Disclaimer: The following is based on actual events. Only the names, locations, and events have been changed. And completely thieved from Jo Rowling. So I called people to call her people and her people's people told my people's people that I had her informal permission to borrow them. And I totally put hints of RHPS and I stole a name from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, can you find them? Please forgive any blatant thievery.
Warnings: EWE. Excessively AU, sort of when it came to DH, I picked and chose what worked with my story. This story is sometimes funny, sometimes angsty, and sometimes heartwarming/wrenching. But always amusing. Sexy sex, sex, sex. Here it goes into your brain.
Plan B
J.M. Barrie wrote that the reason for Tinkerbell's engulfing Bi-polarity was small size made little room for more than one emotion to be expressed at a time. Also Tink's survival depended on a universal belief in her species. According to Barrie, fairies don't live very long anyway, due to their miniscule disposition, but to them a very short life to humans is an incredibly long life. Tink did die though. Naturally, of course. And Peter forgot her.
Despite Hermione's tall and waif-like frame, she found that recently, she felt very much like Tinkerbell. Emotionally unbalanced, barely surviving, and doomed to be forgotten by a boy who was careless with her affections for him.
Whenever Hermione thought of Draco, she became quite overwhelmed with endearment. So much so that her skin prickled and her body constricted. It was nearly painful, as if the emotion itself was greater than her form and was straining to burst through her bones. It was rather annoying actually, which made her dizzy and her eyes rolled unintentionally whilst her fingers nimbly scooted the hanging garments around on the rack.
Why did she even agree to go shopping with Pansy? She hated shopping. She like comfy jumpers and wear-worn blue jeans. Not flimsy blouses and revealing miniskirts.
"So I was thinking—" Pansy began.
"Shocking," Hermione murmured as she inspected a silvery slinky halter dress.
"—and I have another plan to help you get Draco back."
"No. Forget it." Hermione turned to a table with carefully placed knickers on it.
"You haven't even heard it!" Pansy argued.
"I don't have to. I heard your first brilliant plan and we all know how well that turned out." Hermione raised her eyebrows, her face starch as she glared at her companion.
"Look, I just think you should prove to yourself that Draco only has eyes for you." Pansy pulled a purple baby-doll dress from the rack and turned to the mirror, holding it up to her frame.
"How about I already know that he has eyes for Neravedova." Hermione pursed her lips with disgust, as if the taste of Mrs. Zabini's name was bitter and revolting.
"He does not." Pansy's shoulders slumped in annoyance and she returned the garment to its place.
"Does too," Hermione's timbre was sing-song.
"Not."
"Too."
Pansy sighed, "Look let's do some Glamour Charms and make you look completely different, we'll go to the pub tonight and if Draco talks to you, then you know he is over you. If he doesn't, then you'll know he isn't. Simple." She grinned hopefully.
"Stupid," Hermione spat out.
"Why not?" Pansy whined.
"Why would I?" Because it was a ridiculous plan and what witch in her right mind would do something like that? It was so incredibly absurd that not even Lucille Ball would think of it.
"To know for certain."
Hermione huffed, and threw a pointed look at Pansy. "I know for certain that he wants nothing to do with me. I refuse to put myself in that situation again." Her voice quieted. "It hurts too much Pansy."
Pansy's violet eyes followed Hermione's hands as they fluttered over the racks, a small, sympathetic smile pulling her lips tight. "Oh all right. At least go out with me tonight. As yourself!" She said when Hermione began to protest. "There is a fantastic gala in Milan."
Hermione considered it as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, her eyes were narrowed suspiciously. "I don't know…"
"It will be fun. I mean I understand. Draco is K.O." Pansy smirked at her own genius. "But go for yourself. We will get dolled up and Great Odin's Beard, have you seen male models in their underpants? It's amazing. Be a woman and let's go ogle them. Let's be wicked."
There was something in Pansy's ebullience. An impishness that Hermione instantly envied. She hungered for it. After all, she had never really been a woman on the prowl, full of moxie and confidence. A coquettish ingénue exuding mystery and sex.
So she agreed. To it all. She allowed Pansy to chose a new cocktail dress (a black tunic number that was very short, nearly illegally) silver stilettos, silver jewelry, and even sexy lingerie. Hermione was so eager to be someone else for a night that she conceded and let Pansy straighten her hair and apply dramatic make up.
The dynamo that stood in the mirror was not Hermione Granger. The smoky eyes and pin-straight glossy locks belonged to some other girl with some other life.
Hermione jaw was hanging loose in disbelief because she did not recognize herself. It made her uncomfortable and unsure. The love of Nimue! She was tarted up like a harlot!
"You look smashing!" Pansy said, her hands clasped to her clavicle in pride.
"I've changed my mind." Hermione said softly, her eyes round and large and her hands twisted her silky hair over her shoulder nervously.
"No. It's not allowed." And with that Pansy grabbed Hermione's hand and stuck it onto the Portkey. At her navel, the hooking feeling jerked erratically, but Hermione's only concern was to keep the skirt down modestly.
As they landed in an alley, an ominous cloud settled over Hermione's shoulders. She tried to shake it off as she followed Pansy's example and smoothed herself out, but it was niggling, unrelentingly.
Hermione did not like not knowing and she hated surprises. So she should have realized that Pansy was up to no good when they entered the dim ballroom with pied lights flashing hither and thither and Pansy immediately crossed to Blaise and his companion.
His companion being the one and only Draco Malfoy. Undeniably. Sexy and mysterious in his charcoal trousers and hot pink and black striped shirt. Effortlessly, as always.
Hermione halted instantly, losing her balance and skidding ungracefully, a gasp of astonishment escaping her throat.
Draco choked on his gin and tonic, nearly snarfing all over himself. There was this…goddess stumbling towards him. Stopping clocks, turning heads. Making his heart lurch to his throat, strangling him.
He knew those large, brown eyes. He recognized the curve of those cheeks, the swell of that décolletage, and the curl of those hips. Those assets belonged to him. They were for his eyes only. And he did not like the way they were put on display so ostentatiously for every male in the world to goggle.
He decided immediately that he did not like this…analog of his Hermione. It was a sorry rendition of something sacred to him. Yes. Most categorically a blasphemous recreating of his dream girl.
He grabbed his blazer from the chair and wrapped it around Hermione.
She shoved him away discreetly. "What are you doing?"
"Saving you from embarrassment," he said quietly, his eyes ferocious silver orbs darting around the large room, wary of onlookers.
"Embarra … I swear … not as if … Get your hands off my anatomy!" She shoved at him once more, threw a reproachful glare at Pansy and Blaise before pushing into the crowd.
Draco was on her heels with an inspiring quickness.
It was quite feat, actually, because Hermione was able to cut through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, but it instantly swallowed up on Draco. And he swore that some bloke grabbed his arse.
He was able to catch up and slip into the loo with her. He turned rabidly and locked the door.
"Leave me alone!" She screamed at him, and Draco saw the frantic pain glistering in her eyes.
Oh shit. She was about to cry.
Her eyes would begin to leak and he wouldn't know what to do. Hell, he didn't even know why he followed her.
However, she only balled her fist, stomped her foot childishly and said "Ugh, I hate Pansy."
"No you don't." His back was against the door, barring her from escaping
She turned her head to him. "I hate you."
"I know." He held her eyes for a moment, wondering where this conversation would grow to.
"Look. I'm going to refresh myself. You are going to leave. Go home and I am going to have a great time tonight. Without you." She folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head, pink lips pursing.
"I don't think so. I am not letting you walk around here looking like a Pansy clone." He growled lowly.
"That is not your right anymore. You are not my boyfriend. I do not belong to you or anyone. And if I want to philander around like a social butterfly that is my prerogative," she said pretentiously, marking her point by letting her sweet tongue sweep over her teeth.
Ugly green jealousy exploded from his chest. "That's right Hermione. Whore it up."
Her nose crinkled with indignation, "You and I both know that I am not a whore." It was true. Draco Malfoy was her one and only.
"You look like one."
Four words. That was all it took. Unlike sticks and stones, they did not break any bones, but they lacerated her heart to pieces.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Her mind chanted. She slowly pivoted to the sink and turned the sterling faucet, letting ice cold water dribble into the drain, fully intent on patting her cheeks. She gripped the basin, and clenched her eyes shut. Maybe if she tried hard enough, she could ideate that he would evaporate.
Suddenly the faucet was gushing full force and Draco was using his palm to cup handfuls of water onto her hair. Making it curl with moisture. She howled in protest, grabbing his wrists and attempting to dodge the assault.
Soon she was trying to splash him back, anger and adrenaline thrumming her body as she was fiercely intent on besting him. However his hands were bigger and his arms were longer and she just couldn't get close enough.
So she was soaked. Her hair sticking to her face and shoulders and chest in squiggles and tendrils. Then, without warning, Draco sloshed a palm full of water onto her face, rubbing it around, smearing her perfectly applied eye make-up.
She shoved at him and sputtered, blinking rapidly, and then suddenly he crushed his mouth to hers. There was a flooding relief of ripened tension and the instinctual stiffening of shock. But she quickly relaxed due to his heated lips, intense and demanding against hers; a delightful contrast to the icy chill of the water. Hermione shamelessly gave over to a shiver of pleasure and became mindless with ecstasy. Lost in the wonderful sensations of his nectarous mouth.
His hands skimmed up her arms and cupped her jaw delicately, edacious to lick and suckle at her sweetness, letting it roll over him, igniting his nerves, making them spark to have her closer, just so, so very close. He needed to consume her, become a part of her. Escape into the warm comfort and fiery passion she offered.
She was clutching at him madly, molding her soft curves against his hard angles, and he briefly acknowledged how perfectly they fit, as if just maybe, some deity somewhere made her specifically for him and him alone.
All thoughts became jumbled as her fingers crept past his jumper and pulled his t-shirt from his trousers only to quickly smooth her cool palms against the feverish skin of his back, making him growl with approval, letting him press closer still.
He broke from her tantalizing mouth reluctantly, but only to nip softly at her jaw, her neck, eliciting a mew of pleasure from deep in her throat, and she was so responsive to his kisses, to the way his hands pushed just right at her breasts, that he nearly forgot himself. It took all of his willpower not to rip away her damp and deliciously clingy clothes and take her unyielding body right there against the sink basin. But gods he wanted to. So very badly. He needed it like a thirsty man needed water.
And then she was trembling, surrendering, yanking at her the hem of her skirt so her long leg could hook around his thigh, and she thought that perhaps he was just as covetous for her as she was for him. That possibly, standing in the stark blinding florescent light of the washroom, he wanted to belong to her again too.
Yet, perchance wasn't good enough. She needed to know. To be absolutely positive before she transcended into the sweet, rapturous escape of his soul, "We shouldn't do this here," she murmured against his slick temple.
"Mmmm, hold on," he whispered throatily before covering her mouth with his again.
Although Draco's grip on Hermione had been fierce, hungry and possessive, he immediately felt her body attempt to wrench away from him and his already blurred surroundings disappeared into a spiraling darkness. He felt as if their clutching existence had folded in on itself, compressing his already constricted nerves. Then just as suddenly as the sensation came, it vanished, leaving him dazedly breathless at the cottage. Snogging whilst Apparating side-along was quite an interesting sport.
As they had arrived, they had broken apart and Draco used that opportunity to gain his bearings and quell his concentrated lasciviousness. Concurrently she was glancing around, learning her surroundings.
A warm, inviting fire was crackling in the hearth, and vellum was scattered on the coffee table. It was Home. A heavenly haven for them to runaway to, and as Hermione's eyes settled on Draco, she gulped because she was realized she wanted it. Selfishly. One last time. She could eject herself from reality, forget about the sorrow and guilt over their terminated relationship.
She held his gaze for a stretching instant before her face reddened considerably, perfect white teeth began to nibble on her bottom lip and her trembling hands began their descent over her water-soaked body.
Draco gulped.
"Such messes." She breathed a laugh and her dancing sea lion eyes flickered back to him, before she grabbed her tangled, dripping hair and lifted it up gingerly, "A drying spell is---"
He crossed to her in a fury, possessively wrapping his arms around her svelte body and his lips captured hers in a ferocious kiss, deciding instantly that there was no better place in all of earth that he'd rather be.
She arched into him with keen ardor, those dainty hands gliding lightly up his arms only to clutch at the fine cashmere of his jumper jerking him deeper.
As her tongue slid against his unabashedly, he was dimly aware that she had kicked off her shoes, making her shorter and he sequentially stooped to keep that amazing connection.
He did not see, only felt. Felt her hands, suddenly on his shoulders. He did not see, but tasted. Tasted the sweetness of her tongue. He did not see, but he knew. Knew that only she can bring him from his dooming numbness, and his insides clench with the thought of it all, with the longing for it.
Suddenly there is the scrambling of blind hands on buttons and zippers, all consuming them in the rapturous need to feel skin against heated skin. The frenzied urgency was overwhelming and he lost sense of time and its relevance and soon they tumbled naked onto the giving expanse of the Chesterfield. It garbled flatulently in disapproval, but was ignored.
Their eyes met again, and then their lips followed. Her sigh was swallowed by his mouth as he took her breath away, to breathe new life into himself at the same time.
He was so aware of her, the silk of her skin, the sweet but faint scent of mimosa, the low hum of her inexpressible pleasure from her throat and he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop and soon he was within her.
She gasped.
He choked.
But then she was writhing against him, stretching, arching, purring, and moaning. So abso-fucking-lutely amazing, that it rocked him into the tingly joy of wholeness. He was intoxicated with it, and his mind was gone, he was purely instinctual and she was calling for him deeper and harder.
He had gone delirious, he was sure, and as his thrusts became unsteady and that brilliant tremendous explosion of euphoria drew near, she screamed and clutched at him desperately. Her tiny, perfect body came undone in his hands, around his body, and he was positive that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
And he wanted to join her, to become nothing but quivering flesh and bone in her arms and when she cupped his jaw, her large sea-lion eye sparkled with adoration, and he heard the whisper of his given name. Then, in a candent combustion of glory, he surrendered to her. Completely.
It was just like heaven.
I'd like to thank my beta's: moxicrimefightr, floorcoaster, and spadul. Each of you is amazing, wacky and everything a narcissistic writer such as me could wish for. I am totally and completely the luckiest kid ever because I have the most brilliant team to help me achieve this goal. Thank you for indulging me.