This is a kind of a Muggle-ish story about depressing relationship ending in a possibly positive way. But basically just some explicit sex.

OneShot—there will be no more chapters.

Note: English is not my native language, so if you notice some pretty bad mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them.

Background information: Characters are in their late twenties. Nobody has kids. Harry is divorced and lives alone in a small gloomy apartment in an average Muggle neighborhood, trying to keep his private life out of Wizarding publicity.

Anyway, please review (I'm serious!) and thanks for reading!

Cheat on me

Hermione was sitting on her bed, a letter quivering in her shaking hand. A scent of female sherry perfume lingered in the room from the parchment.

Hermione recognized the fragrance. Ron's shirt smelled like this twice; the first time was over a month ago. He would often arrive home rather drunk, bursting in through the door and tottering straight to the bathroom with an idiotic beam on his face. "A long day," he would say before slamming the bathroom door shut.

Hermione would stand there in front of white closed door, listening to the sounds of clumsy movement and running water, and then, when Ron would emerge back into the bedroom, he would immediately crash into bed and let out a sigh of relief. Hermione would later climb in next to him and gently stroke his jaw and shoulders, but the only response she would earn was "I'm tired. Let's sleep, hun."

At first, Hermione assumed that the job of an Auror consumed a lot of energy—"It's hell there, ask any Auror," Ron told her—so she didn't blame him; she was an understanding wife who supported her husband and respected his privacy.

However, eventually she realized there was something wrong. She began suspecting Ron of something that she never imagined could be possible. She trusted him unconditionally—until recently, when Hermione reached out to Harry, Ron's Auror partner, and received a confirmation that neither Harry nor any of the co-workers had anything to do with Ron's late night woozy returns.

The more she observed Ron, the more sense her theory made. And it caused a nasty feeling in her stomach every time she thought about it.

But now it was different. Now she held a letter that she found in their trash can. And it smelled of another woman, and it forced Hermione's heart heavily thump into her spine.

…I can't stop thinking about you…It's been three days, I miss you…Don't forget the discussion we had about your divorce…

She stared at the end of the parchment.

Kisses, Aretha.

Hermione snorted in disgust and crumpled the letter, digging her nails into the paper. Then she threw it to the wall in front and buried her face into her hands.

It was late in the evening, and Hermione knew Ron was supposed to be back from work. But he wasn't.

Aretha…

Hermione's chest heaved along with dry sobs that escaped her throat. The winey stench had soaked into her palm and made Hermione nearly retch in revolt.

She put herself on feet and allowed her limp legs carry her to the bathroom. Hermione splashed her burning face with cold water, then leaned on the sink and glanced at the brown angry eyes of her reflection in the mirror.

Ron is seeing another woman. He is cheating on her. He, Ron… he crumpled his wife's trust just like that letter—without care, without consideration, and right into the trash.

It took years for them to find a way to each other. It took a long time for them to acknowledge their mutual affection and build the relationship they now had.

But Ron destroyed it. He stomped all over Hermione's feelings and dreams, crushing them to the ground in an instant, without bothering to look back.

Something delicate in her heart snapped permanently, and the place which used to belong to Ron was now empty and sore, and she felt like she might not even care anymore.

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, biting on her upper lip. She saw a hurt but beautiful young woman, who would never let a shameless man poison her life. She would show that man how much he had lost and she would never return back.

She was angry. She was an angry, beautiful woman.

Hermione grabbed a towel and sank her face in it. She suppressed another sob which tried to get away and then looked back at herself to examine her facial features.

Beautiful indeed, but not enough to look revengeful.

Hermione took out her makeup powder and patted some on her face with a brush to conceal red patches of fury and pain. She put on mascara and filled her lips in with oxblood lipstick. Soon, a black pencil dress was squeezing her slim curves, and the smell of fragrant dried fruit of Hermione's perfume overpowered all the other odors in the room.

Hermione put on her heels and left the apartment.

It was September, and although the temperature was quite high for the beginning of autumn, the wind made Hermione's body hair bristle, and she immediately regretted not grabbing a jacket.

Hermione didn't walk far; tired of rubbing her arms to warm up, she entered the first Muggle bar she crossed and sat at the bar in the corner.

The place wasn't much; its walls were congested full of random photographs, souvenirs and other knick-knacks, and the smells of tobacco and wood lingered in the humid air, creating a gloomy, depressing atmosphere. The bar was half-crowded, mostly with men and a few females whose grins suggested they had quite a few drinks by now.

Hermione was about to order some random colorful cocktail that women, she heard, usually enjoyed, but then changed her mind and ended up sipping a glass of brandy, hoping it would burn her pain as well as it burned her throat.

She felt pathetic. She thought she would come here, be strong and have fun but instead realized how uncomfortable she felt in the environment she no longer recognized as familiar and soothing. The smirks and winks of Muggle men were strangling her, but all she did was gulp her drink down and order another one.

Several men approached Hermione, attempting to pitifully flirt with her. She actually did engage in a longer conversation with one of them—a not very tall "gentleman" with short brown curly hair. "Brad," he introduced himself with a stupid grin.

Brad wasn't shy at all; he kept showing off his little teeth while reaching out to touch her time to time, and Hermione let him. She let him lay his hands on her arms and waist, she let him whisper pathetic sweet-talk into her ear. And although his salty cologne was too salty and his hairy chest was too hairy, all Hermione did was just swallow her nausea and force some more brandy down, begging butterflies to flutter soon.

But it didn't happen, of course. So she had to excuse herself from the bar before she was too drunk to maintain self-respect.

She just… well, didn't really feel like riding that Brad, or any other Brad—or Josh, or Hank, or Larry, or whatever—in the world.

As soon as Hermione got out to the street, she knew where she wanted to be, so she Disapparated and stumbled when her feet landed on a different ground. The brief journey was more sickening than usual, but she managed to keep the content of her stomach in the place it belonged.

Hermione entered one of the buildings. The dim black-and-white corridor led to a staircase, and, after Hermione reached the fourth floor, she knocked on a shabby steel-blue door.

"Hermione," said Harry when he opened the door and found himself facing his nicely dressed friend, whom he hadn't met with for weeks, maybe months.

"Hi." She shrugged and smiled faintly. "Can I—?"

"Oh," Harry spoke after shaking his head a couple of times to recollect himself from surprise, "Of course, come in."

Harry stepped aside, leaving the doorway empty, and Hermione entered with a stagger. Without saying anything else, she slumped on a chair at a little dining table, kicked her heels off and put her feet underneath herself, ignoring her tight dress strangling her waist.

Harry now stood further in the kitchen, staring at Hermione with confusion written all over his face.

"What's going on?" he asked, moved forward and settled next to her.

Hermione offered a shrug with a sigh and looked away to play with her nails, unsure how to begin spilling the situation out but wanting to appear more casual. It didn't work whatsoever.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you drunk?" he asked and frowned even more when the woman let out a snort. But then she turned her head to him, tipping it to a side.

"Did you know?" Her lips transformed into a thin unhappy smile.

"What?"

"About Ron."

Harry stared at Hermione's somewhat placid but sad countenance. Different versions of what Hermione might have meant began rapidly shifting and swirling in his mind, some quite horrifying.

"Is he all right?"

"Oh, yes," she sniggered, "I think he is better than all right. I think he is absolutely excellent."

This didn't help Harry at all, and his face conveyed even stronger concern.

"Hermione," he bowed a bit forward and laid his hand on hers, "what's wrong?"

Hermione locked her eyes with her friend's. His expression of genuine care and a hint of disturbance worked as a mild electric shock in her chest, painfully reminding her of the mess that her life had turned into.

She licked her dry lips and swallowed. There was no comfortable way to steel herself for this.

"Ron," she spoke in a husky voice, finally accepting the fact that she had to say it out loud, "he's cheating on me. Did you know that?"

Harry shuddered in shock and shrank back in his seat, letting go of Hermione's hand.

She looked away again and didn't see Harry's open lips tremble as he was scrambling for something to say but couldn't figure it out.

"I didn't," he finally muttered and took a deep breath. "Are you sure?" His eyebrows drew together.

"Yeah…"

Harry's shoulders drooped, and he turned his face away, clenching his jaw.

After a minute of depressing silence, Harry rose from his chair and brought an empty glass and a bottle of Ogden's Old firewhisky.

Hermione's lips curved up a little and she began reaching for the bottle, murmuring "Thanks," but Harry stirred and moved the drink away from her before she could touch it.

"That's not for you," he said and uncapped the bottle.

Hermione looked at her friend with eyebrows high on her forehead, demanding an explanation.

"You're already drunk," he reasoned, pouring some of that drink into his glass.

"Don't be stupid," said Hermione in a frown, flapping her hand as to wave his poor excuse off. Then she immediately leaned over the table to seize the bottleneck and pressed the bore to her lips, pouring a mouthful in and swallowing. She prevented herself from choking by a whisker. "Oh, God," she stammered out through her gritted teeth breathlessly, clenching her eyelids shut as her insides inflamed.

"Are you out of your mind?" said Harry and ripped the bottle out of Hermione's grip. "You look like you've had enough."

"Actually," spoke Hermione hoarsely when she recovered some of her voice, "I'm feeling pretty sober and—"

"Hermione," he cut her off, "stop it."

She glanced at his serious face and watched him drink his firewhisky.

"Now talk to me," he demanded, slamming the empty glass back on the table and fixing his eyes on her.

"There's nothing to—"

"Talk to me."

Hermione stared at her best friend. An urge to cry tickled her nose, but she refrained from doing that and instead let out a heavy sigh.

"He…" she began but realized she had no idea how to articulate what happened. "Well… I found a letter… Aretha, her name."

"Aretha," Harry repeated, his lip curling in distaste.

Hermione nodded. "Yes." She wiggled a little in her chair. "I suspected it for a while. Ron's been coming home drunk, you know that…"

"Mhm, I spoke to him that once. He said that it's only been a few times and that he stopped doing it."

"Yeah, well," Hermione sniffed, "he lied. He drinks several times a week and comes home smelling like a prostitute."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in shock and disbelief. He looked so tense it forced a smothered snicker out of Hermione.

Harry ignored it. "I can't…" he stammered, "He always looked fine at work…" Harry frowned again. "Have you talked to him?"

"Of course," she said. "I mean, I tried, but he doesn't talk. Though I found the letter—the proof—only a few hours ago."

"I see."

Harry poured some more of that firewhisky and gulped it down. Then spoke again.

"And you're sure that he's—?"

"Yes."

Yes, she was sure.

Harry pursed his lips and propped one elbow on the table. He took his glasses off as another heavy breath crawled out of his mouth, and he massaged his closed eyelids, naively believing it would relieve his terrible confusion. For a moment, they both listened to the silence humming in their ears.

"I'm sorry," he muttered eventually, his blank gaze resting somewhere on the floor. "I really am. I had no idea."

The sincere compassion—and could it be regret, too?—that rang in his voice struck the center of her chest. Hermione folded her lips inward, sinking her teeth in to hold tears back.

This was hard. Exhausting, actually. She knew that if she wasn't drunk, her consciousness, along with the ache in her heart and bones, would torture her to a dead faint. Harry's presence did make her feel better, but it also exposed her loneliness and despair; she realized she was now alone, but she didn't want to be. She wanted to feel like there was someone who cared.

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to pull herself together as weird and somewhat inappropriate ideas began flooding her mind. She gulped an unfamiliar feeling down, but it kept crawling back into the surface.

"It's okay." Hermione plastered a faint smile in place. "My brain feels all rather numb right now; I suppose it's tomorrow that's going to hit the hardest. I will have to face Ron at some point…"

"Mh." He drank his liquor.

Harry couldn't comprehend why his best friend would do such an awfully stupid thing. Harry always envied Hermione and Ron's marriage, especially when his own, with Ginny, didn't work out. His two best friends were meant to be—he was confident about it. But he never would've imagined Ron becoming such an ungrateful fool; he had a perfect life but he let it down the drain.

Harry forced another blazing hot gulp of firewhisky down.

Ron, you selfish jerk, he was thinking when he felt something warm on his knee.

It woke Harry up from his thoughts, and he saw Hermione's hand resting on his leg. Her face was now blank, and she leaned closer.

His heart suddenly sped up and his shoulders tensed. He fastened his eyes on Hermione, watching carefully what she would do next. Some kind of a mess began soaring in his mind, both from surprise and… something else; this strange reaction made him feel ashamed of himself.

"What?" he mumbled breathlessly after swallowing dryly.

Hermione felt the same as Harry did—confused. This unexpected craving for body contact overwhelmed her, and when she didn't manage to suppress it, she immediately sought relief. Harry felt warm under her palm, even through his trousers, and it was pleasant, so she began sliding her hand further up his thigh, swallowing down her shame. She wasn't thinking clearly. In fact, she probably wasn't thinking at all. This strange hunger—lust?—appeared out of nowhere and clouded her sanity.

"Hermione," Harry talked to her, his round eyes jumping from her hand to her face, and Hermione halted.

Their eyes locked together. The confusion in Harry's face was enough for Hermione to understand what he was thinking. He probably had a bitter "What are you doing?!" on the tip of his tongue, but the shock kept him silent.

Hermione shifted her chair closer to Harry until she could insert her knees in between his spread thighs. She still had her hand on his leg.

Once again Harry looked as if he was ready to protest, his mouth now agape, and once again he didn't say anything. Hermione saw Harry's chest pulsating, and she knew her heart wasn't the only one to be walloping densely.

Hermione raised her hands and placed them on his chest and waist, stroking carefully. Harry knew she could feel his violent heartbeat. He was nervous; this woman, his best friend's (probably soon to be former) wife and his own good friend, was touching him in a way he least expected her to, and he quite… enjoyed it…? This wasn't right.

"Hermione," he finally managed to flap his tongue, still burning from the liquor.

She pinned her eyes on him and moistened her lips.

Her beauty was divine. Harry always thought of Hermione as particularly pleasant to look at, especially since their fourth year at Hogwarts, and she only grew to become more and more beautiful. And even now, her chestnut-brown eyes filled with sadness, she looked stunning.

"Please, Harry," Hermione whispered pleadingly; her gentle voice bore a tiny trace of hopelessness.

So she clung onto Harry's shoulders and pulled herself onto his lap, straddling him. To be able to sit like that, she had to allow her tight dress to rise, and it was just a few inches away from revealing her underwear. Harry's hands had been on the sides of his thighs, and now, when Hermione's legs accidentally flicked his fingertips, Harry winced.

Hermione loosely wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his firm shoulder, her forehead pressing against his pounding neck. The man wasn't wearing any cologne, but his skin had a naturally clean sweet scent to it, very well familiar, but Hermione never thought of it as attractive before; attractive in a very particular, almost inappropriate way.

Harry didn't hug her back; he just sat there feeling uncomfortable for feeling comfortable. The combination of firewhisky and hints of sudden sexual arousal—what is happening?!—burned his insides so much it was almost brutal. He was panting.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "but it's okay."

Hermione's loose hair tickled his cheek, her breathing into his neck caused his skin to break out it goose bumps, and when Hermione's fingertips brushed along his bristly jawline, Harry quivered. He licked his lips.

"I don't know what you want me to do," he finally managed to produce a coherent sentence.

Hermione sighed. "You do," she muttered and lifted her head to sit upright. She gazed at his green eyes while stealthily chewing her bottom lip.

Without breaking the eye contact, Hermione slid one hand down Harry's front, forcing him to hold his breath, until she reached his crotch, and Harry exhaled.

If Hermione at first assumed that Harry didn't want any of this at all, the stiff bulge in his trousers proved the opposite. She saw the man flush delicate pink.

Hermione curled her arms back around his neck, arched her back, rubbing her front against his, and leaned to press her lips on his throat. The warm kiss was pleasant, and Harry's mouth slightly opened while his eyelids dropped down. His heavy breath bore a mild tremor.

This was too much for him; such a sudden jump from "childhood friends" to "I'd fuck you" was rather unsettling but very difficult to resist. Harry's mind was storming with reasons he shouldn't do this, but Hermione was so warm, willingly pushing herself against him, her hot tongue tracing his neck, leaving a wet prickling trail, and it felt really good.

Harry put his hands on Hermione's waist, gliding up her rip cage and then downwards to her hips and thighs, getting to know her curves.

Hermione withdrew to look at the man—her best friend since she was eleven, who she experienced pain and happiness with, who helped her become the person she was today. He taught her so much, and he had never turned his back on her.

She loved him, whatever kind of love it was. Perhaps a combination of all possible ones—like a friend, like family, like a lover. She felt unconditional fondness for him. He had earned to be considered the most important man in her life, not Ron.

A melting sensation washed over Harry when his lips got caught in between Hermione's. She held a long still kiss, forcing her lips against his, inhaling Harry's essence.

Harry's erection tingled, and he tightly seized Hermione by her waist, pulling her even closer. Then, with one hand he suddenly grasped her breast, giving a passionate stroke and squeeze and causing Hermione to gasp. Harry used the opportunity when her lips parted to slip his tongue inside.

A swooping sensation throughout her body made Hermione squirm. Harry's hot tongue grazed hers and sprang forward to explore her mouth, drawing a quiet moan out of her. He sucked on her bottom lip, capturing it between his teeth, kissing her so vigorously as though he was thirsty and she was his water.

Harry's hands roamed all over her body, sometimes gripping her hair, sometimes caressing her breasts, sometimes stroking her legs. His lips moved down her jaw to her throat, savoring the tender skin and burying the intoxicating smell of her perfume inside his lungs. A light yelp of pleasure that escaped her lips encouraged Harry to urge the witch against himself even firmer.

Hermione had the collar of his shirt in her clutch, holding onto him as if he would vanish the second she let go. She threw her head back, stretching her neck to allow Harry access to every little inch of her sensitive skin. Hermione didn't shy away from moaning into his ear in unconcealed need; he had to know how much she liked it, how much she wanted it, and hopefully it wouldn't deter him from indulging in such an unusual Hermione's company.

After Harry nipped Hermione's earlobe, exhaling hot air into her ear, he drew her into another fervent kiss before setting the woman on her feet and sharply turning her around to ram her at the edge of the table. Hermione yipped, stumbled, and her arms immediately shot out to lean on the tabletop for support. She felt Harry harshly unzip her dress and tear it down, exposing her nude flesh with only black lingerie keeping her in the boundaries of decency and self-respect.

Not for long, though. Harry immediately plunged himself against her behind, running his hands along the length of Hermione's body, before unhooking her bra. When the lacy garment slid off of her in farewell, Harry captured Hermione's supple breast in his palm, with another hand dragging her underwear down her legs which wriggled themselves out of those panties.

Gorgeous lingerie always begs to be ripped off.

Harry now scraped his tongue across Hermione's neck and shoulders, clutching and tugging on her nude buttock and breast, enjoying the responsive witch in his arms. Hermione was still slightly leaning over the table with her eyes rolled to the back of her head, lustful pants fleeing from her mouth as Harry fixed his hard crotch against her bottom. Then he turned her around.

Hermione hitched in a breath when her attention reached a pair of dark heavy-lidded eyes with pupils so large that they almost consumed all the circling greenness which associated with Harry Potter. This hungry face didn't belong to him anymore.

The wizard hoisted the witch up on the table and, embedding himself in between her parted legs, darted his tongue into her mouth. While sharing an embrace, Harry continued kneading Hermione's firm breasts, allowing one hand to trail down her front until his fingertips made contact with moisture between her thighs.

A lot of moisture.

When Harry's two fingers flicked her clit, brushed along her wet folds and slid inside her, Hermione gasped, jerked her hips and tightly clung onto his shoulders as though she would otherwise melt into a puddle. A wave of pleasure washed over her, and Hermione wanted to tilt back and moan, but Harry held her head pressed against his, disallowing the woman to pull her lips back, so Hermione was forced to merely gulp for air from his mouth.

Harry didn't care that he was nearly suffocating Hermione with his tongue; he was being smothered as well, both by their passionate embrace and by his trousers that strangled his erection. He moved his digits inside her, stroking Hermione's spongy walls and curling his fingers at a certain patch that escalated her breathing. When Harry's thumb joined the performance, swirling around the nub at the top of her labia, Hermione began squirming, still holding onto him, and before he could allow her to come, he drew his fingers out and quickly unzipped his trousers, freeing his junk out.

Hermione offered a glance at Harry's raw cock almost blue from arousal and, acknowledging the situation, slumped flat on the table and arched her back to brace herself. She shuddered when the hot tip of Harry's shaft grazed in between her drenched folds, and when he thrust it inside, her walls engulfing him whole in an instant, a breath got caught in the back of her throat.

Harry grasped Hermione's full buttocks in firm grip, her bent legs resting on his arms, and began slamming his hips against her heat, causing her juices to trickle down the cleft of her bottom. Hermione let out a whimper and involuntarily stretched out her arms, searching the tabletop for something to claw at, but instead accidentally hit the bottle of firewhisky, and it flew off, shattering deafeningly on the floor.

Hermione flinched, but Harry didn't stop, although his pace slowed down.

"Do you want to move to the bedroom?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

The question surprised her a little, because it implicitly announced that Harry wanted more than this and he wasn't done with her just yet.

On the other hand, forasmuch as Harry's actions were enthusiastic and his face was dark with lust, it wasn't surprising in the least.

Earning Hermione's nod, Harry pulled his shaft out, which was pulsating in protest, closed his fingers around Hermione's wrist and tugged, helping her to sit up. Hermione slipped off the table and followed Harry to his bedroom.

Harry let Hermione enter first, and a small room with only a large bed and a wardrobe drifted into her view. The witch crawled into the bed, light grey sheets clean and soft, and faced Harry who was standing in front of the now closed door, his hand still behind him on the doorknob.

He gazed at Hermione's naked body, gloriously displayed before him, and the soft nocturnal light coming through a pitiful window illuminated the predatory expression on his square face.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, mildly swollen from Harry's forceful attention. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her marvelous body—he didn't want to—but since she looked so inviting, he couldn't stand still any longer and thus stepped forward.

Harry now stood towering over her, and Hermione had to roll her eyeballs up to meet his gaze. His nude cock, slick with her fluids, was right before her. Hermione, without breaking their staring contest, raised her hand to wrap her fingers around his shaft and gave a few gentle strokes, causing a rumbling sound ring from the back of his throat. Then she gripped the waistband of Harry's trousers and skimmed them down along with his underwear.

When Harry stepped out of his pants, he began taking his shirt off while slowly climbing into the bed. Hermione shifted backwards to allow Harry more space.

As soon as his clothing was thrown to the floor, the wizard looked at the woman, rapid pulse violently throbbing at his throat, and spoke quietly in a low, starved voice, "Lie down."

Hermione wasted no time in following the order. She spread herself flat, sinking into cottony bedding which smelled as clean and sweet as Harry. The man bowed over on top of her, and Hermione caught herself enjoying how the cool dim lighting grazed along the lines of Harry's toned body.

Harry watched the witch beneath him; her hair framed her face in a circle of curls like a nimbus and her red cheeks seemed blazing hot.

This woman… she had gone with him through so much as she had once chosen her own fate—to stand by Harry's side forever. But he was always there for her, too; the friendship between him and Ron had ups and downs, always waving and never stable, but Harry never turned his back on Hermione. She was… simpler. All she ever needed was to have someone who she mattered to, and she valued that with all her heart.

Hermione's eyes... he no longer could recognize those brown eyes flooded with such eagerness and longing that it made him wonder for how long her bastard husband ignored her basic needs. She had submitted herself to Harry's control completely, he could see, because it was something she truly needed, even though it wasn't his role to be satisfying her.

But what if it was…? If Ron couldn't provide the affection she longed for and if Harry didn't accept her, then who would?

Harry leaned to capture Hermione's nipple between his teeth, scraping over it with his tongue and then engulfing it in his mouth to suckle, while he tweaked her other nipple with his fingers. The witch beneath him shivered as those pink pebbled buds of sensitive flesh stiffened, and Hermione felt her body tingle in multiple little shocks of pleasure. The wizard worshipped her body and curves, pinching and massaging whatever he could reach. But then he began licking his way down her stomach, and the lower he traveled, the more her inside walls convulsed in anticipation.

Harry chose to tease the woman before giving into her. He flicked his tongue across Hermione's inner thighs which must had tickled a little, considering the quiet, disoriented chuckle she made. He explored the area around her cleft, gently nipping her skin at appropriate moments to provoke a surprise tremor throughout her body.

Hermione lifted her chin, pushing the top of her head deeper into the pillows, graceful moans crawling out of her lips, when Harry's tongue finally pressed against her clitoris. Then he licked down her folds, reaching her dripping entrance, and sneaked into the searing hot hole, fucking it with his tongue. The sounds of Hermione's mewling fed his pride; no other woman had been as responsive and fervent as her. He felt really woozy but not exactly from alcohol; rather from the frantic arousal that filled his body.

Then, with a tip of his tongue Harry began drawing little shapes on that bead of nerves while two of his digits made their way into her. The moisture was seeping down his fingers, allowing him to move inside her incredibly easily.

He never imagined Hermione to be so fervid and sensitive in bed.

Hermione felt intense heat building up her body. The stimulation made her clench and vibrate everywhere, and she began clamoring for release.

"Oh, my God, Harry," she shrieked, her sweaty fists clutching the duvet.

Understanding that he shouldn't be holding her back any longer, Harry increased his tempo even more, causing the witch to writhe and shatter around his fingers in climax as the shocks of pleasure ripped up her spine.

All vestiges of reasoning were long gone for both of them.

Harry sat up on his knees in front of her, and Hermione opened her heavy eyelids, her chest heaving wildly. The man's mouth, also breathing heavily, was damp, so he wiped the moisture off with his forearm and leaned back over her, sucking in her lips and coaxing another muffled wail out of the witch. She was ready for more.

Harry gripped his aching cock and shoved it into her, burying himself to the hilt and feeling Hermione's walls clamp down on his length. He immediately began rocking his hips against her while gazing enthralled at the inexorably moaning Hermione whose face was all twisted up in intensity of sensations. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer than possible, urging Harry to thrust as deep, hard and fast as he physically could.

He held Hermione's arse in two handfuls, digging his fingers into her skin and pulling her forcefully to meet his every lunge. His shaft was too painful from excitement, but he concentrated on his task to please the woman, not himself, and clenched his every muscle to prevent himself from erupting too soon. He added his thumb to the process, embedding it at her clit and rubbing it, which teased another powerful moan out of Hermione.

Hermione kept shaking her head as both fire and ice began chasing each other across every nerve of her body.

"Harry," she whimpered lustfully before her moans rose in volume and transformed into wanton screams when her whole body tightened, and a violent tremor, which started in her abdomen, worked its way throughout the rest of her limbs, causing waves of bliss clash from all sides.

As she came apart, sensations wracking her body, her walls began contracting, brutally seizing Harry's cock, and the man couldn't hold any longer. He felt a knot of extreme pleasure coil in his stomach and explode, and he spurted his release inside Hermione, letting a low, satisfied groan escape his throat. The orgasm was so powerful that he thought he would faint as his vision went black right before the climax. But then the woman, squirming beneath him, drifted back into view, and Harry crashed on top of her, his numb limbs unable to support his weight anymore.

Both friends—or lovers—kept shallowly gasping for air, their chests grinding against each other as they heaved. Harry felt Hermione's body twitching in aftershocks of mind-shattering pleasure.

When blood started flooding back to his brain, Harry rose on his elbows to look at Hermione's flushed face. Her chestnut eyes wore a gratified glint, and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione chuckled at Harry's smirk and turned her head to the side, unable to maintain the eye contact. She made one last deep sigh to completely calm herself down, although her insides slightly throbbed and her muscles quivered weak.

Harry dropped next to Hermione and ran his fingers through his hair to swipe them away from his sweaty forehead. Then he laid his hand on the woman to slowly stroke her stomach and breasts.

Hermione's face was still away from him; she was gazing out through the window, and Harry watched dull blue light peacefully dance on her profile.

She truly was beautiful.

Harry cleared his throat. "Are you staying the night?" he asked her half-whispering.

Hermione turned to him, her face glowing in sweat, moonlight and euphoria.

"I don't know," she shrugged, "You tell me."

Harry smiled again, and Hermione's heart overflowed with warmth.

There was a relationship dilemma to solve, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

A/N: That's it!

Actually, I first planned a very different twist of events and ending for this story; I initially intended Hermione to come and seduce Harry into having sex with her so she could revenge Ron by shagging his best friend and making Ron super jealous—we all know very well it would make him furious—and so Harry would then get mad after realizing Hermione's intentions and would kick her out (True Detective, anyone?), ending the story with this huge mess.

BUT. As I was writing, I just couldn't… Hermione wouldn't do such a thing; she wouldn't become so shallow all of a sudden. So everything turned out to be simple and kinda trite. This pairing, you know… ugh, so easy, so fluffy… :)

SimonSays98: Haha! I love this! But I don't think I would be able to convey the duel so epic! One-shot is one-shot. But thanks!

And in general, to those asking to continue: I will not do that and I apologize. I just can't because I know I won't handle it well enough and it will ruin the story. So no. This is all you've got. Evil me? Well, I ain't even mad, it's the best compliment possible! :3

So thanks to the rest of you for kind reviews! I grin like a Cheshire cat every time I see a new comment posted! It means a lot to me, as for a fanfiction beginner. :)