Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything you might recognise from the books.
Pairing: Hermione/Mystery Lover
Summary: Hermione wakes up with a horrible headache and can't remember a thing about the previous night. She finds an unfamiliar pair of underpants from her bedroom floor and attempts to track down her mystery lover using the underpants and a little magic.
A/N: Written originally to the GE Valentine's Exchange 2010 for Magdalena2122. There's nothing really explicit or hard core in the text, but if you are really easily annoyed or bugged by something like a pairing etc. don't read this one. The Mystery Lover might be anyone.
noun. meaning the place or source of origin
The sun had the annoying habit of shining brightly in the morning. Blinding shaft of light penetrated trough the small opening between the heavy curtains. Even though her eyes were tightly shut, she couldn't escape the light that demanded her attention. God, it was so profoundly annoying. Everything seemed to rub her the wrong way. Crookshanks jumped on the bed, purring and obviously looking for somebody to pet him. If this was any other morning, Hermione would have gladly given her dear half-kneazel the love it deserved, but at the moment she felt like pushing the cat out of the bed. She didn't want to wake up an it was due to one fact and one fact only:
The moment Hermione first startled awake, she realised that she didn't remember anything about the previous night. She had naively hoped that it would be just a ephemeral moment. She had hoped that as soon as she just woke up properly and her brains would be completely free from the fuzzy, dreamlike state they were in, she would remember. But she didn't. Her previous night didn't come back to her and at that very moment, she decided that she wouldn't get up.
Because Hermione knew that it never promised anything good, if you just woke up and didn't remember the last ten hours of your life. Even if you were a muggle, it wouldn't be something to be taken lightly. It could be a sign that she had been drugged and raped, or drugged and robbed. But when you took in consideration that she lived in a world where the laws of nature hardly applied, it could be anything; anything from somebody using dark magic on her and obliviating her afterwards to some magical creature invading her flat. Of course, the most obvious answer to her sudden amnesia would be that she drank too much firewhiskey at the Ministry party last night. But that was an option Hermione didn't want to consider, because it pretty much meant that she had made a complete fool out of herself.
She sat up on the bed and looked around the room. It was her room, in her flat. That was a good sign. Harry or Ron probably carried her back home after she had consumed too much alcohol. Although it didn't change the fact that for her, for Hermione Jane Granger, it was completely unacceptable to act like that in public. It was something she had always despised, the women that had no control over their drinking. Who ended up doing desperate things and being the topic of rumours and laughter behind their back. Hermione had always thought that those women were stupid and reckless, something she never thought she would be.
Now the facts told her she was, and she felt horrible. It was as if her brain had suddenly swollen, doubled in size and was still forced to fit into her skull. Tortuously squeezing against the bone, trying to break it into tiny little pieces. Her throat was dry and ablaze, yet her mouth simulated the weather conditions of a rain forest. Taste of a putrid molasses and burnt toast was imprinted on her tongue and she would have killed for something to rinse it away with. But the physical vexation was nothing compared to the emotional agony she was in. She felt ashamed and disappointed at herself. She should have known better. She had always known better!
What had she been thinking? Or more importantly, what had the head of the department of Magical Law Enforcement been thinking? She was almost in her thirties and had acted like a reckless and stupid teenager. Her actions had probably destroyed every bit of her credibility and authority. Hermione buried her face into her hands and felt the hot tears burn in to her cheeks. This could possibly be the end of her career.
Ever since Hermione had began working in order to abolish the laws favouring pure-bloods, she had been more and more unpopular among some. There were numerous wizards who would love to see her fired and would use any excuse to make that happen. It was important that the legislation would be changed, but if Hermione failed to do so because one, idiotic mistake, it could take decades to anyone make a motion.
Hermione was quite sure that it couldn't get any worse, so she forced herself to get up. Lamenting and regretting the previous night would not change a thing, it would just be childish waste of time. It wouldn't even ease her anxiousness, in the end she would just end up feeding her paranoia and imagining a worst case scenario after another until even the thought of going back to the Ministry tomorrow would scare her like hell.
She walked into the kitchen and couldn't help but notice that the flat was quite a mess. It had been ever since Ron had moved back to Burrow. Hermione had been working so hard that when there was no one to complain about the mess, she hadn't been bothered to do anything about it. As she put the kettle on the stove, she decided that this would be a good day to clean. It would help her to remain distracted.
After her tea, Hermione had systematically proceeded trough the kitchen, the foyer, the bathroom and the living room and was now working the last room of her flat. Her bedroom was tidy apart from the few occasional clothes tossed on the floor. She reached out to pick the first item of clothing that came in to her hands, but once she was about to toss it into the laundry bin, she froze. It was.. underwear... they were... not hers. For a moment she couldn't do anything but to stare the unfamiliar pair of trunks she held in her hands.
This had to be some kind of cruel, cosmical joke. At this point Hermione felt like it was the only sane explanation to the fact that last night she had acted completely out of character, obviously more than she had thought at first. This was unbelievable. Apparently not only had she drank more than she should have, she had brought somebody home with her. She had had terrible, drunken sex with somebody and she didn't even remember his face!
Hermione sank to the floor, staring at the garment as if she was waiting for it to tell her who had been the wizard wearing them. She could just cling in to the hope of it being Ron. It would be the lesser evil, even if it would mean that they would have to go over everything again. About how Hermione just didn't want to have kids, not yet, not now. She was at the brink of making a giant leap in her fight against prejudice and discrimination in the wizarding society. But if it was Ron, she had come here with last night, where was he?
Ron would have never just left, no. First of all, he wasn't an early riser, not even when he didn't have a hangover. And secondly, he was her husband! Or.. ex-husband, but that wasn't important. The important thing was that Ron would have wanted to talk things over, he would have thought that the fact that Hermione decided to share her bed with him again meant that she wanted to start things anew. And that meant that if her drunken mistake would have been Ron, he would be here. Staring at her, waiting and not understanding what she felt.
Guessing was useless. Hermione would probably never know unless the person who had left the trunks in her flat would want them back. Who knows, maybe the truth would be waiting her tomorrow when it was time to face the office again. They actually might be circulating some nasty gossip about her new lover, who was still anonymous to her. Maybe the scandalmongers would be useful for once.
She tried to dabble with the light switch, trying to light up the bedroom, but it was hard to do because she was so preoccupied with passionate kissing. The kiss tasted sharply of whiskey, but it was still the best kiss she had ever had.
"Just leave it." An order was huskily spoken into the kiss and Hermione felt the hot breath burn her lips. Her reply came in a form of a nod as she backed further into the room. She was forcefully shepherded to the bed and her legs bumped into it, vandalising her alcohol weakened balance and she fell on to the soft mattress. A soft laughter escaped her lips as she laid there, staring at the ceiling, drunk and full of desire.
"I think I'm a bit.. intoxicated," she heard her own voice comment as a warm body pressed down on her. A muscular, but still rounded thigh slid in between her legs. It pressed against her groin, sending a tingling and hot sensation all over her body.
"A bit?" The question came with a small, silent chuckle and was spoken against the soft skin of her neck. She didn't know if it was just the firewhiskey, but somehow this all felt better – more exciting – than sex had ever felt with others. Maybe it was the feeling of doing something forbidden, or maybe Ron just hadn't been that good in bed.
"Yes," Hermione shivered as long, slender fingers trailed the curve of her waist. "Intoxicated with liquor and lust."
Hermione sighed as she was walking down one of the crowded corridors of the Ministry. The last few days had been hell, but not at all for the reasons Hermione had thought they would be. She had only heard one or two comments about the vast amount of firewhiskey she had consumed and nobody seemed to be prattling on about her mystery lover. Which was good. She had even found out that the head of her department had left the party early. So everything should have been just splendid.
Except that things were far from fine. Hermione had regained some of her memories about that night. She remembered touches, feelings and some things she had spoken with him. But she still couldn't remember his face. Or his name. And it bothered her, especially now that she had some memories of the night. Even now as she walked towards the lifts, she couldn't but wonder if he was walking behind her at this very moment. She could not stop thinking about if he was hurrying away from the small lift a bit too fast. Every single look she received from a wizard turned into a highly meaningful gaze trying to imply that he had seen her naked. Had seen the way her toes curled when she was excited and had heard how she laughed in the afterglow of an orgasm.
Last night she had spend at leas two hours just analysing the undergarment left behind. Hermione had written down her perceptions. The trunks were made of pure, quality cotton that felt soft and cool against her fingertips. The waistband was firm and there was a name imprinted on it, a designer logo. These things were obviously sign that the trunks had been somewhat expensive. Which immediately ruled out some people, like Ron for example. He would have never spent more than necessary into a piece of clothing that wouldn't even show. Hermione had noted that the size of the pants was quite small and truth to be told, she was kind of happy. It ruled quite a big number of auror's working in her department. The colour of the trunks was a dark shade of emerald, it was the thing that disturbed her the most.
Hermione knew that it was probably just the effect of associating green with Slytherins for seven years, but she couldn't shake the image out of her head. High quality, wizard designer underwear in a shade of green. It just made her think all the Slytherin alumni that had been present and there weren't that many. Adrian Pucey had been there, he worked as an auror. But Hermione had never liked him, he was just annoying in every single way! So full of himself. Aidan Harper had been there with his wife, Eleanor, who worked with Hermione on the legislation related issues. But... she would have never been with a married wizard! And then there had been Malfoy, but the whole thought was just.. ridiculous. Absolutely insane.
So her detective work hadn't really given her anything. Just more doubts. She couldn't really even make an educated guess based on the little facts she had. It was driving Hermione barking mad to know that there was a wizard, somewhere out there who had abused the fact that she was drunk. That it was somebody who didn't even have the decency to stay and face the situation like an adult. Instead this person was apparently as irresponsible as a randy teenager. Responsible adults did not...
What if they had not used protection? Hermione couldn't remember. What if she had gotten a disease? Or worse, what if she would get pregnant. She would have to get to Saint Mungos, now. Lunch with Harry could be re-scheduled.
It was late, when Hermione finally got back home. It had taken longer than usual to get all the work done, because her mind had been so busy worrying about other things. Luckily, the medi-witch had told her that she wasn't pregnant nor was she sick. It had made Hermione feel slightly better, but it hadn't answered her question. So, instead of focusing all of her energy to the report of blood-status based discrimination in the health care system, she had been thinking about different people she might have had sex with.
She had seriously been considering taking a few days off in order to clear her head, but it would probably have caused a lot of problems. Her workload was always growing, regardless of the fact that she worked twelve hour days. It would have been a catastrophe if Hermione would have let the cases pile up. But, when she had left her office, she had gotten lucky. As she was walking to the lift's, she heard two men discussing an stolen item. The younger auror had no idea how to track down the owner after they had arrested the thief. And so his partner had cast this really handy spell that could tell who the owner was.
She hadn't done her own research about the spell, at the moment she wasn't really interested about the way it worked, but more about the results it would give to her. It was a really ingenious spell, really. It was all she needed to know for now. Hermione poured herself some tea and sat down to the table. She had already placed her wand and the trunks on the wooden surface. Hot chamomile tea calmed her nerves and for a while Hermione just sat there and sipped her tea. Soon this would be over, she would know who the person was and she could go and return the undergarment. And she could remind the wizard that she would prefer that their little adventure would never reach the knowledge of others.
When Hermione was prepared and calm enough to perform, she picked her wand into her hand and effortlessly drew a circle in the air while muttering the spell out loud. As the tip of her wand touched the green fabric, golden lines started to appear on the surface, slowly forming the name she had wanted to know for a long time. It was actually rather mesmerizing to watch, the beauty of magic never ceased to amaze Hermione. When the movement eventually stopped and the golden lines stood still, forming clear words, Hermione felt her stomach turn. She gasped for air in shock for this was definitely not the answer she was expecting.
The silver moonlight was the only thing illuminating her bedroom as Hermione laid down on the bed. She rapidly gasped for air as hot lips were pressed against the skin of her inner thigh. Small kisses were planted on her thigh, while the mouth was moving slowly towards her groin. Anticipation made Hermione shiver and when the wet, slick tongue finally met her clitoris, she couldn't help but moan and squeeze the short, blond hair of her lover.
Slow, tortuous licks were driving her insane. The sensations were almost too much, it felt like pleasure could just make her lose herself. Slender fingers were slid inside of her and they moved in perfect rhythm with the tongue. The room around her seemed to just melt away, just like all of her prejudices and inhibitions had done earlier. For now, her world was build on pleasure. Pleasure and nothing else.
Hermione was nervously biting her lip as she stood in the foyer. She couldn't believe this. Not only had she had sex with a married wizard, she had had sex with the one wizard she had once hated passionately. Being in Malfoy Manor had never been this.. horrible. Bellatrix Lestrange's cruciatus curse paled in comparison to her self-inflicted mental torture. Why? Why had she done this? Hermione rubbed her temple and sighed.
A small crack startled Hermione as an house-elf appeared in front of her. "Master will see you now, miss." It declared with a squeaking noise, that somehow reminded Hermione of Pansy Parkinson. A nod was the only answer Hermione could muster. The elf said nothing more, just led her across the ominous halls to the study of Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy was sitting behind a large desk that was made of ebony. The dark, polished surface of the wood created a stunning comparison to the pale shade of his skin and hair. Hermione placed herself on to the chair in front of the desk, while she was being studied by a pair of dark grey eyes. Normally it wouldn't had made her nearly as nervous as it did now, but somehow the knowledge that Malfoy had seen her completely stripped from her defences – and her clothes – made her feel as insecure as she had done in Hogwarts.
They just sat there in silence for a while and Hermione couldn't help but wonder had Malfoy been thinking about the night. Had he told his wife? Was it just a drunken mistake for him too or had he been wanting to do it for longer? What if he had been attracted to her ever sinc-
"Granger," Malfoy began, obviously annoyed. "Why are you here?"
Hermione cleared her throat. "I came to return.." She took Malfoys underpants from her bag and placed them in the desk. "These." The room fell silent again, but Malfoy seemed to be rather surprised by the piece of clothing she had presented. It was odd, because Hermione assumed that even if he didn't remember a thing about the night they spent together, he would at least remember leaving her flat without underwear.
"Granger... Where.." Malfoy paused for a moment. "Where did you get these?" He asked slowly and Hermione snorted.
"From the floor of my bedroom. You left them there after we had sex."
"Sex.." Malfoy blinked. "Granger.." Why was he repeating her name so much? "We never had sex."
"Yes we did. After the Valentine's party my department threw last week." Hermione stated. Obviously Malfoy had believed that she was too drunk to remember anything. And well.. She was, but she also knew that the spell didn't lie.
"Excuse me?" He was clearly getting upset. "Granger, we didn't have sex. We had a few drinks, nothing more." The tone of his voice was heavy and tense, like he was having an argument with a child. And it annoyed Hermione a lot.
"Malfoy, I thought that you would have grown up. We did something really stupid, but you can't undo it by denyin-"
"We didn't have sex!" Malfoy shouted and Hermione jumped a bit.
"Well then, please explain how did your boxers end up on the floor of my bedroom." Hermione bit her tongue. "I can't remember much," she admitted reluctantly. "But I do remember having drinks with you and.." She was interrupted again, but this time by laughter. "Malfoy! This isn't funny."
"Actually, it is." He paused in order to calm himself. "I lent those to Pansy two months ago.." Malfoy continued with a chuckle.
"And Granger, I remember everything. We had drinks. You, me and Pansy. We talked about pretty irrelevant things, I left early and obviously you two enjoyed each other's company more than.."
"What?" Hermione asked again in a high pitched voice. "Are you saying that I had sex with Pansy Parkinson."
"That's my guess," Malfoy turned his attention from her to the papers on his desk. "You didn't have sex with me, that's for sure. And I did lend those trunks to Pansy, I doubt she has given them away."
"But.." Hermione took a deep breath. "It's not possible. I'm not a lesbian," she explained articulating every word clearly.
"Neither is Pansy, but she still has the habit of waking up next to women." Malfoy paused and dipped his quill in to ink. "If I were you, I wouldn't worry too much. Pansy is very discreet about these things.." He was writing something down. Hermione hated how he was so clam, clearly enjoying the fact that he was messing with her head.
"You are lying!" Hermione declared and stood up. "You just want to mess with my head, because you regret the fact that we had sex together. Well, Mr. Malfoy, I regret it too! But still it's awfully childish of you to make such claims-"
"You can use my pensive if you want." Malfoy stated.
"My pensive. It was custom made to my great grandfather. He was rather paranoid, believed that his wife used to obliviate him just for fun," Malfoy chuckled clearly amused. He waived his hand in the air and continued; "Anyway, the pensive allows you to see even the memories which something has made you forget. I mean, you weren't unconscious while it happened, firewhiskey has just wiped the memory out."
"And why would you... help me?" Hermione asked cautiously. She didn't know if she could trust Malfoy's help, but if what he said was true.. this was her best bet to know.
"Because when you see what happened, you will leave and stop bothering me and I can actually get some work done."
Hermione was back in her bedroom. She was watching herself lie on the bed with Pansy. Their legs were entwined and the witch was gently stroking her hair. They were both out of breath and sweaty. It was odd watching a memory like this. The events unfolded in front of her eyes, like she had never seen them before, but at the same time they seemed to awaken her own recollection of the night.
"We.. I.. really should not have done this," she heard her own, drunken voice whisper. Hermione still could not believe that this had actually happened. "What would people say if they knew?"
"Don't worry, love." Pansy whispered back. "This is our secret."
Koska en sitten muka ole koskaan tätäkään kommentoinut, niin FINE!
Pitää tietenkin alottaa tällä kielellä, koska se nyt vaan on jotain tajunnanräjäyttävää. Oikeasti. Tämä ficci on yksi niitä harvoja, jotka vaan soljuu eteenpäin. Erityisesti pidän kielikuvista, jotka on kaukana ummehtuneista.
Kuvailua on taas enemmän kuin laki sallii, mutta eipä tuo oikeastaan haitannut. Suurimmaksi osaksi kuitenkin pyöritään Hermionen sekavan pään sisällä, joten parempi näin kuin yksinäiset monologit seinille.
Hahmot, ne molemmat, on todella IC:itä (miten tuokin taipuu?!). En löytänyt edes Malfoysta mitään huomautettavaa, vaikka kovasti yritin.
Pehmopornon kuvailu aivan loistavaa. Jos nuo takaumat kääntäis espanjaksi ja luetuttais ääneen jollain, niin universumi varmaan räjähtäis. Älä kysy, mistä tällanen ajatus tuli mieleen. Varmaan oravista.
Tykkäsin dialogista ja loppuratkaisu oli nyt vain jotain ihan parasta. Varsinkin kun tietää, että olet Hermione/Draco shipperi ja sitten nykäiset tällaisen ficin. Bravo. Ja tämä siis henkilöltä, joka yleensä kiertää femmen kaukaa. Tässä se oli vaan niin... ei tyrkyllä, että se oli ihan loistavaa.
Mitäs muuta... Kirjota tällasta enemmän, äläkä aina jotain kidutus/kuolema/raiskaus/tappo ficcejä. Kyllä sä osaat tämänkin tyylin, niin ihan turha yrittää selittää mitään. Ja en siis tarkota femmeä vaan jotain pehmeämpää ihan yleisesti.
Loppuun vielä lempikohta.
|"But.." Hermione took a deep breath. "It's not possible. I'm not a lesbian," she explained articulating every word clearly.|
"Neither is Pansy, but she still has the habit of waking up next to women."