An overflowing desk full of inquiries and memos sat like an unbelievable initiation, like a joke too impossible to be real. Piled nearly three feet high was a manila colored tower that were owls from outside the Ministry and the three others of the same height were from inside. Burns stained the top of the desk, near a discernable ash tray. It reeked of smoke and fire whiskey. An old boy of the place.
In the doorway stood a slender woman of twenty-two with full brown eyes topped with expressive eyebrows for her every emotion so easily read, creamy skin melded into her dense navy-colored suit with two sets of golden buttons down the center. Her shock turned into disgust as she viewed the room longer. The intern nearest, antsy to get a move on, cleared his throat.
"Will that be all, Miss Granger?" He asked pointedly.
Weren't these interns supposed to be frightened? Where was his pity for her?
"What happened in here?" She gushed. "This is unexpectable, inappropriate. Unprofessional! In short, this is a disaster. Unanswered orders…Are these Muggle inquiries? My goodness. They looked months old."
The intern lazily glanced at her. "Uhhh, yeah. Pretty much. Mr. Dokas wasn't one for paperwork. He figured you'd get it all sorted once he left."
"He didn't know he was leaving…" she picked up a lower envelope and opened it, "August 21st?!"
She brimmed with anger as the intern looked down the hall once again at the pretty young witch waiting there. He rolled his eyes. Hermione Granger boiled. She was given an exclusive position after her revolutionary work with the House Elves in Magical Creatures, she was offered the spot of a lifetime after the old (entirely ancient blowhard) department head retired to the tropics.
Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was a busy place, with lots of moving parts and always dire consequences if the job was mishandled. The Minister believed Hermione was the right person for the job, despite her age and the amount of more senior witches and wizards in employ already in line for the job.
It was a change from the work with House Elves, which she enjoyed but was rather resisted by everyone – including the House Elves. Thankless work. But, with the recent rumblings of families having to pay their domestics left a lot of the oil in government, unmaintained. Hermione was given a position to satisfy the deep pockets which the Ministry relied on.
The fight to the new position was not honorable, to say the least. She ducked her head low when it was mentioned. The Minister spoke with her personally to ensure there would be no more trouble, and that she was greatly needed in the MA&C.
Hermione dismissed the intern with a sigh. It was lunch break. She hoped upon his return he'd be more helpful and perhaps a bit less short otherwise his position was to be reconsidered. It was in her right to find a new assistant, a Department Head and all.
No, that is not fair. He has a job. As do I. I need to make this work.
She fell into the office chair, intent to sort through the crowded desk, but instead, dropped down and fell to the floor as the chair spun and lifted off the floor.
"A hex?" She shrieked. "Damn you Dokas! Haven't you done enough?"
She whipped out her wand and said the counter curse quickly.
The chair dropped to the carpet and exploded a loud cloud of dust. Smokey gray dust filled the office, pushing parchment and memos off the desk and into the air, as her hair was blown back, suit stained with the impossible surrounding color.
Hermione Granger stood stunned, yet again, at what a task her new job turned out to be.
When she strolled in through the Floo to the flat, it was silent. She imagined Ginny would be home from practice by now, but by the looks of it (the apartment being in perfect order) she guessed not. For once, she wished for Ron's awkward habit of making her feel better with an obvious remark like, "Jeesh, Hermione. Don't you know how to shower?" or "Clean out a chimney on your rounds?"
She pushed the thought of her friends from her mind. The stress of the day was too much. What she needed was to unwind in a soothing bubble bath. Hermione dropped her suit in her room and marched into her adjoined bathroom in the nude.
It was freeing to be bare. There were so few moments when she was allowed, since her roommate had a nasty habit of never knocking. It wasn't like she was a nudist, per say, just an enjoyer of the natural state of herself.
An entire wall of the posh loo was a mirror. It reflected the entirety of the goings on. Clear paned glass on the tiled shower, a built-up jacuzzi big enough to seat four comfortably, and a toilet in the corner next to the sink. A skylight above lent down a hazy late afternoon light in golden rays. It turns the pale tiles a beautiful shimmering gold as the spigot poured into the tub.
She caught a side glance at the mirror and frowned at the physique she boasted: too skinny, with small tits and ass, with a flat middle. The gentle slope of her hips to her waist was the only curve she had. She poked her soft flesh. There were bits of scars arounds her belly and chest and back from the war. Those never left.
More so was a scar that was invisible. It rested just below her skin, a naked cover to immense pain. She blinked back tears whenever they came, and they never stopped. She brushed away the few strays that dripped down her chin, and sniffled.
It felt like ages since she'd saw the scar so clearly in her reflection.
The rush of hot water against her flesh awoke her senses, liquified her insides and melted away that sharp stinging pain she felt inside her heart with each pump. Wafts of steam filled her eyes. The small pops of bubbles as they broke against her ice-white flesh in little bombs calmed her racing thoughts.
Stress of the day drained into the water as she dipped deeper. Her mind was still back at that old desk that stank of decades old smoke and liquor. She requested an entire deep clean, magical or otherwise, to rid herself of the reminder of just how demented the man was.
Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the water in her ears as she lowered her heart rate. Over the years since the war, she'd found ways to calm herself in a moment, to anchor herself to rational thinking, rather than being over emotional. It helped. She felt power in the control. A high. It kept her aloft in the waves of the unexpected life that she led.
She laid in there a long time thinking of how long it'd been. The itch ascended her legs from her toes and traveled up to the apex of her thighs. The reminder that she missed the pleasures, the carnal overwhelming surrender, the leg-shuddering excitement of intimacy.
There was a sudden rush through her. Nipples poked through the warm water into the pointed cold air, puckered, and made her gasp in pleasure as it rang throughout, tugging tightly at that cord attached to her sex, now flushed with excitement. Her fingers danced over her belly in a sort of teasing dance, reliving every touch, every spark of a moment when she'd been touched, and ignited a need. A burning need.
Her fingers latched onto her pussy and dove deep inside her folds without another thought. She was slick. The slippery wet eased her fingers inside, pushing as deep as she could until she yelped in pain. It wasn't enough. She went faster and faster, aching to remember. The feeling. That feeling of someone buried between her thighs, inside her body, pushing on her spot with lust.
She braced her legs on the sides of the tub and worked her fingers in and out, so muscled and smooth inside herself, slowly to tease herself and when she whimpered with need, they broke inside into a murmuring mind-numbing ecstasy.
Once the wave started to rise, in her stomach like a rumbling tsunami, her fingers withdrew and rubbed wildly on her sensitive nub that pushed through her delicate pink folds of warm flesh and moaned out. Even as she tried to stop, her body wouldn't. The pleasure was too good. She needed it.
Her eyes closed. She remembered a time when a face used to be planted over her thighs, thick tongue out in tease as she writhed underneath him. A dance over her clitoris in a way that only he could. A way that made her eyes roll back, but not wanting to miss a moment of it at the same time.
Eyes. Amber colored eyes looking up, mouth latched onto the delectable goodness that he lapped up eagerly. He wouldn't stop until she'd screamed out, not a moment before.
She moved her fingers quicker, that wave almost over her head, that brilliant burst, as she pictured his lips.
His lips leaned in close to her ear. "I love you, Hermione Granger."
Hermione's back arched as she came, a constant stream of euphoria. She moaned loud, shaking in the memory of him.
When she opened her eyes, there was a dark shadow inside the doorway. She blinked.
Oh my god.
"Hey, Ginny! Your roommate is in here!" The man shouted with a leery smile. "How you doin'?"
Hermione splashed a wave of water. "Get out of here you pervert!"
"Come on now, don't be that way. I was enjoying the show."
Where the hell was Ginny?
She rose out of the water and wrapped a towel around her body. "A huge invasion of my privacy, you scab. Even for you."
The man was none other than Cormac McLaggen. He was a close friend of Ginny, somehow, and never ceased to leer at Hermione every chance he got. He'd seen her naked so many times that it was hardly anything new anymore.
"Thinking of me?" He smiled that hideous smile. "I'll certainly be thinking of you. Later."
She rolled her eyes. "I swear, Cormac. It's like you want 'I'm a perverted wanker' plastered on your gravestone."
"Such a tease."
His hands latched around her waist in a tight grip and held her there until she relented to look at him.
"What is it you were looking for, hm? Might save you some time if you looked in my purse. Steal a few Galleons off me, yeah? Go find an escort to fulfill your sort of sick fantasy. Totally not into you clearly does it for you. I imagine there are a vast many who fill that requirement."
He scoffed and let her go.
She pushed him out toward her bedroom door and screamed, "Ginny, come collect your pervert before I turn him into a rat!"
A redhead appeared out of nowhere. "Come here, pervert. I was looking for you."
Ginny Weasley looked all too well. She was a beautiful woman with bright red hair down to her shoulders, littered with blonde highlights. Now that she made famous Quidditch Player money, she kept herself up. The girl worked out, jogged, had lots of sex to keep her body limber.
The war changed many things including Harry Potter. One of the ways he changed was by leaving Ginny high and dry with literally no interest. He couldn't help it, it wasn't his fault, but he didn't handle it well either. It put strain on everyone.
Ginny, too.
Hermione sighed heavily. "Can't you put a leash on him? What if he has an accident in here and piddles on the floor?"
Her roommate laughed a good laugh and pulled on Cormac's arm, away from Hermione. It was a safe bet that she'd hex him soon. And if she hexed him, his dick wouldn't work for Ginny's workout.
"A leash?" Ginny toyed. "Now that's an idea."
The two of the sex addicts shared an intense moment of eye contact before kissing with a fury. They started to rip at each other's shirts, leaving Ginny's an unsalvageable mess, and Hermione completely frustrated.
"Get a room!" She groaned.
The slam of her bedroom door wasn't enough to keep them away from each other or the fact that Ginny hadn't put up her silencing charms so the entire night, she heard the disturbed grunting of Cormac as he plowed his way through Ginny like a job to be done, a person to be used, as Ginny did the same thing.
Both thrived under the idea that they weren't attached to the other. Casual as possible. Which is why Cormac tried to pursue Hermione with a similar interest that almost clouded his attraction to Ginny, for a second. Or perhaps, he pictured her as he did it to her best friend.
Really, she wasn't sure, but she was certain that she didn't want to know what Cormac pictured as he came.