August 2008
Hermione needed to get a grip on herself. Honestly, it wasn't as if she were some poor little pauper who'd never experienced anything of luxury before. She'd stayed in several upscale accommodations on holidays with her parents, not to mention, being a war heroine often led to certain upgrades when she used her real name to make reservations. But this? This level of opulence was heretofore unseen by her eyes.
When their international portkey (an ugly, chipped mug) had landed Hermione and Draco into a side chamber just off the main lobby of their Paris hotel, Hermione had no idea what to expect. Draco had been in charge of this part of their trip after all, and perhaps she should have known he would have gone completely overboard. Not that someone of his tax bracket would think this overboard. No, Malfoy didn't crane his neck to study the cathedral-high ceilings of the lobby, nor admire every surface covered in pristine white marble, nor did his gaze track the shine of every framed gilded mirror and assorted richly upholstered accent furniture. A design union of old world extravagance and modern gaudiness. Rows upon rows of crystal chandeliers hung from above, reflecting an almost blinding light across the polished walls and floors, the intricate stain-glass windows, and the dozens of fountains outfitted with gleaming ice sculptures ranging in size from 2 to 15 feet in height. Was that a champagne tower in the corner? In every corner?
Leave it to the French to exceed her expectations.
Hermione managed to keep her composure by running through her mental checklist of her life's accomplishments (a personal tactic whenever she let feelings of inferiority creep in) and she would have been perfectly fine if Malfoy hadn't opened his stupid mouth.
His stupid, perfect, sinful mouth.
His stupid, perfect, sinful mouth that had just opened to conduct a polite conversation with the hotel's concierge in rapid, flawless French.
They'd been in France all of five minutes and he'd already ruined her knickers.
She did not possess the necessary wherewithal to pay attention to the astonishing spellwork of the concierge tapping her palm to activate the charm that would allow her and Draco access to their suite via personal lift through a mere touch of their fingertips. Instead she channeled all her mental energy into keeping her jaw from unhinging as she listened to Draco inquire (flawlessly, lyrically) about their dinner reservations for the evening. She barely registered the impressive magic of the concierge clicking his fingers and their luggage disappearing, surely now awaiting them in their room.
By the time Draco led her towards the lift, she suppressed the urge to rub her thighs together at the way he'd tossed a perfectly accented "merci beaucoup" to the staff. The lift had no buttons, and once inside, Draco pressed a hand next to the closed doors for it to move. The entire car of wall-to-wall mirrors offered Hermione no escape from her flushed face and the puzzled look Draco shot her.
"All right Granger?"
She could only bite her lip and stare down at her feet. "Mmm, a bit flustered from portkey travel," she lied.
Weren't magical lifts supposed to be quicker than this? Gods, thirty more seconds in this box with Draco and she would jump him and his expensive suit.
He stared at her the rest of the ride.
Finally, mercifully, the lift doors opened and Draco gallantly allowed her to pass into their suite first. Now her jaw really did drop.
The marble foyer led to a vast open floor plan that Hermione quickly calculated as possibly triple the square footage of her entire townhome. A full kitchen complete with an island and breakfast nook sat on one end of the suite, while a full wine bar sat at the opposite end. In between these two extraneous bookends was a long glass dining table that seated twelve, and perhaps a dozen or so lush couches, loveseats, settees, and chaise lounges plus two fireplaces. She vowed to sit on every exquisite piece of expensive furniture at least once before the holiday ended. A few doors led off the main room, and Hermione left Draco behind to discover what treasures they held. She found two bedrooms, both with queen-size canopy beds and private bathrooms the size of her bedroom at home. There was also a guest half-bath as well as a powder room.
Just as Hermione wondered why on earth they would need a powder room while on holiday, she stumbled upon the master bedroom, bedecked in lush-looking cream-colored furniture, with two enormous armoires, and gauzy curtains framing the ceiling-high windows. The large bed looked impossibly soft and Hermione repressed the urge to jump onto it and leap about like an over-excited child. She could already hear the snide remark of "peasant" in her head should she surrender to that urge.
The walk-in closet already held their clothes and she shook her head at the ludicrousness of it all. Hermione opened the door to the ensuite bathroom, closed it, and then opened it again. The bath reminded her of the Prefects' bath at Hogwarts, also made of pristine white marble, and Hermione let out a moan of longing. Her roving eyes took in a shower stall behind frosted glass, two dual vanities flanking each side of the massive washroom, and to top it all off, champagne chilling in a stand-up tub beside the enormous bath.
"Merlin, this is unreal," she sighed under her breath.
Upon her return to the main living area, she found Draco eyeing her apprehensively with his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. It dawned on Hermione that he'd nervously awaited her inspection for an opinion on the accommodations he'd selected for her. For them. His silent bid for her approval tugged at her heart.
"Malfoy, this place is truly amazing… it really is too much!"
Her genuine enthusiasm hit its mark and his lips quirked into their familiar pleased smirk.
"But you haven't even seen the balcony yet."
Most of the far wall was covered in ceiling-high glass doors outfitted with more fine drapery, and as Draco led her through the one off the dining area, Hermione did not even attempt to stifle her gasp. She hadn't realized how high up they were, nor that the balcony ran the entire length of their suite. It stretched on, dotted with low café tables and chairs as well as a few loungers scattered here and there, should one wish to stretch out. The golden skies of early evening reigned above, but brackets of gas lamps hung at the ready to cast a hazy glow along their personal terrace the instant the sun fully set. It would be their own private Parisian café, stories above the city.
Speaking of the city, their room offered a spectacular view of the City of Lights, complete with the requisite Eiffel Tower backdrop in the near distance. How did one become used to a lifestyle such as this? Hermione sucked in a breath of pleasant summer air at the sight, awed at the splendor before her.
"It's charmed to look like a block of pied-à-terres from the street," Draco remarked quietly.
Pied-à-terres? Oh, for the love of Merlin…
Now she sucked in a breath for a very different reason. Draco stepped behind where she stood at the terrace edge, leaning out against the railing. His hands came to rest on either side of hers, and he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.
"Where—?" She cleared her throat and tried again to speak normally, "where did you learn to speak French?"
"My grandparents, both sets, were fluent. Of course, French was also part of my tutoring schedule as a child."
"I see," she replied, throat dry. "Well, it's umm… pretty much perfect."
Hermione's own French left something to be desired. Though she'd visited the country plenty of times, her grasp of the language stayed within the limited confines of stock conversational phrases, asking for directions, and ordering at restaurants.
She felt Draco press closer and his hands came up to skim her bare arms.
"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, Hermione?" he murmured and her entire body quaked.
He kissed up the side of her neck and Hermione's brain quite forgot how to formulate a response in either English or French. Had her name ever sounded so delicious than when it fell from his lips in a French accent?
Only capable of responding non-verbally, Hermione tipped her head back to give him better access to her exposed skin.
"Qu'est-ce que tu veux? Parce que, je sais ce que je veux faire…" he goaded her and moved his hands to the hem of her knee-length summer dress.
His cool touch wandered under the fabric and as his fingers smoothed over the curve of her backside and around to the front of her thighs and inched closer to exactly where she needed him to touch her, her eyes flew open.
"Draco," she breathed, "Anyone could see us, we're—"
"You really should have thought of that before you wore this dress," he growled, and Hermione's hips jerked into his hand of their own volition.
"But… but…" she protested feebly, becoming less and less concerned that people in any of the nearby buildings could look out the window and see her pressed up against a railing with her boyfriend's fingers in her knickers. Her unbelievably soaked knickers.
"Do you honestly think a room in this price range doesn't come with the strongest privacy wards that gold can buy?" he chuckled in her ear.
"I… I…"
He drew his wand and sent a burst of light to their left. Hermione watched as the tell-tale shimmer of the wards kept the light from escaping the boundary of the terrace. She felt Draco stow his wand in his jacket pocket then he twirled her around in his arms to capture her lips. Unburdened of the shame of becoming an accidental sex show for the general public, Hermione returned his kisses with equal fervor.
She needed to regain the upper hand after his little stunt of speaking French with a caressing lilt, as if it were a language he'd specially crafted with the sole intent of seducing her. Hermione pushed him backwards towards one of the loungers and shoved him lightly into a sitting position. Draco's long legs straddled the chair and he leaned back as Hermione crawled to his lap.
As she reached him, she dragged her palm up the front of his trousers and was rewarded with a groan and a twitch of his hips into her hand. She met his mouth with languid kisses and helped to divest him of the top half of his clothing.
Hermione caught a glimpse of his wrist and gasped at the time on his watch. "Malfoy! Our dinner reservation is in 10 minutes!" She made to stand, but Draco yanked her back down.
"Relax Granger. While you were lost in lustful fantasies about me downstairs I spoke with the concierge about dinner tonight."
"Oh?"
Draco smirked and clicked his fingers. Instantly, a bottle of wine, candles, and several covered plates of food appeared on one of the tables further along the terrace.
Oh, he's good.
She endeavored to snog the self-satisfied smirk off his face and when he went for his belt buckle, Hermione scooted back from him. She stood, tugged her knickers off and made to remove her dress when she heard Draco rasp, "Leave it on."
With a coy smile, she turned around, dropped to her hands and knees on the end of the lounge chair, and gathered her dress up around her hips.
"Ready when you are," she called over her shoulder, bending at the waist so her face met the fabric while her bottom angled upwards towards him.
She was sure he never shucked the rest of his clothes faster. On his knees behind her, his grabbed handfuls of her bare backside and murmured, "The wards are also soundproof. Scream all you like, love."
They simultaneously groaned when he eased into this new position for them, Hermione reveling in how deep he felt within her. Draco muttered indiscriminate curses under his breath as he moved in and out, clutching her hips like a lifeline while they both adjusted to the foreign angle. The unfamiliar position soon gave way to a familiar ache inside and she knew what she needed, what she wanted, but couldn't quite articulate anything beyond loud moans.
Finally, it broke past her lips in a harsh gasp. "Harder."
Draco's rhythm stuttered momentarily and a fresh string of curse words filled the night air. "Fuck… Hermione… gods… fuck…"
He recovered quickly to acquiesce to her desperate demand and soon Hermione didn't care if all of Paris heard her.
"Harder... Draco, please..."
He made a sort of strangled noise but obliged her request, pounding away relentlessly until she wanted to sob from lingering on the edge of ecstasy. When one of his fingers came around her front to gently stroke at her clit, the contrasting softness of his touch from the rough and fast movement of his cock within her made Hermione see stars behind her eyes. She cried his name so loudly when she came, she wondered blithely just how strong those soundproof wards truly were. Draco finished as her cries died away, and slumped over her to press kisses down her back before tugging her dress back down.
Hermione tucked her sated body into his hold as they leaned back on the chair together, panting and boneless.
"Hungry?" he inquired after a few minutes.
"Oui."
Hermione didn't know where to look first. She had a very particular mission to complete this afternoon, but the marvelousness of Place de Magie threatened to derail her schedule. While Diagon Alley often felt cramped and dirty to her, the Place de Magie of Paris seemed to teem with life and wondrous magic. Every jewel bright shop window contained magical displays trying to constantly outdo the business next door.
"You know it's not actually called Place de Magie," Draco remarked dryly. "That's just what the Parisians tell the English tourists."
"Oh hush you little snob, are you really going to go all snooty historical know-it-all on me? That's generally my job on a holiday."
In the front window of a cobbler, Hermione watched a pair of sparkling high heels perform a complicated tap dance routine before transfiguring into another pair of shoes (ballet slippers) to perform steps en pointe, then into a third pair (low red heels) for a flamenco before Draco had to physically drag her away. She dawdled again in front of a toy shop that featured life-size, painted fancy hippogriffs bowing regally at one another.
At the start of the trip, Hermione made a deal with Draco (or rather, Hermione insisted and Draco decided he liked shagging Hermione regularly so he agreed) to alternate days between the magical and Muggle world.
Today would be in the magical world and Hermione needed to figure out how to lose Draco for an hour so she could make her appointment slot. She eventually told him straight up that she needed to go to a private appointment and apologized profusely while insisting she just needed an hour. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged before strolling off in the direction of the massive sweet shop.
Hermione collected her nerves, checked over her shoulder to ensure Draco had moved far enough away, and tentatively approached the shop she needed. Ginny had absolutely insisted that Hermione visit Madame Bouvier's ("Fleur sent me there for my wedding night lingerie and let me tell you Hermione, the way Harry's eyes bugged out of his head, it was worth every last Knut.") and taken the liberty of setting up a private fitting on her behalf.
Hermione wasn't one for spending absurd amounts of money on what amounted to very little clothing, and taking into account Draco's usual sexual proclivities involving her undergarments, it would be hastily removed anyway.
Ginny argued that with Draco hell-bent on whisking her off to the Continent for a romantic week filled with champagne, silk sheets, pastries, and artisanal chocolates, at the very least Hermione could invest in one or two scraps of fabric designed to make him shag her until she forgot her own name.
Hermione needed to confiscate Ginny's stash of trashy romance novels.
Upon approaching the boutique, Hermione worried for a moment that it wasn't open. The closer she got, she noticed every window had a set of robin's egg blue velvet curtains behind them, obscuring the view from the street. Hermione found a button next to the blacked out door and fought down her nervousness as she pressed it.
"Hallo?" called a breezy, feminine voice.
"Erm, bonjour… Je m'appelle Hermione Granger… erm, I'm terribly sorry, my French isn't that great, but I have an appointment?"
"Oui, mademoiselle. Pleez place your card in ze slot."
A little metal holder extended out from the door handle, and Hermione placed the embossed business card from Ginny onto it. The holder slid back inside and she heard the click of the door unlocking.
"Entrez, mademoiselle."
Hermione quickly entered and shut the door behind her. As it clicked in the lock, her eyes took in the magnificent sight before her. From the street, the shop had appeared the size of a small boutique, but Hermione had just stepped into a small warehouse of an establishment. Racks and racks of all manner of fabrics surrounded her, but her eyes were drawn to the many mannequins on display; animated, faceless models, posing and sashaying to show off their wares. It pleased her to see they came in every single body type, giving a realistic depiction of how certain pieces would look on someone with wider hips, or perhaps a flatter chest, or a more robust backside. There were even a few male mannequins. She blushed when she realized some displays involved two or more mannequins actively engaged in pantomimes of different sexual positions. Although, on second thought, it did show the customers just exactly how the lingerie would look and function if they were copulating vigorously in, for example, reverse cowgirl.
A young dark-haired woman in a plain black shift dress approached Hermione with a smile and a glass of champagne.
"You are Mademoiselle Granger, oui?"
"Yes, umm that's me," Hermione replied nervously, tearing her eyes away from the moving mannequins.
"Excellent! I am Dominique and I will be assisting you today."
Hermione readily accepted the champagne and downed it in one go. The glass immediately refilled itself and Hermione resolved to slow down on the alcohol consumption so as to keep her wits about her. Dominique gave her a knowing smile.
"It eez your first time here, I understand. Do not worry, your appointment eez completely private. We only assist one client at a time in-person. May I ask you something before we begin?"
"Oh! Of course!"
"Your 'usband, I saw him outside with you earlier… is he perhaps a Delacour?"
Hermione flushed at the woman's assumption. "Oh! Umm, well he's not my husband he's umm… well anyway, he's also not related to the Delacours."
"Ahh, I thought… because of his 'air and he is very beautiful… no matter, shall we get going?"
She led the way back to a dressing room.
"I do know a Fleur Delacour, but it's Fleur Weasley now… she's practically family," said Hermione and Dominique gave her a radiant smile.
"Oh mon Dieu, but I have not seen her in ages! I was two years above her at Beauxbatons. She was a lovely girl, yes. You will tell her I say hello when you see her, yes?"
Hermione nodded enthusiastically and accepted a short silk robe from her. Dominique instructed her to strip completely and don the robe, and to step up onto a short pedestal in front of a trio of mirrors. As she stood on the raised platform in naught but a tiny robe, Hermione made small talk with Dominique to quell her own insecurities.
"Is this your shop?"
"Non," Dominique replied briskly and conjured a clipboard and a quill. "It eez a family business. Madame Bouvier est ma tante. My seesters and I help out part time during ze summers."
Dominique circled Hermione slowly, eyeing her from head to toe as a floating tape measure took her body's measurements all on its own, like a more intimate version of her first visit to buy a wand at Ollivander's.
Hermione waited with bated breath for the stunning French woman to voice some critique, to point out a flaw in her physique, but the woman merely observed her neutrally.
"Nice of you to help your aunt," Hermione said, unable to tolerate the silence during the inspection of her body. "What do you do when you're not working here?"
"I am a healer, training to specialize in poisons and antidotes," the witch replied proudly, and took a break from her study of Hermione to flash her a grin in the mirror. "I am in my final year of additional research."
"Congratulations," Hermione said warmly. Dominique's chosen career explained the clinical nature of her gaze as she regarded Hermione's figure, and it made her finally feel comfortable in her presence.
"D'accord. Now I must ask you some questions so we may choose ze best pieces for you."
What followed was a refreshingly body- and sex-positive line of questioning:
What was the purpose of her appointment here today?
Was this purchase for a special occasion, every day wear, or just to try something new?
What sort of lingerie did she normally buy/wear, if any?
Was the lingerie for her eyes only, or something to please her partner?
Was she trying to impress her partner or feel more confident in her own skin?
Was the lingerie meant to be worn all day under clothing? Or would she be changing into it solely for sexual activities?
Did she need a fabric that was immune to tearing or did she not care if it were ripped off her?
Did the fabric need to be stain or water resistant?
Did she prefer to remove her own clothing or have it removed by her partner?
Any fabrics that made her uncomfortable? Any aversion to or preference for lace, satin, cotton, silk, leather, fur, etc.?
What was her favorite part of her body?
Which parts of her body did she want accentuated?
What did she like most about her personality?
What attracted her most to her partner?
When did she feel most confident: At work? Relaxing at home? At social gatherings? In the bedroom?
Did she prefer to wear her hair up or down?
Did she enjoy kissing? Where was her favorite place to be kissed?
Did she anticipate being photographed in the lingerie or was this for private use only?
Did she want the option to wear heels or another type of shoe? Or did she prefer to be barefoot?
How much makeup did she typically wear, if any?
What was her favorite sexual position?
Did she enjoy role-playing during sex?
Hermione tried her best to banish any lingering shyness and answer each question honestly.
At the end of the (surprisingly pleasant) interrogation, Dominique pointed her wand at Hermione's feet and instantly a pair of black kitten heels appeared. She then tapped a series of movements against Hermione's shoulders, and she felt fabric covering parts of her body as thigh-high stockings suddenly clad her legs.
Dominique gave her a moment's warning then vanished the silk robe. In its place, a stunning ensemble fitted and flattered her shape and Hermione found herself staring back at her reflection in stupefied awe. The woman in the mirrors looked confident, coaxing Hermione into a smile at the realization that she didn't look like some unrecognizable doll playing dress-up, as she initially feared.
On her top half, a surprisingly comfortable black satin bustier cupped her chest and stopped just above her navel. Some crystal detailing dotted along the curve of her breasts and led down the path of her sternum, sparkling in the light. Two silk straps were tied into bows at her shoulders, but with the garment fitted securely enough to her bust without them, it rendered them only for show. The knickers were also a soft black satin in a cut that flattered the curve of her backside and allowed the bottom of her cheeks to peek out. The black stockings were held up by thin garter straps; something Hermione had always wanted to try wearing, but never had the patience for. Indeed, the one time she had tried to don a complicated set of lingerie for Ron, she took so long that he burst into the bathroom and discovered her bent over and cursing, sweaty with the exertion of trying to clip the stupid stockings to her outfit. They'd both doubled over in laughter and gave it up as a bad job.
But Hermione did not want a repeat of that night with Draco. No, she wanted to stun him speechless and then get railed into that luxurious French mattress until she could no longer walk.
Dominique stood behind her and explained the design.
"The patented Bouvier Bustier," Hermione stifled a snort at the alliteration, "cannot be ripped nor vanished by magic. It can only be undone by hand." Dominique turned her gently so Hermione could see the back of the bustier in the mirrors. "See ze buttons? Zhey must be undone by your hand or your partner's… Let's see… on ze questionnaire you said you liked for him to undress you? Ah yes, you answered that if you were wearing something like zis that it would be nice for him to take his time. D'accord?" Hermione hummed in approval. She owed Ginny big time for this recommendation.
"Now, zis is a classic black, obviously. But would you like to see other colors?"
Hermione nodded. Sod it, why not? Sure this was a rather expensive indulgence, but she rarely treated herself to such goods and she could certainly afford to splurge on an outfit or two.
Dominique tapped her wand to her back and immediately the color changed to a bright white and Hermione's face paled.
"Too bridal?" guessed Dominique and Hermione could only nod again.
The woman furrowed her brow then tapped the fabric again. Bubblegum pink. She frowned and tapped again, intent on finding the most agreeable color for Hermione's skin tone.
Midnight blue. Royal purple. Daisy yellow. Burnt orange. Scarlet red. Plain taupe. Chocolate brown. Shiny gold. Muted silver. Dusty pink. Light lilac. Deep merlot. Pastel mint.
Hermione closed her eyes, the whirring colors making her a bit dizzy after a time. Several taps of the wand later and she heard Dominique exclaim "Voila! Oh, Mademoiselle Granger, zis is your color!"
Hermione opened her eyes and burst out laughing. Her little outfit now radiated in a gorgeous and vibrant emerald green, the color highlighting the golden undertones of her hair and skin. It was the exact same shade of green as Slytherin's house banner.
"I'll take it. This and the black version."
After a friendly farewell complete with light kisses to both cheeks, Hermione left Dominique to send her new purchases straight to her hotel suite.
When she spotted Draco further up the street with a few shrunken parcels in his hand, she couldn't help but tease, "Tell me you didn't spend the entire hour in the sweet shop."
He fixed his face into a picture of innocence. "You've no proof of anything."
Chuckling, she stepped up to him and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, darting out her tongue to collect the bit of chocolate that had lingered there.
"Hmm, tastes on par with Honeydukes I'd say."
Draco looked down at her in genuine amusement, and it occurred to her that they'd never kissed in public in the magical world before. Barely 24 hours into their French holiday, and she'd never felt so free of her public persona, nor had she ever seen Draco look so unburdened.
She'd planned on saving her recent purchases for special occasions, but seeing Draco so carefree that he looked years younger, she wanted to drag him back to their room right now and put on a show for him.
Perhaps a little green outfit might inspire a certain phrase from his mouth.
I love you, too.
A/N: Going to keep on saying it because it's forever true: thank you to every single reader. Feel free to say hey or drop an ask on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.