AN: Well here I am. Back on my bullshit...The books really don't give much details on looks for Millicent so I for some reason pictured Pamela Rabe... Just blame me binge watching Wentworth during this horrible quarantine. Also reading the fics.
Multiple arrays of burning candles cast a warm glow over the pub, cigar smoke wafts around the patrons perfuming the entire area in a sweet acidic cloud. There's something in the air tonight; something dark, heady and seductive. An unwavering hum of magic prickles Hermione's honeyed curls, calling forth her own. They mingle in silence whispering and hissing sweet nothings within her ear. Goosepimples break out along Hermione's skin and her wand hand tingles. She inhales. All around her, lovers and friends chat amongst themselves exchanging kisses and sharing bouts of laughter.
Love is in the air tonight.
A snort.
More like lust.
Hermione takes a dainty sip of her regretfully ordered stout concoction and idly whirls her fingers over the lamented surface of the bar. Her freckled shoulders are nearly bare tonight, golden skin seemingly aglow in the dim lighting contrasts beautifully against the skimpy red straps clinging to them desperately. Breasts free from their confinement sway provocatively with each movement, coral nipples unhindered by anything harden against the delicious scrape of the material.
The dress itself is not an overly racy one. Simple, crimson and cut to where the fabric drapes artfully over her shapely legs; it has a look that says, 'You can look, but you can't touch'. It feels amazing yet heart palpitatingly brazen. Naughty. Especially in a place like this. Where even the sight of the golden girl causes a bit of a stir.
From across the bar, Madam Hooch or Ro as she likes to go by these days catches Hermione's eye and shoots her a cheeky wink. Retired from Hogwarts more than a few traditionalists were surprised(completely appalled) by the woman when she boldly announced the grand opening of her newly distinguished sapphic pub, 'The Bombarda'(when questioned later by a certain tacky noisy little bug Ro simply replied with a 'BOOM).
The lesbian elite practically rejoiced to the heavens at the news. Finally, finally...they'll have somewhere to go.
Oh, there were other underground clubs and tawdry little hot spots. But this one unlike the rest catered to an older higher society group. Those who wanted to socialize without all the ear-piercing music and utter young chaos.
Hermione herself first came in here a few years ago. All doe-eyed and dressed in mother's finest muggle wear. Honestly, one stomp her way and she'd probably still be hiding in the hills somewhere. To this day, embarrassment still spiders up her neck just thinking about it.
Now, things have changed. She has changed.
From the far corner of the bar, the lioness feels eyes fixate upon her. She discreetly glances over and spots her. A good head taller than the rest of the patrons occupying the bar, the admirer stands out rather handsomely in a fitted dark power suit. Their eyes shadowed in the dim lighting smouldering over a tumbler of sparkling amber liquid. They looked hungry.
Well,
A flutter of excitement erupts in her belly.
Smiling to herself, Hermione motions for another Bulgarian Dragon, not bothering to switch for a milder drink. She purposely puts herself on display by exaggerating her movements, letting her cleavage dip enticingly when she reaches for her fresh drink. It's a tart move. One she'll never even think to attempt without the dragon's intoxicating flame surging through her veins.
Movement just ahead ensnares her attention. Hermione glances at the newly appeared wineglass and raises a brow.
"Seems you got yourself an admirer tonight." Ro remarks with a chuckle and before Hermione can ask who someone signals for the older woman's attention.
Hermione hesitantly takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised when a nearly foreign albeit familiar taste washes over her tongue. Muggle wine. Ro really did cater to all. She takes a more generous mouthful and sighs blissfully.
God, it's been ages.
The bliss, however, is short-lived when an unwelcome presence rudely inserts herself beside Hermione and leans cock-surely against the bar.
Frayed sable hair highlighted with flaxen streaks brush the top of muscular shoulders clad in a worn leather jacket. The woman honestly wasn't horrid looking. In fact, she was quite attractive. In a bad girl kind of way that is.
Yet
Her attitude and just sheer audacity all but hurls a proverbial monkey wrench into the entire illusion making Hermione's stomach turn and churn unpleasantly. She's dealt with this sort before and more times than she'll ever care to admit(being the brains of the golden trio has its drawbacks, after all).
Still, Hermione wishes just for one night of peace.
Slimy smile in place, the predator runs her wolfish gaze over Hermione's body; lingering on her cleavage longer than what any decent person will deem appropriate.
"Buy you a drink, girly?" Calloused fingers scratch along Hermione's bicep in a move that was supposed to be seductive but only made her want to bathe(repeatedly).
"No, thank you." Hermione shudders and attempts to shrug off the offending digits only to have them grasp ahold of her arm.
"Now that's not very polite, is it?" The jaws of the wolf sink in deeper. Enough to warn without spilling blood. "When someone offers you a drink you're supposed to take it, yeah? Or does the golden girl think she's too good for the likes of us common folk?"
The tone and acknowledgement meant to intimidate and scare if she were a lesser being.
But this quarry is no doe. Hermione's inner lioness roars. She absentmindedly reaches for her wand only to remember she left it at the door.
Bugger Hooch's no wand policy.
Hermione readies herself to either throw the eighty proof drink in the woman's face or shout for Ro when a larger hand lands upon the offensive one, prying it away with ease.
"I believe the lady asked to be left alone." A tone like ice and honey slides down their spines. Both heads snap to attention.
Tall, broad but with defined feminine curves; the woman in the three-piece suit stands before them a formidable sight indeed. Her long raven hair slicked back into a neat ponytail exposes a handsome oval face outlined with dark features, pale skin and burgundy lips. All of which remain unwaveringly passive yet somehow radiates displeasure.
Yes, the devil has arrived and she isn't happy.