Moon River
-
Chapter One
-
How did it get to this point? Hermione mused. When did she lose her social life?
Hermione smoothed the hem of her just-above-the-knee pinstripe black skirt, contemplating. She
looked quite Muggle-like in her blazer, skirt, and fitted button-down shirt. She self-consciously
looked at her waistline. She was curvy and womanly at a size D bra and a dress size of 14. While
her girlfriends always expressed jealousy over her well-endowed bosom, she looked on it as more
of a hindrance - at twenty four, she already had back problems, and simple pain relief charms and
potions couldn't always do the trick. Oftentimes, she had to pay a visit to the physician.
She smiled inwardly. The last time she'd taken off clothing in the presence of a male was at the
physician's, so he could rub a healing salve on her aching muscles.
Of course, there had been a few before that. Just out of Hogwarts, she'd dated Ron for around a
year. But they fought constantly while together, and, well...after one particularly big row one
day, she sent him out of their apartment for good. He couldn't understand her drive to be
successful on her own. His own upbringing told him he wanted a wife who would settle down
and stay at home to raise children. Hermione couldn't be just a stay at home mum. She had to
get out and be on her own. They were still friends, and she still was like family to the Weasleys.
In fact, she often visited them on holidays before going home to her parents.
Then there was a brief stint with a Muggle friend named Alan. But that hadn't lasted long enough
to get past second base. He was much too boring.
She sighed. She couldn't believe she hadn't had sex in...nearly six years. Not that sex with Ron
was anything to sneeze at, much less relive memories over. She'd orgasmed perhaps twice while
she'd been dating him. And they'd had sex a lot more than twice.
Smoothing down frizzies that had escaped her French twist, she pondered. Maybe she should
take up with a Muggle again. They weren't all bad, after all, she knew that for sure, since she was
a Muggle born. She managed an agency that helped citizens of the magical community
interconnect with the Muggle world, from business deals to finding long-lost Squib family
members. Thus the Muggle clothing today - she'd been in London collecting data for the Bones
family, doing genealogy research for their family tree.
It was a good business. She was wildly successful, drawing in massive amounts of money in both
wizard and Muggle forms. She'd gotten the idea to open it after her last year in Hogwarts. With
Voldemort gone, more wizarding families were attempting to find Squib family members ousted
during the dark years, now that there was no threat of them being killed off. She also handled
adoptions, which were common occurrences - often, Muggle families with magical offspring
wanted their children to grow up in the wizard world - and sometimes a magical child would show
up in adoption agency records, borne by a single mother or orphaned, that would quickly be taken
into the wizarding world as to avoid sticky situations.
While she found gratification in her work, she still wanted something more. She wanted to be
loved...she wanted to be needed...she even wanted kids.
Maybe I should've stayed with Ron after all, she thought, slumping in her chair to rest her
forehead on the edge of her desk. Then I wouldn't be here, I'd be happily at home with five kids.
Then she thought of all the pain of child labor. Maybe not marrying Ron was a good idea.
What is wrong with me today? She thought, banging her head on her desk. She needed a
remedy, and she needed one quick. As she raised her head again to hit it against the oak wood,
she caught sight of a Muggle newspaper. What the hell, she'd look through it and see if there
were any good movies at the cinema.
As she leafed through the newspaper, an ad caught her eye. "Moon River - the exciting new club
for singles." She examined it closer. "Meet all sorts of great singles in the London area. Open
Fridays through Sundays, 7pm to 4am."
Hmm. Well, today was Friday. And to her knowledge, she had nothing to do from seven to four.
Time to break out that great black below-the-knee length halter dress she'd worn in her cousin's
wedding last year. She had just spent a good deal of money on a pair of shiny stilettos that would
look great with it.
A handsome, dark stranger sat at the bar inside Moon River and nursed a gin and tonic. He
looked older...perhaps early forties. Age, however, had done nothing to take away from his
appearance. In fact, it had done nothing except make him more handsome in a distinguished sort
of way. In the background, faint music played, music from another time.
"Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossin' you in style some day
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me..."
He came to the bar hoping for anything. Long term relationship...one night stand...didn't matter.
He just needed affection, and he needed it now. High stress level jobs over the years had deprived
him of women's company, but now that he was retired from one of those jobs, he could live in
peace on his most stupendous pension - well, there were still all those nasty brats, but one could
deal with them.
He looked up from his drink as a beautiful, voluptuous woman walked in the door. She was
wearing a black dress, a halter, showing off her cleavage (one of her more obvious assets). The
skirt ended in a diagonal line just past her knees, and her calves were nicely shown off by very
high stiletto heels.
She was beautiful. And oddly familiar, in some way. But he couldn't figure it out, and so he just
shoved it aside. He watched as she took a seat at the bar and ordered a frozen margarita, no salt.
She carefully arranged her dress around her legs, and folded her arms in front of her where she
had a tiny bit of a tummy bulge. So she was self conscious. She had no reason to be, really. She
was gorgeous.
He slid off his bar stool, walking to sit right next to her. "It's on my tab, sir," he told the
bartender, and smiled as she blushed prettily. It was dark in the bar, and he couldn't make out her
facial features terribly clearly. "You look dashing, madam, and I thought I might have the honor
of buying your drink."
"Thank you sir," she said softly, blushing more and not meeting his gaze. "It was very kind of
you."
"No, it was kind of you to grace me with your presence. Would you do me one more honor of
dancing with me?"
"Of course," she said, smiling, and gaining more confidence as she allowed herself to be taken out
on the dance floor.
Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh squealed Hermione mentally as she allowed herself to be led
through a salsa. Her dress swirled and swished and she felt like an accomplished Latin dancer. It
was amazing what this man was doing to her. Her stomach was full of butterflies, and her heart
thumped wildly (and it wasn't from all that physical exertion either).
She wondered where it would lead. Would he ask her out? Would anything come of it? Sighing,
she took a sip of her margarita (half-melted by now) as they sat down again.
"What's wrong?" he asked, hearing her sigh and seeing her melancholy look.
"Oh, it's nothing...you've just made me feel...I don't know, special again." She sat down
carefully as to not crinkle her skirt. "I haven't been on a date in five years."
He sputtered while drinking his gin and tonic. "Five years? Why five years? You're beautiful.
What gives?"
Hermione smiled ruefully. "While I'm not just ugly, I'm not conventionally pretty. Most fellows
my age want someone who is a size two."
The man rolled his eyes. "Most men at age...how old are you?"
"Twenty-four. Twenty five this September."
"At age twenty-five, most males are quite stupid. They want anything that wears a skirt and don't
give a damn about their ladies' emotions."
"Quite true." Hermione drank a fourth of her margarita in one gulp. "Oh my. I should pace
myself. I don't need to get tipsy. I'm horrible when I'm drunk."
"I don't think a couple of margaritas will hurt."
"You don't know my low tolerance for alcoholic beverages."
"So get a little tipsy. Have fun. Let loose."
Hermione eyed him suspiciously.
"No, I am not one of those psycho men who takes women out back after they've become
inebriated and takes advantage of them."
Hermione drank another huge gulp and sighed. "As much as I shouldn't, I trust you. Mostly, I
feel the need to get drunk and do something incredibly stupid."
He leaned towards her in the dark, a candle a few feet away casting shadows across his face.
"How about we go back to my place, do something incredibly fun and NOT get drunk?"
Hermione teetered on the edge of indecision. This man was incredibly sensuous. He could
probably prove to be some of the best sex ever. Her angel side said she shouldn't. After all, she
didn't even know his name!...But then again, when had she ever been that angelic...?
She grabbed her purse.
Lyrics from Andy Williams' "Moon River".
-
Chapter One
-
How did it get to this point? Hermione mused. When did she lose her social life?
Hermione smoothed the hem of her just-above-the-knee pinstripe black skirt, contemplating. She
looked quite Muggle-like in her blazer, skirt, and fitted button-down shirt. She self-consciously
looked at her waistline. She was curvy and womanly at a size D bra and a dress size of 14. While
her girlfriends always expressed jealousy over her well-endowed bosom, she looked on it as more
of a hindrance - at twenty four, she already had back problems, and simple pain relief charms and
potions couldn't always do the trick. Oftentimes, she had to pay a visit to the physician.
She smiled inwardly. The last time she'd taken off clothing in the presence of a male was at the
physician's, so he could rub a healing salve on her aching muscles.
Of course, there had been a few before that. Just out of Hogwarts, she'd dated Ron for around a
year. But they fought constantly while together, and, well...after one particularly big row one
day, she sent him out of their apartment for good. He couldn't understand her drive to be
successful on her own. His own upbringing told him he wanted a wife who would settle down
and stay at home to raise children. Hermione couldn't be just a stay at home mum. She had to
get out and be on her own. They were still friends, and she still was like family to the Weasleys.
In fact, she often visited them on holidays before going home to her parents.
Then there was a brief stint with a Muggle friend named Alan. But that hadn't lasted long enough
to get past second base. He was much too boring.
She sighed. She couldn't believe she hadn't had sex in...nearly six years. Not that sex with Ron
was anything to sneeze at, much less relive memories over. She'd orgasmed perhaps twice while
she'd been dating him. And they'd had sex a lot more than twice.
Smoothing down frizzies that had escaped her French twist, she pondered. Maybe she should
take up with a Muggle again. They weren't all bad, after all, she knew that for sure, since she was
a Muggle born. She managed an agency that helped citizens of the magical community
interconnect with the Muggle world, from business deals to finding long-lost Squib family
members. Thus the Muggle clothing today - she'd been in London collecting data for the Bones
family, doing genealogy research for their family tree.
It was a good business. She was wildly successful, drawing in massive amounts of money in both
wizard and Muggle forms. She'd gotten the idea to open it after her last year in Hogwarts. With
Voldemort gone, more wizarding families were attempting to find Squib family members ousted
during the dark years, now that there was no threat of them being killed off. She also handled
adoptions, which were common occurrences - often, Muggle families with magical offspring
wanted their children to grow up in the wizard world - and sometimes a magical child would show
up in adoption agency records, borne by a single mother or orphaned, that would quickly be taken
into the wizarding world as to avoid sticky situations.
While she found gratification in her work, she still wanted something more. She wanted to be
loved...she wanted to be needed...she even wanted kids.
Maybe I should've stayed with Ron after all, she thought, slumping in her chair to rest her
forehead on the edge of her desk. Then I wouldn't be here, I'd be happily at home with five kids.
Then she thought of all the pain of child labor. Maybe not marrying Ron was a good idea.
What is wrong with me today? She thought, banging her head on her desk. She needed a
remedy, and she needed one quick. As she raised her head again to hit it against the oak wood,
she caught sight of a Muggle newspaper. What the hell, she'd look through it and see if there
were any good movies at the cinema.
As she leafed through the newspaper, an ad caught her eye. "Moon River - the exciting new club
for singles." She examined it closer. "Meet all sorts of great singles in the London area. Open
Fridays through Sundays, 7pm to 4am."
Hmm. Well, today was Friday. And to her knowledge, she had nothing to do from seven to four.
Time to break out that great black below-the-knee length halter dress she'd worn in her cousin's
wedding last year. She had just spent a good deal of money on a pair of shiny stilettos that would
look great with it.
A handsome, dark stranger sat at the bar inside Moon River and nursed a gin and tonic. He
looked older...perhaps early forties. Age, however, had done nothing to take away from his
appearance. In fact, it had done nothing except make him more handsome in a distinguished sort
of way. In the background, faint music played, music from another time.
"Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossin' you in style some day
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me..."
He came to the bar hoping for anything. Long term relationship...one night stand...didn't matter.
He just needed affection, and he needed it now. High stress level jobs over the years had deprived
him of women's company, but now that he was retired from one of those jobs, he could live in
peace on his most stupendous pension - well, there were still all those nasty brats, but one could
deal with them.
He looked up from his drink as a beautiful, voluptuous woman walked in the door. She was
wearing a black dress, a halter, showing off her cleavage (one of her more obvious assets). The
skirt ended in a diagonal line just past her knees, and her calves were nicely shown off by very
high stiletto heels.
She was beautiful. And oddly familiar, in some way. But he couldn't figure it out, and so he just
shoved it aside. He watched as she took a seat at the bar and ordered a frozen margarita, no salt.
She carefully arranged her dress around her legs, and folded her arms in front of her where she
had a tiny bit of a tummy bulge. So she was self conscious. She had no reason to be, really. She
was gorgeous.
He slid off his bar stool, walking to sit right next to her. "It's on my tab, sir," he told the
bartender, and smiled as she blushed prettily. It was dark in the bar, and he couldn't make out her
facial features terribly clearly. "You look dashing, madam, and I thought I might have the honor
of buying your drink."
"Thank you sir," she said softly, blushing more and not meeting his gaze. "It was very kind of
you."
"No, it was kind of you to grace me with your presence. Would you do me one more honor of
dancing with me?"
"Of course," she said, smiling, and gaining more confidence as she allowed herself to be taken out
on the dance floor.
Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh squealed Hermione mentally as she allowed herself to be led
through a salsa. Her dress swirled and swished and she felt like an accomplished Latin dancer. It
was amazing what this man was doing to her. Her stomach was full of butterflies, and her heart
thumped wildly (and it wasn't from all that physical exertion either).
She wondered where it would lead. Would he ask her out? Would anything come of it? Sighing,
she took a sip of her margarita (half-melted by now) as they sat down again.
"What's wrong?" he asked, hearing her sigh and seeing her melancholy look.
"Oh, it's nothing...you've just made me feel...I don't know, special again." She sat down
carefully as to not crinkle her skirt. "I haven't been on a date in five years."
He sputtered while drinking his gin and tonic. "Five years? Why five years? You're beautiful.
What gives?"
Hermione smiled ruefully. "While I'm not just ugly, I'm not conventionally pretty. Most fellows
my age want someone who is a size two."
The man rolled his eyes. "Most men at age...how old are you?"
"Twenty-four. Twenty five this September."
"At age twenty-five, most males are quite stupid. They want anything that wears a skirt and don't
give a damn about their ladies' emotions."
"Quite true." Hermione drank a fourth of her margarita in one gulp. "Oh my. I should pace
myself. I don't need to get tipsy. I'm horrible when I'm drunk."
"I don't think a couple of margaritas will hurt."
"You don't know my low tolerance for alcoholic beverages."
"So get a little tipsy. Have fun. Let loose."
Hermione eyed him suspiciously.
"No, I am not one of those psycho men who takes women out back after they've become
inebriated and takes advantage of them."
Hermione drank another huge gulp and sighed. "As much as I shouldn't, I trust you. Mostly, I
feel the need to get drunk and do something incredibly stupid."
He leaned towards her in the dark, a candle a few feet away casting shadows across his face.
"How about we go back to my place, do something incredibly fun and NOT get drunk?"
Hermione teetered on the edge of indecision. This man was incredibly sensuous. He could
probably prove to be some of the best sex ever. Her angel side said she shouldn't. After all, she
didn't even know his name!...But then again, when had she ever been that angelic...?
She grabbed her purse.
Lyrics from Andy Williams' "Moon River".