Dirty Habits & Drunken Nights

This is a heart,
these are the strings you'll pull,
these are the stakes -
they have been raised,
it's your call.
Too much has changed,
I hate this place,
but I don't want to leave it this way

Take Off Your Colours – You Me At Six

Three years had passed so fast for Hermione. Everything was as it was supposed to be but for some reason she felt as though the eyes she saw through were distorted just slightly, so that all she had ever wanted was now barely worth the effort. On paper her life was perfect: Hermione climbed the ranks quickly at the Ministry, soon becoming Deputy Head of the department for the protection of magical creatures; since she had moved into the Burrow, Ron and her had officially begun to date, and he was sweet and attentive, proposing last year and eagerly anticipating the wedding; her friends were coping well and were becoming successful in whatever they chose to pursue whether it be a job, a family, or a hobby - and she had plenty of friends.

At first everything was such a blur of confusion and change that time slipped by and Hermione barely had time to even think about all that was happening and what had happened, but over the last six months, life had stopped rushing on ahead, dragging her with it and now instead of racing home, smiling and tired, to be welcomed by a glass of wine, she found ever more excuses to stay behind and do more work she did not really enjoy because gradually, somewhere over the last three years, that one relaxing glass of wine had become three, then a bottle, then a bottle and a couple of gin and tonics. The home Hermione and Ron once shared no longer smelled like warm dinners and vanilla, but held a faint tang of smoke which would not be removed no matter how many bottles of air freshener were sprayed – she could not even say when she had started to smoke, and was constantly fearful she would be caught with her filthy habit. Where Hermione had been so excited and blissfully in love with Ron, racing to plan the wedding, always showing off her ring just six months ago, now she hid it away as though it was a secret, delaying their nuptials ever further, and no matter how nice he was to her she simply could not summon up any stronger feelings than that of safety riddled with boredom.

This night in particular was a Saturday, and being still at the tender age of 21, Hermione, the younger Weasleys, and the entire old crowd from Hogwarts were going out, moving from the local pub, to the more exotic muggle clubs of London, followed by the downright fantastical magical clubs in Diagon Alley. Normally, Ginny and Hermione would catch something to eat at the Leaky Cauldron or some cafe somewhere, but tonight Ginny was eating at Bill's place. Thinking about this Hermione pushed herself away from her desk, glancing at the clock to see it was 6 and she had just an hour to be ready and to meet the gang. Reluctantly she forced herself to do as she always do, apparate home, smoke a crafty fag whilst Ron played his ritual Quidditch game at the Burrow, do a couple of shots of whatever they had in, and dress up in the same old stuff she always wore on these nights out. This routine was now so familiar she could do it in double speed and blindfolded.

That was how Hermione Granger ended up hanging around the outside of the Leaky Cauldron fifteen minutes early and cursing her luck; standing there she felt like some kind of common tart all dressed up, and alone at that, and searched for an excuse to do something, anything, productive. Giving up, Hermione sidled into the darkened alcove to one side of the pub, lighting up, and waiting for someone to appear. Twenty minutes passed, and she realised she could be waiting forever knowing her friends, she leaned back into the wall, closing her eyes, and imagining that she was smoking away everything that was ever important to her.

Fred was frustrated, everyone had told him they would be late but only after he had arrived at the pub. It was ten past seven and he lurked outside desperate for someone he recognised to appear, searching every nook and cranny of the small courtyard his eyes alighted on someone that looked almost familiar. Examining her closer to see why he found her so familiar, he saw that she had long brown hair, wavy, and a really rather exquisite face, the red dress she wore clung to her like a second skin, flowing outwards around her thighs, and ending at a length that made him sure that if she were to bend over he would know the colour of her underwear – she was probably the loveliest thing he had seen in a while around her. Then it dawned on him, he knew this girl, this beauty he had been so brazenly ogling was none other than Ron's fiancée, Hermione Granger. Fred frowned, he was sure Hermione didn't smoke, yet this girl had a cigarette dangling almost lazily with her fingers as though it had been moulded there by God himself.

Hermione opened her eyes to see a red head approaching; she smiled, walking towards him, forgetting why she had been hiding in that shadowy corner entirely. Ah, Fred, he would make her smile she had thought, but the look on his face and the direction of his gaze made her falter. Fred looked perplexed, almost upset, and was staring at her hand. Looking down, she realised, too late, she still had a cigarette dangling from her fingers and that it was far too late to pretend that it was not there, and that she was not Hermione. Swallowing, she looked back at Fred expecting an angry tirade instead he just looked as though he was going to burst with unasked questions which she had neither the time nor inclination to answer right now, especially as she could hear raucous voices approaching which were likely to be Lee and George if she was hearing correctly. Begging silently with her eyes, she leaned forward causally discarding the fag end, and under the pretence of hugging him leaned in and whispered, "Please don't tell, no one knows."

Anxiously pulling back Hermione risked one last glance at the prankster, but he seemed to nod almost imperceptibly and she turned to the approaching crowd to be swallowed by the noise of greetings, apologies, compliments and the hubbub of her large group of friends, immersing herself as though nothing had happened, and nothing had changed at all for her even if it had in more ways than she would ever be aware.

The group had followed their usual routine and it was 1AM now and they were just about the entire Diagon Alley. Along the way they had met yet more acquaintances who now tagged along behind, adding to the already large group, and most of the people there were tipsy and loud, laughing and stumbling, happy and free to do as they pleased. The trio, the twins, and Lee had fallen towards the back of the group and Ron kept pulling Hermione into long, heated kisses to which the twins would respond heartily, embarrassing them, but no one seemed to mind. Nothing could be wrong when everything was this beautiful. As they walked George became wrapped in some girl he had met at the Leaky Cauldron, and Ron and Harry began discussing Quidditch, leaving Hermione and Fred to walk alone.

The pair dropped further and further back, allowing Hermione to sneak another cigarette and smile and chatter inanely at Fred, who seemed surprisingly happy to stay in her company. Drunkenly he was admiring the long, long legs protruding from Hermione's dress, and the ample breasts spilling from the top. To him, her skin looked like cream, and somehow he found himself reaching out to trace the neckline of her dress, making her shiver, though that was her only reaction, before sliding down to rest dangerously low on her back. Hermione filled his thoughts and by now he was far too drunk to really understand what he was thinking, or why he should not do anything. Luckily, that's when Hermione spotted the rest of the group letting out a shriek and taking off at any unsteady run towards them, moving in and leaning on Ron and gossiping with Ginny as they queued for the next club.

Inside the club was smoky and most of the group moved into a booth to order drinks before dispersing to the dance floor. It was under the cover of the crowd that Fred managed to slip into the booth beside Hermione and find himself pressed up against her. So close, Fred could barely resist touching her, and after a few drinks he stopped trying as his hand found its way onto her bare thigh, sliding ever upwards and unnoticed by everyone at the table until his hand was practically in her pants. Hermione's only reaction was to let her legs fall slightly open and surreptitiously beginning to caress the bulge in his jeans.

Hermione loved the danger of Fred, the entire thing really, although at some point over the night Ron and Fred seemed to blur into one and she was never quite sure who she was with or what she was doing to them, but it did not matter, since Fred was so exciting, and when he had shown up in his white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and his dark jeans, hair falling sloppily over one eye she had felt a strange thrill of excitement she had not felt in months with Ron. By now she was on her second or third magical margherita and on the fifth round of shots in this club, and as the sixth came and they all slammed their glasses down, wincing at the burn of the liquor she stood up, proclaiming she wanted to dance, pulling the closest person to her with her.

Fred and Hermione had danced respectably, laughing and having fun under the strobe lights, but by the seventh time they'd been to the bar since they left the group, lines were beginning to blur and they had moved closer and closer. By the eleventh drink, they were grinding on each other, and by the fifteenth, his lips were on her neck and she was alternating between grinding on him, and stroking his erection. The world spun for Fred and all he could see was her face, with those dark eyes and red, red lips staring back at him, pulling him closer and closer. As the lights flashed he caught glimpses of her skirt flicking up around her legs, her skin glowing white in the UV lights, and her hair swinging as she moved. Nothing else was real.

Hermione no longer quite knew what was happening just that she wanted to fuck the man in front of her, wanted to fuck him more than she had wanted anything in a while, and unseen by anyone, she made up her mind that she would. Just as the beat dropped and the crowd danced with renewed vigour, she grasped the hand in front of her, pulling the man behind her and slipped into the dimly light bathrooms. Together they stumbled into the cubicle, locking it behind them, barely pausing before they collided. Hands roamed, lips parted, skin flushed. Her breath came faster and faster and his hands teased her, until she was begging him, begging him to take her, fuck her right there. Fred did as he was told. Lifting Hermione up, letting her wrap her legs around him, he pressed her into the wall and fucked her harder than he had ever done before, groaning at the gasps and moans of pleasure and the way she chanted his name, or someone's name, over and over again.

It was 4 in the morning now, and still the group were going strong, a few had peeled off to go home, but most of them remained. Fred and Hermione had flirted all night after their encounter, but whilst heated it had calmed considerably, and she seemed ambivalent or unaware of his hungry gaze on her most of the time, spreading her attention instead to everyone else. They were still drinking, pitchers of exotic cocktails now, loud and all raging drunk. Hermione slipped off regularly to smoke, sometimes trailed by Fred, sometimes not, and each time he followed she would kiss him heatedly, the taste of smoke still on her teeth before wandering back inside as though nothing was going on. It was soon after that Hermione disappeared unnoticed and this time she did not reappear within ten minutes. Unsure why, Fred went to hunt her out, worried about where she was and what was happening, it was then that he saw her, buried in the crowd of heaving bodies.

Hermione had wandered off to dance with Ron, and was now sandwiched between Seamus and Ron, it was a funny situation really, just a joke she thought, as she ground herself on both of them and Ron's mouth began to explore her neck and Seamus' hands roamed into places they probably should not. It did not really matter, after all, they were all drunk and it meant nothing, and it was not like Ron was not letting him. Anyway, with the kind of Friday nights the group had it was not like most of them had not at one point at least come close to some kind of threesome, although it was normally with strangers, she did admit. Tonight, she just wanted any excuse for it to be ok. Hermione leant back into the boys touch, lost in the dream like quality of the night and the hands teasing her body.

It was like that that Fred found her, except by now, she was kissing Ron heatedly, and Seamus was working his way up her neck, and the three showed no signs of stopping. For some reason this aggravated Fred in a way he was unused to and he felt a need to compete with the girl who had so callously forgotten him, and grabbing Angelina (well, he was mostly sure it was her), he began to dance with her, filthily, and she responded – he did not notice until too late that the dancing trio had disappeared.

Angelina did not leave his side for the remainder of the night, and they ended up stumbling home together to Fred's bed just as the rest of the world was waking.