Title: Scenes From An Affair
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Hermione Granger/James Sirius Potter
Rating: NC-17
Length/Word Count: One-Shot, 3106 words
Warnings/Content: Infidelity, Cross-gen
Summary: Hermione knows it's a mistake. She knows she'll hate herself tomorrow, but she'd rather live with the regret of saying yes than saying no.
Notes: Written for gryffindorj as part of smutty_claus 2011. Extra special thanks to torino10154, graspthethorn, and samedy for all of their wonderful feedback while I was writing this.
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world I did not create. No copyright infringement intended.


Scenes From An Affair

It isn't something she planned on, but James just looks at her, really looks at her and she is helpless but to follow where he leads. She tries not to think about her husband downstairs or his father—her kids, all jammed in to the Potter family room to celebrate the last of the children leaving Hogwarts. She tries not to think of them when James guides her to his old bedroom and pulls her on top of him in his childhood bed. When James touches her, it's easy. Guilt and worry fade away until she only exists where his fingers are inside her, where his tongue flicks across her clit in expert strokes and she's only a moaning puddle of a mess begging for more.

But then she catches a glimpse of the trademark Weasley red hair and he flashes her a smile that has Harry written all over it, and she floods with guilt—but even that can't stop the orgasm building inside her.

This isn't something she ever planned on—this affair—but she can't seem to stop.

–

He lays spread out in the middle of the hotel bed, full of cockiness and charm, one arm crooked behind his head, his other hand wrapped around his half-hard cock, stroking lazily. Clearly James is counting on this being one of their longer sessions. Goodness knows he's proved he has the stamina of a healthy nineteen year old boy. That wasn't what attracted her in the first place, but it has definitely been a perk.

It was his smile that she'd liked the most, if she were honest with herself. It's what set her heart racing like she was a teenager again, the way his mouth would pull into a lazy grin, just the barest hint of teeth peeking out behind his full lips. Full of a kind of arrogance she pretended to find annoying, but that hadn't fooled him for long. He gives her one of those smiles now and though she turns to the dresser to try to block him out, his reflection in the mirror follows her. There is no escape.

“Are you coming back to bed?” It isn't really a question. He knows after a few moments of hesitation she'll crawl onto the bed beside him and take over his stroking with her hand or her mouth. He'll slide his hands over her body, caress the underside of her breast, drag his nails over one nipple just how she likes, dip his fingers into the crevice of her bottom teasingly, knowing how she likes to be filled in every which way. He'll joke about how she should invent a spell that he could use to clone himself so he could take her at both ends at once until she shuts him up with kiss. The talking will cease, her brain will quiet and all she will do is feel.

Knowing all of that, she still has to try. “We shouldn't do this anymore,” she says. She thinks about grabbing her clothes to make a point, but ends up just standing, staring at the vanity. She sees him frown in the mirror, but it's a token expression. They've had this conversation too many times for him to think she really means it.

“Just come to bed, Hermione.”

“I'm serious, Jamie.” She spins to look at him and the butterflies in her stomach are back, but it's not from one of his smiles. His face is slowly hardening. He's sick of going through this, she knows. Nearly every time they find a night for each other, she's tries to bring herself to end it, but he always breaks down any resolve she'd built up since the last time she saw him. He's too bloody good at it.

“I'm James. Jamie's a kid's name.”

“You are a kid. I'm your aunt.”

He swings his legs off the bed then, any attention paid to his cock long gone now, and stalks across the room to her until he's so close, she can feel his breath on her lips.

“Let's talk about this later.”

“What if your father finds out?”

“My dad? Funny how you care more about him finding out than Uncle Ron.”

Hermione closes her eyes at that. He's right of course. Not that it would make any difference. If one knew, soon they both would and it's too horrible a possibility to even consider.

Not that she hasn't before. Hasn't imagined how the conversation would go. The angry words she could handle, but the look in Harry's eyes, in Ron's—knowing she'd betrayed him—she couldn't go through that. They'd never come back from that.

But that doesn't stop her from sighing as James touches her shoulder and makes a slow path down to her elbow, doesn't stop her from leaning in as he slides his other palm around her waist. Doesn't stop her from parting her lips as he angles down toward her.

“This has to end,” she whispers.

“Not tonight,” he says. And then his tongue breaches her lips and her mind goes blank, free of the guilt and the terrifying what-ifs. She'll think about them tomorrow, but tonight she has him.

–

Hermione's standing at her desk when she hears the door behind her open, then close, and a whisper of a spell locking it into place. She knows it's James without having to look, and despite the fact that she should be annoyed that he's here, she leans into his touch when he comes up behind her and slides his arm around her waist.

“You shouldn't be here.”

His hand slips into her robes and he's already undoing the button on her trousers before she grabs his hand to stop him. “You're breaking the rules.”

“I can't wait until next week.” His voice is low and huskier than she's ever heard before and it floods her with desire. Her hand loosens and he's immediately undoing her zip. His fingers dip inside her knickers and she can't hide how much she wants him—wants this. His lips graze her neck, his other hand snakes inside her blouse and she curses the day she showed him just the right way to touch her. He knows now. He's always been a quick study when the subject matter interests him, which makes him an above average student in her classroom and a brilliant one in bed.

She's taught him the joys of taking it slow, but today he's impatient and she's grateful for it. She doesn't want to wait. It isn't long before her trousers are off and he has her positioned against her desk with one knee hiked up, his cock rubbing teasingly against her knickers. She wants to scream at him to get on with it, but instead curls her fingers into the wooden desk.

“What do you want, Hermione?”

There are rare times when she lets him be the one in control, and whenever this happens, he always makes her beg. It's the one thing she never had to teach him. She'll never tell him just how much it turns her on.

“Fuck me,” she whispers.

“What was that? I didn't quite hear.”

“Fuck me! Please!” Her entire body tingles with the force of her knickers being ripped to the side, then he thrusts into her in one deliciously hard go and she can't stifle her moan.

Hermione likes to keep their rendezvous limited to Muggle hotel rooms where they're unlikely to get caught. Despite the locking charm on the door, they're far too exposed in her classroom. Anyone could come by and catch them with a simple Alohomora—a trainee, a fellow Auror, or God forbid, her husband. But it's with this terrifying thought that she comes harder than she has in her entire life.

–

The mattress gives under her knees as she settles astride him, her thighs locking his hips in place. She feels a giddy sort of freedom as she drags her hands across his chest, fingering the ladder of his ribs, feeling his muscles ripple beneath her touch. She can't believe she's doing this here, in a seedy Muggle Travelodge. Merlin, she can't believe she's doing this at all, but with one look into Jamie's eyes, her doubt dissolves. She knows it's a mistake, she knows she'll hate herself tomorrow, but she'd rather live with the regret of saying yes than saying no.

Just once. Just this once. And never again.

Jamie's hands round her knees and slide up over her thighs. His cock is nestled between her legs; she feels it twitch against her and it makes her want like she hasn't in years. He looks at her like he wants to eat her whole. His hands roam her body in a greedy caress, sliding up her stomach to her breasts, grabbing and tweaking her nipples eagerly. He's sloppy, but she can't bring herself to correct him. It feels too good. She rolls her hips as she arches into him, sliding herself against his pulsing cock.

“Hermione—fuck—stop teasing me.”

“You should learn to take your time,” she says. She grabs his cock in one hand and strokes slowly, rolling her hips once more as she leans over. Her lips brush his and she whispers, “Trust me, it's worth it.”

“How 'bout I fuck you first, then you can teach me this whole 'taking time' thing.” He bucks against her and she lifts up just enough so the head of his cock slips inside. He lets out a hot breath against her mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. Hermione feels light as air, but thrumming like she's straddling a broom and zipping through the sky without a care in the world.

She sets the pace how he wants it—fast and hard. She knows he won't last like this, but he's young, he'll recover quickly.

And she'll teach him how to take it slow after. They've got all night.

Just tonight, she promises herself, and then she lets go.

–

“Hermione, you have to help me.” Jamie's pleading eyes stare at her from across the table. She's supposed to be helping Molly with Sunday night dinner, but as usual Molly has sent her to take care of the table settings, keeping her far away from the food.

“You know I can't, Jamie. It would be inappropriate.”

“I'm not asking you to help me cheat. Just help me practice. Duel with me.”

“I don't see why you don't ask your father.”

“He said he can't.” Jamie's mouth twists to a frown. “Said it was already questionable enough that he was one of the people deciding whether or not I got into the programme, and he couldn't help me prepare for the exam, but you can.”

“Jamie—I'm an instructor too-”

“But you're not an examiner. Dad said it would be OK.”

“He did?”

“Come on, please? My favouritist aunt in the whole wide world? Please please please?”

“Well...if your father said it's all right...fine. Let's do it now.”

“Now?” He looks taken aback, his eyes immediately drawn to her wand as she pulls it from her pocket.

“You've been practicing, haven't you? Show me what you've learned.”

The Burrow's back garden is plenty big for a dueling space and with a quick protection spell to prevent damage to the table and (if Jamie duels anything like his father) the back of the house, she's ready. Jamie's earlier nervousness is gone and there's a steel determination in his eyes that's equal parts Ginny before a Quidditch match and Harry when he's called out into the field.

A thrill goes through her. She's long been retired from active duty, preferring now to teach aspiring Aurors the intricacies of detecting spellwork and other investigating techniques. She doesn't get to duel often and wonders if she's too rusty to really test Jamie in the manner he needs, but as the first spell fires from his wand, her instincts kick in and it all floods back to her.

Jamie is good. His form is a tad sloppy and it's obvious from the start that he inherited the same lack of patience that his father has, but it still takes all of her energy to block his spells and she can hardly find openings to throw back a few of her own. But she's patient—that's always been her strength in dueling—and she watches him like a hawk, waiting for her moment. Beads of sweat spring up on his forehead and roll down his cheeks and neck; his arm flexes with each spell and he dives this way and that, trying to trip her, disarm her, make her legs wobble beneath her—he even throws his mother's patented Bat-Bogey Hex and that nearly gets through, but Hermione dodges at the last moment and finally she spies her opportunity.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she cries. Jamie's legs and arms snap together, his body stiffens like a plank and she just manages to cast a cushioning spell before he falls hard to the ground.

His eyes follow her movement as she approaches, and it's hard to interpret his mood since his face is frozen in an expression of surprise, but his eyes carry a mixture of disappointment and doubt and just a tad of that patented Potter determination coming back in to play. She has no doubt he's already planning on asking for a rematch, but embarrassingly, she's rather worn out.

“You did well. Certainly good enough to pass. You just need to work on your patience and concentrate a bit more on defense and not letting your guard down.”

He blinks up at her and she grins. “I suppose you'd like me to unfreeze you now? Very well. Finite Incantatum!”

The next moment she feels a wand against her leg, hears the whisper of a spell and before she registers the hex, she's tripped over her feet and falls directly on top of him.

“What was that about letting your guard down?” he says. Hermione manages to lift up enough to see Jamie's eyes dancing and any irritation she feels melts away.

“You know the duel was officially over,” Hermione says, but she's laughing now and so is he beneath her, and that's when she notices how their bodies are pressed together and she feels a distinct hardness against her thigh.

“Er, Aunt Hermione?” There's a line between Jamie's brows, ever so slight, as he looks up at her. He's got his mother's hair, but his face is all Harry. “Could you get off me now?”

“Oh yes, right!” She rolls off of him with a minimum of fuss and dusts the dirt off her robe as she stands. He does the same with his denims and she can see what she felt earlier, a hardness poking out near his zip. She shouldn't be looking; she knows this. He's probably terribly embarrassed already, and her staring at it will not help matters. But it's a bit thrilling to know she can still have that sort of effect on someone, even if it is her own nephew and it's probably just a product of teenage hormones. It's not as if it means anything.

“You don't have to be embarrassed,” she says, forcing her gaze upwards. He wrinkles his brow again and it's sort of adorable the way he feigns innocent. Surely he knows that she noticed. She hasn't exactly been subtle.

“What? Because you beat me in a duel? I let you win, of course.”

He flashes her that patented Potter smile and she shakes her head with a bit of a grin herself.

“No, I meant...” She's never been one to beat around the bush and she doesn't know why she's hesitating now. “It's perfectly natural. To become aroused. It doesn't mean you have any feelings for me, or even think I'm at all attractive. I know it's odd for it to happen with your aunt, but you're a teenager. I understand.”

“Aroused?” He doesn't look embarrassed to Hermione's relief, but she wonders if he's just in denial or would rather pretend it never happened. “Oh!” His face lights up, his mouth breaks into a grin and he starts to laugh, a natural glow highlighting his cheeks. “You mean this?”

He pushes a hand into his pocket and she's horrified at what he might do. She watches the outline of his fingers beneath the denim wrap around the hardness poking out. A nervous bout of butterflies explode in her stomach, then she sees him pull out something long and cylindrical. She can just make out the beginning of the word “Weasley” imprinted along its side and her cheeks colour a hot red.

“It's some new fireworks Uncle George gave me. I was going to set them off after dinner.”

“Of course. That will be lovely. A lovely lovely show.” Hermione straightens her robes. They're still off-kilter from when Jamie tripped her before and she can't seem to get them to lay right. “I really should get back to finishing the table now. But you did well. With the duel. Good job.”

Jamie stares at her. Hermione turns away, but to her consternation, Jamie slides up next to her.

“I'll help.” He picks up a stack of plates before she can protest and follows her around the table, laying them out one by one. They're both quiet. Hermione tries to think of some way to break the silence, but every time his arm comes within an inch of brushing her own, her mind goes blank and she forgets what she was going to say.

“It's not that I wouldn't.” They've reached the end of the table and James lays a hand on her arm. She peeks at him out of the corner of her eye. His face is flush, but his eyes are sparkling. “You're hot.”

“Very funny, Jamie.” Hermione wonders how long she will be the brunt of this particular joke. She squashes that little nervous tingle in her stomach and calls herself ridiculous. Silly misunderstandings usually never bother her the way this one does.

But Jamie cocks his head, his lips slide to a lazy smile and she can't control how her stomach jumps at that. She doesn't want to know why.

“Call me James,” he says. “Jamie's a kid's name. I'm not a kid anymore.”


-Fin-







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