"Harry!"
The voice hit him mid-stride, so familiar and so utterly wrong for this place that Harry's feet stopped moving before his brain caught up with what was happening.
He turned, already hoping he'd misheard, already constructing scenarios where that voice belonged to someone else, anyone else, but no. There she was. Hermione Granger, standing in the middle of the Ministry's crown jewel of economic recovery, waving at him with that slightly awkward enthusiasm she'd never quite grown out of.
For one desperate second, Harry let himself hope. Maybe she was visiting. Maybe she'd come to drag him out of here by his ear and lecture him about the ethical implications of commodified sexuality. Maybe she was here to tell him off for participating in this madness, which would be so perfectly Hermione that he could almost hear the speech already forming in her mind.
Then he saw the badge.
It was pinned to her chest, gleaming in the warm light of the district, the same official Ministry seal that marked every shopfront and every witch who worked here. Certified by the Ministry of Magic Economic Recovery Division. The words seemed to pulse in his vision, his stomach dropping like he'd missed a step on a staircase.
And then he actually looked at what the badge was pinned to.
Hermione was wearing something that couldn't possibly belong to the Hermione he knew, a top that dipped so low between her breasts that Harry could see the inner curves of both of them pressing together, soft and full and straining against fabric that seemed to be holding on for dear life. The material was a deep burgundy that clung to her like a second skin, emphasising every line and curve of a body that Harry had never, not once in all their years of friendship, seen anything close to this much of.
His brain stuttered and stalled.
Her tits were incredible. Full and perky and pushed together by the cut of her top into cleavage that made his mouth go dry, the kind of cleavage that demanded attention and rewarded it generously. When had her body filled out like this? She'd always hidden herself beneath baggy robes and sensible jumpers, always deflected attention away from her appearance toward her intellect, and Harry had somehow never noticed that underneath all that fabric was a figure that belonged in his most private fantasies.
His gaze dropped lower before he could stop himself, tracing the curve of her waist where the top gave way to a skirt that hugged her hips and arse in ways that should probably be illegal. The skirt was short, shorter than anything he'd ever seen Hermione wear, and it showcased legs that went on forever, toned and smooth and making his cock twitch with sudden, desperate interest.
And her arse. Merlin, her arse. He couldn't see it properly from this angle but the way the skirt clung to her hips promised something spectacular underneath, and Harry's hands twitched at his sides with the sudden, mad urge to spin her around and confirm what he was imagining.
Hermione reached him, slightly out of breath, her cheeks already flushed pink, and Harry realised with a jolt of guilt that he'd been staring at her tits for an inappropriately long time without saying anything.
"Harry," she said again, softer now, and there was something in her voice that made his chest tight. "I wasn't sure if you'd be back today. Some of the other girls said you'd been by, and I kept hoping I might run into you, and here you are."
"Hermione." His voice came out strangled. "What are you... why are you..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. He already knew why she was here. He knew about Ron, about the gambling that had started small and grown into something monstrous, about the debts that had accumulated faster than either of them could handle. He knew about the divorce, brief and brutal and finalised three months ago. He'd sent them gold more than once, trying to help, and Ron had burned through it like it was nothing.
Hermione had told him repeatedly afterwards that she considered the remaining debt personal, that she owed him, even though Harry had never once thought of it that way. He'd tried to give her more, tried to just clear the whole thing and be done with it, but she'd refused with that stubborn set to her jaw that meant she wouldn't be moved.
And now she was here. In the district. Wearing a Ministry badge and an outfit that made his cock ache.
"Don't look at me like that," Hermione said, and there was a hint of her old sharpness in her voice, the Hermione who didn't take anyone's pity. "I know what you're thinking, and I don't want to hear it."
"Hermione, please." Harry forced himself to meet her eyes instead of staring at her cleavage, which took more effort than he wanted to admit. "Just let me pay off the debt. All of it. You know I can afford it."
"That's not the point." She crossed her arms under her breasts, which had the unfortunate effect of pushing them up and together even more dramatically, and Harry's gaze dropped again before he could stop himself. "I'm not a charity case, Harry. I'm working. I'm earning. I'm paying off what I owe on my own terms."
"It's not charity, it's—"
"It's exactly charity." Her chin lifted stubbornly. "You've already given me money. Multiple times. And I've told you I consider that debt mine to repay, even if you don't see it that way. This is how I'm doing it."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione was already turning, gesturing for him to follow her down the street. "Come on. Let me show you my shopfront."
He followed, because what else was he going to do? His eyes dropped to her arse as she walked, and sweet Merlin, he'd been right. It was spectacular. Round and full beneath that tight skirt, swaying with each step in a way that made his cock throb against his trousers. The fabric clung to each cheek like it was desperate to show him exactly what she was working with, and Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to remember why he was supposed to be upset about this situation.
Her shopfront was exactly what he would have expected from Hermione. Clean and modest compared to some of the more ostentatious displays he'd passed, with actual books on the shelf behind the counter and a small vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill. It looked almost cozy, and Harry felt a strange ache in his chest at how perfectly it suited her.
The price list was mounted outside in the standard Ministry format, and Harry's eyes scanned it automatically before stopping on a line that made him almost laugh despite everything.
Slytherins pay double.
"Hermione," he said, pointing at it. "Really?"
She flushed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Old habits. Besides, some of them can afford it."
Harry looked at the rest of the list, and the reality of the situation slammed back into him. These were prices. For sex. With Hermione. His best friend. The girl who'd stood beside him through everything, who'd saved his life more times than he could count, who'd held his hand at Dumbledore's funeral and helped him bury the dead after the battle.
She was selling herself for knuts and sickles.
"Harry." Her voice was soft now, and when he looked up she was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "I know this is strange. But I need you to treat me like any other witch in the district. That's the only way I can do this."
"I can't just—"
"Yes, you can." She stepped closer, and Harry caught a breath of her perfume, close enough now that he could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Her tits were right there, mere inches from his chest, the cleavage deep enough that he could imagine burying his face in it. "You've been with other witches here. Lavender told me you came to see her. And Tracey mentioned you stopped by yesterday."
Harry's face burned. "That's not... I didn't..."
"It's fine, Harry. That's what the district is for." Her hand came up to rest on his chest, warm through his shirt, and Harry's cock twitched hard. "I just want you to treat me the same way. Let me work for it. Let me earn what I make."
There was something in her voice that made Harry's throat tight. Something vulnerable underneath the determination. She needed this, he realised. Not just the money. She needed to feel like she was worth something, like she could stand on her own after everything Ron had put her through.
"Hermione..."
"Friend price," she said quickly, before he could finish whatever he'd been about to say. "Half off. You can fuck me for eight knuts."
Fuck her. For eight knuts. Hermione was offering to let him fuck her for less than the cost of a Butterbeer.
And worse, so much worse, his cock was responding to the idea with enthusiastic approval, hardening rapidly against his trousers at the thought of being inside her, of feeling those incredible tits pressed against his chest while he buried himself in her cunt.
"Eight knuts," Harry repeated, his voice strangled. "Hermione, that's... that's nothing."
"It's half price. Friend discount." She smiled, but there was uncertainty in it now, a flicker of insecurity crossing her features. "Unless you don't want to. I understand if you don't see me that way. We've been friends for so long, and maybe the idea of—"
"It's not that." Harry cut her off, his heart pounding. "You're gorgeous, Hermione. You're fucking gorgeous. But I'm not paying you half price for sex. That's ridiculous."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean if we're doing this, if you won't just let me give you the gold, then at least let me pay full price." The words came out before Harry fully processed what he was agreeing to, but once they were out he couldn't take them back.
Hermione stared at him, and then slowly, like the sun coming out from behind clouds, she smiled. A real smile, bright and warm, and Harry felt something in his chest give way at the sight of it.
"Well," she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt he'd never heard before, "if you want to fuck me that badly, I'm certainly not going to say no to a sickle."
Harry's cock throbbed at the word fuck coming out of Hermione's mouth.
"One sickle," he heard himself say. "Deal."
Hermione took his hand, her fingers warm and soft against his, and led him through the shopfront toward a curtained area in the back. Harry followed in a daze, his eyes fixed on the sway of her arse beneath that tight skirt, watching the way each cheek moved as she walked, imagining what it would look like bare, what it would feel like in his hands.
The back area was small but comfortable, dominated by a bed covered in clean white sheets. There were candles floating near the ceiling, casting warm light across everything, and a small nightstand with a few personal touches that made the space feel like hers rather than just a anonymous workspace.
Hermione turned to face him, and Harry watched her hands move to the hem of her top.
"I should probably..." She bit her lip, and that flush was back on her cheeks, creeping down her neck toward her chest. "I mean, you've seen other witches undress before. This shouldn't be any different."
She pulled the top over her head.
Harry forgot how to breathe.
Her tits spilled free, and they were even more incredible than he'd imagined. Full and round, capped with dusky pink nipples that were already stiffening in the cool air, with a weight and bounce to them that made his hands itch to reach out and cup them. He wanted to bury his face between them, wanted to feel them wrapped around his cock, wanted to press them flat against his chest while he fucked her senseless.
Hermione cupped them in her hands, holding them up, and the sight was so obscene that Harry's cock strained painfully against his trousers. "Do you like them?"
Her voice was shy but hopeful, like she genuinely didn't know, like she couldn't tell from the way he was staring that he wanted nothing more in this moment than to worship every inch of her.
"Merlin, Hermione." His voice came out rough, hoarse. "They're perfect."
That flush deepened, spreading across her chest now, and she squeezed her tits together experimentally, watching his face for his reaction. Her nipples were hard little points, begging to be sucked, and Harry had to physically restrain himself from closing the distance between them.
Then she turned around.
Her back was to him now, smooth and pale, and her hands moved to the waistband of her skirt. She undid the clasp with deliberate slowness, and then she bent over as she slid the fabric down her legs.
Harry's brain went completely offline.
She was wearing a thong. A tiny scrap of burgundy fabric that matched her top, the string disappearing between her arse cheeks in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. And her arse, Merlin, her arse was magnificent. Round and full and firm, every bit of it begging to be grabbed and squeezed and spread apart. The thong was pulled tight against her pussy, the fabric visibly damp, her lips peeking out on either side of the narrow strip of material.
She held the position for a moment, bent over, her cunt and arse on full display, and Harry was dimly aware that he was making some kind of strangled noise in his throat.
He could see everything. The plump swell of her pussy lips straining against the thong. The way the fabric was dark with wetness, soaked through with her arousal. The dusky pink of her arsehole peeking out above the string. Her cheeks spread slightly from the position, presenting herself to him like a gift.
"Harry?" Her voice was muffled, her head still down. "Is everything okay?"
Okay. She was asking if everything was okay while bent over with her perfect arse in the air and her soaking wet pussy on display.
"Take it off," Harry heard himself say. "The thong. Take it off."
Hermione obeyed, her fingers hooking into the waistband and sliding the thong down her legs with agonising slowness. As the fabric peeled away from her pussy, a thin string of wetness connected them for a moment before breaking, and Harry's cock throbbed so hard he thought he might cum in his trousers.
Her cunt was bare and glistening, pink and perfect and so wet that her arousal was coating her inner thighs. He could see everything now, her pussy lips swollen with need, her entrance practically begging to be filled, and Harry couldn't wait another second.
His hands moved of their own accord, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and leaking at the tip, and he stepped up behind her still-bent-over form.
The first contact made them both gasp. His cock nestled between her arse cheeks, hot and heavy, and Harry grabbed her hips to hold her still as he slid himself through the cleft of her arse. Her skin was impossibly soft, her cheeks gripping his shaft as he thrust slowly, not entering her, not yet, just sliding his cock along the crack of her arse and watching the head emerge above her tailbone with each stroke.
"Harry." Hermione's voice was shaky, desperate. "Harry, please."
"Please what?"
"Fuck me." She pushed her arse back against him, grinding her cunt against his balls. "Please, Harry, I need it. Fuck me like you fuck the other witches. I can take it, I promise, just please—"
Harry's jaw clenched. She thought he'd been doing this properly. She thought he'd fucked Lavender and Tracey and whoever else in the district, thought he'd been paying for sex left and right, and he couldn't tell her the truth. That he'd run away from Lavender after a titjob and had never gone further than a blowjob with Tracey.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice was insistent now, needy. "Stop teasing me! I know you want to, I know you've been fucking your way through the district, now fuck me!"
He reached down and gripped the base of his cock, guiding it lower until the head brushed against her soaking entrance. Hermione moaned at the contact, pushing back against him, and Harry had to use every ounce of willpower to keep from slamming into her in one stroke.
"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, barely recognisable.
"Merlin, yes!" She was practically writhing now, trying to push herself onto him. "I've wanted this for so long, Harry, you have no idea, I used to dream about this—"
He pushed forward.
The head of his cock parted her lips and slid inside, and the wet heat that engulfed him was so intense that Harry's vision went white at the edges. She was tight, so fucking tight, her cunt gripping him like a vice as he inched deeper, her moans filling the small room.
"Oh! Oh, Harry, yes, you're so big—"
He was only halfway in and she was already shaking, her inner walls fluttering around him, her fingers twisted in the bedsheets. Harry gripped her hips harder and pushed deeper, watching his cock disappear into her pussy inch by inch, watching her arse shake with each thrust.
When he bottomed out, his hips flush against her arse, Hermione let out a sound that went straight to his balls.
"Yes! Yes, Harry, fuck, you fill me up so good—" Her words were spilling out in a desperate stream, barely coherent. "I used to hear Ginny talking about your cock, did you know that? When we all lived together, she would tell me everything, how big you were, how hard you fucked her, and I would sit there pretending I wasn't affected—"
Harry pulled back and thrust into her hard, and Hermione cried out.
"I'd go to bed afterwards and finger myself thinking about you!" She was babbling now, her filter completely gone. "I'd imagine it was you inside me instead of my fingers, I'd think about you bending me over and fucking me stupid, and I'd cum so hard I had to bite my pillow—"
Harry's hips snapped forward again, setting a rhythm now, his cock plunging into her cunt with wet, obscene sounds that filled the room. Hermione's tits were swaying beneath her with each thrust, and he wanted to see them, wanted to watch them bounce, so he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her upright, her back pressed against his chest.
The angle changed, driving him even deeper, and Hermione screamed.
"Fuck! Harry! Yes, right there, right there!"
His hands came around to cup her tits, filling his palms with their soft weight, and Hermione arched into his touch. Her nipples were hard points against his fingers, and he rolled them experimentally, making her gasp and clench around his cock.
"I was so jealous of Ginny," Hermione moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder. "She got to have this every night, got to have your cock inside her, and I wanted it so badly, Harry, I wanted you so badly—"
Harry thrust harder, one hand leaving her tit to slide down between her legs. His fingers found her clit, swollen and slick, and he rubbed it in tight circles that made her whole body shake.
"I never told anyone," she gasped, grinding back against him, fucking herself on his cock. "It was my secret, my filthy little secret, that I wanted my best friend to fuck me. That I touched myself thinking about his cock—"
"Hermione." His voice was a growl against her ear. "Shut up."
"Sorry! I'm sorry! I just— fuck, Harry, you're so deep—" Her cunt clamped down on him, her orgasm building, and Harry could feel his own release coiling tighter with every thrust, his balls aching with the need to empty themselves inside her.
"I'm not like the other girls here," Hermione babbled, her hips moving in desperate circles. "I know I'm not as experienced, I know I can't offer everything they can— oh Merlin—I've never even done anal, and I know you've probably fucked all of them in the arse by now—"
Harry's hips stuttered at the image her words conjured.
"—but I'll learn! I'll practice! I want to be good for you, Harry, I want to be worth every knut, I want you to come back and fuck me again and again—"
He was close, so close, his balls tightening as her cunt squeezed his cock. His fingers worked her clit faster, his other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises, and Hermione was falling apart in his arms.
"Please cum in me!" She was begging now, her voice high and desperate. "I want to feel it, Harry, please, I've imagined it so many times, please please please—"
Harry buried himself to the hilt and came.
The orgasm exploded through him, whiting out his vision, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. Hermione screamed as she felt the first hot spurt flood her cunt, her own orgasm crashing into her, her walls clenching rhythmically around his spurting cock.
"Yes! Yes! Harry!"
He could feel her milking him, feel every pulse of his release being squeezed out by her desperate cunt, and he held her tight against his chest as they rode it out together. Her tits heaved against his forearm, her nipples hard, her whole body shaking with the force of what was washing through her.
Rope after rope of his cum flooded her pussy, more than he thought possible, until he could feel it leaking out around his cock and dripping down her thighs. And still Hermione was moaning, her orgasm seeming to go on forever, her cunt spasming around him as if trying to drain every last drop.
When the last shudders finally faded, Harry's cock still buried inside her, Hermione sagged against him with a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice wrecked. "Harry, Harry, Harry..."
He stayed buried inside her, his cock still twitching with aftershocks, her cunt still fluttering around him. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed, her whole body trembling in his arms.
One sickle.
He'd just paid one sickle to fuck Hermione Granger.
And he was already thinking about how soon he could do it again.