Gentleman Wizard - H/R - R
Title: Gentleman Wizard
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Hermione/OMC
Rating: R
Words : 1000

OK, I had an hour to kill in a Starbucks, and I texted rosina_alcona for a prompt, and she said ‘garter, tubular, broad’ – serves me right for texting a librarian!


Gentleman Wizard
****
Hermione loved her post-war life.

She had her lovely garden flat in a Victorian house in Muggle London, where Crookshanks was the Top Cat in the neighbourhood.

And if the couple in the flat upstairs had regular, loud and enthusiastic sex in every room, well, she just turned Tubular Bells up on her stereo and ignored them. She’d never get Harry and Ron to keep quiet and had learned to tune them out.

So what if she didn’t have a sex-life of her own?

She had her work.

She was a librarian at the Ministry Library.

She loved her work, although some of the Ministry staff got on her nerves.

But not Tarquin.

Harry and Ron called him her Gentleman Wizard.

Tarquin didn’t have to work, because pater owned half of Oxfordshire.

Tarquin came in to the library especially to see her.

Tarquin brought her silly presents and sent her owls quoting Jane Austen.

Tarquin was adorable. Such a sweetheart. Such a gentleman. Or he was gay. Because they simply weren’t shagging.

“You’re still not shagging?” Harry had asked that morning, when he and Ron had Apparated down to her kitchen to purloin breakfast.

Hermione had tugged down the hem of the old, faded Chudley Cannons t-shirt she slept in and sighed. “I think he’s gay,” she’d pouted.

“Cheer up, Hermione,” Ron had said, through a mouthful of her toast. “Not all blokes who don’t sleep with you are gay, you know. Maybe he just doesn’t fancy you.”

Hermione had blinked and turned to look at Harry, who was regarding his life partner with disgust. He’d shrugged at Hermione and said, “While I am trapped by my saving people thing and am with this git to protect other, poor, unsuspecting witches and wizards from accidentally dating him, I think Gentleman Wizard is being a gentleman!”

A gentleman who had taken her away for the weekend in separate rooms. Parvati said that there just wasn’t any such thing as separate rooms, and had appealed to Padma for advice, as Gentleman Wizard was a Ravenclaw.

But Padma still blamed Hermione for Ron’s behaviour at the Yule Ball in their fourth year and just laughed.

Tarquin had invited her out for dinner again, but Hermione had had enough of holding hands in restaurants and had offered to make dinner at her flat.

OK, that meant Harry making dinner at her flat and making himself scarce, but Tarquin would be none the wiser. And in her flat. With the fire lit. And three bottles of red wine open and breathing.

They had finished their main course and two bottles of wine and taken their chocolate mousse over to the big, comfy couch in front of the fire.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her, snuggling up against Tarquin and eating her mousse in what she hoped was a sexy way. Ron had offered to give her tips, but Harry had caught her eye and shaken his head and she had politely declined.

Tarquin leant forward to place his bowl on the floor and sat back with an arm carelessly draped around her. Hermione smiled to herself and leant her head on his broad shoulder, sighing and closing her eyes, sure he would make a move now.

Tarquin squeezed her briskly and said, “I’ll help you do the dishes, shall I?”

Hermione managed to not roll her eyes.

“No, no, you’re my guest,” she said, leaping up to take the empty dishes into her tiny kitchen. And almost screaming when she found it already occupied by an eavesdropping Harry Potter.

“What are you doing in here?” she hissed, slamming the dishes on the worktop.

“Seeing how the date is going,” Harry whispered.

Hermione snorted. “The food and wine were lovely, Harry. And we’ve chatted like old friends. And I snuggled up to him on the couch, and he put his arm around me and offered to help wash up!”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes! I have wine, chocolate, a roaring fire and a plunging neckline – what else can I do to make him think of sex?”

“Leave it to me!” Harry said, eyes gleaming.

“No, Harry…”

“”Really. Go back in there.”

Hermione looked dubious, but turned back to the lounge and the dishy but anti-slut wizard on her couch.

“Hey,” she said, sitting beside him again.

“Hey,” he said, smiling down at her.

And then there was silence.

And then there was a loud moaning noise.

Oh, no.

“Oh, yes,” echoed through her ceiling and Tarquin flushed.

“Yes, there, that’s it,” improbably loudly, and Tarquin’s eyes slid away from hers.

A loud crash, two thuds and a, “Merlin, harder,” and Tarquin’s jaw clenched.

Well, that’s it, thought Hermione, he’s out of here.

Tarquin turned back to her and, as she opened her mouth to apologise, her words were smothered by his lips just as what sounded suspiciously like a “Who’s your daddy?” was smothered upstairs, as Harry apparently dragged an overenthusiastic Ron out of their lounge and off to bed.

And then Tarquin’s mouth was on her neck and she was lying back on the cushions and Tarquin’s hand was sliding under her skirt and up her thigh. And his fingertips were discovering stocking-tops and garters and smooth skin. And they slid inside her knickers and cupped her arse and he growled “Hermione?” against her neck and she gasped, “Yes.”

And he got to his feet and lifted her off the couch and she wrapped her legs round his waist and he squeezed her arse with both hands and carried her into the bedroom.

For the longest time, all she could her was the blood pounding in her ears and fragments of the words he whispered into her skin, and then he called her name and then there was just the sound of two people gasping for breath.

And then there was, “Yes, please, one more!” from upstairs and Hermione snorted with laughter into Tarquin’s neck.

He leant up on an elbow to study her and kissed her gently. “We owe a lot to your upstairs neighbours, you know,” he whispered.

“You have no idea!”