This was written for Fairest of the Rare Advent.
My fan cast for Walden Macnair is Mads Mikkelsen. Everyone else stays the same ;)
I want to say thank you to my beta Silver Lioness - who worked hard and tirelessly on this piece. Thank you so much. 3
I'd appreciate it if you leave a comment and let me know what you think. Happy reading!
**Disclaimer: All the characters from the Harry Potter series belong to J. K. Rowling. I am grateful that she allows us to play in her world. All original ideas expressed within this story are mine. I am not making a profit from this. I am just happy to get the opportunity to write.**
The ceiling glittered with millions of stars; black, white and gold decorated the room. Vases of erupting flowers sat on any tabled surface, exploding and imploding into tiny little fireworks. Grand chandeliers, enchanted to float above created a soft glow, while also warming the room. Lucius Malfoy had outdone himself as he did every year.
The beat of the music pulsated urging the partygoers to twist, twirl and get down. At this point in the evening, ties were coming undone, cloaks had been shed, and intricate hairstyles were losing their luster. The dance floor was covered with Hermione's younger colleagues. They formed small groups of four or five, gyrating in one great hot mess.
Hermione wasn't the only one not dancing. Scattered around the perimeter of the ballroom were her older colleagues. She skirted around them catching bits and pieces of conversation. The most amusing of which happened between a warmly enthusiastic Mr. Weasley and a not so interested Minister Shacklebolt. Mr. Weasley was yammering on about some fantastic new muggle invention—the eye-pood. Mr. Weasley gestured with his hands emphasizing how tiny the device was in awe of how it seemed to hold libraries of music. Shacklebolt was trying his hardest to remain polite but when his gaze met Hermione's it read: 'Help'. Hermione had no plans on saving her boss this evening. She waved in a different direction like someone had been trying to get her attention and moved off.
Hermione had come looking for a connection. She didn't care if it turned into a relationship or if it was a one night stand. She wanted someone she could form decent conversations with and would worship her body. Done with being lonely finding a man at a New Year's party seemed an easy prospect. She had done everything she could think of that might land her a man. She wore a dress that left little to the imagination, makeup that made it appear like she had permanent bedroom eyes. Her untidy hair was wrangled into tight corkscrew curls that beautifully framed her face. She even bought a ridiculously expensive perfume that had been crafted with amortentia. Deceptive yes, but Hermione was desperate. It took all she had to stand graceful and confident. Trying to tug conspicuously on the hem of her skirt as it rode up too high was not helping.
Hermione longed for her jeans and oversized sweaters. She loathed dresses; they were confining, not to mention impractical, and she had few happy memories wearing them. The only decent one was from the Yule Ball years ago but even that was marred by Ron's accusations.
She stopped by a glimmering fountain, the pale gold of bubbling champagne danced in exotic swirls but stopped short of the edge so one could pluck a flute from a nearby floating silver tray and fill it to the brim if they so desired. Hermione angled what was likely her twelfth glass under one of the beautiful swirls, filling it right to the top. A muggle phrase sprung to mind: liquid courage. She'd been too busy to think to brew a wizarding one. Heck, this whole outfit had been put together at last minute, with the help of an overly enthusiastic muggle shopkeeper not too far from her flat. The pale liquid had posed as a decent substitute but it was by far not yielding the results she wanted this evening.
Spotting a group of her colleagues stumbling off the floor, she invited herself into their conversation.
"And you should have seen what the Cornish Pixies had done to Merkin. The poor lout was left hanging upside down by his underpants, his trousers around his ankles, and his cloak tied into a pretty bow around his chest."
Merkin was a clumsy dolt that didn't understand the creatures he was working with, it was any wonder he still had his job in the Creature Department of the Ministry. Still, Hermione felt bad. Merkin was a good guy, he meant well, but he didn't deserve to be the butt of other people's jokes.
Hermione made a sound the crossed between a hiccup and a sneeze. Weirdly amusing she laughed much louder than she had intended. Hers tailed the already dying laughter of the group. All eyes turned to her. The girls furthest from her were appraising her with bemused looks on their faces. To everyone that stood around her, Hermione was a non-nonsense workaholic that found little funny. Her cheeks burned as an awkward silence sank around them. She shrugged and wobbled off for another glass of champagne. After another handful of non-amusing jokes did she realize how fake her laughter sounded, no amount of bubbly that could make a bad joke funny.
As conversing had not yielded the results she wanted she reluctantly turned to the dance floor. Hermione had never been one who enjoyed dancing, but if a group of giggling girls could lure in a group of handsome looking guys, she figured she could too.
She wiggled her assets this way and that, trying to not act hurt when men averted their gazes the moment they locked onto hers. In a last-ditch effort, she dropped it to the floor like the office tramps. She wasn't part way down when her heels gave out. Her eyes went wide as she hit the floor, she flashed everyone with the little that was left covered. She struggled to stand, fighting with her heels and the multitude of equally drunk hands trying to help her. Whispers of: "What had gotten into her?" "Has she finally gone mad?" "Poor dear, looking for attention sad really." She stumbled into a couple as she tried to hurry off the loo where she thought she might get a shred of privacy. Looking up she found Lavender pressed against the wall in a gaudy dress by Ron. They were joined so close together it was difficult to tell where one started and the other began.
Hermione blundered into the loo releasing a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was no longer neat. Curls poked out at odd angles and there were small sections that had become matted. Her makeup was running. Gods, she looked like a trussed up two-bit whore. No wonder everyone was looking at her like she had two heads. Her liquid courage had been a nightmare in disguise. She could see the headlines in the Daily Prophet already; "Brightest Witch, has Mental Breakdown" "Golden girl Gone Crazy!"
Hermione sniffed. She shouldn't have come. She wasn't in the right frame of mind. It was time to leave before she possibly made a greater fool of herself.
Holding her head down as she tottered out of the loo, her broken heels left behind. She wanted to apparate home.
"Hermione," a hand wrapped around her wrist.
She turned instantly wincing as Neville's warm gaze washed over her. She tried to tug her hand free.
"I just want to go home," she mumbled.
Neville was one of the few friends she was still in contact with even with all the cancellations she made. The man was loyal to a fault.
"I can't let you Apparate. You're too drunk. You'll probably end up splinching yourself."
Hermione tried to wiggle her hand free. "I forgot to finish a report." Hermione hoped that would be enough for him to let her go.
"Merlin Hermione!" she bowed her head at the intense frustration in his voice. She'd never heard him speak in such a manner before. His hold on her wrist loosened. He took hold of her hand, lifting her chin. His rich gaze filled with concern. "If you keep going like this life will pass you by. You'll have nothing but work to your name. Is that what you want?"
Hermione scoffed. She did other things besides work. She couldn't think of any right now but she'd have more than just the Ministry to her name. Wouldn't she?
Hannah Abbott came up behind Neville watching Hermione curiously as she grabbed hold of Neville's hand. "Come on. The countdown is about to start."
Neville regarded his girlfriend with a gentle smile. "One second love."
His attention turned back to Hermione. "Please, stay this once. Take it as a new beginning. Grab a cuppa, sober up. You won't regret it I swear." he squeezed her hand softly. He turned to Hannah wrapping his arm around her waist as they walked away.
Neville must not have seen how her night had gone. How could he say such things when she looked the way she did? Lucky bloke. He saw the good in everything. He was a gorgeous looking guy that could have his pick of any woman, but he had Hannah and Hannah had him. They were the perfect couple.
Couples formed a crowd waiting for the countdown to start. A familiar pair moved into her gaze. The recently engaged Harry and Ginny. Due to her workaholic tendencies, she had missed their engagement party. The invite to the party had been the first she had heard from them in a long while. She wasn't surprised people were giving up on her. She hoped that she hadn't waited too long to come to her sense.
She watched as the pair danced slowly to music that no longer played. Ginny clutching onto the lapels of Harry's robes, his arms around her. They looked like they had tuned out the world. Hermione gritted her teeth. Boy wonder hadn't had one single problem since the end of the war. The icing on the cake was, Ginny had never left his side, not truly. Fuck him, she thought. She instantly wished she could erase such a terrible thought. Harry had been the truest friend in her entire Hogwarts journey and she had pushed it aside.
Hermione averted her gaze only to have the beautiful Fleur Delacour enter into her line of vision sporting a bump. Baby number two, Hermione believed. Bill stood behind her, a hand rested on her stomach. He whispered into her ear eliciting a blinding smile from his part Veela wife.
Neville was right, apparating now would likely lead to her splinching herself, but that didn't mean she didn't want to leave. Water, and fresh air. She needed to sober up, then she could leave. People had gathered around her so it was quite a trick to squeeze through, especially when your motor skills were not intact.
She popped out only to have Draco almost land in her lap. Busy snogging the life out of an elegantly looking Brunette. Hermione couldn't help but gawk. Wow, he was really going for it.
Hermione shook her head. The breeze caused by the movements from surrounding bodies caused her to shiver. She rubbed her arms to ward off the chill.
Everyone was living and loving their lives, she thought sadly. Loneliness overwhelmed her as she muddled her way around empty chairs, surveying the scene. Couples clung to each other as the lights dimmed. Here came the countdown, and she hadn't a single man on her arm.
Thirty...
Still, at least she wasn't the only single one here. She glanced over at the people that sat at tables around the fringe of the room. Their gazes held as much desperation as she felt.
Twenty...
Couples of every size, race, and creed joined hands stealing glances at each other. Sickeningly sweet smiles and not so conspicuous touches. Even Lucius was wrapped up in the cloak of love. He held Narcissa ever so gently. His thumb caressing her cheek, her hand resting on his wrist. She regarded her husband warmly. They were so close together that their conversation could easily be interrupted by a kiss. This display out of all affected her the most deeply. Lucius had such a horrid past, why did this former Death Eater deserve such devotion and not her? She'd been good her whole life. It wasn't fair.
Ten...
A strange sensation shot down her arms. She almost stomped her foot. Tonight wasn't the night to let life pass her by, Neville was right. New year, new beginnings. She would start this new year the way she intended living it, by taking chances.
Five... Four... Three... Two... One... HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The bubbles that had been floating to the ceiling burst creating a shower of twilight embers. Like a snowstorm but shinier. She reached out blindly until her hand rested on a chest. She eagerly pulled on the wizards lapels, confetti smashing between haphazard lips. The man pulled away surprised at finding himself being witch-handled. Hermione panicked. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He blew gently on her lips the confetti falling free. Lips fell on hers once again. Her manic fervor replaced by a slower smoother pace. His hands moved to her back. His callused hands feather gentle waves against her skin. The coarseness of his hands caught at her smooth skin sending her into a delicious head spin. She shivered as pure pleasure burst through her.
His lips weren't full, but they were gentle and skilled. An electric mix of flavours washed through her mouth as his tongue slipped inside. Fire-whiskey and tobacco, the earthy taste went straight to her belly. His tobacco musk filled her nose. She almost didn't want to see his face. This was perfect. If the man was married, it would just be the cherry on top of everything else about her so-far awful night. The mystery wizard pulled her flush to his body his hands slowly drifting down finally softly squeezing her arse.
Hermione broke away with a gasp. A chuckle rumbled through the man's chest.
"Well, well, Ms. Granger, what a lovely surprise." Her gaze flashed up to meet Walden Macnair's strange mismatched eyes. Changed by the war, a scar ran around his right-eye, the pigmentation affected badly. The iris had turned from a cognac brown to a bluish milky hue. Her aggravation caused her hair to bristle with magic. Why did it have to be him? She surrendered herself to the menace of her department. She spent many of her late nights tidying up after his messes.
His finger continued to track darkly tempting designing with his feather touch. This was not the way she wanted to start the year, not with him. But, damn it all! His hands felt so sinfully delectable against her skin. Before she had the chance to push him away, his lips dropped to hers once more. He squeezed her arse pulling her roughly up. The tips of her toes now on his boots. He grabbed her like he was claiming her as his own. Hermione fisted his lapels, meeting his passion, with the blazing energy of her own. As his tongue slipped back into her mouth her eyes went wide. This time she was letting him take her. She pulled away and tried to push herself free.
He chortled as he set her down on her feet.
"You over-presumptuous, vile ape," she grabbed fist fulls of her skirt to keep herself from latching onto the man. "How dare you assume that I would want to continue kissing you? You... You.. foul pillock, you're nothing but a..."
Her body was begging for his touch. She hoped that if she got angry enough, it would override her lust. One look at him though, and her body rose to another level of hormonal insanity. Her body writhed.
"You're nothing but a loathsome bottom feeder."
Macnair was convulsing with laughter. "Are you done?"
"You.." Hermione stepped up raising her hand to emphasize her words. "You cruel, foul…!"
Macnair took hold of her wrist. "Careful now you're repeating yourself." his hand slid up her arm. "Do you always make a habit of this?"
Her thought process came to a screeching halt. This touch was agonizingly slow. She lowered her eyes. She watched as his tattooed fingers moved. How could such a tender touch drive her whole body mad? She wanted to feel it everywhere. His soft squeeze brought her mind back to the present.
"What?" her voice shook.
"Do you always kiss men then insult them?"
Hermione clenched her fist. What an arse, Hermione thought. Macnair grinned. She noticed that the glimmers of mischief that normally dazzled his eyes were not present. Instead, an intense heat filled his gaze. Hermione swallowed. It had been far too long since she'd seen such a look in a man's eyes, especially one directed at her. If she didn't take what he was so generously offering now who knew when it would happen next. This didn't have to be a relationship. It was only meant to start her in the right direction.
"So, Ms. Granger," He leaned towards her. "What'll it be? A battle of wits or a revel of pleasure?"