"Ron, I told you for the millionth time: WE ARE NOT GOING TO DO THIS!"
His nostrils flare but he casts his eyes down, his cheeks redder than his hair this time. He hasn't meant for the situation to escalate so quickly, but of course he has done something wrong. Again. He braces himself for the onslaught.
"I mean…" she continues more softly, surprising him yet again. "We are going to have a lifetime to do just that. I don't see why we have to rush it. To me, the connection it's important and I… well, I certainly don't think that a mere physical act can change things that much. I mean, we're more important than a little pleasure, aren't we, Ron?"
"Of course we are!" he erupts. "But, Mione… I reckoned that a few months don't make that much of a difference. We've been together for three years and we're getting married. And you don't need to be afraid with me, I know what I'm doing and it could be so good… "
Her face darkness and he realizes with a sharp intake of breath just what much of a mess he made.
"You don't have to remind me about who exactly taught you what you know, now do you, Ron?" she hisses and glares at him.
He is even more ashamed now, the guilt gnawing at his stomach, and he is all fidgeting fingers and tense spine. Of course she is right, Hermione is always right. And he… well, he loves her so much. But that doesn't help him too much, because regardless of his actions he's always one step behind. There's always a meaning that he fails to grasp, a reference that he doesn't quite catch and a constant desire to impress her that only has him failing miserably.
But then, just like she does now, she leans over and kisses him softly and he forgets what was he so upset about in the first place. The softness of her mouth is a blessed magic trick that he can't get enough of.
"We'll have a lifetime to explore and erm… perform the necessary acts to induce pleasurable feelings to each other," she assures him. It makes him feel better but then he inhales her scent and longs for her even more. She is right of course, perhaps, no, scratch that, definitely. If he hadn't known what it is like, with Lavender, he wouldn't be craving it now. He should have, as the proverbial advice has it, keep it in his pants.
The restaurant is half-full and cozy, with plush chairs and old lights that makes it very comfortable. Everyone around them seems to be deep in conversation in that warm September evening. Wizards and witches engage in polite chatter, while eating and drinking happily, although, to be honest, he rather longs for Molly's food and he thinks the portions are too small. He catches himself and surmises he should focus on something else, a conversation topic that will not earn him that stern glare while she huffs at him. His time is getting shorter because he catches her eyeing her wristwatch every two minutes.
A deep voice breaks the silence around them like a hammer breaks a thick ice block.
"Ginevra," the man greets politely and they both turn towards him, startled by the name.
They don't see him yet, as a beautiful, blonde woman blocks their view when she hugs him then places a kiss on his cheek. The first thing that goes through Hermione mind is that she never seen the witch before, but those fine robes must cost a fortune. Ron only thinks she's the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on.
But then, she moves aside and they both freeze.
Draco Malfoy stands tall and proud, offering the woman a guarded smile, but wrapping her in his arms nonetheless. He immediately makes room for her next to him and the witch smiles wickedly and says something that they can't hear, but that extracts a wider smile from him as he leans in toward her. She thinks she can detect a foreign accent in the woman's voice.
"When did that git come back to England?" Ron complains.
"I really don't know," Hermione replies with a frown at her own inability to provide a correct information.
"His father just finished his sentence in Azkabam. The Ministry will be sure to keep an eye on the Malfoys," Ron spats now and in that exact moment the blonde's eyes shoot up and he looks directly at them.
Hermione's breath catches in her throat and Ron scowls. But it only lasts for a moment because he returns his full attention on the woman next to him.
"Oh my god, Ron, do you think he heard our conversation?" Hermione frets. "He's standing so close to us," she whispers and leans in to give him a pleading look.
Ron's cheeks start to get pink again.
"Nah, definitely, he could never hear us," he says, but gulps.
Hermione watches over her shoulder, analyzing him carefully. He looks so… different. The last thing she has heard about him was that he had fled the country as soon as he has been exonerated right after the war, after offering his full cooperation. There had been rumors, of course, not that she was listening, too busy to reconstruct her own live. But they multiplied by the year. Some said he was involved in a nefarious business in France. Others claimed that they had spotted him in Austria and that he had been involved with some… different witches. And finally, most of them were relived not to have him around: the wizarding world didn't know what to do with defectors, especially those as famous as the Malfoys.
She studies him as inconspicuously as possible. He wears somber robes, but her trained eye tells her they are still the best the money could buy. He sits almost casually in his seat, laid back to the outside eye, but she noticed the tenseness in the muscles of his neck, the careful, unwavering gaze as people around him start to speak in hushed tones. His blonde-silver hair is almost like another light bulb in the indoor lights, his grey eyes hold a steely glint and his lips barely move, as he lets his guest to lead the conversation.
Perhaps it is the fact that she hadn't seen him in three years and she cannot recall his features correctly, but there is something new about him, in the way he carries himself. She tries to put a name to the change, but all she comes up with is maturity: he is and looks older than the boy she last saw.
He and his partner are now very close, huddled and whispering and suddenly an alarm goes off somewhere inside her head, just as she realizes Ron has been speaking and she hadn't been paying attention in the slightest.
"… so yeah," Ron mumbles, "Harry hates it if I'm late so I have to go now. I'll see you home later?" he asks full of hope.
"Maybe, perhaps," she replies, "I still have work to do at the Ministry… might take a while… will let you know if it's possible."
Ron leans in expectantly but she is so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she misses the gesture until a muscle in his neck makes a small cracking sound and she sees his lips very close to her face. She tilts her head and offers the quickest of kisses, not noticing the disappointed expression and the defeated way he trudges across the restaurant and to the door.
Instead, she looks back at the pair of them. Are they plotting something? That unknown woman laughs excitedly and chatters without a break, but Malfoy smiles rarely and whenever he has something to reply he seems to lean in closer, his hand sneaking into hers. She is very satisfied as the weakest display of affection, but teases him too, if she hears correctly. Because, while she is pretending to finish her tea, she is actually straining to catch every bit of their dialogue. There is a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that something very bad is about to happen so her senses are alert, her body in pins and needles.
She thinks he had caught her staring once or twice, but other than that he ignores her completely. They resume to whispers now and people around them, who were blatantly eavesdropping as she was, look affronted and make sure he is well informed of their scorn. One witch even rasps out "Him? Here? How dare he show his face?" and an older wizard, struts very importantly and shakes his head in disapproval while gesturing for the waiter to bring him the check. He says loud enough for those near him to hear: "I can't believe you're accepting former criminals in your establishment!"
Hermione cringes at these outraged reactions. Of course, she does not believe that much in his redemption either, especially when he shows himself in public at evening with a foreign witch and whispers conspiratorially in her ear. But she thinks it's very ill-mannered to express displeasure in such a blatant way. War has been hard on a lot of people, there is no need to prolong the aftermath.
Malfoy leaves some cash on the table, then takes his partner's friend and they saunter off. He is stern and decided, she is gay and beautiful and they both make such a perfect couple than people resume to antagonizing them silently, their mouths pursued but the words stuck in their throats.
On a curious impulse, Hermione pays for her meal and decides to follow them.
Once outside, for a second there, she thinks she has lost them. She pauses to catch her breath when she takes a corner on the busy street and she feels ashamed at her own behavior, for it's so uncharacteristic of her to go on a hunt based on nothing but a hunch. This is Harry's way and not hers. Still, there is an urge in her and when she catches a glimpse of two blondes, throwing conspicuous looks around them, she heads in that direction without thinking twice.
Sure enough, they seem to look for the less traveled roads, taking turns again and again, while he casts glances behind his shoulder. He finally ushers the woman in a very tight alley where no one ever seems to stop, and that partly shadowed by a wall behind them. It is impossible to watch them from ground level anymore, so she frantically scans her surroundings. Just as she is about to give up, she notices an old, abandoned staircase that leads up to the roof of an adjacent building. She tiptoes, careful not to make a sound as her heart thuds spasmodically, feeling on the verge of a great discovery. Once on the roof, she crawls towards the edge. Just a few more inches to get there and her wand is ready to send a Patronus as her instincts seem sharpened. She pulls herself up on her forearm and she finally notices them… kissing passionately?
She is flabbergasted for a few long seconds, the only witness to two young people whose restless hands explore each other's bodies through fine robes. Hermione swallows nervously as Malfoy's hand reaches up for the woman's breast and he fondles it through her blouse. The blonde's hair tilts back and she moans freely. Malfoy's eyes are staring hard at her and his gaze, darkened by desire, looks dangerous and all consuming.
To Hermione's utter dismay the woman pulls him closer for a frantic kiss and she actually rubs herself on his body, up and down as if he is her own pleasure machine. She has never seen a girl act so wantonly in real life but Malfoy lets out a wheezing breath and grabs the back of her hair and Hermione knows, she just knows, his tongue is in the woman's mouth. She thinks she should feel like gagging, she knows the decent way to do is run, as the warm tiles press into her own body and the time to be back in the office approaches soon, but she is glued to that roof, her stunned eyes not leaving the couple for a single second. The more they go on, the more her own clothes chaff, like binds against her skin and every time the couple moans she bites her fist, hoping the pressure of her teeth sinking into flesh can bring her back to reality. She watches them without really understanding what she witnesses and she knows that soon she will be part of something that can never be erased from her memory. Something deeply personal and forbidden to any watcher's gaze. Still, she remains hidden. In a distant part of her mind, the word "voyeur" struggles to reach her conscious thought, but for now, she only witnesses the woman unbuckling Draco's belt. Her throat feels painfully dry.
"Oh, God, Oh, God," she thinks, "they are going to do it."
Instead, the woman slowly slides down on her knees and Hermione's eyes widen: is that some sort of a ritual? She has heard of dark rituals that involve sexual moves and she is alert again. There is a part inside of her that is overjoyed at the thought of a logical explanation for the current events. It's the hope that she is more than a stalker.
She waits. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. And then Malfoy's belt is thrown to the floor. Hermione's hand tenses on her wand. Her muscles are so taut that she feel they might rip if she stretches her neck any further. Her jaw is clenched, and her nerves are frazzled, as memories of the war days flash before her eyes. And then…
Nor Malfoy, nor the woman have their wands drawn. His back leans against the wall and her hands graze his hips, pulling back his underpants. She studies his face then, watching him writhing and still wondering what kind of ritual is this and if she will ever be able to erase the images from her memory. She doesn't realize what has happened when he jolts away from the wall but she is startled too. He falls back in a second, his head thrown back and a long moan escapes his throat. It is only afterwards that Hermione sees the woman's head bobbing up and down on…
She gasps loudly and snaps her eyes shut firmly. She ducks her head beneath the tile and fights with herself to keep out the loud breaths of shock as they struggle to erupt from her core.
Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, oh, Lord!
Hidden as she is, the image of their… nasty act is not in front of her anymore but she hears his moans now, cut at times by slurred "Argghhs" and "Yeseess" and they echo around her brain, hitting her scalp and ingraining themselves in her mind. Everything is wrong, from the way her body itches under the unnatural, scolding heat of the roof, to the way fear and anxiety bubble up inside her and they become mixed with a mind bending confusion that threatens to overtake her.
She inches up toward the edge again, just to make sure she hasn't been imagining things and the image strikes her as strong the second time too. His hands are in the woman's tresses, long fingers gripping the scalp while he pulls her where he wants it the most. There is sweat on his forehead now and his mouth is open in ecstasy, throaty sounds escaping it while his eyes are shielded by heavy eyelids. He grunts, moans, shivers and slurs words to her. Little encouragements that seem to work, guiding her in an intense plea to where he needs it the most. Their rhythm picks up right before her eyes and Hermione can see the woman's hand gripping his naked ass, while she moves against him vigorously, at an erratic pace. She moans too, humming on his flesh and he curses now and speeds up yet again, his hands pulling her more agitatedly. Gripping the edge, Hermione snaps her eyes shut and moves back just before he lets out a strong grunt and then a long moan.
The noise stops completely and something prickles at her skin, hot sweat and shattered nerves and something more. Curious, she tilts her head forward, just in time to observe them kissing passionately and she thinks she should be disgusted by the kiss right after… but somehow she isn't. Instead, she stares at their tangled limbs and languorous kisses as if they want to mold into one being.
She yelps and pushes herself back when a pair of grey eyes focus on her direction. Covering her mouth with a hand she grips her wand with the other and Disapparates with an almost soundless "pop".