Café Noir
Summary: It was purely by accident: the hot coffee, the stained white designer shirt, his devastated facial expression, and her ruined six hundred dollar shoes. DMHG. AU to DH Epilogue. M for sex/language.
Disclaimer:I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, nor do I make money off of the writings that I post onto this website. It's all for some good-old fun.
Authoress Note: I placed this under romantic comedy because the tone of the story is meant to be light-hearted and sweet. It's not really funny, and it's borderline romantic. There's no angst in it, really. It's simply a piece of writing I believe is good. I truly hope you all enjoy it and leave me feedback on it. This is a one-shot. Please check out my other DMHP story, D.I.V.O.R.C.E., it's a romantic-comedy for sure and it is currently a work in progress. Thank you for reading, and I hope to hear from all who took their time to read this.
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Celui qui a bon coeur n'est jamais sot
Anyone who has a good heart is never foolish.
— Amandine Aurore Lucile Dupin (George Sand), 1804 – 1876.
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It wasn't too late in the afternoon that people were not seen jostling the streets of Paris. The cobblestones looked unnaturally bright as the sun held its high position in the cloudless sky. She tapped her Gucci shoes several times on the sidewalk as she waited for her boyfriend of three weeks to come out from the coffee shop. Café Noir was almost as fashionable as it was expensive, and Hermione had learned a lot about fashion in the six years since leaving Hogwarts. She had become the top executive for Witches Vogue Magazine located in Paris, France, since stepping out into the real world.
Her blackberry began to ring as Alec came outside, his long brown hair brushed to the side and his two-day missed beard making him look seductive and dangerous. He was wearing a baby blue collared shirt that clenched his well-built torso and was opened at the top exposing a chiseled chest. His designer jeans fitted him and he stood beside Hermione like the model he was.
"Your coffee," he said, his accent curling his words viciously. It was enduring when they had first dated, and became downright sexy when they were shagging, but now it was becoming less appealing to her, she had even stopped sending death glares to the women who stared at him on the streets. She had to remind herself that she was no longer the desperate bushy haired Mudblood with large teeth, she thought quickly, as she lifted her blackberry to her ear.
"Yes, who am I speaking to?" she asked, bringing the steaming cup to her lips as she blew onto its surface.
"Hi, Hermione." It was Ginny. "We got a problem down at Vogue, the prints are all over the place, and Jasper can't find the layout for this month's issue and—oh god A de la Renta is RUINED—oh your Oscar de la Renta is ruined because Jasper got ink on it and—"
"Ginny," she started. "I hired you to fix problems, not call me to bitch about them. As for my de la Renta, I want Oscar on the phone pronto and tell him what has happened…you have his personal number." And with that, Hermione hung up. She was in no shape or form the same bumbling, low-self-esteemed girl from Hogwarts. She was living a fast-paced life that entailed her being tough and yes, mean. She loved Ginny, but she couldn't treat Ginny differently from the rest of the people she employed. She wasn't heartless—or at least that's what she told herself daily. She still cared! The papers had written about her becoming a shell of a human being. She was cunning, ruthless, sneaky and boorish. They had deemed her "Heartless Hermione" in the tabloids; she couldn't count the many times they called her that on all the hands of her staff at Witches Vogue.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, Hermione was bumped backwards; her coffee splashing onto what she assumed was a man, based on the shout, and the coffee spilled on her brand new Gucci shoes.
"You fucking prick!" she screamed, pushing the tall man away from her. She could barely think as she stared down at her four-inch leather shoes, dripping wet from hot coffee. Never mind the pain; she had felt pain before, but her shoes.
She looked up into the devastated crystal gray colored eyes of a white-blonde haired man. He was dressed in a loose fitting white designer shirt, now with an ugly brown blotch on it, and he was wearing charcoal black dress pants with alligator leather shoes. He screamed wealth and beauty, but there was something particularly familiar about him that made her think that he was not a model.
"I will get towels," Alec said, reentering Café Noir. Hermione again looked at the blonde man, who had moved onto the step outside of the shop with Hermione. He gave a small weak smile and shrugged.
"It's not a big deal," the man said, pulling the stained shirt so it would not stick to his stomach. She rolled her eyes at the man and looked behind her to see where Alec was with her towel. "I'm sorry about your shoes," he said, peering down Hermione's long leg, exposed by her short pencil pinstripe skirt. She shrugged.
"Don't worry about it, I'll be sure to send you the six hundred dollar bill to replace them," she drawled sarcastically, turning away from the man to face the shop. She heard him chuckle and turned her head to throw him a filthy look. Her blackberry was vibrating, and any other time Hermione wouldn't mind interrupting a conversation she then had to answer it, but now she couldn't bring herself to answer it, instead vouching her undivided attention on the stranger.
"I feel like I know you," the man said.
"Ha, I don't think so," Hermione said, giving the man a critical look. "You're not the type of man I would surround myself with," she said in a snotty voice, turning up her nose.
"I suppose the man who went for towels is your kind of person? He looked like a model to me."
"He IS a model."
"So I can presume that he's quite brainless."
"EXCUSE me?" Hermione asked, insulted. She raised a finely plucked eyebrow and stared at the man incredulously. "How DARE you throw about insults when you just ruined my six hundred dollar shoes," she flipped her varied colored brown hair over her shoulder, the sun making it shine a caramel blonde as it flowed down her back.
"Hermione, I brought the towel." Alec had returned with two thick white cotton towels. He handed one to the stranger, who began to pad the spot dry. The stranger smiled at her.
"Hermione…Hermione Granger?"
She gave the stranger a startled look. No one had used her last name since Hogwarts. She hadn't used it for ages, in lieu of winning the War. She had wanted to be left alone, and with her notorious reputation at Vogue, people called her Hermione. She was only known as Hermione (or Heartless Hermione). She was Hermione, The Queen of Vogue. She cringed as she stared up at the tall man.
"Who are you?" she asked warily. She thought maybe he was a stalker or someone who had valuable information on her. "If you want money, you'll have to talk to my lawyer, because if you're trying to blackmail me I will have you hanging from the ceiling by your arse."
"Granger, Granger, Granger," the man sang with a twisted grin. "Still as spunky as ever, I see. You've changed quite a bit, though."
Hermione huffed, "Malfoy?" It all fell into place—the high quality of clothing, the eyes, the hair—the arrogance and sarcasm. She scowled. "Who would think that you would show your face to society after the war?" she hissed quietly.
He smiled at her, not affected by her tone, "Well, I decided to show my face, and I'm here in France on vacation with my parents. I didn't think I'd ever see you here, dressed the way you are…with a man that's a model. What happened to Weaselbee?" Draco asked lightheartedly.
"Ron and I are on a break, if you must know. I'm very famous here, Malfoy, and in the Wizarding World, if you haven't picked up an issue of Witches Vogue or checked the financial section of the Prophet."
"YOU'RE the brain behind that rubbish? Why Granger, I didn't think you'd stoop so low to dedicating a magazine to fashion, rich women, and unattainable men…How unlike you."
"Unlike me? You don't even know me, Malfoy." Alec interrupted her as he squatted to wipe the spilled coffee off of Hermione's leg. He stared up at her; his eyes glazed with a look of lust as he slid the towel dreamily down her leg. She scowled and shrugged him off, her attention still heatedly directed towards Malfoy.
"I thought I knew you," he snorted. "I recall a highly intelligent, nosy bookworm who knew too much for her own good and was insanely in love with a red-haired dirt poor weasel."
She scoffed, "and do you know what I remember? I remember a blonde haired ferret that was wonderful at bouncing…now, if you'll excuse me, I have places to go, people to see and a magazine to run…" she said, walking away, but he grabbed her by the elbow, holding her back.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked softly. Her eyes fluttered as her mouth opened to throw out a string of vicious insults, but she stopped herself. The grip that he held her in was strong, making her swoon into him. It took her a while to recoup from the inappropriate moment of sensuality. However, when she finally pulled back, her heel caught in a crack in the pavement, sending her sideways, where she fell into Alec, who was not at all ready to catch her. Alec's hair ruffled a bit as she flew by.
Anyone from afar would have laughed at the audaciousness of the situation. Here was this woman, all dolled up and sexy, falling on her side between two very capable men. Her arms flailing, she gave a shout of fear as she fell onto the sidewalk, the blonde-haired man trying to reach out for her and the brown-haired man jumping back, the stained towel he was holding falling with the woman to land unceremoniously onto her head.
Hermione groaned having heard a snap on her way down. "Fuck," was the only word to escape her quivering lips as she stared down the length of her right leg to see the long heel of her shoe missing, stuck in the tiny crack of the pavement.
She could barely comprehend what was happening—she was oblivious to the many Parisians who had stopped to stare at her, her boyfriend stifling laughter, and even the occupants of Café Noir peering out the window to point and ogle her. All she could comprehend were the strong arms that came around her, lifting her up from the ground.
"That was a hard fall, Granger. Are you all right?"
No words came from her.
"Your shoe is thoroughly fucked…sorry about that…"
Still, she said nothing.
"I could fix it for you later, but you know, it won't erase the trauma of this incident," he said, trying to keep a chuckle in unsuccessfully.
"Your boyfriend is quite the loon, he went back into the café to bring you ice for your foot…"
Hermione finally noticed that she couldn't put weight on her right foot. It hurt and looked a bit swollen. She shook her head.
"Here, let's go in…" he said, grabbing her by the elbow once more and leading her into the café, leaving her broken shoe behind, heel still stuck in the crack. Hermione nodded, sniffling slightly. He stopped her, reaching down to unlace her left shoe so she wouldn't have to walk uncomfortably. Holding one unbroken shoe in one hand, and her elbow gripped in another, Draco led her into the café.
People had finally went back to their coffees and pastries, only inconspicuously sending her glances as she made her way to the back of the shop. She peered about, looking for Alec and saw him chatting animatedly in rapid French to a young female cashier who had a pen and paper out, seemingly asking for his autograph. She rolled her eyes at this.
In the back of the café, there were three unisex bathrooms, and Draco led her into one of them. Shutting the door behind them, he bade her to sit on the close lid of the toilet. With that done, Hermione watched in astonishment as he kneeled before her, lifting her leg gingerly into his lap to inspect. His long fingers grazed across her ankle to rest a few inches above it. "It looks sprained," he muttered, peering closer at her ankle. He gave a swift nod as if to confirm his hypothesis.
Her voice was caught in her throat, but she strangled out, "how do you know?"
He gave her an unbelieving look. "Why Granger, don't you read the Prophet or Witch Weekly? I'm a Healer." He smiled. "And a damn good one. This sprain is nothing…I can fix it up in no time," he said, pulling out his wand that was stuck in his back pocket of his trousers, hidden under his shirt partially. He placed the tip on her ankle and muttered a string of incantations that left Hermione yearning to know what they were and what they meant. When he was done, he looked up at her with a sly smile, placing her foot back down on the ground.
"Thank you," she whispered. Draco stood to stare down at her.
"No problem at all, it's the least I can do…I did sort of destroy your shoes."
She laughed, "ah, but I said I'll send you the bill, so don't think this is your way out of paying for them."
He gave a small chuckle and ran a hand through his tousled blonde tresses, making Hermione squirm on the seat. She was nervous—around Malfoy. She was never nervous around people, and this made her very angry.
"So I guess I'll be going," she said, standing from the toilet seat. She groaned though, her ankle still tender. He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently sitting her back down.
"Wait a second, there. You just had a sprain healed; give your body a second to regroup. It's still sore."
"No, I can't…I really have to get going, I'm late for an appointment I have to get to—" she said, standing up quickly. Unfortunately, her body was not along with her. She tittered over and fell into Malfoy's chest. He wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from falling.
"I thought I'd save you from the embarrassment of falling a second time today," he said with a grin, their faces mere centimeters away from one another.
"I don't like strangers touching me," she said breathily. Draco shrugged.
"I don't like women falling all over the place," he replied simply.
"Even if they're falling into you?"
"Especially if they're falling into me," he said with a nod. "Particularly beautiful women."
"So do you like this situation?" she asked, noticing that she was still in Malfoy's grasp.
"Afraid not."
"Oh…" she whispered, realization dawning on her.
He brought his lips down onto hers, and she gasped into his mouth, giving him access into her hot, smooth cavity. His lips slid across her bottom lip in a slow, teasing fashion, making her knees buckle at the slothfulness of the touch. She quivered as he brought his tongue back into her mouth, caressing her own with a gentle hurriedness.
His hands had unfolded from around her to creep up into her silken hair, where he massaged her scalp sweetly as he tipped her head to the side to deepen the maddening kiss. When her knees had finally given out, he lifted her, wrapping her around his waist as her back made contact to the bathroom door. Her tight skirt had rolled its way up around her waist. She gave a startled whine at the sudden change of position, but quieted shortly afterwards, her arms wrapping around his neck as she craved more of the kiss—more of his taste.
She knew that this was distasteful for a woman such as herself. It was raunchy, unprofessional and just downright wrong. She was snogging Draco Malfoy in the back of a Parisian café! But he tasted so good and something this good shouldn't be passed over.
When she had grinded into him, it had fueled the burning passion that had ignited between them. He had gripped her hair harder as he grinded back, a tortured moan escaping his moist lips. Their arms were tangled together, and he slowly removed his hands from her hair to grip her hips, pressing his hardness against her, making her know exactly what she was doing to him. She softly cried out, her head falling against the door as his lips traveled down the length of her neck to the slight opening of her blouse, exposing a hint of her breasts. Her hands had found its way to his hair, her fingers languidly running through them as he continued to leave sweet bruises on her creamy skin. A hand snuck away from her hip to snake between them, she was still pinned to the door with his weight, but nearly fell from jerking upward when his hand had found its way pass her knickers and onto her clit. With a slow, fluid rhythm, she moaned into his mouth, her body shaking with every measured, cruelly amazing motion.
The kissing and the rhythm, together, were making her mad with desire and release. She was crying upward to the ceiling of the bathroom, her body asking—dying for release. He had removed his lips, but not breaking the other motion. The tension that was building up in her wanted to explode, but he kept his time, his eyes trained on her face so he could know when she was getting close and cede in his practiced rhythm and attack her neck or lips. She was being built up for a horribly traumatic collapse, and it drove her wild.
Finally, she felt her body give short, fast jerks and pulls. She released a piercing scream as her hands clenched his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fine cloth of his shirt, her hips crashing into his hand as she shook her head from side-to-side. He watched her face, contorted in ecstasy as she came, harder than she ever came in her entire life. His fingers still stroked her as he rested his head on her shoulder, latching onto the soft skin of the base of her neck and sucking on it as she finished. She collapsed against his chest, her body well spent. He wrapped one arm around her back and the other he ran down the length of her hair, kissing her softly on the side of her face and neck.
"Oh Merlin," she muttered, her head shamelessly resting against his shoulder. He nodded. "That was…fuck…that was better than…anything…your hands…"
"They've got the healing touch," he said with a small laugh. She nodded.
"And what did you heal for me today, Healer Malfoy? Besides a sprained ankle?" she said weakly.
"I believe a heart transplant took place today," he said softly. She lifted her head to stare at him in confusion. "C'mon, let's go…" he placed her down, and they took turns cleaning up and using the sink and mirror. She had transfigured two rolls of toilet paper into black heels for her feet, but before she turned the knob to the door, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Oh fuck! The whole bloody café must've heard us!"
Draco smirked, "I wandlessly placed a silencing charm when we started to go at it," he said triumphantly. Hermione gave him a cunning smile.
"You are good," she complimented. "I could barely think when we started to snog…"
They reentered the café, immediately, Hermione saw Alec sitting at a table now, his head propped up by his upturned palm as his elbow rested on the table, still chatting with the cashier with a lazy smile on his face. She knew then that it was quite done between them. She stopped and looked up at Draco, who was quietly watching her.
"I guess this is goodbye," she said, sticking out a hand. He shook it and gave her a lopsided smirk. When she withdrew her hand, she couldn't get the image of him staring at her face during the time of her orgasm. His eyes were soft, expectant, and calculating. He had looked at her as if she was a wondrous thing, marveling her like a beautiful painting that held the complex concepts of the world.
He reached out for her hand one more time, giving it a squeeze, and with a twitch of the corner of his lip, he exited Café Noir.
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Two weeks had gone by since Hermione's escapade with Draco Malfoy at Café Noir. The incident played over her mind many times before she realized that no type of sexual encounter would ever top that, not even the ones she experienced in her dreams.
She was currently in her office, the light from outside pouring in to light up her room with a brilliant white light. She was wearing a stylishly cut charcoal gray Prada dress with matching brand shoes as she flipped through the images of models she would have to pick for July's issue of Witches Vogue. With a lazy sigh, she peered out of her office to see Ginny furiously talking to one of the minor assistants about a collection of hats that were misplaced on the third floor. Supposedly, according to Ginny's loud ranting, these hats were worth more than the minor assistance's life.
Lost in a varied amount of thoughts, Hermione did not notice the owl that had perched itself on the corner of her desk until it made a scratching noise from its throat. She jumped, turning to the annoyed creature.
Attached to it was a rectangular box and scroll.
She tore the scroll off first, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Draco's elegantly written name on the front of it.
I know you didn't send a bill like you had threatened, but here are the shoes I so horribly ruined…
Inside the parcel was a new pair of the shoes that had been destroyed outside of the café. She could have just repaired them by magic, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to, wanting to keep some hold of that wonderful afternoon.
...Also, I couldn't help but inquire about your weekend? Are you free at all? I would love to take you out Saturday night.
Yours truly,
Draco
Hermione stared down at the owl post, her lips twitching manically up into a smile as she gingerly held the small piece of parchment. She allowed for a small laugh to escape between her lips, shocked at the audacity of a one Draco Malfoy. She didn't know where this would lead, and frankly, she didn't really care. She knew that if that day was anything to go by, she would be having a lot of fun with him. She pulled out a fountain pen, and scribbled her response—
It's a date.
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Fin
Again, thank you all so much for reading this story; I hope you take some time out to leave me some feedback. This is a one-shot, and I don't think I'll be adding any additional chapters. But don't get too upset! I have another DMHG story titled "D.I.V.O.R.C.E." that is also a romantic-comedy. Again, thanks, and please review.