Inell's Fanfiction Archive

Every meeting is a risk. The danger becomes worse as the war escalates, but Harry can’t stay away. He loses himself with her, gives himself to her completely, and finds what he needs to get through another day. It’s not gentle or loving. There are no soft words, no words at all unless they spill from their lips as they fuck, as that’s what they do.

Rough, desperate, frantic fucking, leaving each other with scratches and bites when it’s over. Emotion is present, however, in every touch and look and he knows that one day, when it’s all over and Voldemort is gone, they’ll whisper other words while they make love. For now, though, this is what they want, what they need, all they are willing to give.

Their relationship, if you can use that word for what they have now, is a secret, something they never talk about even when they meet, yet he knows those closest to him know about it. The knowledge is in Ginny’s gaze when he returns smelling of sex and lilac but he doesn’t feel guilty any longer for finding whatever it is he’s found.

It’s in Ron’s gaze when Harry makes weak excuses of needing time to think following a mission and hurries away to find her, to find escape, to drown in her. It’s in Hermione’s gaze when she warns him to be careful and secretly makes Pansy learn rare charms that might prove useful when she and Ron can’t be there to protect him. He doesn’t doubt that Hermione has made arrangements for an alert should danger find them during one of their clandestine meetings, but he’s careful and cautious to avoid ever having to find out.

Pansy is waiting for him tonight when he finds the run down Muggle pub. They always meet in Muggle places for the safety of anonymity. There are rooms upstairs but they pass the staircase and go down the dingy hallway instead. Rooms cost money and are a rare luxury these days. They rarely use a bed, even when one is available. Something about a bed makes it more real, he supposes, so they make do with desks, tables, counters, and walls.

A few untraceable charms protect them from sight and ensure they can not be found. He kisses her or maybe she kisses him. The wall is covered in old photographs and they knock down a few frames when he shoves her against it. She’s not wearing knickers, smirking when he groans upon finding her bare beneath the short Muggle skirt, and he bites her neck as he fumbles with his trousers.

She’s wet and ready for him, holding his shoulders as he pushes inside her. Her breath is warm against his ear as she pants and urges him let go, to fuck faster and harder, to make her scream. He grips her tighter and forgets everything except tight wet heat and the scent of lilacs as he gives her more, taking everything she offers.

The End