Archive of Our Own ^beta

And I've seen it before
And I'll see it again
Yes I've seen it before
Just little bits of history repeating
(Alex Gifford/Propellerheads)

She wasn’t the first, or the last woman in history who found herself in that situation. Many witches had walked down that risky path before her, and oddly enough, no one ever had learned from their experience. At least, Hermione hadn’t. Alas.

It had been a mistake, an enormous one, and she had recognised it as such from the very beginning. He was married, and she worked for him. She was hired to help him to become a new Minister, to guide his campaign and a million other things, except one – to have an affair with him. How on earth she, Hermione Granger, had managed to disregard her own principles was beyond her. And for what? For clothed sex in his office or a quick blowjob in the lift? She couldn’t even say that she had been sleeping with him. Because she hadn’t. Not. Even. Once. Kingsley Shacklebolt always slept at home … with his wife.

She knew precisely what she had been doing. She hadn't been some naïve and innocent little girl for a while. Every night, when Hermione lay in her bed, alone, it all seemed so simple, so black and white. From a distance, she could see perfectly just how wrong their little fling was, and she dutifully promised herself to stop it all the very next day.

And yet… after three months of such promises, here she was, once again splayed on her desk, impaled on his cock.

It all started after Kingsley’s fiasco at his first debates.

By coincidence, they ended up in a lift alone, both furious, adrenaline high, blood boiling. She couldn’t even tell how or why, but before she knew it, she was slammed into the lift’s wall, and his lips were on hers. Perhaps, he just couldn’t think of another way to shut her up, because she wouldn’t stop rambling. To be fair, Kingsley did try to step back after that first unexpected kiss, but … she didn’t let him. She wanted his massive lips on her. She had lusted for them for a long, long while. Hence, when he pushed a button and stopped the lift, she couldn’t contain a moan of anticipation.

She. Wanted. Him. Really, really wanted him.

He didn’t offer sweet talks, and she was perfectly fine with that. His hands roughly shoved her skirt up, and his mouth covered her breast, kissing and nibbling it through the silk of her blouse. She gasped, and clutched at his robes to steady herself. He found her knickers, pushed them aside and thrust a finger into her hot quim, forcing a surprised yelp from her. Disapproving of her making sounds, he smacked his hand over her mouth. “Be quiet!” he growled into her ear. Hermione nodded, and he dropped his hand to her blouse, forcefully tugging the silky material, sending buttons flying in every direction. His palms, rough and perfect, found her breasts. His fingers squeezed and rubbed her nipples, making her gasp and arch into him, silently begging for more.

Already sweaty and panting, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed him even tighter to her breasts, earning herself an appreciative husky grunt from him. Encouraged, he intensified his sucking and biting of her flushed skin and pushed another finger into her. His thumb began to rub her clitoris with forceful strokes, and she felt wetness trickling down her legs. It was embarrassing, but Hermione just couldn’t make herself care. She was so turned on, she couldn’t stop grinding against his fingers faster and faster and faster.

She was almost there when Kingsley abruptly stepped back. With quivering, empty pussy and delirious with want, Hermione bit her lips and watched him licking his glistening fingers. Mischievous amber flecks in his eyes told her that he was teasing. Bastard! Thank goodness, he didn’t torture her for long. Making quick work of his fly and moving into her again, he grasped her arse and hitched her up, entering her with one powerful plunge.

He fucked her in silence, pushing her back against the wooden wall of the lift. His fingers kept squeezing her buttocks, probably bruising her skin, and frankly, she did not care. She craved his roughness. He was exactly how she imagined him to be. When his lips covered her tight nipple, tongue flicking against it, she couldn’t help but let out a loud wail. “I said quiet,” he growled against her skin and sped up, punishing her with his unforgiving cock. She sank her teeth into his neck to keep from screaming, and then there was nothing to do but hang on.

His thrusts, hard and rough on every shove forward, drove her insane. Her body refused to stay still, and she trashed between the unyielding wall of the lift and Kingsley’s equally unyielding chest. Soon, his movements became more urgent, and Hermione could feel him tense, his body going rigid. His thumb found her puckered hole and pressed in. “Oh,” she gasped as she felt the tension snap. Her back arched, breasts thrusting forward, fingers clawing at his shoulders, and she came.

Kingsley came shortly after her, his grunt of release muffled against her breasts, his body relaxing against hers. After a while, he gently steadied her and stepped back, fixing his trousers. Hermione, with her legs shaky, her blouse torn apart and her breasts covered with his marks, looked and felt utterly debauched.

It took a lot of their mutual efforts to make her look presentable before they exited the lift, but they managed. They didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the day, and Hermione went home a bit baffled. At night, sitting on her kitchen bar stool and drinking her Earl Grey, she came to the conclusion that it was just a one-time thing, for which she chose to blame stress and adrenaline. The fact that she still wanted more of him didn’t quite fit with her comfortable theory, but she decided to ignore it for now. Alas, when, three days later during an absolutely uneventful Wednesday, he found her in the Record room and took her from behind against the old file cabinet, there was no stress to blame.

After that, their encounters turned into a full-blown affair, but even then, she still foolishly hoped that she could come out of it unscathed.

Oh, how terribly mistaken she was…

Hermione looked at the wizard that towered over her. His eyes were closed, and she could see glistening beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Clasping her thighs, he tirelessly drove into her. His thrusts, as powerful and demanding as always, were making it hard to focus, but she persevered. She managed to rein in her urge to let go and was rewarded by the spectacular site of Kingsley coming. With a guttural groan, he threw his massive head back and shouted his release into the air. His shudders made her core quiver, but she stubbornly continued watching him. She wanted to see him crumble, to see his hands tremble, and his lips go slack. She needed to know that at least for that instant nothing mattered for him; nothing existed. The Ministry, his career, his wife, the press – all of it faded into oblivion, leaving only her – Hermione Granger.

The moment was magnificent. He was magnificent – with his eyelids heavy, his white shirt unbuttoned, and his skin glistening. That’s how she wanted to remember him.

Alas, Kingsley came round far too soon, and their eyes met. Suddenly understanding that she didn’t climax this time, he frowned and gazed at her. He even opened his mouth, and Hermione thought that he was about to say something. But no, the next second he stepped back, tucked himself into his trousers, turned on his heel and left without a word. Git!

For a long while, she looked at the closed door. She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not now, and not about him. Everything happened just as she knew it would. Today was the last time she had allowed him to fuck her, the last time she made him come.

Tomorrow, he would become their new Minister and would walk into his bright future with his wife by his side. As for her, tomorrow she would start a long process of forgetting him. She already promised herself never to fall for a married man again.

Never.

Though, history, it is said, tends to repeat itself…