6

An indecent sex life.

When Hermione first slept with someone she was seventeen, in her seventh year of school, with Cormac McLaggen. It felt right, like it was what had to happen.

He was on the high school soccer team and she was the best student of her year. Sometimes Cormac would talk to her in the hallways, tell her that she should go see him play sometime; which she did. Several guys on the team were handsome. Most of the girls agreed that Cormac, along with the captain, Oliver Wood, were the most attractive of all. She still remembered too precisely the perfect smile he gave when he noticed Hermione in the stands, watching him play for the first time. He strutted the entire game, especially when he scored a goal, searching for her eyes to verify that she was watching him win.

When she passed all her first trimester exams, Hermione decided to go to a party at the house of one of her classmates; in the last year of studies there were always more than usual. There she finally met Cormac outside the hallways and football games. They ended up going out to the patio to distance themselves from the rest of the people and talk a bit. He talked too much, but he had a nice smile. That was her first kiss, tasting the traces of beer from his mouth (since she had not drunk, it was noticeable), and with the music and screams of teenagers in the background. When their lips parted, their breaths caused steam in the air between them. They were outside, it was winter. They held their noses very close, and Cormac's breath still smelled of alcohol, but it didn't bother her, he had only had one glass, or maybe two. His eyes were well focused on her. Hermione suspected it was the first time he'd paid such attention to her and the same could be said for him. They did not kiss again, as Cormac's friends had seen them and interrupted them. "Oooh!" some of them sang mockingly, causing Cormac to step back and look embarrassed and angry. Hermione knew that no one could believe that he kissed the smartest in his class, the girl who used to refuse to come out if there was an upcoming exam. Too cliché to be real, the smart one and the jock. But she never quite understood it. There were no upcoming exams, why wouldn't she?

They kissed one more time a few days later. Cormac insisted on walking her home after school and Hermione said yes. He was much more shy that time, because they were out on the street in broad daylight. Tasting the boy's mouth tasted like bubble gum. He wasn't supposed to chew gum in class, but he did, and the traces of artificial fruit flavor were the proof. Hermione at that moment wanted to bite, make the kiss even sweeter. She and Cormac probably didn't have the same concept of sweetness, Hermione's was addiction: that she feels so sweet that she doesn't want to stop.

Those encounters were repeated many more times, Hermione lost count of the amount of kisses she shared with him.

It was only in the summer that they did more than kiss. Cormac was daring, going to the Granger house and climbing a tree to it's only daughter's window. He tapped the glass three times with his knuckles and Hermione wasn't surprised by the noise, as it was in her plans. Cormac entered his room and whispered into her ear: he apologized for the delay, he swore he hadn't stopped thinking about her. Her friends always asked her what she liked the most about him, what detail about him she loved. Hermione could only think that he had brown hair so light that it sometimes turned blonde in the sunlight, and that his blue eyes and charming smile were dreamy. What girl wouldn't want to be with such a cute boy? Who wouldn't be interested in running their hands over his broad, slightly tanned shoulders? He had several moles dotting his back, his abdomen and thighs were quite firm from sport and his hair tickled her nose as he kissed her neck; It smelled a lot like floral soap and shampoo. Cormac talked a lot, but it always worked to smile at him and nod her head, and then she didn't have to worry about anything but his big, rough hands running over her body. Hermione felt like one of the many princesses from her childhood fairy tales that day.

Why wouldn't she do it with Cormac? The orgasm felt great.

Her neighbor Narcissa had similarities to Cormac, but they were nowhere near the same. Her blue eyes conveyed opposite things, cold the first and warm the second. The hair too, blond. With a somewhat crooked perspective, it could be said that Cormac was also blond like her. Their smiles, they both smiled a lot. Cormac had the smile of a prince and Narcissa a queen, a sharp one, a false sympathy that managed to fool everyone. Narcissa didn't sneak through her window and apologize, she knocked on her door and demanded her attention.

This day was nothing like the summer where she had sex for the first time. Her neighbor was reading the synopsis on the back of one of her books. She had set her tea on the table and was sitting comfortably in her chair. Narcissa did not have a great interest in books, but would buy her own. She was just curious about what Hermione was reading.

"What were your friends like in the city?" She asked her.

Narcissa rested both hands on the book she was holding on her lap. Today she was wearing pants. As she sat, her thighs seemed thicker than they really were.

"There are so many," she sighed, and that forced Hermione to look up from her legs. "I had a writer friend there. If you want another day I can bring you one of his books, he gave it to me when he published it."

"That would be great, thanks."

"One of my best friends is a stewardess. She doesn't want kids either." Narcissa emphasised "want" as she spoke, saying that word slower than the rest. "So she can travel without worrying too much. Whenever she could, she would bring me a gift from the country she was going to."

Hermione had some tea. They had chatted last week about desire and want, and she knew Narcissa was amused by the subject, especially because of everything Hermione told her. "Being sleepy makes you uninhibited" was her answer to everything, and she changed the subject of conversation for the rest of the afternoon. But today Hermione was well rested and kept thinking the same.

"You seem to love being around people who are outside the norm," Hermione said in response.

"Everyone has their peculiarities. That they do not shout them does not mean that they do not have them."

She shifted in the chair, uncomfortable. Narcissa watched the movement in detail.

"And what about you?" Hermione asked.

"Me?" She waved her hand at herself, using a high-pitched, somewhat prim tone.

"What is peculiar about Mrs. Malfoy?" She joked.

Narcissa's smile widened, and she quickly pressed her lips together to hide it. She seemed to be silently taunting Hermione for her curiosity.

She already knew several things about her neighbor, such as that she only put a spoonful of sugar in her drink and that she ignored desserts. Narcissa said she didn't like sweets, which all things seemed to point to being the truth. However, she suspected there was another cause: not gaining weight. Hermione was never very picky about food, she tried to have a balanced diet, follow the doctors' recommendations ... the normal thing. As long as there were no excesses, there was no need to worry.

In the neighboring house, number 159, there were mannequins, fabrics, sewing machines, tape measures, scales ... Hermione knew this from Narcissa's own words, which she liked to use in her spare time. Her job as a designer didn't necessarily include that, but she sometimes found herself wanting to create something outside of work. And to design your own clothes, you had to know your own measurements.

She also remembered the barbecue. Hermione sat across from Narcissa that day. Lucius, Draco, Rosmerta and Tom surrounded them. Rosmerta was insistent in her ear, but that didn't confuse her enough not to notice that Narcissa the only seconds she had was salad.

Her neighbor was a lover of fashion and looking good. Hermione doubted she was wrong in her assumptions that she was purposely depriving herself of food. It was obvious that Narcissa is not just beautiful because she is, but because she is meticulous and takes care of herself (if you could describe that obsession as such). She looked in the mirror all the time too. Any reflection that she crossed, she used it, showing how superficial she was. And if more evidence was needed, there was this very moment. Who else but Narcissa cared so much about her image, that even for a meeting to have tea with her neighbor she got so dressed up? Moreso it being her neighbor Hermione, who at the moment was not wearing makeup, or any flattering clothes. Her tied hair seemed to want to escape, the fault of her curls, which made her seem as if all her life she was running a marathon.

Narcissa was beautiful, damn beautiful. The most beautiful woman she had ever seen was in her home, sitting in her chair. Hermione squeezed the cup tighter in her hands. Week after week, dream after dream, so many conversations ...

Her lips were full and rosy. Whenever they landed on the teacup, Hermione's eyes were hopelessly lost there. Narcissa looked down as she drank, at her drink. Her eyelids drooped and then her lashes seemed longer. And her blond eyebrows were most likely plucked and well controlled. They had a slim and straight shape, which fell only at the end. They gave the impression of a strong, stern attitude, and like her icy gaze, it attracted her. Narcissa had told her that beauty has a lot to do with movement, with your psychological state and with the way you are. That left Hermione thinking that back then, she must seem very neat and ordinary, because she was always tidying up, following her routines and doing nothing special. Could that be considered beautiful? Looking at Narcissa's eyebrows, she thought a lot about that, the attitude, the beauty; It seemed that her neighbor's body and mind were in tune, because her way of being was reflected in her physique, in how beautiful she was. If only her own bushy hair would follow suit and be in line with her state of mind as well, rather than messy, always the opposite of normal and orderly.

Narcissa's body, as she changed the position she was sitting in, turned to her side. That gave Hermione another perspective, one that she really appreciated. She really liked the curve of the woman's hips.

"Are you going to look me in the face again sometime this afternoon?" She asked.

"Excuse me," Hermione answered quickly.

It was wrong to look at someone else like that. Especially a married woman. What the hell was she doing? She focused his eyes on Narcissa as fast as he could. She was red, very ashamed of herself and uncomfortable.

"Envy?" Narcissa teased.

"No," she said. "I swear it's not."

"Easy, Hermione. You don't have to be so scared."

Despite her words, her heart was beating fast from being caught like this. How could she let her desires dominate her like that?

"What were you thinking?"

"Pardon?" Hermione got more scared.

"I'm pretty sure you heard me, and you understood me well, too."

She had that smile on her lips that she always showed her, a very sharp one. She always doubted how she should interpret it. Now, like an epiphany, she was pretty sure of the answer: like a threat.

They were at her house, but she didn't feel like she was in control of anything. Narcissa held her between her fingers, she chose if she wanted them to be soft or as dangerous as claws. The glances shared through the fence the day she invited her to the barbecue, the way everything went awry so that the meetings between them were at her house and not in a public place, or even how Narcissa managed to have coffee the way she liked it, even before they were friends. She effortlessly slipped into her home, into her routine, into her thoughts ... and dreams.

Because today? What was different about the rest of the days? Did she just notice how her eyes were sliding down? Now Hermione was hesitant, because Narcissa always caught her gaze, even this time, when the fence separated them. Why would today be any different?

Different.

"Different, like you," that was what she had said the first time she sat in this same place. "I wish I could have sex without worrying about anything," she confessed last week. And now she couldn't stop thinking: Narcissa always caught her gaze.

"About your hips," she confessed in a whisper. "I like them."

Narcissa's smile widened, pleased. She knew it, for a long time.

"And what else?"

That twist lost her. The question puzzled her, making her speechless. She had been honest. Wasn't that what Narcissa expected?

"Hermione," she insisted, "after all we've talked about, I doubt you think so little."

If she weren't so fidgety, she most likely would have laughed.

"Because you want...?" She tried, unsure.

"Curiosity," Narcissa blurted out simply.

She looked happy, with her sharp smile. She used one of her hands to tuck her hair behind her ear and crossed her legs gracefully and slowly.

"God," Hermione breathed, very low.

Was this really happening? Was it not another of her erotic and very inappropriate dreams?

"Wow, I never took you for religious."

Hermione's cheeks burned. Narcissa was laughing in her face, like it was a game. All this time she was having fun with her. But she didn't wait for an answer to her joke, she just got up from the couch and walked a few steps to face Hermione. In this position, the woman was even more imposing. She leaned down a little, so that she could grab the cup of already cold tea that Hermione had never dropped and that, now she realized, she clutched as if her life depended on it. She put the cup on the table, abandoned like her own had been for a long time.

"And what else?" She became interested again for the third time. "What are you thinking?"

Narcissa had asked almost like a sigh, so close to her face, and Hermione didn't want to think anymore. She already knew what she wanted, now she just had to decide. She jumped off the couch and before Narcissa could straighten up, she kissed her.

Hermione's lips fit around Narcissa's lower lip as her hands reached up to tangle behind her neck. Hands gripped her hips and pulled her forward, so that their bodies pressed together. Hermione licked, causing the other to part her lips. She entered her mouth hungry, desperate. She was frustrated, and also surprised that what bothered her most about the whole situation was that they were only now kissing.

How long has Narcissa wanted her? Since just now?

It turned into a very wet kiss faster than Hermione would have expected. As she felt Narcissa's tongue caress her, her fingers scratched her skin, pressing the length of her spine, then moved her hand up to the nape of her neck, sinking into her hair. Narcissa pulled their bodies closer together in reaction, seeking friction, and Hermione couldn't help but destabilize herself, stepping back and colliding with the couch by accident. They staggered. Their mouths parted, but neither let go of the other's body. Narcissa's quick breath hit her lips. Their gazes stayed connected, verifying the obvious: they wanted to continue.

"Let's go to my room," Hermione said.

The grip on her hips gave way, so she agreed to let go of her neck. She climbed the stairs, being all too aware of the sound of footsteps behind her. Neither of them bothered to close the door when they entered the room, they went straight to bed.

Hermione liked her room. Several people told her that a white duvet and sheets was not a good idea because they got dirty easily. But maybe others should take a better look at themselves and their habits. Her bed was spotless, without a stain ruining the white. And Narcissa looked beautiful sitting there. Her eyes left her for a few seconds, taking in everything. In fact, almost everything there was white, not counting some books and natural-colored wooden furniture, as well as the floor of the same material. A bedroom should, in her opinion, be calm, clean. She didn't need to overload herself with stimuli that disturbed his sleep or overwhelmed her tired mind after work.

"It's so normal," Narcissa commented. "It seems fake, from a magazine."

Hermione didn't answer, she preferred to climb onto the bed. Both were on the same level, and when their gazes met again, their bodies did too.

Notes:

Readers: EKR, are you really going to be evil enough to cut the chapter HERE?

EKR173: Yes. :D

HAHAHA now, now, do not despair dear and sinful readers, this continues in next week's chap. ;)