron was laughing so hard he was crying by the end of the missive. He would have to congratulate Hermione for using George’s new Mimic Scroll to pull off the prank. As much as the Marauders had pushed the limits of what joke parchment could do, such a spot-on imitation of a Ministry official would not have been possible with the old Zonko’s product.
He had to admit that it was an impressive effort, but nothing got past Ron Weasley. As if Hermione would ever divorce him. The poor girl spent years pining after him. She’d been so anxious to marry him that she hadn’t even reprimanded him when he showed up to their wedding drunk.
He was still chuckling to himself when he picked up the second present. He shook the box gingerly and rolled his eyes. It sounded very much like a book, which is not one of the things he’d told his mother he wanted. What could have possessed Hermione to buy him a book? He pulled the lid off the box only to find a bundle of papers. His stomach dropped when he saw the contents of the first page. A very recent, very detailed exchange with one of his paramours stared back at him.
He flipped frantically through the pack. She’d somehow found and printed off hundreds of pages of messages. About three-quarters of the way through, he found a page with a format that looked different from the others, and one of Hermione’s familiar sticky notes greeted him with a sickly neon yellow.
Apparently you didn’t realize that cell phones come with bills.
Oh bugger. She paid all the bills. The customer representative had offered him something called “paperless billing” when he got the phone, but he hadn’t really understood what that meant. He probably should have thought that one through more, but he wasn’t overly concerned about it. After all, his wife had forgiven Draco Malfoy for calling her a terrible slur and treating her horribly for years. Surely she could forgive him for a few mindless hookups that meant nothing. With that utterly unfounded optimism in mind, he opened the third present.
His face went deathly pale, white noise filling his ears when he realized what was in the box. Most other wizards wouldn’t have known what the little white stick was, but Ron had experienced a bit of a scare with one of his partners, and he’d been there when she’d taken the test. He knew exactly what those two little pink lines in the window meant.
When the momentary panic subsided, a smug grin slowly took its place. Hermione was pregnant. No matter what he’d done, surely she’d never leave the father of her child. As an afterthought he noticed that she’d affixed another sticky note around the pregnancy test. He peeled the note off, fully expecting his wife’s announcement that he’d soon be a proud father.
It’s not yours.
He blinked a few times. What the bloody hell did she mean it’s not his? Of course it was his. It was true that their brief moments in the bedroom the last several weeks had usually involved little more engagement than him spilling down her throat, but surely it still had to be his. As if in answer to his question, he heard muffled moaning sounds, sounds that very much appeared to be coming from his bedroom.
He walked slowly down the hall, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. He’d never heard Hermione make those sounds before. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought that she might be having morning sickness. That would definitely throw a wrench in his plans for the evening. He didn’t relish the idea of sticking his cock down her throat if she’d been sick all day.
He was so preoccupied with the thought that he didn’t immediately process what he was seeing when he finally opened the door. His dear, loving wife was positioned on her hands and knees, or more accurately, on her forearms and knees with her pert little arse in the air and a very, very, naked Severus Snape rutting into her from behind.
When the pair finally noticed him, his former professor gave him an annoyed glare. “I don’t remember giving you permission to watch, Mister Weasley.” He punctuated Ron’s name with a firm thrust of his hips.
Ron immediately felt his cheeks turn crimson. “Just what the hell do you– You can’t– She’s my wife!”
Hermione rolled her eyes at his sputtering before her mouth settled in a pout. “Honestly, Ron. You chose today to come home on time? I’m guessing you already opened your presents too.”
He gave a dazed nod.
The pout turned to a dissatisfied frown. “You never could be patient. I wanted to see the look on your face when you opened them.”
Ron pointed frantically between the two of them. “And just exactly how long has this been going on?”
Hermione snorted derisively. “Not as long as your indiscretions, to be sure.”
He ignored the jab, gesturing to her wedding band. “I can’t believe you’ve betrayed our vows–”
He took a closer look at the band on her finger, suddenly realizing that the ring no longer matched the gold of his own band. It had been replaced with Goblin-wrought silver, the band inlaid with delicate emeralds. It looked suspiciously like the ring on the left hand that was currently gripping his wife’s hip.
Hermione smirked as the truth dawned on him, his jaw dropping in horror. “Oh my. Look who finally caught up. After our disaster of a marriage was dissolved this morning, Ronald, Severus and I decided that since we were already in the Department of Magical Marriages, we should just kill two birds with one stone. We considered waiting until our little addition arrives, but I decided I’d waited long enough.”
Ron’s mouth formed a hard line. “Waited long enough?! Exactly how many years have you been involved?”
“Oh, we’ve only been together for a year, but I’ve fancied him since our sixth year at Hogwarts.”
Severus rocked back on his heels, pulling Hermione up until she was seated in his lap. One long arm circled her waist as a pale hand cradled her cheek, a look of unabashed fondness softening his usual scowl. “I wouldn’t have pursued a relationship with a student, but why didn’t you say something after the war?”
She shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t think you’d ever be interested in me that way.”
He kissed her forehead with more tenderness than most people would have thought him capable. “Well, I’m glad we’ve had the opportunity to clear up that little misunderstanding.”
Ron’s face had slowly turned purple with rage. “I resent the suggestion that my marriage was just a result of a ‘misunderstanding’–”
Hermione cast a wandless silencio in his direction. “Ronald, do shut up. The grown-ups are talking here.”
Ron’s eyes flew open in terror when an unseen force knocked him back into a chair, his legs and arms quickly bound to the frame. Hermione looked questioningly at Severus, but the wizard was too preoccupied with terrifying Ron with a devilish grin. “It’s just a simple incarcerous spell, nothing that will cause permanent injury…for now.”
Hermione moved off of his lap, and Severus moved up the bed until he was leaning against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him. He summoned Ron’s chair until the terrified wizard was positioned at the end of the bed.
“Mister Weasley, I’ve decided that a lesson is in order, and I strongly suggest that you pay closer attention than you used to in potions class. The only reason I’m condescending to teach you at all is out of sympathy for all the women, Muggle and witches alike, whom you’ve undoubtedly disappointed with your clumsy attempts at seduction.”
Ron squinted his eyes in annoyance, desperately wanting to argue that he’d never disappointed a witch in the bedroom a day in his life. Severus gave a low chuckle as he heard the stray thought. “Do remember that I’m aware of your thoughts. I see memories of your encounters, and as much as I loathe to be the bearer of bad news, I must inform you that battering a woman’s chin with your balls for sixty seconds before emptying yourself down her throat is hardly satisfying for her.”
Hermione snickered at the crude characterization only to find herself pulled across Severus’ lap, her stomach pressing against his thighs. She looked over her shoulder to find him staring at her, the veneer of disapproval belied by his heated gaze. “Since you insist on disrupting my lesson, Miss Granger, you have the privilege of assisting me.”
He turned his attention back to Ron, who hadn’t yet recovered from seeing his naked wife arse-up over Severus’s lap, his very large, very erect cock pressing into her side.
“The key to this entire endeavor, Weasley, is keen observation. There is no universal answer to what will bring a woman pleasure. You will simply have to experiment and watch. Often the things she’ll most enjoy are things you might overlook.”
Ron’s eyes had already started to glaze over in the way they always had during Snape’s lectures. The loud slap that echoed in the room made him flinch, and Ron stared wide-eyed at the handprint forming on Hermione’s left buttock. Severus ran calloused fingertips over the mark soothingly. A shiver ran up Hermione’s spine as she gripped the sheets harder in her fists.
Her response prompted a dark chuckle from the wizard as he plumped her right cheek in his palm. “For instance, I never would have guessed that my insufferable little know-it-all would enjoy discipline. Tell him, Hermione. Tell him what you wanted me to do. Tell him what started it all.”
Hermione shook her head vehemently, her cheeks turning pink as she thought of how she’d begged him the first time. She gasped as his hand descended on her right cheek, the flesh rippling under his palm. Ron watched in horrified fascination as Severus once again soothed the angry skin, caressing and kneading the abused flesh.
“Hermione…” Severus’ voice held the slightest hint of warning, but she still refused.
“I can’t–”
Smack . The force of the blow sent Hermione lurching forward, her forehead pressing to the sheets. In spite of her protests, Severus felt the effect of his discipline, the pebbled tips of her nipples grazing his thigh. He pushed his affection for her aside for the moment, his deep, commanding timbre washing over her. “You can, and you will.”
“But–” she started to protest.
Smack . This time he didn’t bother to soothe her at all, and Ron watched in confusion as her pupils seemed to dilate. How on earth could his uptight, straightlaced wife enjoy this rough treatment, and from Severus Snape of all people? He felt a stirring in his trousers and realized with horror that he was responding to watching his wife being punished by their former professor.
“ Now , Hermione.”
“I–I begged you,” she finally whimpered.
“Not good enough, Miss Granger. Not nearly good enough. What did you beg me for?”
She shook her head, tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes.
Smack .
A strangled sob broke from her lips. “To punish me.”
Smack .
“Punish you for what? What could swotty, holier-than-thou Hermione Granger possibly need punishment for, hmmmm?” His silky voice purred into her ear.
“For loving someone other than my husband.”
Smack .
Severus feigned boredom. “Do be specific, Miss Granger. You wanted me to punish you for loving whom?”
“You.” Her response was barely a whisper, but Severus was satisfied that Ron had heard her.
The fondness crept back into his voice. “That’s my good girl. I spent months punishing you. Months of turning these cheeks cherry red and forcing the truth from you over and over, but that wasn’t enough, was it? You started begging again, didn’t you, my greedy little pet?”
She was shivering with need, gently writhing under his touch. “Yes.”
“For what?”
She buried her face in her arm, trying to hide her embarrassment, but she couldn’t hide her surprised yelp when Severus stroked the inside of her thigh. She instinctively bucked into his hand, encouraging him to touch her, but he backed away. She mewled in frustration, but he resisted, refusing to touch her until she answered him.
“For your fingers.”
Ron’s eyes flew open. They’d been married for three years and Hermione had never asked him for such a thing. She’d never begged him for it or gave him the look that she was giving Severus over her shoulder now, as though she’d die if he didn’t soothe the ache inside her. It was all very puzzling to him. Did women really like this sort of thing?
He got his answer as two of the potion master’s long, pale fingers slipped between her thighs and slid into her wet heat. Hermione bit her lip to stifle her moan, only to have Severus still his fingers in response.
“Don’t hide your sounds, Hermione. Let him hear you. He’ll never get to have you in his bed again. Show him what he’s missing.”
She flexed around his fingers when he started making shallow strokes again. He turned his attention back to Ron. “It’s not enough to mindlessly pump away, Weasley. You must watch.”
He crooked his fingers inside her, massaging the spot that always made her toes curl. Her hips instinctively met his thrusts, a gasping mewl escaping her each time his fingers disappeared inside her. Ron watched in surprise as her back slowly began to arch, her sounds stuttering into high-pitched cries. Her head bobbed up, her mouth falling open in a silent “o” as her orgasm crashed over her.
Ron realized with a start that he’d never seen her do this. He’d never made his wife come. She’d been faking it when he touched her. Anger flared through him as he watched her come down from her high. This was all her fault. She’d been holding out on him. That’s why he’d needed to seek release elsewhere.
Sensing his train of thought, Severus gave him an annoyed glare. “No, Mister Weasley. That simply won’t do. You have to put in the effort if you want to reap the rewards.”
He slowly pulled his fingers from her, holding them to show Ron the glistening evidence of Hermione’s release. He shuddered when Severus took his fingers in his mouth, relishing the taste of the fire he’d stoked in her. Ron wasn’t sure if he was disgusted or aroused at the sight, but he wasn’t given time to consider the matter further before Severus pulled Hermione’s limp, sated body into a sitting position, leaning her back against his chest. He hooked his hands over her thighs, pulling her legs apart.
“Severus–”
He didn’t relent, spreading her wide until Ron could see her pink, glistening cunt. “I know you’re shy, my pet, but there’s one more lesson I need to teach Ronald.”
Severus wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, taking his rigid shaft in hand. Ron didn’t blink as he watched the swollen, purplish head of his former professor’s cock slip inside his wife. Severus relaxed his grip, letting her slowly sink down on him, her lips spread wide over his intimidating girth. Ron’s face paled as he observed. He didn’t even understand how she could take him at all given his size, much less enjoy it, but her sigh of pleasure seemed to suggest that it’s exactly what she needed.
“Touch yourself while Mister Weasley and I have a little chat.” She blushed fiercely as her hand slipped down between her legs, pulling her lips back gently until Ron saw a delicate pink little bud. He quickly realized that as many times as he’d thought he was stroking her clit, he’d never come close to his target.
Severus grinned evilly at that thought. “Yes, most wizards couldn’t find a clitoris even with the help of revelio charm. It’s a simple matter of patience. You must take the time to observe.”
Ron’s attention was riveted to Hermione. The pad of her index finger was pressing tight circles against her clit, slicking her arousal all over the flushed bud. Her head fell back onto Severus’ shoulder. She turned her face into his neck, her hot little pants fanning out over his skin. Ron wondered if after this little farce was over he could get his wife to do this for him while he stroked himself.
“Mister Weasley!” The potion master’s voice ripped him from his fantasy. “This is precisely what we need to discuss. Nothing about this is a joke. Hermione is not your wife.”
Severus’ hand crept up her body, his dexterous fingers wrapping around her throat and giving it a slight squeeze that elicited a needy whimper. He tipped his chin so he could whisper in her ear, his eyes pinning Ron with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.
“She’s the brightest witch of her age, the absurdly brilliant researcher, the staunch advocate for the weary, the lost, and the oppressed. She’s the passionate witch who burned my well-practiced indifference to ashes. And best of all…she’s mine . Hermione Granger-Snape. My wife.”
His free hand came up over her hip, his fingers splaying possessively over her belly. “The mother of my child.”
“Severus, please!” Hermione whined.
He used his grip on her as leverage to thrust up into her wildly. “And I. Will. Never. Take. Her. For. Granted.” He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust of his hips.
Ron could see the exact moment the stern man lost it, his eyes flashing ferally as he abandoned all pretense of control. His hips snapped against her mercilessly, the slick sound of their coupling only driving him on. Severus cried out Hermione’s name just as her body pulled taut as a bow string. She shivered, milking him until his thick cum painted her thighs, slowly dripping down his cock.
The next several minutes passed in silence as the two seemed to forget Ron’s presence. They carefully cast tergeo spells for each other, their kisses and gentle touches suggesting an intimacy that Ron had never experienced with a partner. Hermione took her time helping Severus button up his frock coat, caressing each onyx button as she slid them through their loops. Severus helped her zip up the back of her dress torturously slowly, kissing a path up her spine as he went. Ron was a bit surprised to feel a surge of jealousy. They’d been meant, hadn’t they? She was supposed to be his.
When Hermione suddenly remembered that he was there, she opened the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out a sticky note and ink pen. She leaned down until she was eye-level with him. “When you’ve had time to process all of this, you may experience something like an identity crisis.”
She scribbled a single word on the note, sticking it to his forehead with a cheeky grin. “This will help you remember what you are.”
She walked from the room, a lightness in her bearing and a bounce in her step that was completely new for her. Severus stood in front of Ron, his cloak enveloping him as he leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I suggest that you remember what I’ve taught you today, Mister Weasley. I should also warn you that if you try to retaliate, I will personally see to it that Rita Skeeter publishes those text messages in The Prophet every day for a year. She owes me a few favors, and I have no qualms about calling them in to make your life a miserable hellhole if you dare to disturb my family. Do we understand each other?”
Ron seethed with anger, but he knew that his former professor was a man of his word. He gave a muted nod. Severus strode from the room, barely pausing to throw a “good day” over his shoulder. Ron heard the crack of apparition just as the spells binding him were released.
He stumbled to the bathroom, palming himself through his trousers, desperately trying to find relief after what he’d just watched. He could have had her if he’d paid any attention. She could have been stretched out over his cock and calling his name wantonly if he’d tried a bit harder. As he looked up in the mirror and saw the note stuck to his forehead, Ron found that he couldn’t really argue with his wi– ex -wife. He wasn’t a King; he was indeed a “schmuck.”