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Chapter Text

Harry is having the longest day of his career. It is only a little after his lunch break, which he also had interrupted with the news of that bonehead Holden Whalen sweet-talking the Wizengamot and leaving his sentence with just a fine. Harry sincerely hopes it will at least be a hefty fine. He consoles himself mildly with the fact that he will most likely be arresting the bastard within the next fortnight. Again.

Rubbing his temples, he swallows a guttural groan. He will gladly duel a handful of Voldy-baddies if it means he doesn’t have to deal with the endless line of paperwork, not to mention these whiny Auror trainees.

Pushing his glasses up, he rubs the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. He has lost track of when he was supposed to listen to what they keep complaining about. He finds it difficult to stay focused on the issue at hand between Smith and - wait, what’s the name of the freckled one? Adjusting his glasses again, he refocuses on the witch and wizard in front of him.

“…and I told Auror Keene that this case would need more manpower, but do you think he listened?” Harry opens his mouth, but Smith carries on as if not expecting a reply. “Of course not, because I’m a witch, so surely my opinion doesn’t count.”

“That’s not what I meant and-“

“Enough!” Harry bellows, finally losing his temper. He takes a measure of pride in the rigid backs of his young Aurors when he raises his voice. Something he tries not to do, but damn, these younger trainees are making it hard for him not to. Keene has a deep blush on his cheeks while Smith glares at her partner.

“The fact remains, you botched your first case,” Harry states with a resigned glare for both of them. He sighs heavily as he gets to his feet. It’s been a really long day. “Deal with the consequences and get the bloody hell out of my office. No,” he holds up a hand to silence them before they get going again. “I don’t want to hear it. If it’s not case-related, you take it up with HR. Now get out.” He stares them down. They shrink a little in their seats before lowering their gaze and then leaving. The younger pair leaves under muttered grumbles. 

Harry sighs heavily, grumbling to himself, too. Leaning over his desk, he exhales a long breath when the door shuts to his office. The second the door is closed, he can hear the raised voices of Keene and Smith, bickering as they walk away.

Harry curses under his breath, pushing away from his desk.

The view outside his window is a bleak as his mood. Dark clouds converge in giant formations, threatening to pour rain any minute. He observes the view for a long moment, taking the time to settle his temper. It’s strange to think that the English summer heatwave is still raging through the country.

Then he turns back to his desk and his heart rate spikes again.

If he had known being Head Auror would be like this, he never would have agreed. He had assumed he would be more in the field, chasing baddies and shooting hexes after wankers. The reality is vastly different.

Mountains of paperwork occupy half of his desk. He never seems to catch up.

Bureaucracy will be the end of him. It’s a funny thought, considering all the hexes and curses he’s dodged through the year.

“Sod it,” he declares to the empty room and with a wave of his wand, the paperwork goes up in tiny flames. It’s a small comfort, watching it disintegrate within moments.

He doubts anyone will care as long as they send the real baddies to Azkaban.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself when he remembers the sentence form on top of one pile of documents that needed to be signed for a former Death Eater to be sent to Azkaban.

“Dolores,” he calls, slumping back into his chair. His older assistant immediately enters his office, notebook and quill in hand. Her hair is twisted so tightly on top of her head that Harry considers how many wrinkles she’s pulled tight that way.

“I need a copy of the sentencing form for Lawson McNair,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. Dolores makes a note in her little notebook, nodding along.

“Anything else, sir?”

“No, have it owled to me once you have it. I’m leaving.” The declaration surprises both of them, but once Harry has said the words, he doesn’t want to take them back.

“But sir, Minister Shaklebolt is scheduled for your-“

“Reschedule it,” Harry says with a wave of his hand. Without a word, he summons his cloak. It lands around his shoulders effortlessly, wrapping him in the comfort of the role of Head Auror.

He knows the sight he presents when he stalks through the DMLE, the awe and fear it instils with all his Aurors. It’s strange how a piece of clothing can offer him such a tiny piece of mind. He still remembers the day Kingsley handed it to him, draping it over his shoulders.

He had expected the weight of it to pull him down.

When it did quite the opposite, Harry breathed easier.

The same thing happens now.

“But the Minister,” Dolores continues somewhat shakily. Harry levels a look at her, and she falls silent.

“Leave the Minister to me, Dolores. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry ducks his head before he strides out. It takes him less than a minute to reach the Auror Appointed Floo Access point set up in the DMLE. On days like this, he doesn’t care that it’s only meant to be used for work-related flooing.

He determines that there are certain perks to being the Head Auror.

Green flames spit him out in the darkened sitting room of Grimmauld Place.

There’s a lingering smell of the baked bread from that morning, but the kitchen is empty. He hears Kreacher muttering about in the room on the opposite side of the landing. At the sound of Harry stepping out of the flames, he scurries into the room, waving a fluffy duster in the air.

“Master is home early, Kreacher has not prepared supper yet. Missus did not say Master would be home so soon.” He sounds both cross and afraid at the sight of his master. Harry softens his stance a fraction.

“No worries, Kreacher. Change of plans for the day. Wait, what did you just say?” He pauses in the act of removing his cloak, handing it over to Kreacher, who accepts it with the same care and reverence as always.

“Missus is returning home after luncheon, too. She is trotting about the house, telling Kreacher to do nothing. Kreacher tells Missus-“

“You know better than to tell her anything, Kreacher,” Harry chuckles as he frees the buttons on his wrist to roll up his sleeves. Kreacher’s face shifts into something that can only be described as a grin. “Where is she?”

Kreacher points.

Harry finds her in the other sitting room, sprawled out on a settee, wearing nothing but knickers and a cropped top. Even in so little clothing, tiny beads of sweat gather across her skin. The heat from outside filters in through the open windows she’s opened along the entire side of the room. The drapes barely move in the non-existent breeze.

It’s a rare moment for Harry to simply observe her. She’s usually in constant motion, never leaving him time to enjoy the sight of her unless he actively pins her down.

One leg is bent towards her centre, the other stretched out and halfway to the floor. One hand rests on her chest, which rises and falls evenly with every breath she takes. Her curls are a wild halo around her face, which is calm. Serene. Something he rarely sees because she can’t shut her brain off unless he does it for her.

Slowly, Harry discards the majority of his Auror robes. The heat is enough to leave the best man scorching. But Harry never burns normally. Never around her.

When he’s around her, he’s always on fire.

Going to his knees beside the settee, he starts to kiss along her inner thigh. One slow, indulgent kiss at a time, gently stirring her awake with soft grips along her flesh.

Hermione sluggishly stirs at his touch, blinking heavily before she opens her eyes and her gaze focuses on him.

“You’re home early,” she remarks before she smiles. Harry plants one more kiss on her skin.

“So are you?”

“Mm,” she hums because Harry doesn’t stop planting kisses along her thigh, moving higher and higher. “A case wore me out. I only meant to recharge, then I’m meant to return to work.”

“Still your plan?”

“Maybe. Why are you home so early?” Hermione treads her fingers in his hair. Harry groans, dropping his head into her lap.

“Please, remind me I wasn’t an idiot when I was a young Auror in training?” He speaks into her as he slides his hands up the sides of her legs to grip her hips.

“I don’t think I can do that,” she titters, but it turns into a tiny shriek when he hurriedly climbs onto the settee to position himself between her open legs. They tremble for a second before she relaxes them around his waist, lightly digging her feet into the low of his back. Urging him closer.

“I was never as stupid as any of my new trainees. Honestly, I think Ron should renew his license to teach DADA for the idiots he keeps sending my way.” Harry places his hands on either side of her head, caging her in with his body.

“You know he means well; he believes in all of them.” Hermione reclines further, sliding her fingers from his hair to his beard. The sound he makes in the back of his throat at the touch is one only she can pull from him. The smile she sends him tells him that she knows this.

“That’s the problem. It’s been too long since he was in the field,” Harry complains. He nudges her legs further apart with his knees.

“Is that what you came home to complain about? Ron’s teaching skills?” She arches a brow at him, tilting her head back.

An offering just for him.

Harry smirks as he lowers himself.

“Not exactly,” he murmurs, dropping his lips infinitesimally close to her mouth. His smirk widens when she lifts her chin in eager anticipation, and he holds back. “I hoped for other distractions before I blasted a hole in another wall in my office.”

“Mm, what kind of distraction?” Hermione slides her palms from his waist and up to his shoulder blades, slowly pulling him closer. Harry maintains the tiny distance between them, knowing how it affects her.

“The best one only you can give me,” he croons, still not fully touching her lips when she lifts herself off the settee.

“Not sure you deserve it since you woke me from a very lovely nap.” She sticks out her tongue to quickly flick his bottom lip. He can’t contain the low growl at the back of his throat even if he wants to. In any other scenario, he would have her pinned down already. But he loves this about her. About them. The pull between them. The ache to touch and yet not fully do it. At least not instantly.

It makes for the best releases when they finally collide.

“I’ll be sure to make it worth it,” he promises as she reclines again and he follows. Shifting his weight on top of her, he trails his fingers on the inside of her thigh, stopping to cup her through her knickers. Her utterly drenched knickers.

“Care to tell me what you dreamed during that nap, Hermione?” Harry grins as he rubs two fingers across her knickers, finding her clit effortlessly. The path is familiar, as any other curve of her body.

“Well, you featured quite strongly in my dream, mmm, as you always do, ah, oh, all right,” she gives in too easily. She always does when he finds that sensitive spot between her folds. He circles it with two fingers on top of her knickers before he pushes them to the side to touch her better. She hums her pleasure as he ignites her heat.

He hasn’t even kissed her, yet she is already pliant underneath him. She always welcomes his advances. Never has she refused him since the day he kissed her properly for the first time and made things real between them.

It doesn’t matter that this was never meant to happen. Because it happened, and Harry thanks the fucking star named after his godfather that it does.

“Is that right?” He presses down on her clit firmly. Hermione moans, arching into him.

Only then does he kiss her. Shaping his mouth to hers, stealing her breath and her little whimpers as he continues to press down on her clit, alternating the pressure. When he breaks the kiss, he hovers above her, watching her eyes widen with desire. For him. Always for him. “Tell me, wife of mine, what exactly did I do in that dream of yours?” Harry snaps his fingers, careful not to flick her too hard, and her knickers vanish completely. Her moans are sweet as honey to him when he palms her, his fingers gliding smoothly in her arousal.

“I can do better than that,” she gasps, searching for his mouth again. Harry complies with another lengthy kiss, feeling further between her legs.

“I can show you,” Hermione promises on a rushed inhale when Harry sinks a finger inside her.  

He reminds himself to leave work early more often.

Chapter Text

Harry ignores the first knock on the door to his office. Everyone knows not to expect his full attention unless something terrible is happening. They know what to expect when his door is closed.

Whoever initiated the knocking is interrupted by Dolores. Harry groans to himself. He adores Dolores on the best of the days, but in her old age, she can be overly chatty, especially about all her nieces and nephews. Today, it seems, the conversation regards her nephew’s latest pet. Harry still regrets asking about the Pygmy puffs and the long lecture Dolores entertained him with that one time he made the mistake of asking which of her nephews would be ready to start Hogwarts. He had meant to owl Ron a minor warning.

As he thinks about it, he is meant to owl Ron an update on the latest students he sent over N.E.W.T scores from. The next enrolment at the Auror Academy is scheduled for a couple of months. It would be best if these youngsters practised some more if they have to. Harry is fed up with coddling these kids straight out of Hogwarts. He was nothing like these scrappy things Ron sends his way.

There is another knock on the door.

“I told Dolores, I’m not to be disturbed,” Harry grumbles without looking up from his never-ending pile of paperwork. How the hell is he supposed to find or let alone get anything done when people keep piling scrolls and files onto his desk whenever he leaves his office? Ron’s letter was on top of one pile when he left the other day. Now, there’s a file on… Toadstool trafficking in Tottenham? Merlin’s beard, help him. Hanging his head in his hands, he doesn’t bother to look up as the door opens; he just opens his mouth, preparing to verbally expel whoever it is from his presence.

“In that case, I’ll just leave you with your files as your only entertainment.” Hermione’s voice makes him look up faster than expected. His neck makes a tiny cracking noise, but he masks it as he rolls his head from side to side, an appreciative expression taking over his face. Hermione closes the door firmly, locking it with a wave of her wand before she levitates two containers to land in the middle of his desk.

“I thought you were busy with testing all day? I wasn’t expecting to see you until late tonight.” Harry rises from his seat to greet his wife with a warm kiss. She returns it with a smile, a coy smirk twirling her lips after.

“It’s still running. Or it’s finished.” She waves a hand idly before toying with the lapels of his Auror buttons, glancing up through her lashes. “I’ll find out when I return. Testing time travel equipment has its perks that way.” Harry grins, swooping in to steal another lengthy kiss. Hermione’s Unspeakable robes drape across her shoulders, so he slides his hands inside the folds to cup her body closer.

“Won’t the other Unspeakables notice you’re gone?” He asks as he pulls her closer, arms wrapping around her waist. She scoffs before she laughs. Others might find it unkind, but Harry knows the difference. Hermione is never unkind. She is honest, brutally so, and to some, that might come across as unkind. Years of hard work have honed her confidence into the knowledgeable witch she is today. It isn’t without reason that she manages most of the Department of Mysteries, even if she doesn’t bear the title officially.

“They didn’t notice me going to find our lunch, I doubt they’ll notice I’ve left until I return. I would chalk most of it up to the time travel confusion, unfortunately, I hate to say it because I hired them, but most of my colleagues aren’t as clever as I am.” She looks offended and sad by this comment, as if she would rather do all the work herself if she could. She tried that once. Harry would rather never see her pulled so thin ever again.

Laughing loudly, he pulls her in for a tight hug, breathing the scent of her hair as he releases it from its hold atop her head. She always looks best with her hair down; he’s told her many times, but she insists working is easier with her hair up. It doesn’t stop him from letting it frame her whenever he can.

“How much of your work will you Incendio today?” She asks, shaking out her hair, eying the stacks of paper on his desk. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say it multiples when he turns his back on it.

“Everything until I find Ron’s letter. I was meant to answer that two days ago,” Harry grumbles, returning to look for the damned letter.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ronald knows never to expect a direct answer from you.” Hermione sweeps a hand over the containers. The lids pop off of their own accord, letting the scent of curry and vegetables permeate the air. Harry breathes in deeply. “You could always try a spell for summoning, as I recall, you’re quite brilliant at that one.” She’s smirking when he turns around to face her again, wand already raised with that particular spell in mind.

Without a word, he casts the spell, and the letter shoots out from the nearest stack to land in Harry’s hand. Unfortunately, it also causes half of the parchments and scrolls to tumble to the ground. Before they reach the floor, however, Harry has fired an Incendio at the lot of them.

“Looks like you’ll be done much earlier today than expected,” Hermione muses, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. The days of her chastising him for setting his paperwork on fire have long passed. Once they realised it meant they would have more time together, she stopped complaining and welcomed him home with open arms. Sometimes legs, too.

“What about you? Any idea when you’ll be done for the day? I suspect Kreacher will be rather put out if you’re late for supper. Again.” Harry makes sure to stash Ron’s letter at the top of what paperwork he has left. Glancing at Hermione, his entire body heats at the look she sends him.

“Like I said, testing time travel equipment has its perks. As it is, I’m here but I’m not here, if you know what I mean?” She steps into his space, brushing her chest to his.

“I ought to report you for tampering with equipment like that, Unspeakable Granger-Potter,” Harry drawls, sliding his hands around her waist, pulling her flush to his body. She hums a small sound of appreciation. Before she can respond in any way – likely stating the obvious, that since she invented the equipment, she can do whatever she pleases with it, the Ministry be damned – he cups his hands around her cheeks to kiss her. She surprises him faster than expected by sweeping her tongue swiftly against his lips before she’s snogging him fiercely.

Not that Harry minds one bit. Kissing Hermione is the smallest of perks from being married to her. Throughout the years, he’s learned exactly how expertly a kisser Hermione truly is. She’s as much a giver as she is a taker. Today, she’s giving it her all. Her fingers glide through his hair, tugging on the strands while consuming his mouth. Harry groans into her mouth, reciprocating the kiss with grabby hands everywhere on her he can reach. Until he remembers his schedule for the rest of the day.

“My wife,” Harry groans against her lips, matching her kisses before pulling back. Even after years of marriage, the term of endearment is still bizarre to him, but he never misses the opportunity to use it because of the way it makes her shiver in his arms.

“My husband,” she responds in kind. Hearing it from Hermione always makes his knees weaken and other parts of his body harden.

Harry feels his desk on the back of his thighs when she pushes him backwards, their tongues tangling for control anew. She wins, of course, when she cups him through his trousers.

“I thought you were here to have lunch?” He pulls back to ask, a cheeky grin taking over his features. They eye the open containers left to their own on his desk. Cocking her head to one side, her gaze tracks up and down him before she casts a stasis charm on the food.

“I was. Then I changed my mind. I so rarely have dessert first,” she teases, trailing her fingers along his collar and up his throat. Harry can see how determined Hermione is. Her neck is flushed familiarly, and she’s blinking more than normal.

Harry glances at his inherited wristwatch.

“Bollocks and Voldy’s saggy arse,” Harry complains, grabbing Hermione by her shoulders in a useless attempt to ward off her advances. “I’m meant to be meeting Ron and Kings for a briefing about the Auror newbies.” Harry dejectedly moves his hands to her hips to create a small distance from himself to prevent her from grinding against his growing erection.

“I thought you only had to owl Ronald?” Hermione pouts, still trying to get closer to him. When she feels his strong hold on her, she obviously realises she needs to use a different tactic. She lets go of him, and Harry watches her nimble fingers start to undo the buttons down her front. Slowly. Meticulously.

“That was about potential new trainees. This meeting is about the programme.”

“Tsk, we all know the Auror newbies need several briefings to even function behind a desk.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he chuckles. Hermione has always spoken the truth to him. She never holds anything back. Never with him and very rarely with others, either.

“That might be true, but Kings is getting on and Ron is biased; they need to hear from me how shite these kids are.”

Hermione pauses her hands, her pout still in full effect. Glancing up through her lashes, she sends him a coy smile. “It’s a shame you’ll be late for that meeting, though,” she determines, going straight for his belt buckle. Harry pauses her hands only to receive a glare from his wife.

“Hermione…”

“Harry, I did not purposely regulate my equipment for you to turn me away. If you’d like, I’ll personally explain to Kings that you will be late because I need to shag you in your office.”

Harry guffaws. Before Hermione can throw a tantrum about turning her advances down, he hauls her into him again. She emits a tiny gasp, which he consumes along with the rest of her mouth. He’s surprised her, which allows him to take control of the situation again.

Good.

He turns them around, lifting her swiftly so her pert arse is perched on the edge of his desk. The desk shifts with every movement, scattering what was left of his paperwork. He tears himself away from Hermione to Incendio the lot of it before throwing up several silencing charms and a ward on the door. With a firm hand, he grasps her thighs to push them apart, making room for himself in the cradle of her legs.

“Make no mistake, wife, I don’t care about being late or you telling them the reason for it. My only issue, Hermione, is that I planned to take my time with you when I eventually got to shag you on my desk.” Harry skims a palm up her front, bypassing the few buttons she managed to free. He uses his magic to free the rest of her buttons and lets her robe hang from her shoulders. Her caramel skin is on display for him, hidden only by a black lacy bra that does very little to hide her hard nipples. He circles each one with a pointed finger. She raises a brow at him.

“Is that so?” He recognises the intrigue in her voice as she scoots her arse a little closer, angling herself better for him. Making sure she is firmly planted on his desk, he palms her tits. Hermione moans, letting her head fall back. He takes his time to appreciate every inch of her breasts with his hands. Then he dips his head to flatten his tongue over one nipple. Even with the hindrance of her bra, he gently bites around the sensitive peak, causing Hermione to make sounds she normally only makes in the sanctity of their home. Harry pulls a cup down to taste her heated skin.

“Very. Hang on,” he pauses, popping his mouth off of her with a wet sound. Blinking through the haze of his wife, Harry snatches the closest bit of parchment to write a note to Dolores to cancel or reschedule any meeting he might have had for the next two, no, three hours.

He glances at Hermione and her flushed skin, one breast pushed upwards from the cup he folded under it a second ago.

He strikes through the last line. He’ll be unavailable for the rest of the day unless Voldemort returns from the dead.

Wordlessly – because his mouth is back on his wife’s skin – Harry sends the note off for Dolores, so he can focus entirely on Hermione. She shimmies out of the rest of her robe, then reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” Harry asks as he leisurely discards the rest of her clothes before he lays her out on his desk. Fragments of burnt parchment flutter in the air around them. Harry barely notices the scent of ash because he is consumed and attuned to Hermione’s scent.

It floods his veins.

“Only once this morning,” she murmurs when he drops to his knees between her legs.

Harry locks his hands around her knees, throwing them over his shoulders before sliding his palms up the inside of her thighs. Hermione’s breathing rapidly increases. Harry can feel her entire body flutter with anticipation.

“Let me rectify that immediately.”

Chapter Text

Harry rubs his temples as an imminent headache appears to take up residence inside his skull. Granted, it supposedly would be a much nicer thing to occupy his mind compared to the fragment of Voldemort’s soul he carried around for most of his adolescence. And yet…

In situations like these, he wonders which he would prefer.

McGonagall hasn’t said a word for more than five minutes now, which in itself should be a warning, despite the visible signs in her posture – the tense shoulders, the narrowed eyes and most importantly, the pinched lips. Her mouth is nothing but a thin line as she scrutinises Ron during his little speech.

“… have changed nothing about the tests for years. Every student I recommend to the Auror programme has scored an E in every subject matter or higher, nothing short of that. If they fail to live up to the increasingly high standards, that’s on your shoulders, mate,” he finishes with a flourishing hand gesture in Harry’s direction. Crossing his arms, Ron slouches in his chair with a raised eyebrow to challenge Harry. On either side of the table, Kingsley inhales swiftly while Minerva shifts in her seat. Harry takes a breath.

He takes one more for good measure.

He really should have postponed this meeting for another day.

“Considering that the most recent students you recommended crashed their Potions exams and evaporated an entire cauldron, not to mention one left their duelling sessions with antlers, I would say certain things have to change,” Harry assesses evenly. He feels quite proud of himself for not raising his voice with Ron, even if he wants to yell at him that he’s being a biased arse.

“Like you’re the Potions expert,” Ron mumbles under his breath. Harry bites back a hurtful comment that would turn this discussion into a verbal sparring. To a point, Ron is right. Harry is still not the best at Potions, but his time as an Auror has taught him a thing or two that no classroom ever can. He is aware that Ron knows their Potions days from Hogwarts are far and well behind them. Harry’s minor Potions degree is proof of that, which is why he has it hanging on the wall of his office for Ron to see whenever he has the time to visit.

“How about I just shove a bezoar down your throat then?”

An eerie silence permeates the room. Then, simultaneously and rather surprisingly, Harry and Ron break out laughing. Kingsley even joins half-heartedly, looking awkwardly between the two of them. Minerva remains quiet. Harry detects the hint of an eyeroll.

“In all seriousness,” Harry continues, summoning a scroll to hand to Ron. “These are all the protocols you need to update if any of your future recommendations are going to meet the standards.” Ron takes the scroll, skims it and then his eyes bulge.

“That’s more than half of the curriculum, seriously, look at this, Minnie,” Ron exclaims, pushing the unfurled scroll over to Minerva. Her lips thin even more than Harry thought possible.

“I told you, Ronald, never to call me that under any circumst-“

“Yeah, yeah, but look,” Ron ignores her brisk attitude. She adjusts her spectacles, and her eyes widen as she scans the scroll. Ron turns his attention back to Harry.

“Harry, this is rather a grand alteration and nothing our current students have the time to adjust to,” Minerva begins.

“Well, then, we shouldn’t expect any new trainees this year. Tell me this,” he hurries to ask, recognising Ron preparing to badger him with questions and complaints. “When exactly was the last time you adjusted or even updated the N.E.W.T. curriculum for the pre-Auror programme?”

Minerva straightens her back. Ramrod straight, and Harry knows he’s hit the nail spot on. As the new Headmistress, Minerva has implemented numerous changes, but it’s clear that some aspects have been left unchanged under the assumption that they still function as intended. In this situation, it’s up to Harry to point out how incorrect that is. He hates to point it out this bluntly, but they have ignored his every complaint about incompetent Auror newbies for years.

“I believe that was when Remus taught Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Even Ron turns to her with a scoff. He snatches the scroll from under Minerva’s heavy gaze. Harry can’t wipe the smirk off of his face.

“I’ll expect a complete update within two weeks about your progress, if you still presume the last two recommendations to be accepted. They need to adhere to these, too,” Harry stresses with a pointed look at Ron. He shakes his head in defeat, mumbling under his breath about Harry running a tight ship.

“I run a tight ship, Ron, because the people depend on us.” Harry is on his feet suddenly. It always comes as a surprise to him when it happens. But pulling rank like this, reminding Ron what Harry’s role is… It happens rarely, but it always drags memories from the past with each instant. Ron looks up at Harry, his jaw clenched and one fist tightly wrapped around the scroll. The past remains an unspoken issue between them in clashes like this. Harry’s word choice strikes the chord it meant to.

“I hear you, mate, I do,” Ron breathes heavily as they wrap up the meeting, much to Harry’s delight. His day is already longer than he intended it to be.

Kingsley shakes hands with all of them. His elation at having solved the issue is palpable. Harry and Ron share a look over his shoulder. Age has sunk its claws into Kingsley, and while he is still fully capable of doing his job, the Wizengamot continues to breathe down his neck. There is only so much Kingsley can push back these days. Harry has felt this personally through the years, when the Wizengamot has been spooked and pushed new laws.

Still.

The Ministry is lucky to have Kingsley as Minister. For as long as he’s able.

Kingsley and Minerva leave the conference room first, arm in arm, midtalk about a nice cup of tea. Ron turns to face Harry, running a hand down his face in frustration.

“If I’d known,” he offers in half an apology. Harry ignores it, shaking his head. “Right, well, best get on then.”

“S’been a long fucking day,” Harry admits, sinking into the closest chair again.

“At least you get to go home. I still have two dozen assignments on how best to avert a lethal hex to get through. I swear, if they write ‘duck’, I’m turning them into a rubber duck.”

Harry chuckles. Ron will never admit how much he loves his job. Nor will Harry, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t love it the same way he did when he spent more time in the field. Setting a memo on fire is less satisfying than stunning a deranged Death Eater.

“Give my best to Hermione, yeah?” They shake hands, arms clasping the forearm of the other. Harry inclines his head. Ron saying her name is still odd. Not as it used to be, but Harry can’t always control that feeling.

“Of course, same to Katie?”

“Cheers mate.”

Harry curses a handful of times for having to be the one in control of things like this. Smith and Keene are not the worst in the bunch, but if he has to retrain them one more time, he might just assign them to Maintenance and see how they fare there. Being an Auror used to be…

Well, different.

Before Harry can go home, he is forced to deal with more bloody paperwork (“Dolores, haven’t I told you to reject all incoming new cases?”) because another case has gone awry. At least, they have a wizard in the holding cell, Harry takes comfort in reading. That is, until he reads the name and the stark realisation is that this is yet another arrest he can’t ignore forever.

A day will have to suffice.

“Incendio,” Harry mutters before he stalks off to the Department Floo station. After stepping out from the green flames, he inhales the scent of warm potatoes and a spiced roast.

“Bless you, Kreacher,” Harry mutters as he descends to the kitchen, where Kreacher is waiting with dinner. To his surprise and disappointment, Hermione’s plate is under the same stasis charm as Harry’s.

“Mistress sends note to tell mistress will be late. Master is to eat.” Kreacher croaks as he dollops a heavy slab of gravy onto Harry’s plate. Kreacher scurries around the kitchen while Harry eats. It is only when they hear the Floo signal Hermione’s arrival that Kreacher bows low and leaves the room with a crack, right as Hermione enters.

“How upset will you be if I quit working?” She harrumphs, eying the plate left for her from Kreacher. Something in her eyes softens, but she still doesn’t touch it. Harry takes his time to finish what’s left on his plate.

“How upset will you be?”

“Argh,” Hermione croaks, unclasping her cloak to toss it over the back of a chair. Harry eyes her form-fitting outfit as she starts to pace the room. His eyes linger on her backside when she turns around. “Honestly, how difficult is it to circumvent two time variants to make sure the alternative doesn’t end up manipulating a different time flux?!” Her voice rises in volume as Harry opens his mouth, only for her to carry on without a care in the world. Harry grins at her, even though she doesn’t notice with her back to him.

“I swear, I thought McKenzie was meant to be as brilliant as me, but sadly, that is far from the case. Today, I had to engineer a spell to reverse one of his team members from turning into a baby. It’s not that difficult to step around certain perimeters to the best of us, but-“ She stops midsentence when Harry catches her around her middle. On his feet, he towers over her, and she pauses in his hold.

Years of studying his wife have taught him that physical touch is the only way to shut her brain off when she starts to spiral this way.

“Was anyone injured today?”

“No,” she huffs, shifting on her feet as Harry adjusts his hold on her waist.

“All reports filed as they should?”

“Well…”

“Good enough for me,” Harry shrugs before he commandeers her mouth with very specific intentions. Hermione melts into the kiss, sighing into his mouth.

Long days like this are not uncommon for the two of them. Unfortunately, it is now more of a norm, as they have excelled in their work and established their current positions in their respective fields. However, greater responsibilities also bring the downside of overseeing much more.

Today was a test of that for Harry, too. He plans to lecture Ron a lot more about all the extra work Harry has had to deal with throughout the years because they couldn’t be bothered to update their protocols and curricula. But for now, he has more important plans in mind.

His wife has had a long day too, and she is also his responsibility, whether she agrees to this or not. Harry’s most important job will always be Hermione.

Even before others decreed it so.

“What about dinner? Kreacher will be cross if I ignore it again,” Hermione tries to argue her way out of Harry’s embrace. A half-hearted argument, if he ever heard one, which he lets her know with a light chuckle against her pulse point.

“I already had my dinner. I rather think I’d like a dessert now,” he rumbles into her skin, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“I see your manners have taken quite the hit today.”

“Mm, long day and all,” Harry murmurs while his fingers find the numerous buttons on her front. Hermione smirks a little, glancing down at his nimble fingers.

“Oh?”

“Nothing worth talking about. I have more important issues at hand.” He demonstrates this by cupping her breasts over her clothing. Hermione’s laugh is a light tinkling sound that reverberates around the old kitchen, making Harry’s body ache for her. He slides his hands inside the fabric of her clothes to push it from her shoulders. She arches into his touch, although her focus shifts between him and the plate on the table.

“Mm, I’m still rather famished, darling,” she whines, tangling her fingers in his hair as Harry is already on his way to his knees. “I should also owl McKenzie about the-“

“Hermione,” Harry interrupts her from his knees, his hands firm on her hips. She hums a short, teasing sound. He digs his fingers into her, warning her that he will have his way.

It’s never forced between them. Once way enough for them to discover that it would never have to be forced between them ever again. Harry knows this. Hermione knows this. They have a silent agreement to never back down from each other without reason and always support each other in any endeavour. It’s only part of the reason why he loves her more than he probably should.

Finding the zipper on the back of her skirt, he deliberately pulls it down, blinking slowly at the familiar sound. She allows him to pull it from her hips, leaving her in her stockings with garters and her mesh knickers that match her bra.

“It hardly seems sanitary for us to continue in the kitchen,” she tries to argue, despite the evident signs of her compliance with his every touch.

“Kreacher knows the proper spells. Besides,” Harry murmurs, leaning in close to the apex of her thighs. “You didn’t complain much the last time I had you on this table.”

She arches a brow at him.

“Well, dear husband of mine,” she coos, sliding her soft palm along his stubbled jawline. She tips his head back to catch his warm gaze. “Indulge yourself.”

Chapter Text

“Kings, there’s only so much I can do at this point,” Harry almost throws his glasses onto his desk. It’s only thanks to his wife’s spellwork that they don’t break. Years of trial-and-error mean that Harry has worn his way through several styles of glasses, yet he always reverts to this one. The shape is as familiar as Hermione’s lips in the morning when they wake up.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in fatigue. This particular scenario is not something he ever expected to handle as Head Auror.

“I know, Harry, but it is your job to reprimand the new trainees.” Kingsley Shaklebolt rises from his seat, raising his chin with a cheeky grin for Harry. Under the grin, he unmistakably has an air of amusement about him. The looks he’s sending towards the door, behind which two trainee Aurors await their reprimand, are not helpful in any way.

“I hardly think scoldings for shagging in the supply closet are included in my work description,” Harry snorts, unable to keep a smirk from his face. Memories of visits from his wife surface quite suddenly and vividly. Harry slouches in his chair, hiding behind his desk, while Kingsley steps towards the door.

“Neither is it in mine, and yet I recall more than once I’ve had to deliver a similar speech to you and your wife.”

Harry chuckles, rubbing a hand down his face. This time, he cannot restrain the self-satisfied smirk that creeps up on him. Kingsley sees it, too, and looks at him knowingly.

“Fair point, send them in,” he grumbles, steepling his fingers and trying to school his features into a more serious expression. Kingsley has just reached the door when Harry calls out.

“By the way, I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day after this. Most likely because of this,” he grouses, the last part. Kingsley nods before stepping outside. In the frame of the door, Harry watches Kingsley look down his nose at the two Aurors waiting outside. He doesn’t say anything, only levels a look back towards Harry and then takes his leave.

Harry takes a deep breath, preparing for the load of codswallops he is no doubt about to hear.

“Smith. Keene,” he shouts, and two seconds later, the two pink-faced Auror trainees stand at attention in front of his desk. Harry leans back to peer up at them over the edge of his glasses. He has found it a useful position to appear more intimidating even while sitting down. Something very useful when he has to deal with insolent Auror trainees almost daily. He breathes deeply, assessing them. Keene looks to the floor while Smith blushes even more. Their uniforms are still skewed, and their hair is rumpled.

Harry sighs, closing his eyes wearily. He gestures for them to sit, while another flick of his wrist has his door slamming so hard, they nearly jump out of their seats before their asses hit it the first time.

Silently, Harry gets to his feet, walks around his desk to sit on the corner, still facing them. He crosses his arms and levels them with a look.

“Well?”

Immediately, they start to speak over each other, each trying to save the other or push the blame, and Harry can’t really be sure. Nor does he care.

“Why is it,” he begins in a tone he normally only uses for Teddy when the boy tries to sneak into Harry’s brooms. He ups the volume to quiet the two of them, earning their undivided and slightly timid attention. “…that neither of you seems capable of a bloody simple Silencing Charm?”

Their heads jerk at the question. Keene’s mouth hangs open, but no sound escapes. He looks as confused as Harry feels at the fact that the young wizard was accepted to the Auror programme. Smith slowly morphs her expression into one of mild offence.

“Apologies, sir,” she mutters with a sidelong glance at Keene. She shifts in her seat, trying to set her collar straight again. Harry catches glimpses of love bites on several places on her neck.

“It won’t happen again, sir,” Keene attempts to promise when Smith smirks before she glares at him.

“Of course, it bloody hell will,” Harry groans, shooting to his feet. Their surprised expressions are almost enough to satisfy him. He towers over them. Keene visibly trembles in his seat, while Smith maintains eye contact. “You’re both stressed as hell, and you’ll probably find each other mildly attracted enough to shag out your frustrations until you master a certain spell or catch whatever idiot you’re chasing. Stress is a fucking part of this job. If you want to shag it out, fine, be my fucking guest. Half the workforce does the same thing. But if it keeps you from doing your job, that’s it. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!” They chorus instantly. Keene’s hands are shaking in his lap. He notices Harry noticing it and shoves them behind his back. Smith sits perfectly still. Harry assesses her again.

“This bloke, really?” He asks her with a confused frown. Smith blushes even though she doesn’t back down. She shrugs, then glances at Keene, who looks a thing between offended and scared.

“He’s all right,” she amends, glancing at him with a soft smile. Harry rolls his eyes, but recognises a lost cause when he sees one. The witch is free to make her own mistakes, he supposes.

“Don’t make me send you back to retake your N.E.W.T.s to learn the basic spells you’re taught in your first year at Hogwarts. If you’re ever caught again at work, you’re suspended. Now get out!”

He doesn’t wait for them to exit before he storms out of his office, dropping a slip of parchment for Dolores to send any ridiculous and/or necessary paperwork to his office at home.

“But Head Auror Potter, you need to sign these before you can leave today,” she nearly shrieks, waving a handful of parchments in his face. Harry stops in his tracks just as Keene and Smith exit his office. They catch sight of him and jump apart before taking off in opposite directions with flushed faces.

“Just tell me where to sign,” Harry asks. Dolores diligently lays each parchment out for him, instructing him where to sign, and more importantly, what he’s signing.

“Lawson McNair is due to stand trial next week; you need to sign his paperwork to attend from Azkaban,” Dolores says as she places the last parchment in front of him. Harry swallows the growl crawling up his throat. Lawson McNair is a piece of shit that deserves to rot in Azkaban, yet the Wizengamot intends to use him as an example. It took Harry and his team several months to track him down. For some inexplicable reason, Harry is sure this trial is either going to be a performance or a lethal curse to end it.

He snatches the parchment to study it closely. He’ll be damned if they can point anything back to his hand in everything. If it were up to him, Lawson would spend the rest of his days in Azkaban with the rest of his buddies in there.

“I’ll need two copies made for me, thank you, Dolores,” Harry informs her after he’s stricken the last swish in his name on the parchment. The ink dries quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving? But Mr. Potter, what about the-“

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow!” Harry says determinedly as he heads for the lifts at the end of the Department, ignoring Dolores’ feeble cries after him.

Pressing the buttons on the lifts harder than necessary, he ignores the pointed looks from other Ministry workers. After all these years, he’s used to them and doesn’t mind as long as they don’t bother him - or his wife. It wasn’t always like that, though. Memories surface of a time when neither he nor Hermione could walk through the Atrium without being assaulted by several reporters with all kinds of questions, ranging from mildly interested to downright spiteful.

Anger and slight resentment simmer beneath his skin as he reaches the designated level to get his wand checked before he strides to her office.

“I told Unspeakable Benson to leave the matter be and not- oh, darling, what are you doing here?” Hermione straightens from whatever her attention was captured by seconds ago. It doesn’t escape his notice that she surreptitiously glamours her work notes even without her wand.

Harry shuts the door behind him . “You always do that and still tell me everything when we arrive home.”

“It’s protocol and quite frankly the easiest way to keep unwanted noses out of my work,” she huffs as she removes her cerulean robes to stretch her bare arms. Harry observes her caramel skin as her arms arch over her head, making her back curve and pushes her chest forward. Her cream-coloured dress-suit stretches across her breasts, catching Harry’s attention for a long moment before he drags his gaze up to her face again. She’s grinning.

“Plenty of those around then?”

“More than I care for. I won’t let any more of my work suddenly go missing only to turn up under another person’s name.” She bristles as she presses her palms onto her strewn papers across her desk.

“You still haven’t told me who it was?”

“Because I know you will only keep them in a holding cell overnight. I handled it myself, thank you, and they no longer work in the Department.” Something akin to pride shoots up Harry’s spine at the confident way she tells him this.

“But still in the Ministry?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But why are you here?”

Finally, she steps into his arms to run her fingers across the stubble on his jaw. Harry loves Hermione’s hands on him in any capacity. Whether it be delicate touches like this, or firmer grasps of parts of his body. He closes his eyes to savour her attention, her touches. Leaning into her hands, his own find purchase on her hips, pulling her closer, pressing their pelvises together.

He grumbles an incoherent response against her throat, nuzzling the soft skin of her neck. Hermione giggles.

“Incompetent young Aurors again?” Her fingers move to slip through his hair, sweeping it from his brow. He tilts his head back, relishing the caress.

“Randy, young Aurors is more like. Two were caught shagging in a fucking supply closet, and I had to reprimand them.” He can’t deny the humour creeping into his voice as he cracks an eye at her.

She’s smirking.

“Couldn’t even perform a simple Silencing spell,” Harry scoffs as he does just that. Hermione follows by locking her door and throwing up their signature Mufliato. Now it’s Harry’s time to smirk.

“What did you tell them?” Hermione slides her palms down his collarbones, deftly undoing a few buttons on his uniform along the way.

“Told them to stop being idiots and not get caught at work.” She giggles, pausing in her unbuttoning.

“You didn’t tell them not to shag while at work?” She raises a brow at him before slipping a hand under the flap of his shirt to smooth over his chest. Her fingers graze through the coarse hairs on his chest, gently pulling them as she moves across his chest. Harry groans, leaning into her touch. Placing his palm on top of her hand inside his shirt, he follows her motions, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“Seeing as I’m about to shag my wife atop her very important and confidential Unspeakable notes that would be very hypocritical of me.”  He grabs her waist, lifting her straight off the floor to perch her on her desk.

She laughs freely; the laugh he loves to hear from her at any time of the day. It’s a laugh he cherishes because she doesn’t share it with anyone other than him. There are smiles and polite giggles for the public, but this laugh? This joyful, carefree and heartfelt laugh is reserved for him. Harry wants to bottle it up for safekeeping.

There are days, fewer now compared to the beginnings of their marriage, when he wants to pull Hermione away from the Ministry. Away from the public scrutiny, they will never escape. To pull her away from all of that to a place of peaceful solitude, where his only responsibility would be her.

They’ve talked about it, especially during the early years. But their stubbornness keeps them here, for the rest of the world to see that nothing will break them. They are united and stronger than ever before.

“Is that so?” She pulls his shirt from his trousers, about to tackle his belt buckle as he steps between her open legs.

“Can’t very well fault others for being randy when I spend most of my day thinking about getting home to you.”   He pushes forward to capture her lips. Their mouths fuse as Hermione undoes his belt, pulling it from its loops. Harry growls into her mouth.

“As much as I love watching you in these suits,” he grumbles, sliding his palms up the outside of her thighs to grasp a handful of her arse over her clothing, “I’m not a fan of how much work they are to get you naked. Skirts are much easier.”

Hermione giggles into another kiss. Harry continues to drag a path of his palms across her body, finding her soft spots that he knows will reward him with her soft moans. She lets him undo the buttons down her front, one by one. He makes sure she feels the pads of his fingers down her sternum as he takes his time.

“Lift,” he commands, so he can pull the garment down her legs. He tosses it to the floor, eager to return his attention to his wife, who’s sitting on top of her desk in nothing but a matching set of cream coloured lace knickers and a strapless bra. She pulls a single pin from her hair, and it falls in heavy ringlets around her face and shoulders. She snaps her fingers and his shirt vanishes, leaving him in his braces and trousers. Her delicate fingers wrap around the braces, pulling him back between her legs.

“Harry, you truly are too good for your position at the DMLE.” Her smile radiates heat and desire for him. Harry leans forward to kiss her again. He takes his time with her. Sliding his hands into her curls to scrape his fingernails across her scalp before wrapping his hands around her hair to take control of the kiss. Her tongue welcomes the hard strokes of his tongue in her mouth, as it steals their breath.

“There are other positions I take greater pride in excelling,” he tells her, resting his forehead against hers.

She lies back easily for Harry to show her exactly which ones.