Ch. 2— The Price of Airfare
.
.
.
"This is ridiculous."
"This is how it is to be done."
"I feel like a tart."
"Well, if it walks like a tart and looks like a tart, then it most definitely is a—"
"Quiet! Here they come!"
Severus adjusted the garish silk kerchief at his neck and primly buttoned up the front of his blouse so that he was covered to the neck.
He heard Lucius give a tsk, and in point of fact, unbutton one of his buttons putting tasteless amounts of décolleté on display for the passengers' enjoyment.
He could not BELIEVE he had agreed to follow the primpy bastard's plan!
It was asinine! It was ludicrous!
The both of them—two grown wizards— posing as airline stewardesses via well-placed confundus charms and polyjuice potion, and all for the express purpose of collecting hair from both Ms. Granger and her escort.
What utter shite!
The fact of the matter was they were on a private chartered flight for the very wealthy, and disgustingly talented muggle Michael Jessup Fortenbrass the fourth.
And just how had Lucius come by this little on-dit of information?
The wizard had had the muggle followed by a muggle detective and has been doing so for weeks. Even so, he still knew next to nothing about the man, but what he did know was notably impressive by muggle standards.
It seemed Mr. Fortenbrass the fourth was an MI6 operative and had been so for seven years service to the Queen. He came from one of England's wealthiest muggle families, practically royalty in the eyes of muggle newspapers and ratty tabloids alike. He held a doctorate in something the muggles called Nuclear Physics from the muggle University of Oxford.
And currently, he was holding Ms. Granger's Hand.
Severus's eyes narrowed as he watched them board the plane.
A brown-headed Adonis. That was what the boy was. Tall, statuesque. Definitely prettier than Severus. In fact, the boy could even be prettier than Lucius what with his clean-cut, soldier's build and bearing. He had a square-cut jaw, large and muscular arms, a build that tapered to slim hips, and an easy, care-free attitude that bespoke of health, wealth, and plenty of leisure.
Severus hated him immediately.
For her part, Ms. Granger looked more refined than he was used to seeing her. Obviously, she put forth more of an effort with that rat's nest she called her hair when she had a Michael Jessup Fortenbrass the Fourth to impress.
As it was, her typically frenzied mane was done up in a chignon with artless wisps of curl escaping to frame her heart-shaped face. And if he wasn't mistaken, she was wearing a smidgen of eye coal and lipstick as well.
It suited her nicely.
She had donned muggle clothing—denim jeans that fit her form completely with nary a wrinkle and a snug-fitting jumper that did more to modestly display her charms than Lucius could ever do in the form he currently inhabited as the blond boxom stewardess with almost all of his charms on display.
Severus swallowed thickly as he heard her laugh at something Mic the Dick had said.
Oh, but she never laughed with him. At least, never in that care-free manner that she just now displayed to the interloper. To the Mic.
Mic the Dick handled her as if she were spun glass, and Severus snorted knowing quite different. The woman had trounced him more times than he could count, both mentally and physically. A well-placed word here, a charm or hex there, and she always got her way, did she not?
Did she not?!
Severus's eyes narrowed when the boy's hand dipped lower than societal custom would dictate was strictly proper in assisting her, and Severus only just kept himself from casting a well-placed tentaculas curse that would ensure such behavior, indeed, never happened again.
But Ms. Granger only smiled shyly, and shook her head at the boy in gentle censure, and the bastard didn't for a moment look chastised.
"And Hermione, I would like you to meet Linda and Sam. They are the flight attendants for the family Cessna." Oh, the family Cessna was it now? Severus felt his jaw click as he ground his teeth together.
"Hello. Very pleased to meet you," said Lucius in high falsetto, almost curtseying in his role as Samantha 'everybody just calls me Sam' the flight attendant. Severus barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He did notice, however, that Mic the Dick's eyes were on the roam and focusing intently on Lucius's/Sam's exposed chest.
The clicking of his jaw intensified. The Mic was ogling another woman! Oh, what a charmer he was! What a catch!
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Linda."
Severus blinked, coming back to himself to see Ms. Granger holding out her hand for him to take. He took it, only just catching himself in time on not drawing it up to his lips. He spoke the word Likewise forgetting to disguise his voice, and he cursed himself his addled wits when she looked at him curiously.
"You know it's crazy," Ms. Granger began, "but with that scowl on your face, and your voice, you remind me of—"
Inwardly, Severus winced. It would be just his luck to be made by Muggle Mic and Ms. Granger when he was dressed in drag and had a vag. He saw out of the corner of his eye Lucius, tapping his high-heeled shoe in impatience.
Ms. Granger shook her head, and laughed lightly, "Well, I guess I'm in more need of a vacation than I thought."
She smiled up at the Interloping Mic, and the bastard took this as his cue to grab her hand (exactly as Severus would have done) and plant a gentle kiss on the palmy flesh. He wrapped her small one in his giant mitt.
"We'll take it easy, sugar. Soon, you'll be so relaxed, you'll wonder how you ever possibly survived that place you call The Dungeon. Now come on. I want to show you my cock-pit."
"You know something, I bet you say that to all the girls," she rejoined as he tugged her along. And dear Merlin, was that a dimple on her cheek when she smiled? How could he have failed to notice that in all these years working with her?
The interloper turned back to her and winked, "You know it, sugar. That and you should really see the size of my Sidewinder."
She snorted as she followed him to the nose of the plane.
He turned back to her and explained, "That's a heat-seeking missile for the uninitiated." Turning slightly, Mic the Dick addressed both Lucius and Severus as he said, "Ladies, prep for departure. Wings up in ten. Come on, darlin'. You're flying wingman with me."
Severus watched as his Ms. Granger was escorted to the nose of the little aircraft, and had to visibly count to ten to loosen the tension that had developed in his borrowed body during the couple's exchange.
"Alright, Linda. What do we do?"
Severus looked up, and that's when it occurred to him that they were actually going to have to fly. They were actually going to FLY in a muggle machine! The muggle way!
Merlin's Short Hairs!
Eyes narrowed, Severus looked over. There was blond-boxom Lucius practically bouncing on the balls of his high-heeled pointy-shoes in eagerness, looking to him—TO SEVERUS!—to sort this out.
He pretended to think on it for a moment, "Hmm, well let's see, we need to secure the cabin and batton down the hatches, draw anchor, and scrub the planks." Snape continued on in this vein, noticing Lucius's eager nod to each item he said, "—and then we hoist all sails to starboard, and like HELL I know what I'm talking about! A lifetime's service to the wizarding world does not this wizard a muggle airplane stewardess make!"
For a moment, Lucius looked taken aback, and then he drew his dignity around him like a cloak, even going so far as to button one of the buttons on 'everybody calls me' Sam's uniform in the process. He sniffed. "You know, I just thought you would know more about this business, being half-muggle and all…"
Severus had his wand out and pointed at Lucius's throat before he could next blink. He stalked him, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, yes. My muggle father and failed witch of a mother certainly took me out every chance they could on the family jet. We couldn't afford money for food, but damned if we didn't go for trips each weekend to the beach, and the cape, Paris, and Monocco—"
The whirr of the plane's propellers winding up cut off his scathing sarcasm mid-tirade as both looked to the still-open door.
"Surely, we can at least figure out how to close the door," said Lucius.
.
.
.
Severus watched from his position just outside the door as the interloper showed Ms. Granger how to fly the damned airplane using far too much bodily contact for Severus's liking.
"Do you see? See how you can feel the nose of it start to dive just a bit. That's right, pull up. Gently now. Gently. See, you're a natural!"
"My God! I'm actually doing it! I'm flying the plane!" Severus saw how bright her eyes were, how high the color in her cheeks as she realized her feat. The clicking in his jaw intensified.
"Excuse me." Lucius drawled prissily, moving past Severus carrying a metal tray containing two flutes of champagne. "Champagne for the lady in celebration of her accomplishment."
Her eyes still bright, Ms. Granger turned towards Luscius's polyjuiced form and accepted the proffered flute, but did not drink. Instead, she turned back to the controls, as always, eager for more instruction. "So, what does this little button do?"
The interloping bastard grabbed her hand before she could push it, and kissed it seamlessly, wrapping it once more around her champagne flute and patting it. Severus rolled his eyes.
"Don't press that unless you want the NPAS on our tail."
"NPAS?"
"National Police Air Service." He then went on to explain to her the buttons on the console in loving detail, making minute adjustments to their heading and explaining to her the finer points of air space travel.
Fuming, Severus could only stand by and watch as his Ms. Granger was given a solicitous touch on her shoulder, a slight grazing of the thumb on her neck, a casual brush of hand on her side. The bastard was seducing her—but slowly.
Absolutely furious, Severus muttered an incantation and with the flick of his wand, the plane hit a 'pocket' of turbulence. The outcome had the desired effect though of breaking the two of them apart.
He watched in amusement as she gasped and the champagne flute she had been holding spilled all down the front of her jumper. "Oh! What a mess! I'm so sorry, Michael!"
looked down at her periwinkle blue jumper in disgust. "It's just like me to be so clumsy!"
Lucius's voice heralded his arrival as he spoke in high falsetto, "Oh! What a mess! Horrid tuberance, isn't it?"
Hermione shook her head, and looked at the boxom blond curiously. "Turbulence. Yes, it seems we hit a pocket of it, and I've well…" she gestured down her front where three appreciative male glances fixed themselves on her obviously puckered aureoles. The plane itself was very cold.
Blushing, she crossed her arms demurely in front of her, twin flags of high color appearing on her cheeks.
Lucius was the first to recover himself, "Ahem, yes. Right this way, my dear. Right this way. I've got just the thing to make sure that doesn't set."
"Right. Hermione, do go with Sam and Linda. They'll get you fixed up. And if you want, there's a shirt of mine hanging in the closet if you'd prefer to wear it while your jumper dries."
Rising to her feet, Hermione nodded absently, trying to keep her damp sweater away from her visibly hardened nipples as much as possible. She knew it was useless to feel embarrassed. After all, it was only Michael and the two female flight attendants. Surely, with such ample busts, they would understand her predicament. After all, it was nothing they haven't seen before.
The thought didn't help her feel any less self-conscious though. Why, she could have sworn she was being gawked at by them!
Silly.
"Now, now dear. Let me help you remove that sticky jumper." Suddenly, Sam's hands were on her stomach, lifting up the hem of her top and pulling, exposing her pale torso to the chilled air. Hermione shoved the blond flight attendant's hands away, feeling the strangest ache fill the pit of her stomach.
She blushed and stammered, "Really, really I can do this myself."
The buxom blond flight attendant only took a step back and put a finger to her well-glossed lips as if to say, Suit yourself, then.
She turned, showing the blond flight attendant her bare back, and as she began to wiggle the tight little top above her head. Good grief! It wasn't this tight when she put it on this morning! It was almost as if it had a shrinking charm placed on it.
She blinked remembering that this jumper was a present from Ginny Weasley.
It probably did have a shrinking charm on it! Oh, damn her blue eyes. When she got back to Britain, she was going to give the little witch a piece of her mi—
"Would you care for some assistance?"
Hermione looked up into the dark eyes of the other flight attendant named Linda. The dark-haired woman stated roughly, "It seems your jumper is getting caught in the fall of hair at your nape."
Feeling her pulse quicken, Hermione hesitantly nodded, breathing in deeply when she felt Linda's gentle fingers reach up and hold her hair away from her face as she wriggled to remove the damp jumper.
Finally rid of it, she turned to face both flight attendants in nothing more than her jeans and lacy brassiere, and felt gooseflesh ripple from her neck to her belly.
The two women were watching her…almost hungrily; their eyes feasting on her in a way that made Hermione feel both extremely exposed and essentially female.
She bit her lip.
She had never been attracted to women, had never felt a tingling of arousal around one. She would have known wouldn't she have?
After all, she shared a dorm room with two other girls for seven years without a single wiggle of arousal at the sight of another girl's female form. And the same goes for curiosity. Well, okay. There was that one time she and Ginny kissed experimentally to feel what it was like to be Frenched the summer she stayed at Grimmauld Place, but the kiss had ended in snorts and then gales of laughter, the both of them not feeling anything more than utterly ridiculous at their experimentation.
So why did being stared at by these two women make her feel slightly… aroused? She licked the abused flesh of her bottom lip and crossed her arms in front of her now bared chest, and looked anywhere else around the room but at the two women currently feeling her up with their eyes.
And she cursed herself for the twin flags of color that she knew were blooming on her cheeks. "Ummm, right, then." Did her tone sound defensive? How about breathless? Surely not. "Michael mentioned something about a shirt in the closet. Do either of you know where he keeps them?"
The buxom blond one blinked, snapping to attention, "Yes! You must forgive us our manners. Linda, be a love and take care of that will you?" The blond gestured to the damp pile of jumper currently lying in a ball on the floor, "While I see to procuring…ah, here you are…. a freshly clean and dry… hmm, shirt." Hermione could only wonder at the blond's moue of distaste. It was just a t-shirt after all… and why did that expression seem so very familiar?
She looked down at the offending garment and read, ' F.U.C.K. Chemistry, Oxford elite study Nuclear Science.' The profanity was spelled by using letters arranged from the elements of the periodic table.
Hermione smiled a little at the small joke, and taking it from the blond, made quick work of slipping it on, feeling leagues better now that she was covered up in an over-sized tee and away from their prying eyes.
The dark-haired one—Linda—still had yet to move from her position nearest the door, and Hermione realized that the woman was still staring at her in focused fascination.
In fact, the dark-haired flight attendant had yet to blink! Linda's gaze was exact in its intensity causing Hermione to gulp and take a step back almost into the arms of the blond flight attendant.
From behind her, Sam clapped her hands once causing Hermione to jump and Linda to start, apparently coming back to herself.
With an obvious tone of irritation, blond, buxom Sam ordered, "Linda, see to that won't you while I escort our Ms. Granger back aloft."
She felt a solicitous hand fall gently to the small of her back as the flight attendant escorted her back to the nose of the plane and to Michael. It was with the strangest sense of déjà vu that she returned to her position in the passenger seat of the cock-pit and watched as Michael manipulated the controls and adjusted their heading.
After a moment, he looked over at her, and seeing which shirt she had on, he grinned widely. "You know I also have one that says 'Oxford Chemists Do It on the Table Periodically.'
She smiled, trying to shake off the unsettling feelings the two flight attendants had inspired. "You know, I once bought my father a t-shirt that said, 'I See Numb People' with the picture of a cartoon syringe and tooth. He wore it to pieces."
And just like that, their conversation resumed, and it was just so easy being with Michael! So very easy. Not like the men of her acquaintance at all. As they talked and laughed, Hermione felt herself relax and cool down from the strange encounter in the lounge.
And as for the two flight attendants, she would be glad to see the back of them upon their arrival to the states.
With a comfortable lull in conversation, Hermione thought of her decision to 'go muggle' for the week. It had been so long since she had done so, giving up her wand for a period of time so that she could reacquaint herself with her muggle roots.
Her mother and father had encouraged her to never lose that part of herself—the part that would always be muggle through and through, and they had encouraged her to embrace it by gifting her during the summer holidays with muggle tours and trips guaranteed to spark the eager interest of one insatiably curious teenage witch wanting to know it all.
She never felt lacking without her magic during those times for her parents more than made up for it by making each planned excursion fun and fact-filled, brimming with information that an eager teenage Hermione gratefully absorbed.
It wasn't until the end of sixth year, that Hermione realized that those times of muggle learning and parental protection were over. It was she who had to do the protecting. The summer of her sixth year had been her last with her parents as she had chosen to remove their memories and relocate them rather than face the definite possibility of their imminent deaths.
"Where have you gone?"
Hermione looked up to see concern etched on Michael's face as he watched her. Adjusting the controls for automation, he reached over and caressed the side of her face, sweeping a stray curl behind her ear. "Hermione. What is it, love?"
She leaned into his touch. "Oh, it's just me being sentimental, I guess." She shrugged. "It's just, my parents have been gone for almost nine years, and in many ways, it feels like it was just yesterday that I was taking a trip with them."
She smiled sadly.
"Come here, you."Michael picked her up and drew her to his lap. "Although, I cannot make up for the losses you have suffered in the past." He kissed her clasped hands and held them between his own. "I would like to get the chance to share with you a future filled with love, laughter, and happ—"
"Time for the in-flight meal." a deep voice broke in from the doorway.
Both she and Michael jumped guiltily at the intrusion. And then suddenly Hermione was being hoisted from Michael's lap and unceremoniously dumped back into her passenger seat. She looked up to find the surly face of Flight Attendant Linda preying down upon her accusingly as if she had done something wrong! She shied away, blinking at the mental tableau her mind conjured of the hawk-like Linda swooping in to grab her from the wings and toss her into the depths of the ocean deep below. She shook her head to dispel the image only just managing to catch the tray as it was thrust upon her before it toppled over into the floor. She looked down at her plate and cringed. It was filled with the most unappetizing, congealed goop she'd ever seen.
She poked it with a fork, "Errm… what is it?"
Blond and buxom flight attendant Sam answered proudly from the doorway. "It's goose liver pâté served on a bed of leeks, garlic, and baby arugula. Delicious!"
"Oh. Is it?" Hermione looked over at Michael uncertainly, and he shrugged and mouthed 'off-night', setting his own goopy plate aside. She gave a covert glance to the blond flight attendant that prepared the meal who seemed to be studying her expectantly, waiting for her to take a bite.
She opened her mouth to say she really wasn't hungry after all, but then for some reason, she thought of Lucius.
The poor man had certainly taken her advice toward getting a hobby to heart, vowing that of all things, he was going to learn to cook French haute cuisine.
The only trouble was… Lucius Malfoy really couldn't cook!
On a lark, Hermione had bought him The Joy of Cooking for his fiftieth birthday, and they had spent an afternoon preparing a few recipes in the book for dinner later that evening. After going over the steps with him in fine detail, Hermione had left him to it in order to apparate home to get ready, feeling confident in the knowledge that he could always read the recipe and be fine.
A couple of hours and several judiciously cast augamenti charms later, Hermione had sufficient cause to rethink her decision in ever leaving Lucius Malfoy alone in an unsupervised kitchen without even a house elf in attendance.
Oh the man was an innovative whizbang in the Charms lab, and with his own personal brand of charm, he could work a room-full of patrons for donations and support, but damn, if he didn't think there was always a wizarding shortcut to be had instead of doing something the 'muggle' way.
If the recipe called for 'flambé', then Lucius would whip out his wand and proceed to torch the poor dish to blackened tar. If the recipe called for a 'skimming' of the fat, Lucius would inevitably wave his wand and banish it, leading to a tasteless and all-around dyspeptic dining experience.
She and Severus had been invited that night to partake in Lucius's new-found cooking prowess. Being the sneaksy Slytherin that he was, Severus had thought to eat beforehand, and so, arrived to Malfoy Manor bearing a full stomach, a grinning smirk for her own growling one, and a box of dessert.
Meanwhile, Hermione had been presented with course after course of inedible glop, and she hadn't the heart to tell Lucius how incredibly terrible everything was for he was so enthusiastic about the prospect of learning to cook, so energized by the process, that, for politeness's sake, Hermione had been forced to taste each dish and ruminate on how incredibly delicious it all was. Meanwhile, Severus had just smirked at her and drank his wine while Lucius absorbed her complements like a thirsting flower did the rain.
Severus did, however, give her double quotient of pudding when the time for the dessert course came around. And as it was the only edible portion of the entire meal, Hermione had inhaled it.
"Well?" Sam asked uncertainly from the doorway, her hands clasped together as she rocked back and forth on her pointy heels.
Coming back to herself, Hermione once again got that strange feeling of déjà vu as she looked at the flight attendants and then down at the goopy grey mess of tortured fare before her.
Determinedly, she picked up her fork and took a deep breath. Michael just shook his head and turned away, pantomiming trying not to be ill. Linda stood above her, watching her accusingly, as if to say, Yes, this is exactly what you deserve. Now Eat.
And Sam? Well, she looked at her with a hope-filled and endearing smile, begging her to try some.
Hermione's mouth flooded with saliva, and it felt like that moment just before one begins to vomit.
Praying for absolution, she scooped up a fork-full of pate, and closing her eyes, she resigned herself to her fate and slowly lifted the fork-full to her mouth and stuck it in. Not taking a moment to chew, she swallowed the goop whole, and it settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach weaving and churning in the acid there.
Blindly, she reached for the wine Linda so thoughtfully handed her trying not to gag from the residual taste of the goop in her mouth. She took a deep draught of wine, and pasting on her biggest smile, said to Sam, "It's delicious! Absolutely the best thing I've ever eaten."
Sam's smile was dazzling to behold as she proudly turned and left them to it, presumably to return to the galley kitchen to prepare more.
Gagging, Hermione swallowed reflexively and drained the glass of wine she held. And then drawing a ragged breath, said, "Dear Gods! Give me more wine! Hurry, Linda! Hurry!" Hermione chanted in refrain as she held her glass up imploring it to be refilled.
The taste of goop was still in the back of her throat.
"You are just too nice for your own good, sometimes, Hermione, love." Michael gave her a sunny smile and shook his head. "You could have said 'no', you know?"
"And break poor Sam's heart," she gently punched his shoulder, "I don't think so! Thank you, Linda," Hermione said, raising her refilled glass of wine to the dark-headed flight attendant in a salute. The dark headed woman only cocked an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
Feeling floaty, Hermione smiled when Michael reached for her hand and held it. "Trust me, Hermione. Sam wouldn't have been offended in the slightest if you had said you just weren't hungry."
She shook her head as she sipped on the wine she held. "Well, in that case, Michael, isn't there a window we can roll down on this thing to dump the mess out?" She indicated the two plates that still needed to be disposed of. "I think it needs a burial at sea."
Michael shook his head and laughed. "I'm afraid not, sugar. But there is a latrine over on the other side of the cabin. Linda, if you'd be so good as to see that the contents of those two plates find their way home, I'd be much obliged." Michael smiled charmingly at the surly flight attendant, and as she left them, Hermione could swear the woman was muttering foul-mouthed curses under her breath.
Hermione shook her head, the wine working to loosen her tongue a bit as she stated, "I don't think Linda likes me overly much."
"Hmm?" Michael looked up, distracted by one of the flight panel displays. "Oh, I think both Linda and Sam are having off-days today, love. Sorry you're having to bear the brunt of it."
She nodded, "'s okay. Just so it's not just me then? They really are acting strangely, right?"
Michael nodded and smiled, and Hermione sat back in her chair intent on learning more about the automated controls of the little plane. But then suddenly, she yawned hugely.
"Are you sleepy, love?"
She had to think about it. "Hmm? Well yeah, I guess I am…" If she didn't know any better, she felt like she had been slipped a sleeping draught for how she felt. But that was preposterous! No one on board the plane was magical except for her! She was on a muggle aircraft for Merlin's sake! Practically an island unto itself… and why couldn't she keep her eyes open?
"Why don't you go ahead and go back to the lounge. There's a small bed back there you can use, and one of the girls will show you the way." He gestured vaguely, his eyes still focused on the blinking displays in front of him.
Nodding, Hermione rose and began to drunkenly weave her way to the room she had been in earlier.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and she stumbled.
There was a moment of knowing, just knowing that she was going to fall and hit the floor. When out of nowhere, two arms swooped in and caught her securely about the middle, and two more grabbed her jean-clad legs and hoisted her into the air.
And Hermione had the impression that she was being scooped up and carried away by the two flight attendants and laid gently on the soft bed where she floated to oblivion.
.
.
.
A/N: Not happy with the final product, I have reworked some things and re-explained others. Do let me know what you think, won't you, dear reader?
Blessed be!
DGM