Chapter Text
The smell was evocative enough that it lured Harry into the kitchen.
"Hermione, is that...are you making Amortentia?" Harry's voice echoed from the corridor, carrying a hopeful note that was almost tangible. The fragrant smells of the potion were so potent that he was drawn to the kitchen. It smelled like pumpkin pie, butterbeer, roasted coffee beans, and freesia.
"Not exactly. But it’s similar. Just a small batch to test," she replied, her cheeks warming under his intent gaze as she stirred the bubbling cauldron. "I thought it would be a nice surprise for after dinner." She shyly peeked up at Harry from underneath her lashes. They’d spoken about this idea before, but they’d never had found the time to carry out this fantasy of theirs.
"Surprise?" Harry's eyes lit up, his curiosity piqued. He took a step closer, the warmth of his body a welcome contrast to the cool kitchen air. "What's the occasion?"
Hermione flushed, a shiver running down over her — Harry was so close to her now. She could feel his body heat. She gulped.
Hermione paused in her stirring, glancing over her shoulder to meet his gaze. "No particular reason," she said with a shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just thought we could all use a little cheer, especially after the week we've had."
As soon as her hands were free, she felt a pair of arms sneak around her plump waist, tightly grasping around her fleshy belly, a soft mound that rose and fell with each inhale. Hermione gasped breathlessly as Harry nuzzled her and blew into her ear gently. She had to hold back a giggle. It tickled. She felt Harry’s softness enveloping her from behind and she leaned back into it, sighing softly.
The kitchen was a whirlwind of sweet and spicy aromas, a pattern of comfort that filled the room and seemed to wrap itself around Harry's heart. Hermione pulled away however, needing to attend to their cauldron full of love once again. She didn’t want this potion to overflow and for her evening plans with Harry to be ruined.
Harry’s eyes darkened with lust at watching his beautiful, amazing, brilliant girlfriend. He stepped closer, watching as Hermione's arm muscles flexed with each turn of the wooden spoon, the plump flesh jiggling with every movement. Her eyes stayed focused on the task at hand, though she visibly smirked at Harry’s growing arousal.
"Let me help," he offered, reaching for the spoon.
Hermione didn't protest; instead, she handed it over with a grateful smile.
Harry took over the stirring, feeling the warmth of the cauldron seep through the fabric of his robes and into his skin. The rhythmic motion was soothing, a stark contrast to the tension that had been coiled within him since he’d come home from his Auror mission.
With Hermione, Harry felt at peace. She felt like home – though he’d never actually known a real home before her. Harry just knew that Hermione was the one for him. His soulmate. His best friend. He’d never felt like this with anyone else and he knew he never would.
He loved seeing Hermione happy and relaxed, making their home a cozy and warm place for their growing family of three, once the little one arrived in just four months. He lost himself in thought at imagining how everything would change so soon, and for the better, once the creation of their strong love and passion was finally brought into this world.
He smiled to himself — a goofy smile that could only belong to a man hopelessly in love with his woman. This was everything Harry had ever dreamed of and more.
As Harry and Hermione worked together on their potion in harmony, the kitchen grew quieter, the only sounds the bubbling of the cauldron, the crackle of the fire, and the soft whispers of their conversation.
Occasionally Hermione would hum a beautiful melodic tune — most likely a Muggle tune that he would’ve known had he ever been allowed to listen to music while growing up with the Dursleys. Hermione had a gorgeous singing voice, full and bodacious like the rest of her.
Harry found himself lost in the simple joy of being near her. He gazed in awe at the delicate pink flush of her chipmunk cheeks that reminded Harry a bit of how Hermione had looked in third year before her teeth were fixed, and the way her cheeks curved as she took a careful whiff of the brewing potion to check how it was coming along.
Harry’s eyes feasted upon her curves, generous and full, like rolling hills that he could explore endlessly, each dip and swell a testament to the life and vitality she carried within her.
He watched her closely as she moved, her flesh rippling gently, a fluid motion that reminded him of waves lapping at the shore. Indeed, Hermione Granger was simply exquisite in every way.
He looked on in adoration at the way her wild and unruly chestnut-brown mess of curls framed her cherubic pink face, as the light from the enchanted candles she’d lit earlier highlighted strands of auburn and gold, adding depth to the chocolate hue.
A stark contrast to the stillness of the cozy kitchen’s neutral tones, Hermione's rebellious locks of hair looked like a living, breathing entity. It was a mass of unbridled energy, reminiscent of the tumultuous emotions he often felt during their adventures. It was as if she had a magical garden sprouting from her scalp, a disarray of weeds where mystery bloomed freely, bringing Harry a strange sense of comfort from the chaos.
It was moments like these, mundane yet magical, that made him realize how much he cherished Hermione — her beauty, her innocence, her feminine spirit, her companionship, her determination, her kindness — Harry would never take anything about Hermione for granted ever again.
Harry turned towards Hermione, as she finished up the last steps of the potion. She was ready to bottle up the potion to let it sit for its designated time. Harry waited patiently, gazing at her in admiration as Hermione carefully ladled the love potion into little vials, for them to use later.
He stepped behind her, his front to her back, as she finally cleared up all the used ingredients and and cleaned the cauldron with careful spells to avoid disrupting the magical balance of her work station. Harry tucked a lock of her unruly hair behind Hermione’s ear and nuzzled her face.
He traced his tongue along her ear slowly and gently, making her giggle uncontrollably. Harry was so cheesy sometimes, and Hermione loved that about him.
It reminded her of those steamy, intimate moments they had together in the tent in the Forest of Dean during what would’ve been their seventh year, after Ron had left them. She felt as if she was falling in love with Harry all over again. Her cheeks grew warm as she flushed with the memory of their first encounter.
“Care to dance?" she felt Harry rumble in her ear. Hermione nodded silently as she turned to look at him dreamily.
They stepped into their sitting room, the warm light of the fireplace flickered, casting shadows that danced across the worn tapestries adorning the walls of Hermione’s cozy little cottage.
She felt him shift his weight slightly from one foot to the other, gently pulsing up and down in time to the music that Harry had turned on wordlessly and wandlessly.
She was impressed at Harry’s smoothness. She felt so proud of him for practicing his magic so diligently at her insistence. The results had paid off. Harry was such a good boy.
Hermione’s thoughts became distracted, however, at Harry turning with in his arms, gliding so smoothly as he moved, carrying her with him. She felt like a delicate reed caught in the wind, shifting and swaying back and forth with each passing breeze.
When she burst out with her bubbly throaty laugh — a jingling melodious sound — her whole body shook with it, a joyful quiver rippling over her that made Harry grin back at her cheekily.
The cushioning of Hermione’s body, her curves squishy and inviting, felt like a luscious landscape of warmth and comfort to Harry. He loved the way her skin felt under his hands—smooth and supple, with a softness that he could sink into, like the most luxurious velvet. He felt so protected in Hermione’s warmth, which radiated through him, a gentle heat that wrapped around him like a cozy blanket on a cold night.
To him, every inch of her was beautiful, from the roundness of her arms to the dimpled softness of her hips. The scent of her, a subtle blend of vanilla and the natural musk of her body, was intoxicating. Drawing him closer. Making him want to bury his face in the crook of her neck and just breathe her in.
Hermione mewled in ecstasy, a high-pitched squeal, as Harry’s hands lingered under her blouse upon her tender, heaving bosoms.
They kissed lovingly and passionately as their languishing touches drifted across each other’s bodies as they explored each other, skin to skin.
Nothing in between them.
Harry felt as if he could live in this moment forever. This was pure bliss.
…Until the front door of Harry’s cottage swung open noisily.
Harry leaned his head back against the sofa cushion in annoyance.
It could only be a Weasley that would barge in like this at the worst timing possible. Ugh.
He heard Ron's voice booming through the spacious cottage, his footsteps steadily becoming louder as he approached closer to the room that Harry and Hermione were in.
Harry grunted, gritting his teeth in frustration. Ron was an alright bloke at times, but he sure knew how to ruin a moment. Sometimes Ron’s oafishness reminded Harry a bit of Hagrid, but without Hagrid’s warmth and perceptive intelligence. He needed to shoo Ron away quickly so that he and Hermione could go back to their lovemaking.
“OI! HARRY!”
Hermione tried to pull away from Harry, feeling shy at the prospect of being caught in such an intimate, compromising position, and wanting to cover up.
But Harry held tight to her, not letting her move an inch, even as she struggled to get free with a playful but nervous glare.
Harry didn’t care what Ron saw. Served him right for interrupting his private nights with Hermione — Harry didn’t mind giving him a show as punishment for his intrusion.
“Harry? You there? It’s urgent! You won’t believe what’s—“ Ron’s voice trailed off uncomfortably, his eyes widening at the unexpected wanton sight before him. He’d never seen his two best friends like this before.
Harry stared back at Ron challengingly. Shameless.
Hermione couldn’t help but sigh a little at how obnoxiously territorial her Harry was behaving right now. She would scold him later though – now was clearly not the time, what with her and Harry being stark naked and otherwise occupied at the moment.
Hermione’s sighs, however, only brought more attention to her nudity.
Ron coughed and looked away awkwardly. "I’ll be in the kitchen while you both are getting dressed. Please hurry. It’s urgent.”
Harry and Hermione looked at one another in concern, but they detached themselves from one another so that they could start getting dressed. Something about Ron’s tone sounded… troubling.