4
A different life.
That morning she had been dreaming inappropriate things again. This time she had Narcissa behind her, pressed against her back, feeling the pressure of her breasts against her shoulder blades. She caressed her sides with maddening slowness, and sometimes reached forward to her abdomen, and went down... but never under her pants. The good thing about the dream was that it hadn't been erotic enough to shamefully soak her.
As she made two cups of tea for another afternoon with Narcissa, she tried to regain her cool, and not feel like a horrible person. They were friends after all, and she shouldn't be taking advantage of her image like this.
"Are you sure you're not tired from work?"
"I'm good. And I want a nice conversation."
That seemed to relax Narcissa, who sat on the couch, crossing her legs. The tray that Hermione carried the tea on shook, but stabilized quickly. She had been distracted, watching the hem of Narcissa's skirt rise up with the movement. Hermione never thought too much about the attractiveness of her legs, but she had to admit that the legs in front of her did manage to shift her priorities a bit. The woman in her chair was totally beautiful, but today she was taking notice of those specific pronounced curves of her calves and thighs. They weren't muscular, but they weren't flabby either. She doubted that Narcissa did any particular exercise, but they looked good, very good.
"Thanks," she said, grabbing her cup of tea and watching Hermione sit next to her. "So you are going to a wedding?"
"In a couple of weeks, yes. For my friend Ron."
Ron was Ginny's brother, and he was one of her first friends in college. He was fun, an honest friend, whom she was still glad to see today. Although time and distance, since he lived in another neighborhood, made it inevitable that they would lose that familiarity with which they always treated each other.
Early in their relationship, in their first few months of being friends, he became very interested in Hermione. He was a red-haired boy, with many freckles and blue eyes. He was not classically beautiful and possessed an ungainly demeanor. Being so tall, slouching was not in his favor, but he was handsome nonetheless. The problem was that Ron was very fond of Hermione for a time, so she opted for friendship and never accepted so much as a kiss from him, so as not to confuse things and get his hopes up. She would not have liked to lose him just because of a physical impulse. Little by little the love that Ron felt for Hermione disappeared and only the friendship between them remained. It was better that things turned out this way.
"An unexpected wedding," she continued.
"Why?" Narcissa wondered.
"He met Lavender less than a year ago. Ginny and I suspect that they rushed to get married because there was an accidental little surprise, although Harry says no. He met Lavender several times unlike us, and he thought it was possible that she and Ron just rushed into it because they love each other, because they are both quite forward and intense."
"Well, if a child is born in less than nine months, we'll know the answer," she joked.
The women drank the tea in silence, until Narcissa broke it:
"Can I ask you a rather personal question, Hermione?"
She nodded, allowing her to continue.
"Why did you stop dating?"
"I lost interest, it didn't make sense," she murmured, looking at her cup of tea.
"Which I don't understand. I've been thinking a bit about what you said."
"Really?"
"If you're not into love, I asked myself: Why were you dating in the first place?" She drank a little, pondering her words. "I thought of several options. Maybe you dated men to pretend to others. Or because it was possible that at some point you would fall in love, if you kept trying, so you tried until you lost hope. But do you know which option was the most convincing for me? That you only wanted sex."
Hermione choked on her tea.
"Pardon?" She squealed in a small voice, still feeling the itch in her throat.
"An uncomfortable topic? We can leave it if you want, but... it's natural, right? Somehow I had Draco. And all your friends are the same, they didn't become parents by exchanging looks."
"I'm not a prude," she muttered. "I just did not expect this subject from you."
"So I guessed right?"
"Should I be concerned about your strange interest in assuming things about me?" She joked roughly.
Narcissa gave a laugh, which more than sorry, seemed to show how proud she was of herself.
"This is embarrassing," she complained, feeling the heat on her cheeks. "Actually, I think it's all the options together, depending on the moment one a little more than the others."
"You care a lot about the opinion of others," she recalled.
"I just... I want to feel like I'm doing things right. You know? I work hard, I consider myself a good friend, a good daughter and even a good person. Love is supposed to be the greatest source of happiness, I should have a boyfriend, be a good partner."
"Well, you do. Love."
"Didn't you just tell me I'm dating just for sex, Narcissa?" She asked sarcastically, but also somewhat embarrassed.
"Romantic love doesn't have to be the only thing that can be considered love. In my case, although I love Lucius romantically, I also love Draco, in a very different but just as intense way, and also my sisters, whom I miss seeing."
"I wouldn't miss them if I were in your shoes," she admitted regretfully. "I do not miss my parents, although I love them very much, nor do I suffer for not seeing my friends, who I also adore intensely."
"It would be strange if we all loved the same way."
"What are you talking about?"
"Perhaps most of us feel love in one way, but that doesn't make those who don't share our perspective wrong. Sometimes there are questions that have more than one answer. Just because you don't miss them doesn't mean you don't love them. How many people are there who miss others, and don't know anything about love?"
Hermione gave her a doubtful smile after a few seconds of silence, not knowing what to say, her fingers rattling her tightly held cup.
"So?" Narcissa resumed. "Why no more dating?"
"I already told you."
"You told me about love. So what if you can't find the love of your life? Why stop having sex?"
Hermione didn't want to lift her eyes from her mug in shame, more at her vivid dreams than at the question. She couldn't think of sex without remembering them. If she had continued to have sex with others, would she still now be fantasizing about her neighbor and new friend so often? Would that be her whim? Abstinence?
"They almost always want to formalize something after a couple of dates, some even wait two or three dates before..."
"Are you so impatient?" She asked with a smile.
"Don't make fun of me," she said, indignant. "It gets a bit tedious. I just…" Hermione bit her tongue, just in time to say no more.
"Do you want sex without obligation?" Narcissa asked again.
Hermione swallowed hard, her throat feeling dry, as if she hadn't been drinking tea during the entire conversation. Hearing her ask that didn't do her any good, and she was already dreading having to go to sleep tonight...
"No one should..." she denied, unsure.
Her eyes drifted to the side, attracted by the movement of Narcissa, who had uncrossed her legs to change position, lowering the one that had been above, and vice versa.
"But you want that?"
"No," she lied, without taking her eyes off her legs.
. . .
It was strange to think about it, but Ginny was right: two months fly by. Between her working hours, her eight hours of sleep, cleaning her house, the odd book, shopping at the market, and her Wednesdays or Saturdays (depending on the week) with Narcissa, time slipped through her fingers.
Conversations with her neighbor were entertaining. Sometimes they commented on things in the neighborhood, other times they talked about books that Hermione lent to Narcissa, and every so often, it was all more thoughtful; It was the latter that was the subject that caught Hermione the most, much to her dismay.
She was quite focused, she liked to follow a routine in her days. Her dates were always planned in advance, and it was logical and even expected for a woman her age to date from time to time. Her meals were varied and proportioned, with a good portion of vegetables and a little protein every day. She did not abuse caffeine or alcohol, she never succumbed to tobacco, not to mention other drugs (which she was offered more than once during her college days). She even did a little exercise every week. Hermione doesn't question what she was doing, she was doing what she had to. That was fine, that was better.
With Narcissa everything was another story. She was a very educated woman, both in terms of being intelligent and of being respectful. She showed herself to be firm, but it was noticeable from leagues that she thawed in the privacy of her home: she always spoke very sweetly about her family. She loves to chat, to stand out, having little interest in being "just another person" like Hermione. Her thirst for adventure and attention from time to time was revealed by her words. Hermione thought she understood what Narcissa found in her: an attentive ear. Because she didn't want a lazy one, but an active one, who was deeply interested in what she was saying.
She also told her about her life before Richmond upon Thames. Narcissa had an obvious aesthetic sense, and she used to say not very subtly how Hermione could dress better, or decorate her home more beautifully, so she wasn't surprised to find out that she was a fashion designer before she got pregnant. In fact, it was through that job that she met her husband Lucius, who against all odds worked in the art world.
When Narcissa left her home that afternoon, after such personal questions, it didn't feel like goodbye. She dragged her words through each room, her clear, distant voice probing her ears in her every action, from taking out the trash to washing her hair in the shower. "Why did you stop dating?" Narcissa had said. Hermione hadn't lied to her: she lost interest in courtship and flowers. But it was easy to say what she doesn't want, and very difficult to say what she does.
If she stopped dating guys, when Ginny asked her, she only said that she didn't get along with any of them. Sometimes she lied, twisting the truth. For example, if they did not have similar thoughts, she would tell her friends that they argued too much and clashed, and that is why they separated despite liking each other. That was how she kept everything correct, because no one would expect her to be dating a boy she fought with, or who was not as smart as her, or who she had nothing in common with... Thus, they didn't demand love from her.
Hermione knew what she didn't want from her dates, and also what she did. Just as Narcissa supposed, she liked being in physical contact with people, feeling grounded in something earthly. She was someone who acted, not sighed thinking about what will be. She has eyes and feels as much as anyone. She likes to kiss, to be caressed. Enjoy the flavors, the conversations and the tension that can be generated between two individuals.
"You want sex without obligation?" Narcissa had said. Damn it, yes. That question was her downfall. No one had ever asked her that. Who would be so cheeky as to say such a thing to a woman? Perhaps men, among friends... But her? Who would dare even hint that Hermione Jean Granger would accept something so unseemly?
She went to bed early that night, as she was not hungry. She lay straight on the mattress, on her back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. The more she tried not to think about her breathing, the less she managed. The fabric still felt cold. She stroked the covers with her fingertips. She had changed the sheets that morning, so they felt too flat and tight, touching her she could almost feel how clean her skin was, and the smell confirmed it. She turned around and rubbed her nose on her pillowcase. She liked the feeling so much: cold, smooth, rich. She buried her entire face against the fluffy fabric and gave a strangled groan. She couldn't stop thinking, not about Narcissa's voice, not about her breathing.
The biggest problem with that question is that it made her feel like a prostitute. Sex and love are supposed to be the same. When she went to bed with her dates it was understood that there was a greater interest than the carnal. That was acceptable, everyone did it, because there is a desire for a future. But hanging out with someone just for the purpose of having sex? Her parents had raised her better than that. And her friends! What would they say if they could hear her thoughts?
And with whom? If she accepted that ridiculous idea, even if it was in her imagination, who would follow her in this madness? The flash of everything that had happened during the day whispered: Narcissa. And that made it a thousand times worse. A woman, her friend, her neighbor, a wife, a mother. Sex without love. Her breathing felt too hot, and she was too aware of her. There was a burning with each inhalation and a tickle of emptiness with each exhalation. No matter how much she denied it, she had already been tempted. She could no longer think that everything was still the same. It was too late for everything in her to be normal again.