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Witch Weekly 1st Edition : S.P.U.M. (Society for the Pleasure of Unappreciated Muggleborns)
🕑 Added 2024-01-19 05:57:10 +0000 UTCS.P.U.M. (Society for the Pleasure of Unappreciated Muggleborns)
Featuring: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger
Tags: DomSub, Office, Friends to Lovers
Despite it being merely her first year at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione found the ministry arm as difficult to wrangle as the XXXXX beasts they were known for.
“By pushing this mandate through, I’m confident that not only can we establish a proper standard for house-elf care, but we can also bolster the department’s functionality.” Hermione ended her speech while pushing forward her filed report across the desk. Sat opposite her was her boss and head of department Georgie Gibbon, who eagerly reached his hand forward. Much to Hermione’s chagrin, however, it was aimed at the overflowing bowl of tropical fruit on his desk, and not the meticulously researched strategy on house-elf welfare she’d submitted.
True to his name, he palmed the yellow one monkeys favoured - Hermione couldn’t help but think uncharitably, as he slouched heavily in his seat and began gormlessly peeling it. “Look, Granger.” The dismissal was apparent in his voice. He took the half peeled fruit and wagged it at Hermione. “Do you know what this is?”
“A banana.” She responded immediately. Her patience running thin at his foregone rejection, and not seeing the need to listen to him prattle on with whatever he considered wisdom.
He smiled triumphantly at her answer, “for once, Granger, you’re wrong. This, my dear, is not a banana. It is, in fact, our department’s annual budget.” he opened his mouth, and ate a sizeable chunk of it. “That bite I just took? That’s what it costs for our everyday operations, salaries, what have you.”
Hermione winced as he spoke, the unswallowed slurry of mashed fruit still occupied his mouth as he spoke.
“This next bite?” he bit again, this time an even larger portion disappeared. “Is what the department is liable to pay for all damages and lost property caused by whatever mad beastie we’ve got to take care of.” As he chewed messily, he presented the small remaining portion that held the banana to the peel. “This inedible, tiny thing is all we have left for new initiatives.”
Hermione flicked through the pages of her report and presented the section on financials. “But, sir. I’ve outlined how the ministry itself could benefit from this. We’d actually be able to grow our budget!”
“Oh, enough already!” Gibbons tossed the peel, Hermione watched it land with a disrespectful splat right on the center of the page she was referencing. “We have few enough wands for the work we already just do as is. I’m sorry, but we can’t dedicate anymore time for anything else.”
Hermione pursed her lips and glared at her supposed superior. “Can’t or won’t?” She accused, “how do you expect us to improve any situation if you won’t - won’t - stop sitting down?”
Gibbons chuckled with a self-satisfied smile, leaned forward to get into Hermione’s face a little, “very well, then I’ll stand!” He abruptly left his seat, walked around his desk and made his way toward’s his office’s door. “Do let me know if you’ll be joining me for lunch. Either way, I’m sure I’ll spot you in the dining hall.” He tossed facetiously, while Hermione was left glued to her seat.
Immediately after recovering, Hermione rapidly built herself up into a huff. “Stand up, will you?” She roughly slammed the file shut, tucked it under her arm, and marched off. “Then keep standing. I refuse to have an indolent, arrogant monkey sit in that chair!” She stamped each foot with purpose towards the lifts. “Level one. Office for the minister of magic!” She practically scolded the magical elevator.
It was just too bad for the fired up Hermione that the receptionist guarding the Minister’s chambers like a particularly irate nundu would prove to be Madame Edgecombe. The same Madam Edgecombe whose daughter Hermione had disfigured back in fifth year, she remembered with a wince.
Given the stare Hermione received upon being recognized, this nundu held a grudge. “Can the minister help you?” Was her clipped greeting.
“Y-yes,” Hermione began with a momentary hitch in both her step and speech, “I was hoping to speak to minister Shacklebolt fo-”
“The minister is too busy for any unscheduled meetings,” Edgecombe interrupted.
Reigning in her rising temper, Hermione took a quick breath and pressed on. “Then I’d very much like an appointment at his earliest convenience.”
Barely tearing her eyes away from Hermione, Madame Edgecombe loosely leafed through a ledger and closed it shut just as quickly. “I’m afraid the minister will be unavailable for an extended period because of an internation conference for the ICW. It would be impossible to see him until he returns next week.”
Now, Hermione knew for sure she was being blown off. “That’s rather odd, especially considering he’s expected to attend a dinner at the Burrow this very Friday.” She called out the receptionist on her blatant lie.
Madame Edgecombe’s jaw clenched as she struggled to hold her already wooden smile. “What the minister does with his personal time isn’t something I’m allowed to be concerned about.” She said through grit teeth. “You’re clearly more aware of his schedule than even I, so I see there’s very little we need to discuss, no? You’re quite good at being part of these private little groups of yours, aren’t you, girl?”
Hermione and Edgecombe were practically mirrors of each other as they both scowled with equal intensity. Hermione knew she was absolutely willing and capable of arguing with this petty creature until the cows came home. But some battles were always going to be losing ones. “Fine!” And with that, she stomped away.
Entering the lift that barely had the chance to close its doors, Hermione slouched. “This day couldn’t be any worse.” She said to herself.
“Hopefully lunch will cheer me up.” Mind made, she made her way over to the ministry dining hall. With surgical precision, she filled her tray with a nutritious, balanced meal and turned to the seating area.
Gibbons was there with his usual band of simpering cronies, tucked away in a corner booth. Ignoring them, she surveyed the hall until she found him there; sitting alone at a four seater table hunched over his own tray of food. That cropped but still unruly nest of hair could only belong to one person - her Harry.
With all the confidence in the world, Hermione pulled back the seat opposite his, swiftly shifted herself into it and unceremoniously began her tirade against the injustice of this entirely awful day she was having.
Well used to the quagmire that magical bureaucracy entailed. Harry placidly and amusedly nodded along to Hermione’s diatribe. He’d joined a year earlier than her as an auror and very well appreciated that sometimes you needed someone to complain at. “And the gall of her! No wonder Marietta turned as awful as she is with a mother like that.” Hermione wrapped up with a hard stab at the last sliced beet in her salad.
Harry, meanwhile, took his fork, cut his chocolate eclair in half and scooped it onto Hermione’s plate. “Tough day I take it?”
Hermione gave him a look that said, really? “Like you wouldn’t believe.” But ultimately picked up and bit into the sweet offering.
“Eat chocolate, it’ll make you feel better.” Harry encouraged. Prophetically, Hermione’s mood improved with every chew. She reached across the table and shyly took his hand in hers.
“I’m so unbelievably glad we can talk like this again. I’m grateful for my last year at Hogwarts, but I really was ever so lonely without either you or Ron by my side.” Harry just smiled and squeezed her hand a little harder. “Too bad he left the ministry before I could join.” She said, a little irritated.
Harry shook his head. “He’s better off for it. Auror work really wasn’t for him. And I know George is much happier for having him around.” Hermione, still downtrodden, just shrugged. “He’s still waiting for you to take him back, you know?”
She denied that notion, “I won’t. Teaspoon full of emotion I can deal with, but Ron - when it comes to relationships at least - has the attention span of a goldfish. That’s not good enough for me. I love Ron, but I refuse to be in love with him.”
“Well,” harry sighed, but smiled and gently waggled their joined hands. “More Hermione for me I guess.”
An atomic blush immediately stole across her face. “Prat!” she bit. “Speaking of you, though, what exactly are you eating?”
Harry looked down at the array of dishes in front of him and thought he saw the problem. A variety of cakes, pastries and sweets, neither vegetable nor protein in sight. “I know it’s unusual for me. But they only serve treacle tart on Tuesdays, so I had to go with the lemon instead.”
“Oh, har har.” She rolled her eyes, but kept their hands together still. “You need to eat more than just sugar Harry, your diet is nothing short of horrific!”
Harry shoved another forkful of fudge into his mouth. “Don’t know what to tell you, Hermione. I’ve honestly just manifested this sweet tooth ever since my majority. Gets worse the more magic I use.”
Before she could dive in further to investigate, however, a raucous bout of laughter from a nearby table stole their attention. Hermione grimaced when she spotted the occupants of the table - mainly her boss, clearly pointing over at her and Harry’s direction as they made some probably crass or lurid jokes at their expense.
“What’s that about?” Harry asked, his gaze firmly locked on them.
“Just insufferable purebloods being who they are, Harry. Ignore them,” Hermione tugged at his hand to warn him off.
Harry broke her grasp and stood up. “No, I don’t think so.”
Hermione didn’t have a chance to object before Harry had already made himself known to the table of clowns. “Find something funny, gents?” Harry asked the table
The group of four purebloods or at least pureblood lickspittles whose names harry couldn’t be bothered to know said nothing. “.... None of your concern, Potter. Just some rabble rousing. We’ll keep it down.” One of them, a younger one who may have been a year or two ahead of him in school, tried placating harry.
Gibbons, who harry recognized by Hermione’s description of his outstanding ears, chose then to bravely speak up. “Leave us be, Potter. go back to your mu-” the younger man’s hand immediately clasped on to Gibbon’s mouth.
“Meal. Go back to your meal potter, please.”
“You can say the word, you know? I won’t take offense. You wanted to say mudblood, right?” Harry goaded.
“I beg your pardon, Potter!” The third man at the table voiced in indignation.
“Oh, don’t beg.” Harry sassed. “My mother was one too. So were a lot of brave people.” Hermione had come up behind him and tried to tug him away by his sleeve. He didn’t budge.
“It was a mistake on my father’s part, Potter. He’s sorry.” The young gibbon deflected, still keeping his palm securely over his father’s face.
“Wonderful. I’ll be happy to let every mudblood in the dining hall know that Georgie Gibbon is coming around to apologize to them personally for his abhorrent conduct, shall I?” Harry pushed.
The young man nodded, “yes, alr-”
“I’ll do no such thing! I refuse to waste any time on this filth.”
“Okay, then.” Harry shrugged. “You can waste time with some other filth.” Quick as a whip, Harry extended his wand and softly tapped Gibbon’s robes. “Portus.”
With a showy swirl and a loud pop, the man had disappeared.
“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed
“Potter!” a louder voice called across the room. Head auror Gawain Robards made himself known.
Harry tucked his wand away and stepped in front of Hermione. The remaining ministry workers in Gibbon’s booth cowered as Robards marched over to the crowd. “Boss.” Harry acknowledged.
“Where’d you send him, Potter?”
“I thought I’d show him what filth actually looks like. So I sent him to the sewers.”
All Robards could do was heave a frustrated sigh and rub his face. “Damnation potter.” He’d worked with Harry long enough to know that nothing he said would get through to him. He turned to Hermione and spoke, “I’m going to suspend him for the time being. Mind getting him home, Granger? Keep his nose clean till I get this mess sorted out?” The undertone of pleading was clear in his voice.
“.…Of course, sir. No problem,” Hermione replied woodenly. Her head swimming from the shock of Harry’s behaviour as well how uneventful it seemed to the rest of the diners as they immediately shifted back to their meals as if nothing had happened.
Back at Grimmauld, Harry sat contritely, arms folded and pouting long after Hermione had finished excoriating him. Who herself was now being successfully calmed via floo by minister for magic and order member Kingsley Shacklebolt. “This is merely par for the course, miss Granger, I assure. The ministry is an exciting place to work these days. Why, just last week, Griselda Marchbanks charmed one of our cherub fountains sculptures to follow and urinate on Mafalda Hopkirk for sending her granddaughter a misuse of magic warning!”
“See!” Harry whined at Hermione, who had her face buried in her hands.
“Oh, hush you!”
“Mister Potter, I am afraid, however, that you’ll be off the auror roster for the next week on full paid leave. I have advised Gibbons to resign from his position for breaching the new ministry code of conduct. We can talk about it more over dinner at the Weasley’s. I’m excited about going over your house-elf proposal as well. It’s an incredibly promising initiative. I have to run. The official ICW gobstones charity tournament is about to commence.”
“Okay Shack, thanks! See you Friday.” Harry cheerily called over Hermione’s shoulder.
“And Hermione, don’t worry about this any longer. We won a war, we’re allowed to have style!” With that ultimate statement, Shacklebolt’s face disappeared from the floo call fire.
“All’s well that ends well, Hermione,” Harry patted her shoulder.
“No, it certainly is not! My best friend was suspended, my boss lost his job, and I came out smelling like roses. I feel awful, Harry. How could this be any worse?”
“Well,” Harry’s tone was teasing, “at least we weren’t expelled.”
“That’s not funny!” She punctuated each word with a sharp rap of her first on his shoulder. “I feel guilty, so just let me wallow for a moment. Better yet, tell me how I can make it up to you.”
Harry was thoroughly fed-up with the pointless self recriminations. To his mind, there was no point tallying or keeping score even between them. The best arithmancy masters couldn’t count the number of times the trio had helped another at their own expense.
But he knew Hermione well enough to realize that the only way to get her to stop obsessing over one thing was to get her riled up about something else. And what better target than Harry Potter? “Make it up to me?” He caught her arms and flounced back in his chair. The sudden jolting movement causing her to stumble and land half on Harry’s lap.
“Yes! Tell me what you want.” She asserted.
“What if I said I wanted you then?” he pulled her even closer till their faces were just inches apart. Harry smiled. He could almost hear the steam coming from her ears. He’d pay for it now, but she’d thank him later for taking her mind off all this ministry nonsense.
She was quiet for a while. She looked away and ducked her head. Her arms felt weaker in his grip and he started getting worried he’d pushed too far. “if that’s what it takes…” she said meekly.
Harry refused to stay stunned for long. “You realize that’s not something I can deny myself, do you Hermione?” Suddenly her weight on him, the warmth of her body, didn’t feel so innocent anymore.
She still refused to look at him. He let go of her hand and brought to her face. She didn’t fight as he turned her face towards his. “Last chance. I won’t let you back out after this.”
She took a shuddering breath, he felt warm air tickling his skin. She brought out every ounce of bravery within her at that moment. “I want you to want me, Harry. Do you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” they could say nothing more. He pulled her into a searing kiss and lifted her up in his embrace.
She hung off him, smiling and returning his kiss even as she felt tears flow down her face.
“I’m taking you to bed.”
Hermione tried to look away, but Harry wouldn’t let her. Sweat had plastered her manic curls into withering vines across her forehead. She was out of tears by now, tracks ran down her light makeup, clashing and highlighting her luminous blush.
He’d locked her eyes to his, even as her head bobbed up and down the pillow with every thrust and fleshy clap of his pelvis meeting hers.
But he wanted to see even more. He pushed in as deep as he could and shifted near his full weight into her clutching folds. Hermione lost the battle with herself then, stifling groans broke into a shattering moan.
Her neck tensed with every strand of muscle; stretched her head further into the pillow underneath. Harry leaned even further in with a growl, unable to resist the temptation to taste the salty flavour of her skin there. He traced up and up till he reached her mouth. Harry had found by this point that Hermione lost control of her tongue in the throes of pleasure - both metaphorically and literally. He eagerly sucked the extended appendage into his mouth until he ended at her lips in a crushing kiss.
Her hands that were desperately clutching the damp sheets relented finally, and scrabbled instead to find some purchase on Harry’s back.
Harry was too quick for her, though, and grabbed her arms before she could. He took both her slender wrists firmly in one hand, rose himself off her body and on to his knees, and so forced her legs even further apart, and ultimately stretched her arms as far above her head as the bed allowed.
He halted their love making. As his chest heaved, he drank in her figure beneath him as Hermione writhed for more affection.
Her half lidded, glassy stare, her pouted lips that begged for his own. He trailed the flush of her cheeks all the way down to her quivering breasts; her upturned arms forced them high on her chest, as every shuddering breath she took forced them to sway in such a way that hypnotized Harry. Her nipples were hard and ached in need of sensation, the surrounding areola pebbled and puffy and swollen.
He raked his free arm down from her chest, a river of goose flesh chasing his touch in waves as his hand slithered down her rippling skin all the way to her soft pubes. His exploration ended with a soft rub of his thumb on her exposed clitoris.
With another harsh moan, Hermione lost patience and fucked into him. Trapped though her hand may be, but her legs, strong from years of climbing Hogwarts’ unending stairs, locked themselves across the small of his back.
Her desperate enthusiasm galvanized Harry. He’d thought he’d fucked her as much as she could take. But Hermione, as ever, had more to give.
He let go of her and fell back on his bum. Her locked legs prevented him from dislodging completely, but his member still popped out from her needy cunt with a loud, wet plop.
A mewl of discontent just barely whimpered its way out of her throat. She needed him, his touch. With the last vestiges of strength in her legs, Hermione pulled herself up, perched her arms on his shoulder and lined herself with his pillar. He swayed his hips then, smiled that infuriating smirk at her when she missed, and laughed when her arms gave out, dropping her full weight on to his firm chest. Her head lolled, she rested it on his shoulder; she gasped laboriously, sensually into his ear she whispered, “please”. So he moved.
He twisted his arms and broke the feeble grip her thighs had around his waist. She felt the steely muscles of his forearms glide over the tender skin of her inner thighs, his hands clawed at her cheeks, she felt herself spread part and lifted, a soft breeze fanning her molten womanhood. Then, mercifully, finally, felt his stiffness splitting her in two again.
Harry was manic to finish. He planted his feet firmly down, flexed his hips to get his length as deep as possible, and with his hands firmly, roughly clenching each cheek in hand, fucked his moaning Hermione on to his cock.
Harry watched himself exit and enter her with each hard pump. He saw the line where his member penetrated her at its deepest, her arousal polishing him to a bright sheen.
She was so tight around him, every twitch, every inch, caressing a fresh new ridge of soft wet flesh coiling around him - squeezing him in abject need for his own essence as hers coated him.
But her wonderful heat was what was sending him over more than anything else. Every piston punctuated with noisy wet slaps. Hermione clung to him like a limpet. The press of their bodies was sweltering, almost to the point of steam wafting off their welded flesh. Any moment he was outside of her roiling flesh felt like frigid agony.
He knew they reeked. That sour tang of hard labour and harder sex polluting the surrounding air. Yet Harry couldn’t get enough of it with every puff of air he inhaled.
“Hngh!” she came. With nowhere to move from his unrelenting grip, she bit down hard on his shoulder. Her legs above the knees straightened suddenly and violently. Harry saw her toes curl from his peripheral vision, almost moving in concert with her inner flesh that strangled him eagerly for his release.
A rumbling growl rose from his chest, hailing the powerful burst of his jism inside Hermione.
That electric shock of deep pleasure raced up his spine. Every locked and tensed muscle in his body suddenly relaxed as both flopped on to the soft mattress.
His legs began cramping, so he rushed to stand up. The pins and needles receded as blood returned to the rest of his body.
Hermione had laid her forearm across her brow as she relished in her climax. She observed him from under the shadow of her arm, noticing his still rigid state. Lazily, she spread her legs open in invitation. “More?” She asked.
Harry chuckled and shook his head. He shuffled over to her and placed a kiss on her waiting lips. “Get some rest. I’ll find us something to eat.”
Hermione just barely returned his kiss as her energy flagged and she lost her fight with consciousness.
It was the fragrance of freshly baked cake that woke her. Her stomach rumbled, and she felt pangs of hunger even over the pleasant soreness emanating from her roughly fucked pussy. She’d not finished lunch after all - not to mention their rampant loving.
Blearily, she searched for something to wear from the pile of tossed clothes. Snatching a top, she put it on while walking out of the bedroom, belatedly noticing how large it felt on her frame, to realise she’d stolen Harry’s shirt.
Trailing the delicious scent that beckoned her, Hermione found herself in the kitchen. The cake was there, put to rest on the counter next to Harry, who was diligently straining black tea into a porcelain pot. Harry, who wore a bright red apron and nothing else.
With quick little steps, she pressed herself into his back and looked over his shoulder to watch him prepare their snack.
She inhaled with deep contentment. “You’ll make me want to never leave like this, Harry.” A parade of light, fluttering kisses framed his shoulder to his neck.
He couldn’t help but smile. Putting the pot down, he turned around, ready to deliver the quip that came to the tip of his tongue. She moved back slightly to give him space. “A little evening tea after our afternoon delight.”
He saw her then.
In the warm yellow light of his kitchen, Hermione glowed. Her hair was a mess beyond the organized chaos it normally was. Her face was so relaxed, the lazy smile and soft eyes the most beautiful expression he’d ever seen on her. She was wearing him. His scent, his essence, his tattered, old shirt draped over her felt like triumph to him. The frayed collar on one side threatening to spill over her shoulder, so tantalizingly close to once more display her suckable nipples, that were even prominent even under the thick cotton, the hem just a sway away from exposing her most private part. Harry needed Hermione at that very moment.
Harry whipped the apron he had on off with a sharp tug. Taken aback by the sudden motion, Hermione watched as the flung apron twisted on itself before it could the floor, and hung itself on its wall mount in a curious show of magic.
Her attention brought back to Harry as his shadow fell over her. “Then don’t.” Looming, he said to her.
He held her waist, his grip on the shirt lifting it slightly, allowed his awakened member to greet her pelvis again. He guided her back a few steps till her bum contacted the dining table. Another tug at her waist, he spun her around and pressed down on her upper back.
She wanted to, and could have, said so much in that moment, but in the end, just bent over for him.
He stepped even closer to her, pinning her down. His fingers curled in to her own and
interlocked their hands on either side of her head. She felt as his hardness rested at her opening. “Wh-what abou-” Harry silenced her with a smooch, “haah, our tea.” She got out through the side of her mouth.
“It needs more sugar.” He prodded her moist opening with his head.
Her breathing was picking up with her pulse. She lifted one knee on to the table and climbed to the tips of her toes of her other foot to ease his access. “You really have developed a sweet tooth,” she gasped when he speared into her searing heat.
“You’re mine now, Hermione.” The clattering of the dishware signifying their rough pace.
“Take me!” she moaned with every bit of air in her lungs
It would take them a while to stop being hot and bothered, but by then the tea’d long gone cold.
