"Woman" Series, HG/AW

You fans are going to be the death of me. I have written more fic in the last week than god knows in how long! And look at me! I have college homework to do! Finals, people! Stop the insanity, calgon, take me away!

So thanks for the rockin' reviews. This fic is to tide you peeps over. I have another fic I am going to post soon, a finished 6 chaptered challenge fic called Days of Future Past. Stayed tuned for that! Also, Christmas Soldier is coming along nicely, only 2 chapters to go before that is done!

R&R and I update sooner! (bite me if I wasn't supposed to say that. I wuv reviews!)


A Woman of Passion




Arthur left the Ministry on a Friday evening whistling. He had to admit; post-war life was agreeing with him. He had only two of his children left living at home, soon to be one and only if Ginny didn’t accept a proposal from Harry soon, and his wife was busy with some neighbor’s new babies, thus keeping out of his hair for a change.

Oh, and the bit of fluff on the side by the name of Hermione Granger.

A twinge of guilt surged through him and he faltered mid-whistle. Surely, he hadn’t begun to think of the brilliant, gorgeous young witch in such blasé’ terms? Yet there it was. Arthur didn’t whistle anymore but made his stride more purposeful. Reaching the trinket shop right around the corner, his firm, fatherly hand pushed the door open and was greeted by the tinkle of bells welcoming the arrival of customers.

He’d never been in this particular store before. Colorful faux beads hung in a catty-whompus way from the ceiling. He had to dodge the glittering plastic ornaments that caught the sunlight from every direction, nearly blinding him in his haste to avoid their unavoidable clutches. Batting them away, a bright, cheery voice greeted him from beyond the annoying veil of baubles clutching and catching in his suit coat.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

“Yes, ah, yes if you would be so kind as to vanish a few of these – things- I’d be ever so grateful.”

With a swish and a flick the unknown witch freed the poor man so he was able to finally make out the nature of the shop.

“How do you do?” Quite pleased with himself for remembering the Muggle formality, Arthur hefted a strange-looking item in his hand and turned it around several times before putting it back on its pedestal.

The middle-aged witch sashayed from around the counter to stand quite close to him. She watched him perusing the stock nearest to where he was standing with a puzzled expression on his face.

Not deigning to answer his original question, she merely studied him curiously.

Arthur was surprised to see the witch standing so close. As he took a step back she followed a step forward.

“Ah, miss? Madam?”

“Madam Lovel.”

“Madam Lovel.” Odd name, that. “ Yes, well, ah- what is the nature of your shop?”

“Pardon?”

She now stood so close the front, colorful swirls of her loose blouse were giving him a headache. An almost indistinguishable scent crept into his large nostrils when he inhaled sharply at the sight of her bosom tips pressing lightly against his belly. Offhandedly he mused somewhere in the back of his brain that she was mighty short for a witch.

Clearing his throat loudly and willing himself to look into her eyes and not at her chest, he repeated himself with a hint of desperation.

“I asked, ma’am, what is the nature of your shop? What manner of items do you sell? Do you have anything that might be of interest to say, uh-“

He was going to say a young lady, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. In fact, if he had simply stated his business she wouldn’t have. It was a big, toothy grin that greeted him at his hesitation.

“-of interest to a young lady, perhaps?”

He nodded and then shut his eyes tightly and shook his head emphatically. “Yes! I mean no! I mean yes! No! What I mean to say is-“

Giving the flustered man a wink and a nod, she curled one very short, fat finger toward him with a nail over an inch long painted in blood red polish.

Free of her disturbing bosoms, Arthur gingerly stepped through the messy shop like a puppy on a leash. It amazed him how small the place seemed to be yet how much stuff was crammed into the place. Rather like his own home. He shrugged, vowing to go on a cleaning spree that weekend. Arthur had way too many Muggle do-dads to ever tinker with in his or the next generation’s lifetime. Perhaps if he was able to sell them he could buy Hermione something really nice……

Nearly crashing into the witch, he caught himself on an overhead beam as she gazed almost adoringly at a plain, non-descript looking wood box. It had scratches and scuffs all over it and didn’t look like anything special. The woman gingerly picked it up and reverently handed it to Arthur. He stared at it blankly and then looked up at the shopkeeper.

“This?”

She nodded and tried to hand it to him but he took a step back and scratched the back of his head, making a bit of a face. “Um, well, you see. I was really looking for something, um, well, more.”

He held up his hands and gritted his teeth, hoping she wouldn’t be offended by his refusal of her suggestion.

On the contrary, the witch reached out a hand and took hold of one of Arthur’s larger ones. He allowed her to turn it over and run the pad of her thumb over the various lines gathered in criss-cross patterns throughout the lay of his palm. Fascinated, he watched as she scrutinized something of seemingly great interest before breaking his reverie.

“Mr. Weasley, you have a very long life line, right here.” The stout witch traced over a line intersecting with several others but traveled down and off to one side.

Resisting the urge to shrug, Arthur instead continued to dutifully follow where she traced another bit that intersected his life line.

“You have many children.”

He grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

She studied him without a smile. “There are not many witches and wizards with families as large as yours. It has taken a great deal of love, time and courage, not to mention resources to raise them. You must be on top of your game, Mr. Weasley, for the children not yet born will prove to be the most challenging of the brood.”

“What?” He blinked a couple of times.

The witch smiled. “This is a surprise to you, yes?”

He nodded and indicated toward his palm. “How many?”

“Total?”

“Yes.”

A closer squint and she smiled. “Ten.”

“What?”

The witch wrinkled her nose. “Sir, I assume you heard me correctly. Nothing is written in stone, but I have even more rarely seen such strong intersections along a palm. It is very clear these souls are meant to be.”

Wisely keeping his opinions to himself, he patiently waited for her to continue. It wasn’t what he’d come in here for, but as long as she was on about it he’d indulge his own curiosity.

“There is a long love line with two very distinct branches. The second one branches here-“ Again, she indicated. “Between the seventh and eighth child there is a crossover and a distinction of separation. Perhaps your new missus, hmmmm?” she teased.

Arthur’s face grew red and he stammered an apology, snatching his hand back from the strange woman.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I really must be going.”

“Of course.” She plopped the ugly little box into his hand. It was light and curiously warm and smooth, like ivory, to the touch.

“No charge.”

“What?”

The woman simply smiled and sashayed back to the other end of the shop, placing her round apple-shaped behind on a small stool that groaned in protest under her weight.

“I have fulfilled my purpose for today. You may go, and may love find you wherever you may go.”

“What am I to do with the box?”

The witch’s eyes seemed to glitter strangely and Arthur flinched. It was almost as if she were having an internal debate on whether to answer his question. Finally coming to a decision, she pursed her lips once more and cocked her head to one side.

“You do with it as you wish. I am only the Keeper. When it is time, I pass on the treasures that tell me with whom they wish to travel.”

Arthur shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense, if you’ll beg my pardon.”

Once more the witch hopped off the stool and seemed to be in front of him instantly.

“It is not for you to know or understand. Simply follow your heart, and the rest shall follow. Now, Arthur, I have no further information for you unless you beg my ire. It is closing time and I am quite busy, as you can clearly see.”

Rudely turning from him, she ignored his incredulity as his feet carried him to the door. Duly chastened, the confused wizard looked from the box in his hand and back over his shoulder to the gypsy woman with his back to him.

“Good day then, madam.”

With a tinkle of the bell and a creak, he stepped out into the street and was aghast to find night had fallen. How much time had passed while he’d been in the shop? The entire exchange had only seemed to have taken ten minutes at best, but here, when he looked at glowing numbers from across the way in another store, he saw it was close to midnight. Molly was going to be furious.

Spinning back around on his heel, Arthur gasped to find an Italian restaurant behind him with a “closed” sign tacked onto the front door. The little shop was nowhere to be found. And how had she known his name? Stranger things had happened, he mused. He tucked the dubious treasure into his robes.

Turning into his cloak, he Apparated on the spot back to the Burrow where he endured a full hour of berating before he was finally left to curl up in his own, separate bed with a plain, empty brown box in his grip and the image of a brilliant, vivacious young witch writhing beneath him in his dreams.

----

It was brisk when Arthur managed to find the time away from Molly’s honey-do list to make it to Hogwarts. Arthur liked to privately call it the honey-don’t list, as it usually prevented him from going anywhere besides puttering about the Burrow. He was an absolute master at puttering. Exceled at it.

With his arms loaded with shrunken bags, he was relieved to see Hagrid and unload some of his parcels into the half-giant's arms, delivering them to the Muggle studies instructor. It pleased Arthur to not only be cleaning out his storage space, but it also ticked another item off his to-do list and Molly couldn’t say shite about his trip to Hogwarts, despite her grumbles and admonishment that he not stop by Hogsmeade for a drink or three.

Hagrid dragged the poor man down to his hut for some Meade and rock-cakes, regaling Arthur with tales of the latest creatures he’d saved or encountered and his trip back to his mother’s people to revisit the few friends he’d made while there during the war. Arthur was trying very hard to come up with an excuse to skive off when the perfect opportunity walked through Hagrid’s front door.

The sun couldn’t have rivaled the way Arthur beamed at Hermione when she came in holding a shivering, baby Kneazle. The little creature was crying piteously and the fur was sticking up every which way, caked with mud with bald patches.

Hagrid was on his feet in an instant. “Well, ‘ermione! Where did ya get that? An let’s take a look at the little feller.”

Hermione handed him over to Hagrid and smiled almost shyly back at Arthur.

“I found him down on the far side of the lake. I was taking some food to your Hippogriff and to check up on her pregnancy when this little thing caught my eye. She was sticking halfway out of a submerged log and the giant squid couldn’t quite reach her from the position of the log.”

Hagrid wasn’t really listening, by now already getting a small basin of warm water for the poor creature and speaking in low, soothing tones.

“Are you alright if I leave her with you?”

Hermione cleared her throat and rocked onto her tip-toes and back to her heels but didn’t receive an answer. Grinning, she knew that meant yes, so she turned to Arthur and extended her hand.

“Walk with me?”

Gingerly setting aside the horrid Meade and rock cakes, he chanced a glance at Hagrid before slipping out the door with Hermione.

“Thank you!” he breathed when they were out of earshot of the hut.

“For what?” Her small hand fit so nicely in his and she liked the way he wrapped his all the way around hers, swinging it back and forth like old friends.

“For saving me. Don’t get me wrong, Hagrid’s an alright bloke, it’s just-“

“He drives you nuts. I know, you don’t have to tell me. He could talk the ear off Rita Skeeter.”

They both laughed and fell into an easy stroll.

Chatting about nothing and everything, they simply enjoyed one another’s company for a time, finding themselves at the far end of the lake whence Hermione had come.

“Want to see Esmerelda?”

“Who?”

“The Hippogriff.”

“I don’t know Hermione…..”

Arthur had had a run-in with a Hippogriff in his fifth year. He had a small scar on his arm where he’d barely pulled away from its razor sharp beak. Another split second and he’d have had a prosthetic.

“She’s gentle as a lamb. Come on, Emmy’s cute, if a bit grouchy when she’s pregnant.”

What was it with witches pulling him into situations he had no business being in?

Arthur had wanted to give Hermione the box, feeling that it was the right thing to do, but it was so plain and ugly he kept it securely shoved deep in the folds of his robes and followed her instead.

Hermione picked up a bucket of foul-smelling dead meat after donning a pair of heavy work gloves. With a grin she tossed one of the dead animals to the ravenous Emmy, who in all her pregnant glory, wolfed it down whole and begged for more. Hermione obliged her with two more. Its raucous cry echoed across the lake and she laughed freely.

God how he loved listening to her laugh.

“Now now, Emmy. Don’t be a greedy pig or we’ll have to put you on a diet.”

The Hippogriff just squawked at her again before stretching out its magnificent wings, closing them before folding its legs underneath to lie down for a rest.

“Isn’t she stunning?” Hermione breathed, almost to herself.

“She certainly is,” he murmured, staring at the witch in front of him and helpless before her. He would do anything for her. Hippogriff and box forgotten, he moved forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his chin on top of her head.

“Hermione….” He began, but trailed off. Instant doubt churned inside of him and right away he pushed down what he had so impulsively wanted to tell her. Now was not the time. Hell, it would never be a good time. As long as he remained married to Molly he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. That would make it real, and this wasn’t real. Even though he knew it was. It was just, well, complicated in a delicious and painful and wonderful and awful way.

“Arthur?” Her chin turned to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of his face but he stood a full head taller than she. She was rewarded with his better than five o’clock shadow scratching through the top of her French braid.

“Yes, love?”

“You were going to say something.” She loosely held her hands over his splayed across her robe-covered belly.

“Was I? Oh, it was nothing I’m sure.”

“Hmmmmm…”

So they just stood and enjoyed one another’s company while observing Emmy preen and snuffle herself clean. Her belly almost seemed to flop and shift as the beast attempted to rub in the dirt for a dust-bath but squawked with indignation when it couldn’t get over its fatness to do so.

The pair watching laughed at the hilarious antics.

Hermione could feel Arthur growing hard against her but didn’t want to break the magic of the moment. It was so nice running into him at one of their favorite places. By now all the students would be back from Hogsmeade and heading to the Great Hall for supper.

Arthur began rubbing small circles over her stomach, sending a small thrill of anticipation through her. She let her head fall back against his chest and he stooped a bit to capture her lips in an awkward kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her mouth and she answered with an audible sigh, just a whisper of breath against his own exhale.

Oblivious to any prying eyes, Arthur picked her up and waggled his eyebrows at her when she squealed.

“Hey!”

“Hay is for horses.”

“You, you- ooohhh!”

Arthur endured her fake punches and protests as he took her a little way into the wood and lay her down on a soft bed of pine needles.

“We haven’t much time. I wish I could do all the things I’ve been dreaming about.” He pulled off his robes as she struggled out of her own.

“You’ve been dreaming about me?” She felt flattered in an odd sort of way. Hermione had accepted that what she was doing was wrong but justified it by telling herself that he was the one committing adultery, not her. And if the old bitch couldn’t take care of his needs, than she would. And she did.

Arthur’s breath caught at her chestnut curls peeking from over the top of her skimpy knickers. It never failed to make him harder than he’d ever been.

“I dream about you every minute of every day. How could my blood not run hot at the sight of you?”

He rushed her before she’d had time to get all of her clothing off. Arthur wanted to make love to her in her knickers and bra. It was so sexy and he’d wanted to try all sorts of things he considered exotic or taboo. With his own trousers still on he undid the clasp and with her help, pushed them down around his knees.

“Want you,” she murmured into his shoulder when he plucked at the crotch to her knickers and pushed them to one side. The head of his prick was right there, sliding to gather the ample moisture on the tip and lube up her cleft from clitoris to backside.

“Gods, Hermione. You are everything.”

He thrust home and it was like seeing the truth for the first time. The perfect fit had him aching to come. Oh, how he wished he could take her as often as he was able, at least for a little while so he could feel sexually sated for once. Although she satisfied him, he was quickly hard and wanking again soon after their encounters. If anything the illicit sex made him more insatiable. Where he figured a wizard his age ought to be slowing down he actually found himself randier than ever.

“More, I need to feel you. Move inside of me, oh god yes!”

Arthur’s cock seemed to rub over the sweet spot inside of her she could barely reach with her own fingers and often strained, hurting herself in the process with her vigorous masturbation sessions. It was so good to have his long, thick member pulsing inside of her. She wanted every fucking inch of him to blow its pearl payload deep, coating her with its viscous embrace.

Arthur could already feel her walls tightening and he moved his hips so they ground over her clit in succession. Her knickers edge was scraping against his cock as he moved in and out and the added friction made his forehead bead with perspiration as he struggled to hold on through her orgasm.

Hermione bit her lower lip and buried her head in his chest, her nose tickled by the sparse hairs that feathered his freckled skin. She grunted and moaned as quietly as she could, a stark contrast to the loud slapping of the hard wizard’s ball sac against her perineum.

His thrusting sped up and became desperate. Once again he couldn’t hold back as he felt the ecstasy escape inside of the warmth that promised deliverance from his daily misery. Arthur so desperately want to shout that he loved her, that she was everything and always would be. Instead he settled for wrapping his arms under her and burying himself as completely into her depths as possible until the last shudder was torn from his body and he collapsed to the side of her, pine needles sticking to them everywhere.

His breathing harsh, he managed to grunt out, “-have, have to go, love. Getting late.”

She gave him an affirmative nod, still too breathless herself to reply coherently. A few careless flicks of his wand had his pants on backwards, tie wrapped around one arm and his shirt over his jacket.

Hermione doubled over with laughter, choking when the air ran out and she was caught between mirth and mayhem.

With a goofy smile her lover fixed his little mistake and pounded her on the back until she quit gasping and was breathing normally.

“Oh my god! Don’t ever do that to me again!”

“I like making you laugh, Hermione.”

Their countenance became somber in a heartbeat and they reached for one another, that last, desperate kiss that made either heart clench with sorrow, as parting is sweetly such.

“Hermione-,” Arthur tried once more, but the words fell from his lips when a swirl of black cloak faded from his line of vision to the far right corner of his eye. Turning sharply, his wand at the ready, his actions had Hermione on her feet and in her clothing second to nothing.

“What is it?”

The tense silence was broken by his harsh, hurried whisper. “I saw someone. We must go.”

The pair melted deeper into the forest before Apparating to their separate, lonely lives where the other only lived in daydreams and bouts of deja’ vu when unexpectedly coming upon another couple in the throes of new love, holding hands or kissing with tender devotion.

And a man in swirling black robes sneered, bending down to pick up a nondescript, rather ugly and worn wood box. It was warm to the touch and smooth like satin or ivory. Although it seemed to be innocuous, Severus Snape knew there were many magical objects that were much more than their bland exterior. The general rule was the more plain and ugly it was the more powerful or unusual it usually was.

And if Arthur Weasley deigned it important enough to have secured it to his person, it did, indeed warrant further query.

One could almost see the wheels turning within the glittering, bottomless black eyes of the Potions master as he leisurely made his way to the dungeons and a warm hearth and Firewhiskey to ponder over this new little mystery and the juicy little tryst amongst two of the most unlikely candidates he’d ever come across.


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A juicy mystery, indeed.