"I'm rubbish at dating."
"Mhmm, No, this is great."
She didn't really listen.
"It's just, I had only been with one guy you know?"
White teeth clacked harshly as he chewed the yellow pasta from the nondescript restaurant. Just barely expensive enough to not be seen as cheap. Full lips stained with definitely too expensive wine.
"It was time for a change."
His smile was like dollar store charm. Cheap and easy, but never quite what you wanted.
"Change is good."
Full of platitudes. His lips wrapped around a cigarette, breathing deeply as though it were his last chance at happiness.
"Change is good."
He exhaled the happiness, and it swirled around them, a tease, before dispersing into the air.
The food on her plate tasted like plastic. Like nothing. It stuck in her teeth. The wine was bitter.
"So, uh, you want to get out of here?"
Dollar store smile flashed the too white teeth again. Easily made, easily broken. She pictured his mouth on hers. Sparkling veneers biting on her neck, on her chest. She cringed. That was the last mouth on earth she wanted to touch her.
"I'd love to."
His mouth was hot and wet on hers the second the door of the apartment closed. Like noodles left to boil too long, soft and mushy, melting across her face.
Ironic, she thought, remembering the not-quite cooked pasta still stuck in her teeth.
"Do you have anything to drink?"
An almost imperceptible groan at the delay, but ever the gentlemen, a class of whiskey was soon in hand.
And even sooner down her throat.
She had been so safe, so comfortable, so happy.
It made her want to scream.
A horse in a pasture, given everything it could want. But still not free.
Hermione had dreamed of having magic when she was younger. Flying through the air. Healing wounds with a look. Defeating dark enemies. Then she had gotten her magic. And it was more of a cage than living without magic ever had been. Prophesies, fate. Told where to go, what to believe.
Ronald had been her soulmate.
So everyone said.
They saw it from the beginning. Acting like they were married from age eleven. Meant to be.
Who wants to be married at age eleven? What kind of curse is that?
Old before you have a chance to be young.
Chains before she even learned to run.
So she broke free.
She broke his heart.
This was the first 'wrong' thing she had ever done.
The dollar store man was on top of her now. She hadn't noticed the clothes coming off. But his cock was hot and thick pressing uncomfortably against her hip bone. And he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, his breath liquid ash, wet and unpleasant. A shiver slid down her spine.
"You want me, baby?"
"Fuck me, just fuck me."
"Oh, someone's eager."
The teeth were charmed, she was sure of it.
He was sweating much sooner than seemed appropriate. But the chest hair glistening with the moisture was black, not ginger. And the arms above her head were not thick and freckled.
"Yes! Fuck me harder!"
A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and dropped on her check.
In the semi-darkness of the foreign bedroom, his teeth almost glowed.
She couldn't quite figure out where to look.
He shuddered when he came. Grunting like he owned pleasure and ecstasy.
Like his happiness hadn't been blown away by the wind.
Goosebumps raised on her exposed skin, sweat welcoming in the chill.
There was some code of conduct to follow at this point. Some sort of behavior that was expected of her she was sure of it. She didn't care.
"Yes, well. That was good. Thanks."
She gathered her clothes and walked out.
Cheaply made, easily broken, quickly abandoned.
All cages are of our own making. It just didn't seem that way when we first walked into them.
"How was the date, Hermione?"
"Hmm, oh, great, yeah. Thanks for setting me up." "Yes, it has been months since Ron." "Yes, a perfect gentleman." "Does he glamour his teeth?"
A friend of a friend. And then another friend of a friend.
Break someone's heart.
Sleep with a stranger.
Sleep with another stranger.
Another.
Another.
Another?
"You want my cock?"
"Yes, god, harder!"
Rough and frantic thrusts, her head hitting the wall behind her with each jolt.
Ron had been so sweet.
Not the garish sweet you found in fruit candies and children's drinks. Slow and gentle, like a bubbling brook of white wine. No, red. Much more depth than a white.
Like she were a piece of glass his cock might shatter from the inside-out.
"God! Faster, please, harder! Fuck!"
She wanted to do the wrong things. But sex was the only wrong thing she could really think of.
She quit her job.
It didn't matter really.
Set out to save the world.
Spend your life doing paper work.
She got a job at a muggle fast food restaurant.
She used to scoff at adults working in places like this. The fabric of her uniform itched, like the thousand ants under the cooktop had decided to find a new home.
"Change to your uniform in there, punch in here. Don't punch in before you change. We don't pay ya to get dressed. Take orders here."
She changed after she punched in every day.
"How can I help you, ma'am.?" "Happy to, have a great day." "That'll be 4.15 sir." "Thank you, have a great day."
Go home.
Sleep.
Or Fuck.
Rarely both.
Usually fuck.
A cage of cocks and lust, drinks and too-short, eternally-dragging dates.
Was this cage better than her last?
Would it make her chafe and burn like the bars of comfort and home had?
Possibly.
Not yet.
"Coffee. Black. To go."
"Coming right up sir, 4.15." She held out her hand.
"Sir?"
His eyes were like fate and destiny clawing at her all over again. Like fighting a troll when she knew hardly any magic. Stupid and impossible. But real - binding.
"Granger?"
Like seeing her childhood tormentor in a muggle fast-food restaurant.
"Malfoy…"
Her hair pulled, wands pointed at her face. Vile, dirty words spat in her direction.
"You're coffee will take just a minute."
A great white manor, imposing and noble. The height of fashion.
The screams being torn from her lips.
"Hermione?"
Hermione liked routine. Making coffee was very routine.
Grab the cup, push the lever, count to seven, put on the lid.
Routine wasn't a cage.
Routine was a wall.
Keeping things like chaos and childhood enemies at a distance.
"Shit!"
Hot coffee poured down her hand.
"Fuck!"
Her skin under the freshly spilt drink turned bright pink.
The color of a freshly slapped ass.
Or skin after a too-hot shower, hoping that it will be enough to melt all of the flesh away, emerging a new person altogether.
But instead you are the same.
Only slightly pink.
"Your coffee."
She held it out to him, dark brown lines trailing down the white cup. Making a puddle beneath her hand.
"I haven't paid yet."
"On the house."
His eyes were the same color as the marble she had been slammed against. Veins of grey running through the white, cold stone. Towering pillars, wide mahogany stair cases. Her bright red blood spreading slowly behind her as she was dragged around. Limp and pliable.
A burst of color in the austere setting.
"Why yes, it is the latest from Paris, quite expensive." "Certainly, I have heard of course 'mudblood couture' very in." "You should see it in a fabric, simply to die for."
"Thanks."
The next day he came in again.
"Hi, Granger."
"Hello, Draco."
"Coffee, black, to go."
"4.15."
Hermione liked routine. It felt comfortable.
Safe.
Ron had been comfortable and safe.
"Meet me for dinner tonight?"
"Pardon?"
"Meet me tonight. For a date. That's why you came back right? Burning curiosity? Brightest witch of her age and all that - working muggle minimum wage?"
"Ok."
"Ok."
"Meet you here at 8:00."
"You need to pay today."
"Pardon?"
"For your coffee. 4.15."
"I'm rubbish at dates."
This seemed to be her opening line.
"How can you be rubbish at eating and talking. I have seen you do it many times"
"What have you don't that's wrong like... really 'wrong'?"
"You are rubbish at dates."
A joke? Malfoy might be clever. She had never considered it.
"Well?"
"Hmm… I chose the losing side in a war. I blindly followed a madman and attempted to commit murder. I Also left some food in my fridge considerably past its expiration date. And, I left the house yesterday without ironing my shirt."
"I've never left expired food in my fridge."
"No, neither have I."
"What?"
"I also lie."
His teeth flashed, as bright as the dollar store smile. But the rest of him was so white it seemed appropriate.
"Have you ever lied Granger?"
Cool blank faced stared indifferently, cool white marble pressed against her cheek "No! We found it! I Swear! Please!" "Don't lie to me girl! Tell me where you got the sword!"
"No."
"Never?"
His blue eyes had been more red than blue. Like a child playing with watercolors, not understanding that those two would clash horribly. Especially against pale, speckled skin, shadowed by orange hair.
A study of colors, all clashing, drowning out the earnest face behind them. "I do love you, Ron, I just… I need something else. Something different. I will always love you, Ron."
That had not been a lie.
"Never."
"Tell me a lie Granger."
"I have never done anything wrong in my life."
"I said a lie."
"That is a lie. I have done three wrong things."
"Forget to return a library book Granger?"
" I broke a man's heart. I quit my job. And I fuck strangers that I go on dates with."
"We're on a date."
"You're not a stranger."
"No?"
Grey eyes, like storm clouds. Walking into a muggle fast-food shop like fate. Cold, hard, icy rain, Swirling her bushy hair into her eyes.
But she loved storms.
"Want to get out of here?"
"Pardon?"
"Want to get out of here? Back to my place?"
"Decided I'm a stranger?"
"Strange enough."
Draco's lips were soft, pillows you just wanted to bury your head in, but entirely too squishy for actual sleep.
She hadn't considered his lips before.
His hands were rough; chafed and worn like he had done actual work in his life.
She knew he hadn't.
She pulled him closer and he tasted like saliva, the sharp sweet tang passing from his mouth to hers.
A gift given from one tongue, to another "why thank you, so thoughtful" "Oh, it was nothing, here, have some more"
His hands encircled her waist, pinching too tight, pressing too close.
He was hard in all the right places.
Hands. Chest. Cock.
"Am I another 'wrong' to add to your list Granger? Fuck a former death eater?"
She didn't know when they had walked into the bedroom.
He was on top of her, prick in hand, lightly slapping it against her stomach.
Hermione moaned.
She liked to think she moaned.
It had been much more of a squeak.
Squeak squeak little mouse. Do you what you're told.
Squeak squeak little mouse. Play by the rules.
This is all a game after all.
And she was on top of him, his cock now in her hand, grabbing only slightly harder than necessary.
"Fuck me, Granger"
"Yes."
He filled her almost completely. Up and down. Up and down. Like an adult merry go round. Circling on and on, up and down.
His hands grabbed her waist, forcing a different pace.
She ground herself into him. Slow small circles. She felt a spark, and then another.
Like a familiar face, tugging at your memory, but you just can't remember what from.
Were they in that movie? The one with the car chase? No, a different one, I'm sure.
But she knew where the spark was from.
From her first few years with Ron.
Then from herself when ever she managed to find the time.
Hermione leaned forward, coaxing the spark, their bodies flint and steel.
Two dried branches calling out for friction.
The flame caught and it consumed her.
Spreading from Malfoy's cock to burn every nerve of her body, a tweak here, a scorch there.
When the flame died it left her body charred. All energy used as fuel.
Draco's cock moved inside of her, dwindling like she had cast a shrinking spell.
He had been caught in her fire as well.
Hermione pulled herself up slightly, letting him fall loose.
His prick shrinking. Like a worm burrowing in the dirt, but instead of dirt this worm had fine curly hair of gold, glinting from sweat and cum in the garish light from her nightstand lamp.
"Water?"
He spelled a glass to them. She was still kneeling over him.
Scars stretched across his chest.
Like glistening water smeared over a hard white surface. Distinguishable only because of the light.
"Harry did that."
"Yes."
"He was often reckless."
"Quite."
"It was my job to reign him in."
Had been her job. Not anymore. They were adults. They could get by without her.
"I thank you for your efforts."
Another joke?
Malfoy was clever.
"They were largely in vain."
"Still."
Maybe not a joke.
"I have to work tomorrow, I have to sleep."
"Then sleep."
Malfoy made no move to leave. She slept anyway.
Malfoy was a study in white.
His skin.
His scars.
His eyes and hair only a slight variant.
The only thing not white was his surprisingly dark pink prick, tucked away in fine gold filaments while he slept.
And maybe his mouth.
Not the soft pink lips, they fit neatly with the white aesthetic.
But his mouth. Was fire.
Capable of burning down a village.
Lighting the way.
All at the same time.
The flames raced around them, chasing them. Detritus scattered, flew, making them trip. "Grab my hand, Malfoy.!"
Harry had saved his life.
His chest rose and fell in time to rough, deep breaths, full of sleep.
Almost a snore.
Malfoy snoring.
Malfoy was just another person.
Not a hero.
Not a villain.
Hermione was just another person.
Not a hero.
Not a villain.
We jump willingly from one cage to another.
Too scared to face the endless, gaping-blue sky above.
A sky marred occasionally by white clouds. Bright sunshine.
Malfoy was a study in white.
Sunshine on his head and around his prick.
Maybe Hermione would touch the sky today.
Just for a moment.
"Breakfast?"