I. Anger

Hermione rarely ever let herself get well and truly hacked off. But she was now. Her dearest friends, the ones that knew her, they knew enough to get very far away when her eyes flashed just so, when the color spread across her cheeks. Only her husband could approach her when she got hacked off, but that wasn’t even a guarantee that he would come out of it unscathed. It was often joked amongst themselves that Ron was the easiest to hack off, Hermione the least, but whereas Ron’s temper would fizzle like a small flame in a pouring rainstorm, Hermione’s temper ran deeper that the deepest currents in the ocean. All because of innocuous statements made by witches that had far too much time on their hands.

It shouldn’t bother her, she thought to herself as she strolled – no, she stalked - down the Diagon Alley. The whispers, the more-than-a-second looks, it really shouldn’t. But it did. "Why hasn’t she gotten pregnant yet?" they would whisper. "If it were me, I’d have already given him three children." Her teeth gritted tighter, the anger peaking again. She longed to turn around and tell them that it was truly none of their business, but she and her husband did not, at this time, feel ready for the responsibility of raising children. They were barely six years into their marriage, she wanted to scream. But that, she decided, would be giving them the ultimate triumph. So she stayed silent, seemingly impervious to rumors and speculation.

Sliding through The Leaky Cauldron, she whipped off her work robes, adjusted her peach blouse slightly, folded and put her robes in her ever-present purse, and exited into Muggle London. Taking a deep breath, she felt free to let the anger show freely upon her face. There was really only one place to go to make her calm down enough so that she would not make her husband shy away from her, wondering who provoked her ire. Hailing a taxi, she gave him precise directions to where she wanted to go. Cracking open her purse, she shifted through everything that was inside and checked her wallet. It had been a mere three days since she and her mother had gone shopping, and as she counted, her mood began to lift a little. She had more than enough Muggle money to purchase almost anything she wanted. Leaning back into the seat, she tapped her unpainted fingernails against her leg and wished, just for a moment, that she could Apparate.

II. Excited

The matronly shopkeeper immediately brightened when she saw Hermione pull open the door. “Hermione!” she called.

“Good afternoon, Alice,” Hermione returned, trying for just as enthusiastic, but she knew that she had fallen a bit flat.

“Oh no, what’s wrong? Did you have a fight with your husband? Or that lovely young man that you always have to drag out of here?”

Hermione felt her lips twitch upwards. “No. I didn’t fight. It’s just talk and rumors.”

Alice Miller’s wrinkled hands clasped around Hermione’s. “Don’t let it get you down. Rumors will pass, as will talk. But I think I know just the cure for a wrathful mood.”

Hermione grinned. “You got it?” she asked, far more excited now.

Alice’s brown eyes twinkled. “Hold on just a moment, dear.”

Now she was so excited she could barely stand still. The aged smell of vinyl was always a treat for her, and she allowed herself the small look around, checking to see if anything had changed. The monthly poster had changed, but that was it. She had been coming into this shop since she was a child, and she never tired of it, or of Alice. Her father had introduced her to music, ensuring that his passion would continue in his only child, and the weekly trips she and her father made to this very shop were always special memories. When her friends and extended family discovered her love of music, not one of them could believe it. She was too bookish, too prim and proper, too... Hermione to listen to the music that she loved.

Alice reappeared, two albums in her hand. Both were sky blue, and her excitement rose. As Alice reverently laid down the albums, Hermione breathed out a soft sigh of pleasure. Her hand hesitantly rose to hover over the albums, almost afraid to touch them. But she did, finally, and she smiled.

“How did you find these?” she asked softly.

Alice smiled in return. “It wasn’t easy, you know, finding two of these. I connected with a seller in New York City, and he shipped them to me. I received them yesterday, and I was about to give your parents a ring when you walked into the store.”

Hermione grinned. “I’m very glad that I have good timing, then.”

“Will you be wanting one of these wrapped and shipped to your father?”

“No, I think I’ll take them both and give him a surprise.” Hermione reached into her purse and drew out a handful of bills. “How much do I owe you for them?”

Alice grinned and named a very reasonable price, given the rarity of the albums. Hermione was all too happy to pay it, even as part of her winced at the price, saying that it was far too extravagant. The larger part of her brain told that voice to shut the hell up. Alice pulled out a plastic sack and a sheet of newspaper. Gently wrapping the albums in the newspaper, she slid them inside the plastic sack. “Here you are, Hermione. Be sure to tell those two lovely young men hello for me.”

Hermione grinned. “I surely will, Alice. Thank you so much for the albums.”

“My pleasure. Do stop by again!”

Hermione waved as she sailed out the door.

III. Bored

Harry Potter did not take well to boredom. He stared out of the window, his fingers idly tapping on the wood of the kitchen table. He was waiting for his wife to get home, so that they could continue with their plans to go out for dinner that night. It was the anniversary of their first date, and he always surprised her with a gift or a special night.

Looking at the clock, he sighed and tapped his fingers again. The Boy Who Lived was waiting at his kitchen table, his plans altered because of the one witch that had him wrapped around her little finger. Another five minutes, and he was casting the locator spell on her. He didn’t like it when she was out this late, even though he had seen first-hand that she was more than capable of defending herself.

And the clock ticked on. He sighed.

IV. Sad

“Mummy?” a soft voice asked, tugging on her skirt.

Hermione looked down, startled to see a little black-haired girl, her large brown eyes watery, the lower lip beginning to tremble as she realized that Hermione was not her mother. Hermione felt her face soften as she squatted down to the little girl’s level. “I’m sorry I’m not your Mum. Are you lost?”

The little girl nodded, her eyes beginning to trail tears.

“What’s your name?”

“Sarah Michelle Edwards,” she immediately replied. “Where’s Mummy?”

“Let’s see if we can find her,” Hermione said gently, trying to remember how to talk to children. “Where were you last?”

“I- I- I just wanted some ice-cream,” Sarah confessed in a near-whisper, her tears beginning to flow more rapidly. “And when I went back to where Mummy was, she was gone!”

Hermione rand her hand down Sarah’s hair. “Don’t cry Sarah, I’m sure that she hasn’t gone far. In fact, I’m certain that she’s quite worried about you. Shall we go back to the ice-cream place and try to find her?”

Sarah nodded and held out her hand, just as she had been taught.

Hermione reached out and took the tiny hand in hers, feeling a pang of envy for Sarah’s mother – just for a moment. Going back down the street to where the ice-cream shop was, Hermione could see a woman that looked eerily like her, holding several bags, looking about frantically.

“Sarah? Sarah, where are you?”

“Mummy!” Sarah shouted, breaking away from Hermione’s hand to run to her mother.

Sarah’s mother dropped every single bag and held out her arms for Sarah to run into.

Hermione strolled slowly up to the reunited family, smiling a little. It hurt, sometimes, it really did.

Sarah’s mother looked up. “Oh thank you for finding her!”

“It was no trouble, Mrs. Edwards. Sarah mistook me for you, so I brought her back to where she last saw you.”

Mrs. Edwards had unshed tears in her eyes. “Thank you, truly. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.” Reaching out, she took one of Hermione’s hands in hers. Hermione squeezed them softly, offering comfort. “Thank you again, Miss…?”

“I’m Hermione,” she said simply.

“Sarah, thank Hermione.”

Sarah smiled. “Thank you Miss Hermione.”

Hermione smiled down. “You’re quite welcome, Sarah.”

As the mother and child moved off, Hermione’s smile fell from her face, a blue tone beginning to color her mood. If only...

V. Happy

Once back in Diagon Alley, Hermione decided to skip her usual walk home and just Apparate. Appearing in the kitchen, she startled her husband quite badly. Her mouth twitched up. “I’m home,” she announced simply.

Harry smiled. “What took you so long?”

Hermione shrugged. “I had to calm down before I came here. Sorry, love.”

He placed a soft kiss on her lips. “It’s all right. I just worry.”

“I know.” Her hand tightened on the plastic sack, causing it to make a distinctive sound.

He looked down, his curiosity snagged. When Hermione brought home music, she always played it at the first available opportunity. “What did you buy?”

She grinned, the elation surging back through her. Dropping her purse on the table, she gently took the albums from the sack, setting it behind her on the table and unwrapped the newspaper. She proudly held out one of the albums for Harry to inspect, setting the other back inside the plastic sack.

“Buckingham/Nicks?” he read off curiously. “Who are they?”

She sighed quickly. “Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, Harry! *Before* they became part of Fleetwood Mac! Do you know how *rare* these albums are?”

“Oh!” He replied, finally making the connection. “Wow. This is going in our ever-expanding collection? Or are you giving it to your father?”

Hermione grinned. “That’s why I bought two of them. One for us, and one for Dad.”

He grinned in return, moving forward to place a happy kiss on her lips. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re the brightest witch I’ve ever known?”

She set the album down on the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Not today,” she replied.

He grinned. Dinner could wait.

VI. Loved

Hermione could tell that his mood had gone from worried to aroused in mere seconds, and as usual, his excitement only sparked off the burning embers inside her. Watching those brilliant green eyes turn darker, feeling the muscles bunched under his skin, rubbing against that delightfully hard bulge, all of it – all of him – turned her on. Six years married hadn’t sated their thirst for each other, and he could still turn her on with just a look.

His not-so-prim-and-proper Hermione. Just his.

His hands smoothed down her back until they reached her arse. She had quickly discovered that Harry was an arse sort of guy, while Ron much preferred breasts. His hands pulled her sharply against his body, stealing her breath. She would have gasped for air, had his lips not been pressing against hers. Air? Who really needed to breathe anyway? Certainly not her.

Time wasn’t measured in minutes, but in the brush of a hand, in a soft sigh or a pant for air, the soft words that floated over them, Harry whispering naughty things to her, telling her exactly what she did to him. Moaning a little, she arched her back, feeling his hands go up and tangle in her hair, pulling out the six pins that held the still-bushy mass up and out of the way. Their acute fire was already burning out of control in her body, Harry’s hands helping it along.

“Oh gods, Harry…”

He grinned and pulled up her skirt, trailing his fingers along her old-fashioned garter belt, up to her satin knickers. Sliding his clever fingers past the elastic, he found her, hot and wet. Grinning wolfishly, he looked at her face, watching her tilt her head back as pleasure winged through her.

“More,” she demanded, her voice husky.

“How much more?” he teased.

She opened her eyes and steadied her head, since it felt like it had been stuffed full of bees, it was buzzing so much. “Back me up against the wall, Harry James Potter, and fuck me,” she said slowly and deliberately.

Harry grinned, his hands going to his belt to loosen it. He loved it when Hermione told him exactly what she wanted, using as few words as possible. It had certainly shocked him the first time she had said the word ‘fuck,’ but now, he had come to enjoy it. He took her by the arm and led her to the most convenient wall, and then nearly shoved her against it. Her skirt was bunched around her waist, and between the two of them, they managed to get her knickers off, as well as his trousers.

Fitting his body against hers, he pressed his lips to her already parted lips and thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers sliding through his coarse hair. Breaking off from their kiss, he nibbled his way down her neck, unbuttoning her blouse as he moved down. His hands cupped her breasts, his fingers lightly rubbing her nipples through the satin. Her back arched into his hands, a moan echoing around the kitchen.

“Now, Harry. *Please.*”

He could do many things – save the world, face down murderers without blinking, fly about like a madman – but he could not refuse his wife. Especially when she was half naked, an enticing blush stealing across her cheeks, and her voice. Dear God, her voice turned him on like nothing else in the world. Trailing a hand down, he found the back of her knee and lifted one leg, and then the other. Her legs hooked themselves around his waist, and her breath was nearly sobbing out.

Close, but not close enough. His fingers were there, driving her mad, his finger knowing just how to circle her clit. Arching her hips toward him, she cried out. “Oh gods, now, please Harry…”

Steadying himself with one hand, he backed just enough away from the wall for gravity to pull her down onto him. He watched her, as he always did. Her lips parted, her back arched, and her eyes closed, always. When her eyes opened again, and she smiled, he moved. Pulling out and thrusting back in as much as he could, he listened to Hermione’s pants for air in his ear and felt her nails clawing at his back through his shirt. Keeping her in place with his body, he grabbed one of her hands and brought it down to where they were joined.

“Rub,” he hoarsely demanded. His hands were busy trying to keep them stable against the wall.

She opened her eyes, the normal brown of her eyes nearly swallowed by the black of her pupil, and bit her lip. Rubbing her clit softly, she whimpered at the sensations, her remaining hand on Harry’s shoulder curling tightly. In another stroke, she was rubbing her clit with a firm pressure, just how she liked it. Two more and she screamed for the first time.

Harry would have grinned. No one knew that his wife was a screamer. But he was too intent on getting his wife to come to bother grinning.

When she did come, her back arched so sharply she nearly unbalanced them, and she clenched so tightly around him he could have sworn that he saw stars. As he came, he did a little bit of shouting himself, and the last thing he could clearly remember was the sense that his knees were weakening…

Hermione blinked. Her back was cold. Looking around, she saw Harry collapsed on top of her, his breath still irregular, and she suddenly realized that the table had not grown. She had shrunk. “Harry?”

“Hmmm?”

“We’re on the floor,” she pointed out.

He blinked and looked around, his spectacles briefly flashing in the light. “So we are. Want to get up?”

She sighed. “No.” And then she smiled.

He grinned down at her, pressing his lips against hers. “I love you Hermione Jane Potter.”

She grinned back. “I love you too, Harry James Potter.”

-fini