Chapter Text
The small bell above the door chimed softly. Hermione looked up from the counter, her fingers still curled around the spine of an old, weatherworn novel. She wasn’t expecting anyone this early — most mornings passed in a haze of small-town sleepiness, the people of Glenbrae rarely stopping in before midday.
In the doorway stood a tall, broad-chested man she didn’t recognize.
He looked mussed and rugged, like he’d walked a long way to get there — wind-tousled hair, a fine dusting of stubble along his jaw. His coat hung open against the chill, boots marked by the muddy roads outside. He looked like he belonged not in the clean lines of her bookshop but out in the wild, beneath grey skies and highland storms.
His eyes were a shocking green, bright and sharp against the muted colours of the shop. They reminded her of the sea glass she had just started collecting on the shores to send to her mother in London. His gaze swept the room, slow and steady, lingering for a breath when it caught on hers.
Hermione swallowed.
"May I help you, sir?" she managed, her voice more formal than she intended.
He winced as though her voice hurt his ears, or perhaps she imagined it, as he stepped inside and shook the rain from his coat.
"Perhaps," he said, his voice deep and rough-edged, the kind of voice that warmed low in her belly without permission.
She shifted behind the counter, uneasy beneath the weight of his attention. It wasn’t just that he was handsome — though Merlin, he was . It was the way he looked at her.
Like he was here looking for answers and she was the only one who had them.
He took a step closer, slow and a bit hesitant, as if unsure how to approach her. Did she look intimidating? She didn’t think so.
As he approached, her cheeks burned at his nearness.
She was still new to Glenbrae herself, barely a month since she’d opened the shop. If she was to make friends in this town, and she was determined to, she couldn’t very well melt over the first handsome wizard who spoke to her for Merlin’s sake.
She had come from such a lonely childhood, and fairly lonely adulthood as well, and she was ready to make—
He shrugged off his coat, and her breath caught in her throat. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing a shirt that clung to the lean muscle beneath, stretched tight over broad shoulders and a powerful chest. He looked like he could have been an Auror, or something just as dangerous — someone forged in fire and battle, with stories written in the scars she glimpsed along his forearms.
When he stepped up to the counter, his sharp green eyes caught the flush blooming across her skin. His mouth curled into a handsome smile.
"Morning," he said, his voice roughened at the edges, like gravel smoothed by water.
Merlin, this man might be the most handsome she’d ever seen.
"Good morning, sir," she replied, steadier than she felt. “Welcome in.”
His gaze lingered a beat longer on her face before sliding down her neck to her chest, where she adorned a small, diamond necklace she had found in her old jewellery box.
"New in town?" he asked.
Her lips twitched into a polite smile. "Is it that obvious?"
He glanced around the little shop, much of which she was still organizing.
"A little," he admitted. “How are you liking the town?”
“Oh, I just adore it!” She felt herself light up and, before she knew it, they fell into conversation. Small talk about the town, the weather, the kind of mundane, pleasant things strangers discuss to fill the quiet.
And yet, with him, it felt so easy.
The way he spoke, the way he listened, the way his lips curled into a crooked little smirk when she rambled about her stock list. It all made her heart flutter embarrassingly in her chest.
His eyes flicked to the books scattered across the counter. “Can I help you with those?”
She hesitated for half a breath, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.
"I was just… putting up some books.”
"Then allow me." Before she could protest, he waved a hand, and the books lifted from the counter on an invisible gust of wind. His wandless magic was beautiful, she looked on in awe, feeling a touch sad that she had never had time to master it after leaving Hogwarts early…
Her eyes widened as the volumes slid neatly into place on the shelf.
"Impressive," she said, arching a brow as she nodded toward the opposite wall. "But wrong shelf."
He smirked and let his gaze dip shamelessly down her body before rising back to meet her eyes. "Cheeky witch.”
He turned toward the rows of books, wand out and ready to assist. Hermione hurried to join him, pointing out exactly where the books needed to go, and to her surprise, he picked up her organizational system almost immediately. He lingered, helping her for a good portion of the afternoon as she served customers, quietly asking what else she needed done, how else he could help. Every time she thought he might finally leave, he asked for another task and truthfully, she kept inventing them.
An adjustment here. A shift there.
Maybe it was a silly schoolgirl thing, to keep a handsome stranger hanging around just so she could — well, gawk at him. But regardless, she did.
He was entirely too easy to look at, and it wasn't just his face, though Merlin, his face would’ve been reason enough. It was the way his sleeves strained around the bulk of his forearms, the way he moved with confidence around her. The adorable way a little line creased his brow in focus when he organized her books.
By late afternoon, the shop settled into a quiet lull. Hermione, unable to resist, decided to join him as he reorganized the more extensive section on Muggle Studies.
“Are you enjoying that?” she asked, catching him settled into the deep armchair at the back of the shop, a battered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard open on his lap.
He glanced up at her. "I am. It's a classic," he said, fingers idly trailing over the pages, a glint of fondness in them. "One of my best friends adores this book."
“That’s a children’s book, no?” she teased, lifting a brow.
He arched a dark eyebrow in return. "To some. To others, it gives advice."
She hummed and nodded. An odd bird, this man.
Without a word, he closed the book, set it aside, and stood to follow her as she moved to tidy a nearby display. As he passed behind her, his hand brushed low along her back — just the lightest touch, but it seared through her like a live wire. Heat bloomed beneath her skin, spreading in a flush down her chest, curling tight in her belly.
He smelled like rain and earth, clean and masculine, with something darker beneath —
Her pulse thrummed between her ribs as she caught herself looking over her shoulder to stare up at him, imagining the way his skin might feel beneath her palms. The tension in his arms, the veins of his forearms. She wanted, Merlin, she wanted to run her hands over every inch of him.
Had it really been that long since she’d had a proper shag?
She shook herself, utterly flustered, and moved to slide around him but he shifted at the same moment. She startled when he stepped squarely into her space. Her back brushed the bookshelf, and he came with her, crowding her in with his large arms on either side of her head.
His emerald eyes dropped to her lips for the briefest second, then back to her gaze, dark with hunger.
“Gods, you’re so gorgeous.”
The low timbre of his voice had wetness seeping out of her, soaking her knickers. His eyes burned into hers as if he could see straight through her skin to every thought in her head.
Hermione’s breath caught and she felt what she imagined it would feel to be Confunded. She opened her mouth, but no sound came. The man stepped closer, crowding her against the shelf, so close she could feel the heat of his body radiating between them.
“You’ve no idea, do you?” His breath brushed her lips. “What you’re doing to me.”
Her knees felt unsteady, her head swimming, hazy with lust. Merlin, she should shoo him away, tell him to get out of her space, but she wanted him closer, on her, and good Godric—
"I... I..." Her body didn’t seem to care about logic since her mouth didn't seem able to form words. Her pulse thundered at his nearness as her breath slipped from her lips in a soft, desperate whine.
"Your heart’s racing." His eyes flicked down to her fluttering throat and back up.
She swallowed, words muddled in the lusty depths of her brain.
“Do I scare you?” His eyes softened, just a breath, as he searched her face.
Hermione shook her head, barely, a tremble moving through her.
"No," she whispered. "You make me—"
“What, pretty girl?” He inched closer. "Do I make you wet?"
Heat licked up her spine, and she made a soft, involuntary sound in the back of her throat. His gaze dragged over her again.
"Fuck." His eyes lingered on her lips. "You want it bad, don’t you?"
Her head spun, hazy with want. Hermione Granger was never like this. Desperate, hungry, what on earth did this stranger do to her? She couldn’t seem to think past the throb building between her thighs, couldn’t think past him.
“Do you want me, gorgeous?” he asked, and as he spoke, he dipped his head low. His breath skated across her neck, lips ghosting over the delicate skin there.
"Tell me," he coaxed. "Let me hear you say it."
"Yes," she exhaled. "I want you."
A growl, low and pleased, rumbled from his chest.
"Good girl," he rasped.
The word good shot right to her cunt, causing it to clench tightly. His hands slid slowly around her waist, rough palms snaking over the curves of her Muggle skirt. He squeezed her arse like he was claiming her and she squeaked at the contact.
"I want to ruin you," he breathed against her neck, hungrier this time. "Want me to take care of that pussy, sweet girl? I’ll take such good care of you."
“Fuck,” She said, part-English, part-breathy whimper. Her body arched into him as he crowded her even more into the bookshelf.
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her throat. "Mmmm… needy little witch.”
This wizard, this strange, mysterious wizard, crashed his lips onto hers, hot and hungry and wet, claiming her with a desperation that bordered on savage. His hands tightened on her waist as he devoured her lips, his tongue sliding past her parted mouth like he owned it.
She moaned into him, helpless against the force of it, her body igniting under his touch. Her knees buckled, but he held her firm, pinning her to the bookcase.
"Fuck, you taste delicious," he growled between kisses, lips trailing down to her jaw, to her throat, where he bit lightly and soothed the sting with his tongue.
Hermione’s head spun, her fingers fisting in his shirt. She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her belly, unmistakably erect and large.
"Look at you," he pulled back just enough to take her in. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark and heavy with hunger. His knuckles brushed along her cheek, down her throat, lingering over the swell of her breast. "So fucking beautiful."
He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up until her gaze locked with his.
"Tell me," his eyes traveled a slow, deliberate drag down her body. "Is there a back room where I can get you…" His mouth curved into something wicked. "…a bit more comfortable?"
Her breath stuttered. "Yes," she managed, chest rising and falling. "There’s an office."
"Good," he said, his grip tightening just a little on her chin, forcing her to meet the fire in his emerald eyes. "But let me be perfectly clear, witch."
His gaze devoured her flushed face.
"If you take me back there… there will not be a single inch of you I don’t taste with my tongue. Do you understand me?"
She swallowed hard, a tremble running through her as a fresh wave of heat soaked her knickers.
This wasn’t her. Hermione Granger didn’t let strange, dangerous men into her bookshop and let them speak to her like this — command her like this. And she certainly didn’t imagine their hands spreading her thighs, devouring her—
"I understand," she whispered, her voice barely more than breath.
He smiled and, before she knew it, she was dragging him into her back office. When they tumbled into the room, he waved his hand, sending all of her belongings flying, and laid her down across the worktable gently.
She could see him clearly now — the way his dark hair curled messily over his forehead, the faint dusting of scars along his cheek and down the column of his throat. His body was built like something forged in battle, lean muscle and raw power.
She wondered if he fought in the Wizarding war, like she had, or perhaps he was an Auror.
Beneath his open collar, she caught the hint of more scars. His long fingers skimmed under the hem of her skirt, until they found the damp heat of her knickers. He pressed his fingers against the soaked fabric, teasing her opening.
“Fuck, you’re soaked for me already."
All that escaped from her mouth was a pathetic, needy sound.
“You like it when I talk to you like this.” His thumb stroked lazily over the damp cotton, teasing her folds beneath. "Makes you wetter, doesn’t it?"
“Y–yes.” Her hips arched into his hand, betraying her completely.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips as he hooked his fingers under the elastic, drawing her knickers down her thighs inch by inch. He ran his hands up her thighs, scrunching her skirt up around her arse.
“You wear this little skirt all day and expect your customers to behave?”
His eyes darkened as he tossed away her knickers and studied her glistening cunt. He crouched lower, letting his breath fan hot over her bare skin, teasing her with the promise of his mouth. A shiver raced up her spine and all she could think about was how goddam long it had been since she’d last had a cock inside her.
He rose to his feet and peeled his shirt over his head, achingly slow. Merlin fuck, his body. Her eyes roamed helplessly over him — the cut of his abs, the powerful shape of his chest and arms.
He caught her staring and smirked.
"Like what you see, witch?"
"You…" Her mouth went dry, words catching in her throat. Merlin, just speak. "You have… such a nice body."
His smirk deepened into something filthier, his gaze never leaving hers as he slowly, sinfully, dropped to his knees.
"My body is yours, and I’m more than happy to get on my knees and worship yours. All you have to do is ask.”
Quite a promise for a complete stranger to say to her while getting ready to—
Her thoughts were interrupted as his large hands found her thighs, sharply spreading her open like a book.
"Perfect." His gaze flicked down, wild at the sight of her glistening folds. "Fucking perfect. "
His eyes locked onto hers, an ache in her chest blooming that she couldn’t name. Spreading her open a bit wider, he leaned down and licked — never breaking eye contact — a long line through her silky folds. She whimpered and bit her bottom lip which only seemed to spur him on. Within moments, his mouth was laving at her greedily. Hermione cried out, her head falling back onto her work table as pleasure jolted through her like a live current.
He licked her like a man possessed, like she was his final meal on this goddamn earth.
His tongue flicked and curled, sliding deep between her folds, tasting her from her opening to her clit. She writhed against his mouth, clinging to her desk for dear life.
"That’s it," he said against her, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of heat spiraling through her. "Give it to me, pretty girl. I could be here all day. Could live between these gorgeous legs."
Her breath came in gasps, her thighs trembling in his hands as he devoured her, relentless and talented. His tongue knew exactly what to do — he found her clit, circling, teasing, flicking until her legs threatened to give out entirely.
"That’s it, love," he rasped against her. "Give it to me. Come on my mouth. I want to fucking taste you. Please—"
He sounded desperate now. “Please, fuck , let me taste you.”
Her thighs trembled around his head, her whole body coiling tight. She was moaning loudly, unapologetically, and a small part of her brain wondered if he’d thought to cast a silencing charm on the office.
“Turn that beautiful mind of yours off, witch.”
He squeezed her thighs in command as he plunged two fingers into her. How this man knew exactly where to touch her, exactly the way to make her go crazy. She screamed out as her cunt clenched around his fingers, tongue lapping at her clit. In moments, she shattered, her release crashing over her like a storm.
He coaxed her through it, lapping her arousal up greedily with his tongue. When he finally rose, his mouth was slick with her, and he looked down at her completely wrung out body on her desk.
Still breathless, she slid off the table and dropped to her knees before him, desperate to return the favor, to feel him against her tongue. But his hand caught her chin, rough fingers gentle beneath her jaw as he tilted her face up to his.
"Someone so beautiful should never be on her knees for any wizard."
"But, I-"
Before she could answer, he dragged her up, lifted her as though she weighed nothing at all, and pinned her back against the wall. Hermione gasped as his mouth crashed onto hers. He nipped at her lip as he ground against her, hard and thick and straining beneath his trousers.
"You feel this? You feel how much I need you?"
"Yes," she breathed, mindless. “Please fuck me, gods please—”
His roughened palm cradled her cheek, and as his eyes searched hers, the hunger dimmed, softened by something far more fragile. For a fleeting moment, she glimpsed vulnerability beneath the heat, a quiet, aching thing she never imagined could exist between strangers and she reached for it, letting herself imagine what it might be like to know this man...
"Tell me you want this," he sighed, his breath hot against her lips. "Tell me you’re sure, darling."
Merlin, was she ever.
"Please," she whispered. "Please. I… normally I wouldn't with... but… I want you so badly.”
That was all he needed to hear. A growl rumbled from his chest and his mouth crashed to hers in a brutal, claiming kiss. His hands were rough and greedy as he reached for the fastening of his trousers and stripped them down, tossing them aside.
Her eyes raked down the length of him, drinking in the thick, muscled lines of his thighs, the powerful cut of his hips and his large, deliciously large cock—
"So fucking pretty for me," he smirked, catching her hungry stare. "Oh, I’m gonna ruin you, my sweet girl.”
He turned his attention to her blouse. He pushed it from her shoulders, letting it fall away, then hooked his fingers under the waistband of her skirt and peeled it down her hips, leaving her bare and trembling.
“Fuck, look at you," he groaned, eyes dragging over her body. His hands came to her breasts, weighing them in his palms, thumbs circling over her pink nipples until they peaked tight under his touch.
"These perfect tits…" He ducked his head, kissing the swell of one breast, then the other, his teeth grazing lightly over her sensitive skin.
A shiver ripped through her as he worshipped her, as his filthy praise sank into her bones.
"You were meant for me. Every fucking inch of you."
He spun her in his grip, pressing her bare chest to the wall before she could catch her breath. Her hands splayed against the rough surface, and he reached around her, murmuring a charm under his breath. Magic thrummed against her skin, and her palms stuck to the wall, held in place.
“Did you use a sticking charm —?”
"Don’t worry," he said darkly, as he pressed her chest into the wall. "You won’t need to move for this next part. I’m going to take good care of this pretty little cunt."
She gasped as he nudged her legs wider, opening her for him completely, baring her soaked folds to his greedy gaze.
"Such a good girl," he growled, lining himself up behind her. "All wet and messy for me, that's it."
She felt the blunt head of him press against her entrance, teasing her just for a breathless moment and then he drove into her in one devastating thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Her head fell back against him, a broken moan tearing from her throat as he filled her so perfectly.
“Oh gods—”
“That’s it, darling, scream for me.”
He fucked her hard and deep, the rough slap of their bodies echoing in the quiet shop. His muscles flexed, the powerful lines of his arms bracing the wall beside her head. His hips snapped against her with relentless rhythm, driving her toward the edge with every thrust.
"You’re mine. Do you understand me?”
Her breath shattered into gasps, her nails digging in where they were pinned to the wall. She was unraveling, fast and helpless.
"Yes," she cried. "Yes."
His mouth brushed her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin, murmuring dark, sinful promises no stranger should—
“Fuck," he pressed his lips to her ear, hips still rocking slow, shallow thrusts into her silky heat. "Please, darling, can I come on your pretty tits? I need to see you painted with my come.”
"Yes," she gasped, without hesitation. "Merlin, yes — please ."
She wanted this. This man dug up a hungry, animalistic version of herself she didn’t know existed. But in her lust-filled haze, she knew she wanted to be covered with his spend. He murmured a quick charm, releasing her wrists from the wall. Her arms fell to her sides, boneless, as he scooped her up effortlessly.
“Fuck, you’re so desperate, witch.”
He carried her across the room and tossed her onto the battered old sofa in the corner. She landed in a sprawl of limbs and flushed skin as she stared up at him, wrecked and wanting. He followed, crowding her space, pulling her legs apart to open her wide for him.
"Come here, sweet girl," he groaned, lining himself up again. Sweat darkened the messy strands of his hair, dampening the planes of his forehead.
He drove back into her with a single, hard thrust.
"Oh god, oh Jesus-" She cried out, clutching at muscles of his shoulders as he set a brutal pace.
"That’s it," he grunted, one hand finding her slick folds, rough fingers circling her clit as he fucked her. "Take it, pretty girl. Take every fucking inch."
Her body convulsed beneath him as his fingers rubbed wet, frantic circles that sent sparks flashing behind her eyes.
"Need to feel you come again," he panted, sweat dripping from his brow as his muscles strained above her. "Need to feel you squeeze me tight, fuck — come for me, gorgeous."
Her back arched off the sofa, a strangled moan tearing from her throat as she shattered around him, pleasure crashing over her in a white-hot wave. He groaned deep, his rhythm faltering as her walls fluttered around him.
"Fuck — fuck, that’s it," he snarled, pulling out at the last moment. His hand wrapped around his thick length, stroking himself fast and hard, wild gaze locked on her heaving chest.
Thick ropes of his come painted her chest as he finished with a groan, collapsing softly on top of her. For a heartbeat, there was only the ragged sound of their breathing, the slick sounds of wetness on her thighs, until his hands found her hips. His palms caressed her tenderly, rough thumbs stroking the curve of her waist like he hadn’t just rough fucked her into the wall of her office.
Her mind spun through the events that just occurred. No logic could explain it.
A frown pulled between her brows as her dazed gaze drifted over him, over the wild, messy fall of his hair, the sweat cooling on his temples. She slid her hands up to his shoulders, pressing lightly, and he eased back just enough for her to see him fully. She took a deep breath, unsure how to kick a stranger out of her office.
“I should probably go back to work.”
His eyes flashed with desperation for a moment. "Don’t go yet. Please."
He leaned in slightly, his lips grazing hers ever so softly. "Let me stay. Let me spend the day here with you."
She felt his desperation in the tremor of his voice, in the way his fingers tightened slightly against her hips.
He wanted to… stay?
"Please," he whispered. "Let me see you again. Let me take you to lunch, anywhere you want. I just need…"
She caught his gaze, pinned it with her own, quiet and shy.
"Are you... are you sure? I don’t even know your name," she admitted.
His green eyes flicker with pain before he smoothed it away, brushing messy hair back from his forehead to reveal an interesting scar she hadn’t noticed before. It looked a bit like a Z or even a lightning bolt.
"Harry," he said. "My name is Harry Potter."
His eyes filled with inexplicable sadness and desperation as he asked. "And you?"