Lockhart's normally pristine flat looked like a tornado had gone through it. There were clothes everywhere, and from one glance it was obvious that some of them weren't his. The lacy, black bra hanging off the frame of the mirror in his bedroom for instance, that was most assuredly not his. Lockhart gingerly picked said article up and moved it to a chair where a pile of other articles of feminine clothing had come to rest.
He was now an hour late for this damned and heaven only knew if he was going to ever get there. Lockhart's head was still pounding, even though he'd taken a fast-acting hangover potion and he regretted every drop of alcohol he'd consumed the previous evening. His face was looking a little haggard and he knew he needed to shave, but the time had come and gone for such pleasantries. Lockhart hadn't meant to get quite that drunk, just pleasantly fuzzy. There was of course a reason for the amount he'd consumed the previous night and she was lying in his bed at the moment.
Lockhart peeked around the corner of his walk-in and caught a glimpse of her lying tangled in the blue silk sheets on his bed. She was covered, barely, and Lockhart's mind returned him to the evening before…
She'd walked in to the party, about an hour before the end of the whole thing and the room had stilled. Lockhart had looked up, his eyes already swimming with drink and then proceeded to fortify his courage with a few more. When he finally made his way over to her, and calmly invited her back to his place, she accepted with a smile that at the time had made Lockhart dissolve into a quivering mass of lust. Now, as she slept in his bed, Lockhart reminisced about the way those hands, obviously experienced, had felt against his skin. Goosebumps erupted all across him as he remembered the taste and feel of her. He shook his head, forcefully removing the images. He could not afford to be any later than he was already.
Finding a tie, he fumbled with it, unable to tie the knot. After a few more tries, he finally nailed it and stepped back into the room. She'd awoken by this time and was sitting up in his bed, wrapped in a sheet. Her brown eyes were languid and the way she moved spoke of satisfaction. Lockhart took a deep breath and prepared to give her the practiced speech. It never came though, as she crooked a finger in his direction and gave him a glimpse of that smile again.
To hell with the …Lockhart thought, tearing his tie off and falling back into bed with her. Who would have known Hermione Granger would turn out quite like that…?