Week 7

Secret.

Neither told a single soul. They didn't mention it during their daily conversations or hinted at it while amongst friends.

They continued on as usual - spending an afternoon together, getting take out or going to see a movie, but more often then not, the evenings ended with Harry and Hermione in bed.

Or Harry pinned to the floor in Hermione's sitting room.

Or Hermione up against the wall in the hallway.

Both found themselves late to their respective Christmas dinners, swearing they'd never slip again, or else they'd accidentally disclose to their families what they were doing.

Hermione had to hide numerous love bites. Harry needed to cover up scratch marks.

They spent the early hours of the new year locked up in Hermione's bedroom, sheets strewn across the floor.

The celebrated Hermione's work anniversary first on her small loveseat, then on her bed, and repeated the celebration on her dining table.

They had sex. They fucked. They shared intimate details and dealings and buried away each other's secrets.

Like the way, Hermione shivered when Harry dragged his teeth down her throat or how she liked her hair pulled.

Or how Harry wanted to try being blind-folded every now and then or whenever he asked her to hold his wrists down to the bed.

Secrets. Sex. Just the two of them.

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1

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0

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Until it wasn't.

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