How could she be excited by Quidditch, she thought as she hurried along the grounds to the pitch. While a student, she'd been subjected to more than enough of this asinine game for her liking, forced to watch match after excruciatingly dull match to support her friends and housemates. And while the the contests inevitably had exciting, suspenseful moments, in her opinion it did not make up for the hours of numbing boredom.
But, she was excited for this match because it was her first time attending as a staff member. She tried to tell herself the anticipation she felt was because of this rite of passage as a new professor. But she was never good with self-delusion. Staff members enjoyed their own private viewing box. And that included the Headmaster. Hours of enforced viewing of a game she had no interest in seemed a treat because it would be time spent with him in a room not much larger than a Hogwarts Express train compartment. She was running late already and picked up her pace so as not to miss any precious time in such close proximity to him. His forays to the Staff room were sporadic at best and when he did come in, his time was monopolized by inquiries, complaints, and requests by the other professors. She sometimes considered queuing up to ask some academic question, just to bask in his presence and lose herself in those eyes and that voice. But, her insecurities always kept her in her chair and quiet. She feared making a fool of herself in front of him by babbling on or, worse still, clueing him in to her infatuation by becoming tongue-tied and self-conscious. She would rather enjoy his presence at a distance than live with the inevitable rejection once he realized her admiration. And at a distance described perfectly where she sat at the head table for meals. Her view of him was blocked by the three staff that sat between her and the object of her desire. She could only listen intently to catch snippets of conversation. Crumbs indeed.
Oh how she wished she could be carefree, sophisticated and witty around him. Allow him to observe her as the smart, confident, attractive woman that she was. And with any other wizard, it would be easy because she was all of those things. But he wasn't just any other wizard. For her, he had become THE wizard and try as she might to tamp down her reactions to him, she was a flustered, nervous mess when forced to interact with him. Better to observe and not be thought a fool by him for she knew that would crush her. She wasn't sure exactly why. It wasn't as if they had a true relationship to lose. But it felt momentous to be in his presence and she wanted the freedom to enjoy it without his scorn or pity. She wouldn't miss any chance to be near him and so she hustled along a bit faster.
As she entered the stadium, she pulled out her old Griffyndor scarf and wound it about her neck. McGonnagal had insisted all staff wear their old house scarves. The Headmaster had thought for a moment when it was suggested iyesterday in the staff meeting. She was surprised when after a few seconds of deliberation, he acquiesced with a smirk on his face. She didn't quite understand his reaction. His second term as Headmaster was marked by less segregation by House and more emphasis on students as individuals. Sighing, she made her way the last few steps to the Staff Box determined to not obsess over his actions but rather relish being in his presence, basking in the firm, electric and yet soothing feel of his strength and magic. It grounded her and excited her beyond measure.
Entering the room, she could see the players gearing up for the start of the match and all eyes in the stadium were riveted. Except hers. They zeroed in on his position immediately. She took in his regal bearing and the scarf casually tucked about his neck and trailing down his robes. The shock of green against his pale skin brought an instant blush to her face and she ducked her head and headed for a seat in the back while summoning a tea from the sidetable. Nestled into the comfort of the chair, inhaling the fresh aroma of the Darjeeling, she settled in to watch...him, of course, the game was irrelevant.
Twenty minutes later she was growing frustrated. She wanted to sit near him, chat with him, possibly lay a hand on his perfectly crisp sleeve as she made a witty joke. Yet, she remained in the back of the box, feeling like a moth too frightened to approach the flame. Any Gryffindor bravery she possessed fled in his presence and she hated her inability to be direct and forthright with him as she would with anyone else.
Lost in her recriminations, she didn't notice a dark figure approach her until she heard that honeyed voice in her ear, "Professor Granger, so glad you could make it." She turned her head to gaze at him and found her face within a foot of his. Too close. Her mind seemed to shut down and her body was the only thing that seemed to react to his words. Her heart sped up, she felt a small tremor move swiftly up her spine and goosebumps covered the expanse of her skin almost instantly. As she processed her reactions, concentrating on keeping them in check, she realized he was awaiting a reply. He'd said something- something she was supposed to respond to. She could only look at him as a blush bloomed on her cheeks and down her neck. She managed a whispered, "I'm sorry?", truly amazed she could form words with his eyes locked onto hers.
"I asked if you'd like to place a small wager on the match, Professor Granger."
Without a thought, she blurted out, "Hermione." She consoled herself for this slip because he did use other professors first names sometimes. Even if they were the ones he'd been colleagues with before the war. Her blush was scorching her face now and she had to drop her eyes to his neckline to break the hypnotic spell of his gaze.
"Very well, Hermione." Her name had never sounded so seductive and she breathed in slowly, her eyes fluttering a bit. "Would you like to place a small wager on the match." His eyes danced over her face and he seemed amused , but not at her expense.
"Yes, Headmaster," feeling almost victorious that she'd said it without her voice cracking.
"Do you have anything in mind, Hermione?" Now, why did he have to say THAT because her hard earned lucidity was now blasted by thoughts of all the the things she'd had in mind about him recently. Touches, kisses, strokes, sweat-coated bodies striving for completion, a hand underneath the head table furtively inching higher as the others ate their dinners unaware. She'd had a lot in her mind with regards to him recently but none of it could be admitted. Definitely not in this room full of peers. Probably not ever.
Once again, her vocal cords blurted out a whispery answer with no input from her brain, "Anything." That brought a perfectly arched eyebrow up as he gave her a slightly quizzical but indulgent look. "Anything? That's a dangerous statement to make to a man such as myself." His voice had lowered to a purr and she could feel her body vibrating from the bass it produced. "Why?", she breathed, excited beyond measure. This was flirting wasn't it?! Even if it wasn't, it was the most intimate encounter she'd ever had with him (dreams and fantasies exempted.)
"What if I attempted to take advantage of you, Hermione?" His voice practically caressed her name and she was absolutely spell-bound and ensnared. Heightening the sense of teetering on a great precipice, his hand had moved to gently tug at her scarf. The feel of her throat being ever so slightly compressed by his action began an incessant throbbing throughout her body centered in her core. She valiantly fought the urge to wantonly rub her legs together to alleviate her sudden need.
Before she could reply that whatever he wanted of her, she would gladly give - and that earnest statement was on the tip of her tongue- a roar from the crowd engulfed the box and Hagrid cried for the Headmaster to come see whatever athletic feat had riled them up. He looked apologetic and slightly annoyed but perhaps that was wishful thinking.
"Another time perhaps...I'm interested to find out what *anything* entails." With a last look at her reddened, wide-eyed face, he smiled and moved towards Hagrid. Hermione fought the urge to pinch herself to ensure this wasn't just another titillating dream that ended on the cusp of some great discovery but never realizing it. As the surrounding sounds re-entered her consciousness, she felt sluggish and charged at once. Deliriously high and thoroughly ashamed. What had just happened? She immediately made plans to relive this moment in her pensieve that evening. To deconstruct it, analyze it, experience it fully without the befuddlement she felt in his presence. She wasn't sure what she would gain from it but it felt essential to try. And a small part of her brain helpfully informed her that any dreams tonight would not be lacking in details and clarity. Nor in fulfillment. Was it wrong to use a possibly innocent or mildly teasing encounter with him to fuel her physical cravings? No, she was beyond that point. With the game still raging, she slipped out of the box and hurried back to her rooms. The quicker she moved, the quicker she could get to the pensieve and the quicker to bed. And, then hopefully, blessed relief whether by her hands or any number of toys she could transfigure to meet her purpose. She would climax tonight imagining those eyes on her, hearing him growl her name and demanding anything and everything. Anything he wanted was more than agreeable to her.