A/N: Hello! I hope that you enjoy this little one shot I've put together. I've been watching a lot of Bond lately and had the fun idea that Harry could make a good Bond, and who else could be his Q other than Hermione? So I wanted to explore that. You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
The biggest thank you to SynnDagger for beta reading this for me! She has been absolutely invaluable in helping me cut down on all my wiggle words and silly grammar mistakes.
Please let me know what you thought of this one!
"Something to drink, Miss?"
Hermione pulled the headphones from her ear before giving her attention to the pretty flight attendant. "Hmm?"
"Something to drink, Miss?" the flight attendant repeated, her hands pressed to the little trolly in front of her, ready to grab any kind of drink Hermione might want from its numerous drawers.
The brunette nestled into her overly large first class seat nibbled at her lower lip. Should she get a drink? Harry would probably order a double vodka soda with a twist of lime and the flight attendant would give it to him with a wink and they would later find each other again in the tiny airplane lavatory.
But Hermione was not Harry Potter.
"Just a ginger ale please," she said meekly, once she realized that the flight attendant was growing annoyed by her delay. She took the plastic cup with too much ice in it and placed it on the tray in front of her. No, Hermione wouldn't order an alcoholic drink, even if she might have wanted one to take the edge off.
This was a work trip after all.
Besides, it was less than two hours to Vienna.
When the wheels touched down in Austria, Hermione shut her slim laptop and slipped it into her weekender bag. Hopefully, if things went well with Harry, she wouldn't even have to check into a hotel and she'd be back in her flat in London that same night.
She navigated through the busy airport, keeping her head down while she made her way to the S-Bahn. She purchased a daily ticket before getting onto the first train into the city. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione tried to act normally, to avoid attracting the attention of any of the daytime commuters. She was meant to go unnoticed, but she didn't get out into the field that often.
The generic announcement came on for her stop and Hermione emerged from the train station before making her way through the well-manicured gardens of the Belvedere Museum. Looking up at the former palace, Hermione wistfully thought that this was a perfect place to spend the afternoon in the sunshine, just people watching.
But she had a job to do.
She walked towards the booth to purchase tickets for the art museum, the gravel crunching under her white tennis shoes. "Hi, I'd like a ticket please," she asked, giving the man a timid smile.
He gave her an odd sort of half-frown before saying something to her in German. Hoping that a fifty euro note would be more than enough to cover the entrance fee, Hermione tried to hand it over to the gruff man, only to be rebuffed by more German.
"I'm sorry," she said, truly apologetic. "I don't speak any German."
That did little to make the man work with her and he just repeated the words in German again, only this time slower. Like she was stupid.
Hermione flushed. She couldn't believe that this was happening - that she was going to miss her drop with Harry because she hadn't brushed up on some basic language skills. How did Harry always make this look so easy? She supposed that was why he was the international spy, and not her.
She only grew more and more flustered as the seconds ticked by, the ticket man looking at her expectantly. If she missed the drop, Harry was going to be in increasing danger the longer he stayed in Vienna.
A man cleared his throat behind her. "He's asking if you still want a ticket because the museum is only open for another twenty-five minutes," the man said, his voice deep, rich, and slightly accented.
Turning around to get a look at her savior, Hermione was immediately struck by how handsome he was. Tall and well built, he had brown hair and eyes and a bit of scruff on his jaw. He looked absolutely kissable and...
... Hermione could not believe what an absolute fool she was making of herself in front of such an attractive man.
"Oh, thank you," Hermione said, knowing that she never would have gotten anywhere with the ticket man. "Could you please tell him that I still want a ticket?"
Her savior gave her a lopsided smile before speaking to the man in rapid German. Ron always said that German was such a harsh language, but when this stranger spoke, Hermione thought it sounded better than any whispered French she'd ever heard.
Euros were exchanged and Hermione finally had her ticket to enter the museum. She tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear, cheeks pink while she thanked the man for his help. "Thank you so much," she stuttered. "Have a good afternoon."
If she was another type of girl, Hermione might have spent a few more minutes trying to flirt with him, but there was no time. She had a job to do.
And so, she trudged up the gravel walkway and into the museum. Snapping up a map on the way in, she walked the quickest route through the massive building towards the room where she was meant to meet Harry. She jogged up the staircase and moved through two rooms until she came face to face with the Klimt.
Even though the museum was nearly closed, there was still a large number of people crowded around The Kiss trying to get a selfie with their camera phones. It really was a perfect place for her to bump into Harry without anyone the wiser to their meeting.
Sitting down on an open bench, her eyes roved around the room, looking for any sign of the messy black hair of her friend. Disappointed when she didn't see him, she pulled out her mobile to see if she had any missed messages. She was a bit late, but he was supposed to wait for her - as long as it took!
She was annoyed with Harry. He'd probably caught the eye of some French au pair and decided to slip off with her rather than receive his needed gadgets from the Q division.
Her focus was drawn to the painting that dominated one side of the room. It really was a remarkable painting, with its added gold leaf still shimmering many decades after it was created. Though, if Hermione was honest, she sort of thought that the woman looked like she was trying to push her lover away.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind her.
Hermione turned around once again, only to find the stranger from before. She was surprised that he'd found her in such a large museum. "Oh, yes, I very much enjoy it," she said, unsure of what to think. Maybe this was a second chance at something more? After all, it wasn't every day that she felt such an instant bolt of attraction with someone.
"I make it a point to come see it every time I'm in Vienna," he explained, his arms held behind his back. "Waiting for someone?"
"Uh, yes, actually," Hermione said with a frown, reminded of the task in front of her. "I was supposed to meet a friend here, but I think I was a little late."
An announcement came over the speakers informing everyone in three languages that the museum was about to close. Standing up from the bench, Hermione looked down at her phone again. She was irked that Harry couldn't follow simple directions and that her trip would be extended. She'd have to call Ron to feed Crookshanks.
"Thanks again for your help," she said, giving the handsome man a little wave before making her way towards the exit, weekender bag slung over her shoulder.
Harry was waiting for her in her hotel room when she checked in. "Jesus, Harry, you gave me such a fright!" she nearly screamed, pressing a hand to her heart.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Hermione," he said with a broad grin.
"Q—" Hermione started to correct him.
"Hermione," he repeated, rolling his eyes. "I've already swept your room for bugs and I'm never going to be able to call you that silly codename, not when you've been my best friend for over ten years."
"Still, it's protocol," she said with a sniff, still annoyed that he had stood her up at the Belvedere. "Why didn't you meet me? Now I'm going to have to ask Ron to feed Crookshanks and you know they don't get along."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck before giving her an apologetic look. "I got a little hung up," he said.
"Honestly, Harry," she said, shoving her bag down on the bed before she started to rifle around in it. "You need to stop fucking every woman who bats her eyes at you."
"A field agent must use all tools at his disposal if it will help his mission," he argued, knowing that it would do little to convince her. "And what new tools did you bring me?"
This was the whole reason she was here in Austria in the first place so she wouldn't hold him in suspense, even though she really should let him sweat for a minute or two. "Gun," she said, tossing him the handgun that she'd gotten past airport security. "It's got your palm imprinted into the handle so only you can fire it."
"Cool," Harry said, removing the cartridge before clicking it back into place.
Next, she handed over a packet of cigarettes. "Don't smoke those," she cautioned him. "They've got enough explosives in them to blow up this room."
"Very useful," Harry answered, taking out one of the cigarettes. "How does it work?"
"Break off the filter and light it," Hermione explained. "Then run like hell. You'll have about ten seconds before it goes off."
Harry looked at her weekender bag, wondering how she could possibly have so much stuff packed in there. "Any other goodies for me?" he asked playfully.
"Just one, your new watch," Hermione said, handing over the large Omega watch, waiting for Harry to slip it on his wrist. "It's got a magnetic feature if you click here, and if you press this button, it turns into a small rotary that can cut through steel. And, as usual, it can be used as a communication device with yours truly."
"You are brilliant, Hermione," Harry said, trying to pull her into a hug.
Normally, she would have welcomed it but she was still too annoyed. She ducked out from under his arm and pulled her laptop out of her bag. "Finally, we intercepted a message from Voldemort to his henchman of the week," she said, showing Harry the message. "As you can see, they are expecting some kind of deal to occur tonight. We cannot let him get his hands on the missiles. M would be furious."
"Tell Minnie -"
"M!" Hermione shouted, wishing that Harry wouldn't use their real names while they were out in the field.
"- that I've already figured out that trade. And that is why you will be accompanying me to the art auction tonight," he said.
"Absolutely not, Harry!" Hermione said, feeling her temper rise. "I am not a field agent and I am not prepared for this kind of work."
"Come on, Hermione," Harry goaded her. "It's only for one night. You just have to pretend to be my wife and have some drinks. It will be fine."
"I am not comfortable with this, Potter," she said, pressing her hands on her hips, hoping she could boss him into submission.
Harry was already walking to the door, though. "I already got you a dress! It's hanging in the closet," he called over his shoulder, halfway out the door. "Meet me downstairs at eight!"
The dress Harry had selected for her was not something that Hermione would have selected for herself. Nearly completely backless, Hermione thought that the skinny straps might break if she looked at them the wrong way. It clung to her every curve like liquid silver, shimmering with every step she took. Even though she looked good in it, Hermione couldn't help but feel self-conscious under the intense scrutiny of everyone else in the hotel lobby, where she stood waiting for Harry.
Checking the time on her mobile, Hermione huffed before putting it back in her clutch. Harry was late again and she wasn't about to be stood up twice in one day.
Just as she was about to return to her room, Harry swept into the lobby, all suave sophistication in his two-piece suit - navy with no tie. "Hello darling," he said before slinging his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Hermione rewarded him with a frown, wondering how he'd roped her into this.
"Is that any way to greet your husband?" he asked, almost sounding hurt.
She rolled her eyes at him again, before plastering a huge smile on her face. "I would have thought your wife would be decked out in diamonds, but you didn't even include a ring. What am I supposed to think?"
"I'll get you any ring you like once we're back in London," he answered with a smirk. "Now let's go into the ballroom. The auction starts in an hour, but they will be exhibiting until then."
They glided into the room as though they were walking on clouds. She knew that they were a good-looking couple based on how the attention of the room seemed to descend on them, but she knew that it was likely Harry doing the heavy lifting. He always seemed to have a sort of gravity around him that drew everyone into his orbit.
Harry guided them to the bar to get drinks. He pushed a bijou into her hand with a smirk. "I got you your favorite," he said.
"Don't try to get on my good side right now, Potter," she answered, looking around at the other guests, wondering if she'd be able to recognize any of Voldemort's henchmen. "I'm still annoyed with you." She took a long drink of the green drink, needing a little something to take the edge off if she was going to get through the rest of the night.
Before they could talk much more, the art curator for the auction came up to them.
"The name is Potter. Harry Potter," he introduced himself. "And this is my wife, Hermione. We are looking for some art to display in our new home."
"I love modern art," Hermione said, trying to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the story Harry had come up with. "I think we should go look at that one."
Luckily, the curator seemed to take the hint and left the two of them alone. Harry pressed his hand to the small of her back and guided her to look at a particular painting. "This is the painting that Voldemort is using to facilitate the money exchange for the missiles," he whispered in her ear.
"Don't they think it will raise eyebrows if this sells for an obscene amount of money? It's nothing special," Hermione said. She knew that art was in the eye of the beholder, but she didn't understand how this barbie pink and coral abstract art could be expected to fetch any large amount of money.
"It's a private sale," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I think he's only invited the most odious of people here to make bids. I suppose he thinks that it won't get out."
"It's not like the artist is famous either," Hermione said, with a frown, looking at the name next to the painting.
She heard Harry's intake of breath when his eyes landed on someone across the room. "And there she is now. Daphne Greengrass," he said.
Hermione easily found the artist that caught Harry's eye. It would be hard not to. She was easily the most gorgeous woman in the room, with her perfectly styled blonde hair in immaculate finger waves. Her lips were decked in dark red lipstick and she looked every inch the sort of trouble that Harry was into.
"I have to go speak with her," Harry said, walking towards the woman like a moth to a flame.
"Harry, don't!" Hermione insisted, grabbing her by his arm. "You are being ridiculous."
"She might be able to lead us to Voldemort," he insisted, pulling himself free from her grasp.
"Harry," she hissed, feeling her annoyance seep back in. "You can't leave me here by myself. You said so yourself...this place is crawling with Voldemort's people and I am not a field agent."
He smiled at her before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "It will just be for a minute, I promise."
And then he was gone.
Hermione groaned, wondering when she was going to stop letting Harry walk all over her like this. She quickly downed the rest of her drink and walked back towards the bar, intending to get another one. In the time that it took her to walk over there, it seemed that Harry and the mysterious Daphne had disappeared.
"Typical," she muttered under her breath, fishing the brandy-soaked cherry out of the bottom of her glass and popping it into her mouth. The sweetness did little to improve her mood.
"We really must stop meeting like this," a voice said from her left, making Hermione turn.
To her utter surprise, she was pleased to see that it was the handsome stranger from earlier in the day. He was tall - much taller than she was, even in her high-heeled shoes. He cut a handsome figure in a bespoke grey suit, complemented by a skinny black tie.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here," Hermione said with a smile.
"Why is that?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together for a brief moment.
"Because you are also interested in art," she answered, completely forgetting about the sort of clientele that was meant to be at the auction. "That was why you were at the Belvedere, right?"
"Oh, yes," he agreed with a laugh. It was warm and rich and Hermione found herself reacting to it in a way that she didn't quite understand. She had never been much of a believer in the idea of lust at first sight, but she was absolutely taken with this stranger. "I'm Antonin," he said, offering his hand.
She gladly took it, trying not to shiver from seeing how dainty her hand looked in his larger one. "Hermione," she answered. She bit her lower lip, wondering if she should really keep talking to him when she should be hunting down Harry, before deciding to let herself live a little. "Can I get you a drink?"
He gave her another one of those lopsided grins before nodding. "I would love a drink, but I was wondering..." he trailed off. "It's a bit loud in here. There is a bar on the top floor of the hotel that has the most beautiful view of the city. Would you like to go there instead?"
"Oh," Hermione said, surprised that he would want to leave the auction. "That would be lovely."
Only...Harry. Hermione looked around the room only to find no sign of the international spy. She was sure that he wouldn't even notice that she had gone anywhere, too busy with Daphne Greengrass, doing something unspeakable, no doubt.
Hermione took Antonin's offered arm and followed him out of the ballroom into the elevator. It was packed with other people and Antonin remained silent on the ride up. The doors opened up to a relatively empty bar, bathed in low light. With his hand on her bare back, Hermione tried to ignore the delicious feeling of his skin on hers as he guided her to the bar.
Once she was in her seat, he looked at her as if he was trying to read her mind. "Martini?" he asked, wanting to suss out her drink order.
She tried to hide her smile. Although she was known to drink a martini, she was much too cross with Harry to have one at the moment. "Maybe something else," she suggested, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
Antonin returned her cautious smile. "French 75, then?" he asked.
"Sounds perfect," Hermione responded with a sigh. Her day had been going so horribly, but it seemed like Antonin knew exactly what she needed. He was a bit like a knight in shining armor.
The bar was pushed up against a wall full of windows that showed off the most magnificent view of the Danube, shrouded in fog in the cold evening air. She found herself enamored with the surroundings, and she was very glad that Antonin had invited her there. It was almost enough to make her forget the runaround Harry had given her.
Almost.
With glass in hand, Hermione drank almost half of her cocktail at once before realizing how sad that must seem.
She flushed pink.
"You know, I think your husband is crazy for leaving you alone," Antonin said, leaning in to keep their conversation private. "Especially for Greengrass. You are much prettier. I almost didn't recognize you in the ballroom - you look gorgeous."
Hermione's cheeks only grew hotter. She couldn't believe that he had heard the little ruse that Harry had thought up and that he thought she was being stood up by her own "husband".
"Oh, we're not - Harry isn't really my husband," she told him, her fingers toying with the stem of her glass. "He's just my good friend and was playing a joke on me. Thank you, though, for the compliment."
You would have had to be blind to not see the look of relief on Antonin's face at hearing that she was single. "Ah, so you are not with him?" he probed, just to be certain.
"No, I'm far too busy to date, unfortunately," she said with a frown. Maybe she should start thinking about another career, she thought with a huff. "But even if I wasn't, Harry would not be my first choice. I know what he's like - incapable of settling down."
Antonin gave her another lopsided grin. "Too busy with work?" he asked.
Hermione's glass was already finished, but the bartender was already getting her a second. "Yes, I'm a -" she had to cut herself off from spilling her every secret to Antonin. She wasn't sure what it was about him but she was ready to tell him her life story! Had it just been so long since someone had taken an interest in her? "I'm a research analyst. There's a lot of...deadlines."
That was one way to put keeping up with Agent Potter.
"Research? Of what sort?" Antonin pushed a little bit further, clearly interested in her.
Hermione bit her lower lip, wondering how much was okay to give away. Pushing away those intrusive thoughts, she reminded herself that it wasn't as if he was a spy. "Um...computers, new technologies, that sort of thing," she answered. Wanting to get the conversation off of her, she turned it back to him. "And what do you do for work? You said you come to Vienna often?"
Antonin smirked at her. "Well...you could say that I'm a bit of a henchman," he deadpanned.
She choked and sputtered on her drink at the word. Her heart pounded away in her chest and she gave him another look. Was it possible that he...was connected to Voldemort? He had been at the art auction and it was supposed to be invitation only.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he corrected with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I'm more of a...personal assistant for a very rich man and he sends me all over Europe to...track things down for him. More often than not, it's art. You know how the super-wealthy are."
Hermione did not think that she knew what the super-wealthy were like, but she supposed that she didn't know enough to question him.
"And did your employer send you to Vienna to track down a Greengrass painting?" she asked, cautiously.
"By any means necessary," Antonin answered with another smirk.
Again, his words gave Hermione pause and she could feel her heartbeat accelerate. Oh, she was sure that Antonin wasn't involved with Voldemort, but she couldn't stop herself from seeing hidden links where there were none. Even so, maybe she should leave Antonin and all of his temptation, just to be safe.
Her glass was empty once again and she gave him an apologetic smile. "I think I should be returning to my room," she told him, sounding disappointed.
"Of course." Antonin nodded, standing up. "Please let me walk you back? To make sure you get there safely. You never know who could be lurking about."
She wondered if he had any idea how accurate his statement just might be. Even though she knew she could handle herself, she found herself agreeing with the tall man, taking his offered arm once he'd paid the bartender for their drinks.
The ride in the elevator back to her floor was overwhelming. Antonin held her hand in his larger one, his finger tracing over her pulse point, feather-light. It was enough to send Hermione's senses into overdrive. Suddenly, her heart was racing, and it wasn't from worrying that one of Voldemort's henchmen was lurking around.
Hermione looked at her mysterious savior out of the corner of her eye, drinking in every one of his features. He should be rather plain, with his brown eyes and hair, but there was something about the way that he was put together that was irresistibly sexy. He looked strong and masculine and -
The corners of his lips tightened, trying to hide a smile.
She knew that she had been caught in her open perusal of him.
Oh god, suddenly Hermione had flashes back to school when she'd had a crush on the popular boy and was made fun of because she was such a big dork. Sure, she was wearing this glamorous dress, but she never would have put it on if Harry hadn't selected it for her. She wasn't some sort of beautiful jetsetter who hooked up with hot, foreign guys. She was just a quartermaster who occasionally had to smuggle a gun through the airport.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Hermione practically spilled out into the hallway, needing to get a little space from Antonin's overwhelming presence before she did something she'd regret. Like inviting him into her room.
Would she though? Would she really regret it?
She was only in Vienna for the night and she never really let herself go like that. And Antonin was hitting all the boxes for her at the moment.
When they got to her door, Hermione spun and pressed her back to her door, plastic door key in hand. Her eyes gave a cursory sweep of his body before settling on his face. Suddenly, her offer died on his lips. He was really far too attractive with his broad shoulders and good bone structure to be interested in someone like her.
There must be some other reason for his attention.
"Fuck, you are beautiful," he said in an irreverent whisper. "Can I kiss you goodnight?"
This was the moment - her chance to be bold and just enjoy the moment. "Only if you come in for a nightcap," she countered, catching her lower lip between her teeth.
Antonin leaned forward, plucking the key card from her fingers and slipping it into the reader. "I thought you'd never ask," he answered.
As if possessed by some sort of demon, Hermione grabbed at his lapels, pulling him towards her and into the room. Once the door was closed behind them, she pressed up on her tiptoes to meet his lips in a kiss. Stumbling backward, Hermione pulled her willing beau towards the solitary bed in the middle of the room, trying not to trip on unknown obstacles.
He deepened the kiss immediately, his tongue finding its way past her lips. He tasted like lemon syrup and kissing him was as intoxicating as the cocktails they'd shared earlier. Antonin wrapped his arms around her, holding her body tightly against his.
Hermione shivered at the feeling of his hands on her bare back, an enticing preview of what was likely to come if she could just get him out of his clothes. Her fingers were trembling in anticipation and couldn't quite get the pesky buttons of his shirt through their loops.
Luckily, Antonin took pity on her and broke their kiss, his own hands making quick work of the crisp white shirt he wore under his grey suit coat. Hermione sat back on the bed to watch him undress, slipping off the coat, before loosening the cufflinks at his wrists. Once his shirt was gone, all that kept his body from her eyes was a thin undershirt, stretched tight over a physique she had truly not expected. When he pulled it up over his head, she could see every muscle working under his tanned skin.
"Wow," she said, feeling a bit stunned.
Antonin smirked at her, obviously enjoying her reaction to him.
Well, she couldn't let him think he had the upper hand. Reaching out, Hermione grabbed him by the belt, pulling him towards her. Looking up at him sweetly from the bed, she began to work on undoing the belt from its loops.
That seemed to snap him back into action.
Not to be outdone, Antonin only fumbled for a moment before finding the hidden zipper at the side of her dress, pulling it down. His fingers toyed with the ultra-thin strap at her shoulder, giving her the opportunity to protest should she wish, but Hermione was all in.
His fingers grazed the soft skin of her arm when they pulled the straps down, goose flesh left in their wake. Hermione immediately lost the ultra-confident swagger she'd been hoping to project when it was revealed that she'd forgone her bra that night.
Antonin grinned at her, making no secret that he was entranced by her perky breasts, nipples tightening from the cold or the arousal. His hand traced along the curve of her breast until she was unconsciously arching her back, practically begging for more.
She could be embarrassed about her eagerness later — Hermione wanted nothing separating them and she wanted it now.
In what felt like a blink of an eye, Hermione had slipped out of her dress, leaving her in just her knickers. Then she was helping Antonin out of the remainder of his clothes until he was stretched out on the bed in nothing more than a tight pair of boxer briefs.
He pulled her on top of him so that her legs rested on either side of his waist. Unbidden, her hands pressed against his strong chest and abs, enjoying the way that the muscles jumped under her attention. To have this man beneath her was enough to have her core clenching in aching emptiness.
Antonin grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her down until he could catch her in a kiss again, tongue slipping against her own in a pleasurable twist that had her moaning for more. He was in control, moving her every which way that he wanted.
Hermione's head was spinning from lust and confusion. How was it that she'd only just met Antonin earlier in the day and now she was completely undone by him? How had he managed to sneak past all her rationality?
God, none of that mattered in the moment. All that matter was him flipping their bodies around so that he was on top, pinning her wrists up above her head, with her body laid out like a feast against the pillows. She could feel his hard cock pressing against her knickers and without thinking she rocked against him.
He threw his head back and groaned at the sensation.
The sight of him equally overcome by her was enough to make Hermione repeat the action again. And again. But then that persistent friction just wasn't enough anymore and she wanted him out of his underwear. Catching the elastic edge, Hermione pushed them down over his hips, freeing his cock.
She didn't have much time to look at him because Antonin was giving her the same treatment, sliding her knickers down her legs only to toss them off into oblivion. He gave her a smirk when his eyes perused her body, his eyes lingering over the slick pinkness of her center. Obviously, he was feeling very pleased with himself.
Clearing her throat, Hermione gave him her bossiest look. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked, sounding haughty and far sexier than she felt.
He chuckled and loomed over her body, pressing himself against her wetness. He slid himself against her once, twice, before positioning himself at her entrance. Then, with a thrust forward, Hermione felt herself being filled until they were pressed as close together as possible. Immediately, he pulled out only to rock back into her again.
Hermione was ... impressed. She had never seen the appeal of a one-night stand, but if it was always like what she was experiencing with Antonin, consider her a convert. Only, she didn't think that it was the mysterious stranger aspect of it that was getting her motor running. Instead, she thought there was something about Antonin himself that was so irresistible.
He was possessive, his hands gripping at her hips tight enough to leave bruises. He was bold enough to go after exactly what he wanted. He was strong (oh god, so strong) enough to put her just how he wanted her, making her feel like a delicate little doll, something she hadn't suspected to like. And fuck, he knew what he was doing, didn't he?
Antonin seemed to know instinctively how to keep her angled so that every stroke of him inside her was pushing her ever closer to that lovely edge, where the coil inside her body would snap into a brilliant electric world of pleasure. His lips found hers more often than not, biting and sucking on her lower lip, only to break off so that he could whisper some unknown language into her ear.
Every single hair on her body seemed to be standing on edge, each sense finely in tune with Antonin and what he was doing to her body. She felt like a series of dominos tumbling one after the other towards some great climax.
Wrapping a leg around his waist and her arms around his back, Hermione enthusiastically ground back against him. She was so close to coming and he was hitting all the right spots. Chanting his name again and again, she was finally there, going rigid underneath him as wave after wave of pleasure ran through her body.
He had been close too, because his thrusts quickly grew erratic. With his face pressed into her neck, he groaned his release as well, before collapsing against her, boneless.
Fuck.
That was not going to be a one-night stand if Hermione had anything to say about it. Maybe she would stop arguing with M so much about meeting Harry in the field if it meant that she might meet up with Antonin, off on another one of his art quests. She was sure their paths would cross again at some point and she didn't want to miss it.
They laid there together, tangled until their sweaty bodies cooled. Shivering a bit, Hermione had a little bit of a naughty idea and was feeling just buoyant enough to actually voice it. "I was thinking I might run a bath," she said with her head propped up by her hand. "Care to join me?"
Antonin gave her his lopsided grin and scratched at his beard. "Absolutely," he answered. "I don't want you to think that I was done with you."
Hermione giggled - god, she actually giggled - before jumping out of the bed. Even though it felt a bit pointless, she grabbed a robe from the closet and wrapped it around her body. Slipping into the bathroom, she started running the water, letting it get perfectly warm.
Maybe she should order room service, she thought with a giddy smile on her face. They could share another bottle of champagne. She stood to leave the bathroom to ask him, only to have her door suddenly burst open.
Harry entered the room, only to stop short upon seeing her well-shagged appearance.
"Harry, what the hell?" she asked, annoyed that he'd broken into her room. "You can't be here right now!" she insisted, trying to place herself between him and the main room, not wanting him to see Antonin.
She didn't need the lecture from Harry of all people.
"I have to, Hermione. I know what Voldemort is doing, and unfortunately, I wasn't able to stop the sale," he said, all frenetic energy as he waltzed past her.
Hermione followed him, trying to pull him back by the shoulder. "Harry, please, stop."
Only, what she saw shocked her to her core. Antonin sat on the bed, in his own robe, with her laptop open in front of him. "What are you doing?" she asked, feeling her heart pound faster.
"Dolohov!" Harry shouted.
Oh fuck, Hermione thought to herself. How could she have been so blind as to not recognize Antonin Dolohov? How had she not been able to put together the pieces? She had thought that he was too good to be true. But mostly, she felt the white-hot stabbing of betrayal to realize that he'd only been using her because of her job. She was crushed.
He pulled a flash drive from her computer, only to set it aside. "Thank you, Hermione Granger," he said with a smirk. "I had a much better time than I expected tonight."
Harry had sprung into action, throwing a punch that Dolohov easily ducked. Antonin then kicked his leg out, catching Harry off guard and knocking him on his arse. Her lover ran past her, pushing her into the wall to slip out the door.
Grabbing his gun, Harry chased after him.
Hermione had never been so humiliated in her life as she felt on her return flight to London. After Harry had blabbed to M exactly what had happened, it was determined that she should return from the field immediately.
With her computer in front of her, she stared at Dolohov's dossier, wondering how she hadn't realized it was him. It wasn't as if Antonin was a common name, and she knew all of Voldemort's little henchmen front to back. The picture that stared back at her was at least fifteen years old - a prison mug shot from when Dolohov was barely twenty years old. There were similarities, yes, but in real life, he looked much more sophisticated.
The beard helped a lot, too.
It hurt to know that he'd only been using her to get her computer. She wondered if she'd been his target all along or merely a convenient prize that fell in his lap. Oh, she couldn't believe her failure.
She knew that he was unlikely to actually get anything out of her computer even if he'd managed to take a full backup. It was heavily encrypted and had multiple layers of necessary authentication, including a facial recognition scan.
A buzz from her phone indicated a new message, most likely from M to berate her for her carelessness.
Hermione flagged down the flight attendant to get a gin and tonic, knowing that she'd need a little courage to read the scathing note. She drank half of it before she steeled herself enough to open her unread messages. Only it wasn't from Minerva.
It was from an unknown number.
You still owe me a bath, Granger, the cheeky message read. I'm sure we will be seeing each other again very soon. In the meantime, I hope that you think of me. I'll be thinking of you.
She gasped out loud at the presumption of that man! He would be so lucky as to never see her again because she had a lot of things that she wanted to say to him about the kind of person that he was. Most of it was negative.
Most of it.