"Woman" Series, HG/AW

A Woman of Reality


Hermione started her new job at the Ministry on a crisp October morning. She breathed in the air and sighed before using the Floo to catch the morning rush to her job. As a caretaker for Magical Creatures, she wasn’t, per say, actually going to work at the Ministry, but from time to time she would need to go in for briefings, meetings, training and instruction from her new boss. Her position had been newly created and she had accepted on a whim. Anything beat her old job of shelving books for Madam Pince. After being accepted as the librarian’s apprentice with the intent of taking over the position, the older witch had made it quite clear she had no love for the younger witch that had made her life an annoying one while Hermione was a student there.

So with nasty little hexes spread throughout the Hogwarts library that would only respond to Madam Pince’s magical signature, Hermione happily strode through the large, ornate silver office doors to find out who her boss was and get her first assignment.

Arthur Weasley looked up from his desk and let his jaw drop for a moment before audibly clicking it shut.

“Uh, dub duh, uh, I mean, hello Hermione! What can I do for you today?”

Refusing to let her own consternation show, Hermione promptly strode forward and thrust her magical portfolio, job description, hiring contract with the Minster’s signature and pay agreement onto his desk and held out her hand.

Arthur belatedly rose and took her hand in his big ones, shaking it profusely and just a tad too long for professional comfort.

“Why are you here exactly?” he asked, flustered and still shaking her hand.

Hermione tactfully pulled back her own hand and clutched it to her chest as if burned. “I’m your new employee, I guess,” she finished lamely.

“Oh. Oh! OH! You’re the new… uh, magical creatures caretaker, is it? Yes. Well then.”

Arthur hemmed and hawed about his desk, clearing his throat and busily straightening out already straight papers, dusting imaginary motes off various baubles that adorned the edges. A picture of his wife was prominently displayed and in a very awkward gesture he opened a drawer and tactlessly shoved in inside, slamming the drawer shut before smiling at Hermione.

Hermione threw up her hands and sat down in one of the two large wingback chairs opposite his desk. It was a very pretentious office, very fitting for the current Minister who liked to do things on a grand scale including dolling up every office and surface in the place. It had cost a fortune in taxpayer wizarding money for all the upgrades, and Hermione had a fairly good idea who was behind much of the financial support judging by the Pureblood statues and frescoes lining the corridors.

Arthur continued smiling at her like an idiot, a small tic at the corner of his eye the only thing giving away the fact that he really felt like a small, furry animal about to be eaten alive.

“Arthur, what are we doing?” she asked bluntly. She hated these stupid games they played in public. It wasn’t as if she were fucking him in front of the entire world, was it? No. They had been intimate exactly twice. So what was the big deal? Well, for one, he was married, and it obviously made him uncomfortable to be around her. Just another failed shag, she miserably reminded herself. He probably couldn’t wait to send her out on assignment to be rid of her.

After another long, thick silence Hermione huffed and stood. “Well, if you have my assignment Mr. Weasley I’ll just be going.”

Arthur put his head in his hands and pulled them down his face slowly. He rose and pulled his wand from his suit pocket and flung it at the door, closing it with a clatter and warding it so he would be aware if anyone approached, but not keeping them from entering the room.

“Hermione, look-“

“No!” she retorted defensively. “I get it. You- you’re ashamed to be seen with me. What we did- what we had- no, what I thought we had between us. Oh bloody hell; I’m saying this all wrong.” She turned with her back to him to gaze out the window at the cerulean blue sky, not a cloud in sight.

Arthur was stunned but quickly recovered. Is that what she thinks? Oh Circe, no wonder this is so bloody awkward!

“It’s not like that at all! You’re everything! I mean, I have felt more alive when I’ve been with you than I have for years, Hermione! Great Morgana, I could never be ashamed of you my dear. I lo—oh shite someone’s coming.”

The wards flickered a light green and faded out. Hermione panicked and did something so uncharacteristic neither she nor Arthur could comprehend the purpose of it until later, accepting it was one of those things that were simply meant to be. She dove under Arthur’s ginormous desk to hide.

With a flourish the Minister for Magic Jacob Malfoy preened into the office. His long blonde hair was reticent of the Malfoy line, but his severely narrow features were decidedly not. The bastard of Lucius Malfoy had flourished in the limelight his self-proclamation and subsequent blood test that had shocked wizarding Britain had produced. Surely such things were common occurrences- bastards of purebloods, but no one had the arrogance to come forward and claim such a thing. Jacob had even had his name officially changed to Malfoy, which couldn’t be legally contested so long as he signed a no claim deed against the Malfoy Estate and heir-ship. Which he did gladly, simply happy to have taken on the name.

Well, times had surely changed and the new darling on the social scene had no Death Eater past to hold him back. For all the potential promises of riches, the young man had become the youngest Minister in a century, a real rags to riches story considering he was owed nothing by the real Malfoy’s under law, and had since acquired multiple business ventures with pure Slytherin guile and quite a few naïve or gullible groupies.

Pretentious robes and all, Jacob practically floated to one of the chairs and seated himself with all the pomp and circumstance of the wanna-be elite.

Arthur bowed stiffly to the much younger man. It should have been his seat, but the hateful young peacock had usurped it from under him with pretentious posturing and political meandering that had stolen the foolish hearts of the general populace. Lies laced with acid had been swallowed whole under the guise of shite-smelling roses. No one wanted to hear Arthur Weasley and the miserable truth. They were sick of the war and everything to do with it.

No, what they had wanted was a fresh face, and with Jacob, it was the best of both worlds. The young man had won in a landslide, firmly capping Arthur’s chances at the top seat for at least two more years. Arthur doubted he would have a chance at winning until it was too late and Jacob had run the country dry. At that point, he wouldn’t want the job anyway, cleaning up the muck the git was leaving in his wake.

“Ah, Minister, what pleasant circumstance brings you to my fine office?”

Jacob straightened the already straight folds of his robes, the lines crisp and clean. “Ah, yes, Mr. Weasley. I’ve come to inform you that there will be an official inspection of your department. It seems the Auror department and the department for Magical Records are teaming up to root out corruption and misappropriation of Ministry facilities. It is expected the inspections will provide a twenty percent reduction in budgetary costs by cutting out unnecessary and nefarious expenses.”

“Ah yes. Word had reached the staff room of the inspections beginning yesterday.”

“Very good. Please, Arthur. Do sit down. You drive me insane when you stand and pace like a commoner.”

Arthur frowned and sat, unnerved by the unstable man in front of him and nervous at the prospect of having a past paramour under his desk. It made for a tight-rope like experience that he was all too eager to have said and done.

Jacob began droning on about various drivel that inevitably drove Arthur to tears. Every week the git wandered from office to office just to hear himself speak. Jacob liked to call it, “Keeping in touch with the common man,” and made a habit of being the most detested Minister in history, save a few select ones in recent history under Voldemort and Grindelwald.

Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, Arthur was beginning to wonder how Hermione was able to breathe properly under the desk when he felt pressure along his knee caps. Confused, he clasped them more tightly together but gasped when a slight burn touched the inside of either knee.

“Are you quite alright?” asked the rambling Minister, frowning at the interruption.

“Yes, ah, fine. Do continue!” Arthur smiled tightly, the best plastic face he had ever perfected frozen in place.

Nodding slightly, Jacob continued his incessant babbling.

Arthur’s knees were pried apart and a colored patch of honey-brown plaited hair was visible between them. Small fingers quickly released the placket of his trousers and had his cock pried from the Y-fronts in record time. He stiffened, the plastic smile doing its job worthy of a Muggle Oscar performance.

Hermione grinned lasciviously up at the poor man as she took his cock into her mouth and licked the slit of his cock with the tip of her tongue.

Arthur’s hands gripped the edge of his desk, the force of his grip turning his knuckles white as the sweat began pouring down the back of his neck, soaking and staining the white lawn undershirt layer of clothing. He nodded at random intervals, hoping and praying Jacob wasn’t noticing anything amiss. As it was, the other wizard only glanced at him on occasion while he ambled on monotonously and picked at his ragged nails no real Malfoy would have ever been seen in public with.

Now raging hard, the naughty witch had the entire thing in her mouth and down her throat. Fighting the urge to groan, the red-haired man struggled with the urge to come hard into her mouth and hold it back so he didn’t give both of them away. She was so fucking wet and tight in that puckered mouth, those fuck-me lips smearing lipstick up and down his cock like a two-bit hooker.

Oh shite he was going to come and there was nothing save an Avada that was going to stop him, and even that was suspect.

Making a face like he was having a stroke, Arthur’s balls tightened viciously in his damn Muggle tighty-whities and he felt her suction strengthen in force, milking him dry right in front of the Minster for Magic.

And that bastard Jacob chose that exact second to look up when Arthur jerked his hips forward, slamming the top of Hermione’s head against the underside of his desk as he grunted his completion.

A suspicious frown formed on the man’s face. Something was definitely amiss. “Are you sure you’re quite alright, old chap?” he inquired once more, studying his lackey for signs of further distress. If Arthur was ill he wanted to be nowhere in the vicinity. It wasn’t good for his complexion.

Arthur was sweating freely now and he took a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket to mop his face somewhat dry. He stammered an apology and excuse. “Ah, oh ah, so sorry Minister Malfoy. You know, come to think of it, I’ve been working rather hard lately and I could do with a rest. Seems I might be coming down with something, so I think I’ll just be off and back in the morning.”

Instantly covering his nose with the sleeve of his robe, Jacob Malfoy stood and backed slowly away from the desk. Darting his eyes about the room, the man practically stumbled in his wake to get away from Arthur and the supposed contagion.

“Mr. Weasley, why don’t you take the rest of the week off. After all, the Ministry wants its employees to be in top form. Yes, well turrah and here’s to a speedy recovery!”

Arthur tried to assure the man that he was feeling better already but Jacob had turned on heel and ran from the room.

Frowning in consternation, Arthur helped Hermione up from her position from under his desk as he finished tucking away his jolly roger.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do Hermione,” he scolded, but his heart wasn’t in it. Once again she had given him one of the most incredible blowjobs of his entire life. The thrill of discovery had added to the intensity and even he had to admit it was a bit of a turn-on.

“You liked it,” she smirked, wincing at the bump on her head before cleaning the last bit of semen from her chin where it had dribbled down.

Arthur felt his cock twitch at the sight. She was wanton and lovely, her hair mussed and robes wrinkled for that freshly-fucked look. Gods knew, if anyone walked in at that exact moment they’d know exactly what she’d been up to.

The adoration in the man’s eyes was all the confirmation Hermione needed to bolster her flagging spirits. He still wanted her, and the ball was in his court. If she played her cards right, he’d play right into her hands, and waiting arms. And then she’d never let him go.