Her Bound Heart Chapter 10. (Patreon)

Content Warnings: BJs, Cum Play, Teasing.

“Drowning our sorrows in alcohol, are we?”

Hermione blushed and looked up from the goblet she had been studying, coming face to face with a smiling Sirius. “Mr. Black! Uh…” She paused. “Can I be hiding behind the alcohol?” And to think the night had started so well. She had bought a backless, shimmering golden dress that hugged her gentle curves and contrasted perfectly with her choker for James Potter’s birthday party. She had spent hours on her makeup and hair. Throughout it all, Harry kept looking at her in a way that promised that when they got home, her dress wouldn’t exactly be taken off gently. Or taken off at all. And yet, when they got to Potter Manor, the sheer opulence of the house threw her off. That, coupled with the fact that everybody who was somebody in the Ministry was in attendance meant she had chickened out, slipped away from Harry, and parked herself at a corner table, watching him talk to the woman who had tormented her throughout her years at Hogwarts. Out of everyone, of course, it had to be Pansy Parkinson who had designs on the man she was falling for.

Girls like us don’t get a happy ending, she reminded herself.

“Hey, you won’t get any judgment from me,” Sirius replied with an easy smile. He flagged down a house elf walking past them and grabbed a goblet for himself. “Thanks, Kreacher,” he murmured, downing half the glass in a single gulp. “I’ve found people tend to give you a wide berth when you drink like you have a problem. So, what’s up, buttercup?” Sirius asked, winking at his godson’s gorgeous girlfriend.

“Oh, it’s really nothing Mr. Black.” Hermione blushed. She ran a hand through her sleek hair nervously. It had taken her two hours and copious amounts of Sleakeasy to style it into an elaborate bun, but she had told her sugar daddy that she’d be damned before she appeared in front of the most important people in the entire Ministry looking like she’d just rolled out of bed. Which, given her curly hair’s penchant to be messy, was how she usually looked on any given day.

“Call me Sirius. Mr. Black was my entirely unpleasant father.” Sirius sipped his wine, eyeing Hermione shrewdly. “The crowd getting to you?” He reached out and patted her hand. “You’re not alone. I don’t know how Marls does it,” he murmured, turning to look at his girlfriend, who was engrossed in an animated conversation with a wizened wizard. “Me, I spend ten minutes around anyone here except Jamey, Moony, Marls, or Lia, and I want to fling myself off the highest tower in this manor.”

Hermione giggled. As much as she had loved Harry’s father’s kind and gentle demeanor, there was something quite endearing about his godfather’s easygoing, devil-may-care attitude. He was the first person she had truly felt comfortable around in the entire ballroom. Which made admitting the next part somewhat easier. “It’s not just the people,” Hermione said softly, biting her lip as she watched Harry laugh at something Amelia Bones said. “It’s… everything. This glass of wine costs more than what I made… make in a week. I mean this stuff is so expensive, we don’t even stock it in the bar.” Given how neither she nor Harry wanted anyone to know the details of their ‘arrangement’, she was more than happy to pretend to continue working as a bartender in a Muggle pub. “When it’s just Harry and me… I know he’s loaded, you know? But when it’s just us, I can remain blissfully unaware of what it means.”

“The society bitches get to you?”

Hermione blinked. “The uhm… what?”

“Society bitches.” Sirius gestured around the ballroom. “Half the people in here act like they’re better than everyone else because of their blood or the fact that their ancestors worked their asses off to give them the pile of wealth they’re blowing through right now. You want to know a secret?” Sirius leaned towards her, lowering his voice. “You’re better than every damn one of them. And you’ll get through this, Granger.” He patted her bare arm.

Hermione frowned. Unless she was hearing things, she could hear the same self-doubt and worry that plagued her every night. Which… “I’m sorry if I’m being rude, Mister… Sirius. But you sound like you speak from experience,” she said, a hint of disbelief in her voice. The man was one of the richest on the island. There was no way he could truly understand her.

“My mother… she kicked me out when I was sixteen. The hag took everything, even my wand. Said I didn’t deserve to be a Black or even a wizard. Had it not been for the Potters, I’d have been homeless and starving until I got an inheritance from an uncle a year later. Moony and I are the only people in this room who understand exactly what you’re going through, Hermione,” Sirius said with a soft, serious smile. “Which is also why I know you’ll beat the rest of us inbred assholes at our own game.” He extended a hand. “Come on. Let’s go make fun of pompous fools.”

“Uhm… I think I’m fine, Sirius,” Hermione mumbled, shrinking behind the table as a woman with what could only be described as a boat for a hairstyle passed them by, eyeing Hermione up and down and raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her dress.

“Let me guess. Every damn woman you’ve run into has called your dress ‘vintage’ in the most condescending way possible,” Sirius said, a knowing smile on his face.

“It was the best I had,” Hermione lied defensively. It wasn’t, in fact, the best she’d had. The best dress she owned paled in comparison to the one she wore. Unlike her best friend, who seemed to enjoy the finer things in life that her sugar daddy made possible, Hermione had felt almost like she was committing a crime by spending so much of Harry’s money on a single dress. So she’d picked a dress from an older catalog that had cost her a (comparatively) reasonable amount.

Sirius snorted. “You’re wearing a cut that was in vogue three seasons ago but I bet they’re all acting like you’ve murdered a bloody man.” He extended a hand again, “come on.”

Hermione hesitated, but Sirius didn’t remove the hand, undeterred this time. “Where are we going?” she asked, slipping her dainty hand into his much larger one.

Sirius scanned the crowd. “Since Marls and Lia seem busy, let’s go meet someone whose opinion actually matters, yeah?”

He led her through the crowded Ballroom, out into the quiet hallways, the two silently walking through the heavily carpeted labyrinth that was Potter Manor. They walked into a part of the house that hadn’t been part of the brief tour Harry had given her before the party. Sirius grasped the brass handle on a heavy oak door, pushing it open and leading her inside a cozy study. The room was dimly illuminated by candles suspended in the air, with books and couches scattered throughout its expanse.

“Welcome to the Remembrance Room. Me, Jamey… all of us gather here to, well, remember the good old days.”

“Bailing on the party so early, Black? It’s your best friend’s birthday, surely you can tolerate Jorkins for a few hours for his sake,” a voice scolded teasingly.

Hermione jumped, her eyes following the sound of the voice to a floor-to-ceiling painting that dominated one wall of the room. It was a mirror image of the room they were in, except the empty armchair by the fire was occupied by a gorgeous redhead in a green sweater. She shut the book in her hands and turned to face them, a teasing smile on her face.

“Nah. Just thought there was someone you should meet,” Sirius said, gently patting Hermione’s bare back.

Hermione took a deep breath and walked towards the portrait at the gentle prodding from the older man, her heart hammering in her chest. “Mrs. Potter,” she murmured, unsure what else to add. She didn’t need to ask who she was. The fiery red hair, the freckles dotting her face, the beautiful smile. Even if Harry didn’t have photographs of his mother throughout his apartment, there was no missing the captivating green eyes that ensured her every morning and occupied her thoughts all day. “You have Harry’s eyes,” Hermione blurted.

“You know, people usually say that the other way around,” Lily said, an amused chuckle escaping her blood-red, perfect lips.

“Harry’s getting rather fed up with it, you know? That’s what everyone who meets him for the first time leads with,” Sirius muttered. “Well, my work here is done. See you back at the party.” Sirius winked, gently squeezing Hermione’s shoulder. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat with you, Lils, I should go rescue Marlene from Augusta. She still hasn’t forgiven her for the time she walked in on her playing footsie with Frank.”

Hermione watched as Sirius walked out of the study, shutting the door behind him.

“Scared?” Lily asked shrewdly.

Hermione gulped, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “A little,” she admitted truthfully. “Sorry, Mrs. Potter.”

“Call me Lily, please. And if it helps, I already like you. There’s wine in the globe behind you if you want. It’ll help ease your nerves.”

Hermione chuckled nervously. “I… I think I’ve had enough wine for a month.”

Lily nodded in understanding. “I do recall these parties getting rather boozy. But then, it’s a great lubricant for conducting business.”

“Business?” Hermione blinked in confusion. It was a birthday party. Surely nobody was talking about work?

“You want to argue in the Wizengamot, don’t you?”

“How…”

“James doesn’t stop talking about you,” Lily cut Hermione off before she could even finish her question. “I’m pretty sure you’re already his daughter-in-law in his mind. You’ve had quite the effect on my husband, Miss Granger.” Lily smiled. “And from that, I can only surmise you’ve had an even bigger effect on my son.”

Hermione ran a nervous hand through her hair, accidentally pulling free a few sleek brown strands from the elaborate bun. Hermione Potter? “I… I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Harry’s out there talking to Pansy Parkinson. Or… she’s talking to him.” It didn’t matter who was talking to whom. The end result would be the same. He’d see sense in the end and dump her after he was done having fun. “She’s a Parkinson. There are a dozen other noble families with single, marriage-age daughters out there. I’m… I’m a Muggleborn orphan with no name and little money.” I’m a nobody.

Nobodies didn’t get to marry the savior of the Wizarding World. Nobodies didn’t get a fairy tale ending. No, they did their job, took the money, and were thankful for their lot in life.

“You know I was a Muggleborn too, right?”

“Yes, but you’re you,” Hermione pointed out. “You’re Lily Potter. You’re smart, you’re gorgeous, you’re fiery, you-” Hermione started rattling off everything she’d read about the woman, only to be interrupted once more.

“-and I was once a Muggleborn with no name and little money,” Lily finished with a smile. “While I wasn’t an orphan, my father was a carpenter. He did his best to take care of me and my sister, but we were by no means wealthy. As for my blood, do you really think I could match the pedigree of Amelia Bones and Narcissa Black?”

“Yes, but Mr. Potter loved you,” Hermione pointed out desperately, trying to convey her complicated relationship with the woman’s son without outright telling her that she was his sugar baby, nothing more. “Harry tells me he waited seven years for you to love him back.”

“That he did. James did love me. He still does, far too much for his own good. Even after all these years…” Lily sighed, shaking her head. “But we’re not here to talk about my complicated relationship, are we, darling? I suspected Sirius bought you here for a reason. You don’t think my son loves you?”

She wanted to say yes. It was the logical answer after all. Harry might think she was cute. He surely considered her a good submissive. He might even have liked her. But she highly doubted he had real feelings for her. Yet, a small part of her resisted. In the end, she settled for a soft, “I don’t know.”

Lily nodded and tossed the book in her hand onto the coffee table. “Alright, sweetie. I'm going to give you the same advice my mother-in-law gave me the first time James took me home. The universe doesn’t owe you anything. It’s not going to give anything to you,” Lily said bluntly.

“Thank… you?” Was the woman trying to tell her she had no right to her son’s love?

“You want something? You take it. You demand it like it’s your right. So go, demand my son’s love. And when it’s time, you take the Potter name like it’s your birthright.”

“… how?”

Lily chuckled and picked up a different book from the pile next to her chair. “From what I’ve heard about you, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Now, don’t you have a party to get back to?”

Hermione nodded numbly and made her way to the door, utterly confused by the entire conversation. Did Lily Potter really think they were similar? That she could in any way match her in wit or beauty? Could portraits develop eyesight issues?

“Hermione,” Lily called out softly when the petite brunette reached the door.

“Yes, Mrs. Potter?” Hermione asked, bracing herself for more blunt (but surprisingly helpful) wisdom.

“I’d be proud to call you my daughter-in-law. There’s no one better suited for my son,” Lily murmured with a small smile, ushering her out of the study with a wave of her hand.

Hermione retraced her steps in a daze, playing the conversation with Lily over and over in her head. She didn’t even realize she had reentered the ballroom until she bumped into a couple. She retreated away from them with an apologetic smile, her eyes scanning the crowd for a sign of Harry.

She spotted him at a table holding a small plate with cake in his hands, chatting with Sirius and Marlene. She also spotted Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil at the table next to his, giggling and staring unabashedly at him.

Suddenly seeing red, Hermione marched over to Harry and looked her slender arm through his.

“Hey pumpkin,” Harry whispered, bending to kiss her cheek. “Where were you?”

“Learning an important lesson,” Hermione murmured. She kept her eyes on Sirius, who grinned and winked. “Sirius, Marlene, do you mind if I borrow Harry for a bit?”

“Go ahead,” Marlene replied with a barely disguised smile.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sirius added, wagging his eyebrows playfully.

“And definitely don’t do something he would do.”

“Hey!”

Hermione giggled and left the couple to their playful bickering, keeping her arm locked with Harry’s and leading him to one of the many ornate bathrooms attached to the ballroom.

“Is everything alright? Are you sick? I knew those scallops tasted funky,” Harry muttered, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead to feel her temperature. “Do you need to lie down? I-”

Hermione shut him up by pressing her lips against his. Her glass stilettos had eliminated most of the massive height disparity between them, but she still needed to tilt her head up to reach him, her hands grabbing his shoulders for balance. She pulled away after a few seconds. She rested her palms against his broad, firm chest, shoving him gently.

Harry, completely unprepared, stumbled back, his hands grabbing the edge of the marble countertop of the sink to regain his balance. “Mione? What’re you doing?”

“Taking what’s mine,” Hermione growled, pouncing on him. She slowly sank to her knees, her lips kissing and worshiping every inch of his body, from the firm muscles of his chest to every single one of his abs on the way down. By the time she reached his belt, Harry was already rock-hard, a large tent in his trousers.

He’d had shy sugar babies. He had had slutty sugar babies. He’d even had a Veela one summer. But never in his life had he ever had someone quite like Hermione Granger.

Her warm brown eyes flicked up to look at him as she undid his belt without hesitation, pulling it free of his trousers and tossing it away. “I’m your princess,” Hermione declared, keeping her eyes locked with his as she unbuttoned his pants. “My lips are the only ones that worship you. My hands are the only ones that serve you,” she growled, pulling his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. She leaned forward, letting his thick cock slap her cheek as it sprung free. “This cock…” Hermione parted her red lips, keeping her eyes focused on him as she swallowed inch after inch of his cock. She didn’t hesitate when his sensitive tip hit the back of her throat. She didn’t even pause. She simply smiled at the quiet hiss that escaped his lips and kept going down on him, gagging and drooling as her throat fluttered around his throbbing manhood. She finally closed her eyes as she buried her face in his crotch. She reached up with her hands to grab his, interlacing their fingers together even as she choked on his length. Hermione didn’t pull away even when she started to struggle for breath, giving her dominant her complete trust and submission.

Harry finally snapped out of his shock at the sound of her pained breathing, burying their enjoined hands in her hair, pulling her free of his cock, and ruining her hairdo in the process.

“I… I’m the only one with the right to choke on this cock…” Hermione rasped, gasping for breath. She freed her hands from his, wrapping her slender fingers around his girth. She began to pump even as she lowered herself further, burying her face between his thighs. “Your seed belongs inside me,” Hermione whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. She wrapped her gleaming, saliva-coated lips around his testicle, swallowing as much of the orb as she could.

“Hermione!” Harry moaned, his nails leaving trails on her scalp as he tightened his hold on her hair. “What’re you-” He couldn’t finish the sentence, groaning loudly when Hermione gently squeezed the sensitive testicle between her teeth. Far too little pressure to actually hurt him, but just enough to make him forget everything and everyone else, his entire attention focused on the tiny submissive servicing his cock.

Hermione grinned and pulled away, peering out at Harry from beneath his cock. “Serving you, sir,” she replied, smiling innocently even as she sped up her hands, milking his cock for his seed. Hermione shifted her hands to the base of his cock, continuing her pumping even as she alternated between kissing and grazing her teeth against his sensitive tip. She covered his cock, balls, and thighs with bright red lipstick marks, marking him as hers with a symbol that, while not quite as visible as the choker around her neck, was just as intimate.

Harry didn’t even try to hold on. Despite all his experience and all his partners, he’d never had someone who served him so eagerly, who submitted to him not just out of duty, but also genuine affection. “Mione I’m going to cum,” he warned, groaning desperately, his cock twitching in her grasp.

“It’s okay, sir,” Hermione cooed, her tongue shooting out and swirling around the tiny opening crowning Harry’s tip, lapping up the precum flooding out of it. “I’m your kitten. It doesn’t matter if we’re in our playroom or in the middle of the Ministry Yule Ball. You can cum on me. And only on me.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open when the first rope of thick, warm cum slammed across her face. She kept her eyes trained on her dominant as she opened her mouth wide and poked out her tongue, determined not to waste a single drop of his seed. In the end, aside from the tiny amount that dribbled to the floor or splashed against her dress, most of it ended up on her face or in her mouth. She savored the salty taste of his cum, never once breaking eye contact as she swallowed.

“Hermione?” Harry called out softly, once he had regained the ability to speak.

“Yes, sir?” She grabbed his hand, grateful for his help in getting back on her feet.

Harry looked at her with an expression that was a mixture of adoration and amazement. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, bringing the hand he had grabbed up to his lips and kissing it gently. “I wish for no other submissive but you.”

Hermione grinned, her teasing retort dying in her throat as the door was slammed open. Both of them turned to see Pansy standing in the secluded hallway outside the now open door, a shocked expression on her face at the sight in front of her.

Before Harry could react Hermione strutted over to the door, swaying her hips to give Harry a nice view of her firm ass. In that moment, Hermione felt powerful. She finally understood what Lily had been trying to tell her. Parkinson had nothing on her. None of them did. She didn’t need a ‘proper’ last name or a pile of money. She, by herself, was worthy of a Potter.

Hermione paused in front of the door, an angelic smile on her face as she ran a finger along the length of her face, gathering up as much cum as she could from her forehead to her chin. She popped the finger in her mouth and made a show of sucking it clean. “Sorry,” she said, her voice as sweet as sugar. “Occupied.”

And with that, she slammed the door shut in her former bully’s face.

Notes:

My personal Headcanon is that it's not particular looks that Potter men go for. So, for example, it's not redheads. Everyone from Charlus to Harry fall for fiery, smart women. Which is exactly what Hermione is in this fic, and Lily and Sirius know it, even if she doesn't see it so far. Badass submissive Hermione is my new personal favorite. Remember to join my Discord server through the invite link in the pinned post if you want to see behind the scenes content and want to discuss my fics with me!