Hermione awoke on the morning of September 14th early, eager to begin her day. After months and months of preparation, she would that day be traveling with Kingsley via portkey to Norway to meet other delegates from around the North Sea region. Hermione hoped that by Thursday the 16th she would be able to return home in order to properly prepare for Harry and Ginny's wedding that Saturday morning. As Ginny's maid of honor, Hermione took both her job with the Department of International Magical Cooperation and her role as best friend equally seriously. Rolling away from the bare-torsoed man lying next to her, Hermione slipped to the bathroom to begin preparing for the biggest day of her professional career yet.
Before her departure, she kissed Neville goodbye as he sleepily contemplated getting out of bed. Hermione cast a warming charm on the room, and it seemed to have some effect in luring him out from under the toasty covers.
"Good luck," he mumbled from his nest. "You'll knock the pants off of the Norwegians." Hermione grinned, stepped into the fireplace, and flooed away as Neville rose to continue with his day.
Hermione was, as usual, the first one to arrive in Kingsley's office, even before the Minister himself. She sat in a plush armchair near the desk and cracked open her briefcase, in which she had tucked notes from the time of Armando Dippet, Dumbledore's predecessor. Hermione was busy writing about the period in which Tom Riddle had opened the Chamber of Secrets and found the Headmaster's fears, worries, and confusion at the time enlightening. She read his notes about Hagrid—it seems unlikely that he would have committed such acts, as I thought he wouldn't hurt a fly, but the evidence is fairly damning—and about Tom Riddle-such a dear boy, I don't know how I would manage to keep the morale alive without his encouragement.
A good historian must not make judgements about her subjects based on personal biases, Hermione reminded herself with a deep breath, although she very much wanted to write a scathing paragraph or two about Dippet's dip into madness in his trust for Tom Riddle.
Hermione was relieved to see Kingsley enter his office, accompanied by Hermione's boss, none other than Percy Weasley, who had been promoted after the end of the war but had lost some of his pompous edge. Percy shook her hand firmly, informing her (much to her delight) that she was perfectly capable of representing the department in Norway without him, as he had a dinner planned with Audrey's parents that evening and wanted to ensure he was punctual.
With a wave of his wand, Kingsley prepared the Portkey, a rather gnawed-upon old pencil, and he and Hermione each grabbed an end and were off. Hermione was rather pleased when she landed firmly on her two feet; international portkey travel often made her especially queasy. It always took a little longer than travel within Great Britain, as there was a customs spell which swept in and took account of their belongings before they were granted safe landing in Oslo. Fortunately, Hermione had only packed for one night so it was relatively straightforward, but she still felt a little uncomfortable. Shaking her head to blow off the headache, Hermione straightened up and marched into the Norwegian Ministry of Magic with Kingsley.
They were greeted by Roald Dahl, the Norwegian Minister of Magic, who, much to Hermione's delight, had not actually died in 1990. Instead, he had faked his death in the Muggle World where he had acquired some fame as a children's author—Hermione, of course, had long felt an affinity with Matilda, a girl much like herself who summoned objects seemingly with her eyes and read an exorbitant amount; even as a child she could not deny that she had somehow belonged in that world—and returned to his native Magical Norway in order to live out the remainder of his days leading the nation. So it was with intense excitement that Hermione pumped his hand and discussed with him the inspirations for Willy Wonka (Florean Fortescue, of course) and James and the Giant Peach (an unfortunate amount of Skele-Gro Potion).
Eventually, it was time to start the proceedings, and the Ministers and Hermione all swallowed gillyweed and dove into the fjord upon which Oslo sits. The Queen of Mermaids was of course pleased again to meet with Hermione, and all of the Ministers seemed amicable to the plans to create channels for mermaids to travel safely.
By the end of the evening, a formal agreement had been mostly drafted, but hungry (and desiring something more than fish for supper), the humans retreated with promises to finish the agreement at 9:00 sharp the next morning. Hermione returned to her lodgings for the night, a comfortable but small room in a charming bed and breakfast run by some Latvian wizards who had moved to Norway, and was happy to find a note from Neville filling her in about his day.
Dearest Hermione,
I hope your day was splendid. Let me tell you about mine. This morning, I taught 7th year Slytherin/Gryffindor double Herbology. Remember Dennis Creevy? He's turning out to be quite brilliant with plants; he seems to have spent his summer engaged in experimental cross-breeding and has come up with a Mandrake whose screams can't harm a person. Isn't that incredible? I remember passing out in Herbology once early in our Hogwarts days because my earmuffs weren't fastened tightly enough. Professor Sprout never has let me live that one down.
I miss you, but I've been extraordinarily pleased to feel the passion you feel towards your work pushing at me through the bond. I know we're far away but it's rather like being close to you. I've been thinking today (not while in class with students, keep your gorgeous dirty mind out of the gutter there!) about how much I can't wait to be close to you again physically. I keep imagining your incredible tongue, just as good at making me scream as it is elaborating about werewolf rights before Wizengamot. I should stop writing now before my pants grow too tight; I have to teach another class in 10 minutes.
Have a beautiful evening, my multitalented witch.
Love,
Neville
Hermione grinned at Neville's suggestiveness, pleased that she had brought along a vibrator to keep herself occupied for the night without his quick tongue or incredible fingers. She settled into bed with vibrator (as a Muggleborn, Hermione certainly knew when to appreciate non-magical inventions) and made a note to introduce the purple silicone object to Neville as soon as possible. Although they still hadn't had sex yet, Hermione knew that soon she would get to ride Neville as she had taken to dreaming about. That night, she imagined them in the empty library, kissing up against the bookshelves of the Restricted Section. Hermione's walls clenched around the toy as she pictured Neville bending her over a desk in the library and massaging her clit as he pounded into her. Soon, she thought. Soon.
The next day Hermione was up before the sun, ready to finish off the job she had begun the day before. The Ministers had all gathered in the fjord once again, and Hermione knew that it would be quick work and she would be back in her apartment at Hogwarts in time for a shower before heading to the Burrow to prepare for the wedding.
After setting out the specific routes which would become Unplottable, dividing up tasks between varying governments, and getting the Ministers to sign the document, Hermione smiled with the knowledge that her job had been well-completed. It was only a little after 12:00 when she and Kingsley took the portkey back to his office, signed document in hand.
"I know it's Harry and Ginny's wedding this weekend," he said. "Why don't you head home early today? You've done incredible work with this agreement and you deserve to start your long weekend early." Happy to hear her work praised and also a little shivery from the North Sea, Hermione agreed and flooed back to Hogwarts.
She was surprised to see Neville in their apartments, and he scooped her up with a kiss as a greeting.
"Neville! What brings you here? Don't you have class?"
"It's been cancelled for the afternoon; McGonagall wants to have an all-school meeting to talk about unicorn breeding in the Forbidden Forest, and that's a little out of my zone of knowledge so I took the afternoon off. I was planning to get some reading done, but now I feel like it's much more likely that I'm going to spend time with you," he added in a sultry, smooth voice.
"I could use a hot bath," Hermione mentioned. After a second, she added "would you care to join me?"
Neville's face lit up at that thought; to see his witch naked and to rub her down with suds—well, the truth of the matter was that he was getting very hard, very fast. "I'll run the bath, love."
Five minutes later, Hermione was sinking into the massive pool-like tub in their ensuite bathroom, and Neville slid in behind her. Sensuously, he took handfuls of suds and began to rub them up and down her neck and shoulders. With each pass, he slid a little further down her torso, both calming her and causing incredible excitement to pool in a wet heat in her nether regions. Hermione could feel his dick hardening behind her and, as his hands reached her slippery breasts, she felt it slip in between her ass cheeks. He had found himself a seat at the edge of the bath and pulled her onto his lap, sliding his rock-hard cock tantalizingly over her clit and pussy. She bounced a little, squeezing him between her legs, and he rewarded her efforts with a groan.
His hands, meanwhile, had given up at spreading suds over anything but her nipples, which were hard despite the steamy room. His mouth had moved to her neck, and his tongue was drawing smooth little circles on her skin.
Hermione twisted around on his lap, moving one hand down to feel his incredible hard dick and to slowly begin to pull it in the most glorious of ways. Not wanting to dirty the pool with what surely was to follow, Neville scooped Hermione up and laid her down on the edge on top of a towel, before swooping down to kiss her breasts and move his way down towards her waiting clit and pussy. His tongue worked absolute magic on her, darting in and out of her and it was only a short while until she came, moaning his name aloud. He lay next to her, and her nimble fingers worked to finish him off in short time. The two lay together, spent, before slipping back into the bath and soaping each other down before slipping into bed for a long nap together.