Seven kisses.
By femme fetal.
ii. the fourth drink instinct is taking over, and the gentleman is leading her towards the door.
Hermione/Sirius
Hermione wasn't one for drinking. She didn't feel that rebellious need to go out and get as drunk as possible before stumbling home. She was a known good girl in a group that got in trouble at least once every year.
That night was the exception. She had been numb for weeks; since the death of Cedric Diggory. She just wanted to feel something again, to forget everything that had happened, and getting drunk seemed to be the best way to do that. It had to be, right? Alcoholics drink every day of their lives to forget, they wouldn't do it if it didn't help, right?
So with those thoughts in mind, Hermione had found herself at a bar. She had taken an Aging potion and looked nineteen year old. She had made herself a university id card and had been quickly and quietly accepted into the muggle club.
Bodies meshed together on the dance floor, the rhythm of the music blasted through the floor and drinks with varying levels of alcohol were consumed all around Hermione. Hermione wasn't sure what alcohol was best. She'd heard good things about vodka from her Muggle friends, so she decided it was high time to try it.
"I'll have something with a lot of vodka," Hermione mumbled to the barman. He raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief.
"Can I see your I.D.?" He asked. One look at it shocked him, it was perfect. Who ever had made this fake was really good. He studied the girl before him; she couldn't be more than sixteen. He was tempted to turn her away, she was around the same age as his sister and he would hate to think of someone serving his little sister alcohol. A look into her eyes made him make the drink. She was drowning in pain. "What brings you here?"
"My boyfriend was murdered," She replied. Her voice was monotonous when she raised her tone above a murmur. His eyes widened. He poured her drink and moved onto the next customer awaiting service. He watched her as she drunk; he wanted to make sure she wouldn't get too messed up and go home with someone she would regret. No matter how terribly she was missing her boyfriend she should never do anything she would regret.
After her first drink, Hermione was slurring. She was obviously a light weight. A number of the younger guys in the club tried to pick up conversation with her, but she was disinterested in them, only giving one or two work answers to their questions until they finally gave up and left her alone.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" The barman asked. She drained the rest of her drink.
"Hermione," She replied. "Can I have another drink now?" She was far less eloquent than she had been before the drink. The barman just nodded at her. He poured the drink and set it in front of her before taking her used glass.
After her second drink, Hermione was tingling and it felt good. She smiled a little bit now, even though her eyes held tears.
"He was a bit of a womaniser when I met him. He liked his fair share of ladies, you know? I bet you do. You're pretty enough; bet you have lots of women after you. Wait, you don't mind being called pretty do you? It's a compliment, I promise," Hermione told the barman. He smiled at her. He was only 21 but he could admit he had a particular feminine quality that made people think of him as 'pretty' rather than handsome or any of those usual compliments.
"I'm not offended. You're rather pretty yourself, Hermione," Her eyes widened and he laughed.
"No one ever thinks I'm pretty! I'm boring old bookworm. Except for at the Yule ball, of course. People noticed me then, thought I was nice enough to look at. Even the ferret looked at me like I was more than just dirt under his shoes, which is something new," She told him. He didn't understand the concept of a Yule ball, or who this ferret person was, but he smiled and nodded with her. "I'm rambling an awful lot, aren't I? Can I have another drink?"
"Isn't it time for you to get home, Hermione?" He asked. Not really wanting her to drink much more.
"No, no, just one more!" Hermione cried. She gave him her best smile and he couldn't help himself. She was beautifully broken and hilarious to talk to.
After her third drink, Hermione was on the dance floor being groped by complete strangers. She moved as best she could with the music from the speakers while men came up behind her and grinded themselves against her. She didn't appear to notice them very much.
The barman had gotten back from the toilet and noticed that Hermione wasn't in her seat. He saw the vultures around her and pulled her off the dance floor.
"Dancing in a place like this will only get you in trouble, Hermione." He told her as he guided her back to the seat at the bar. "You're only what, sixteen? You don't want to get involved with these people."
"You knew how old I am and you still served me drinks? Isn't that illegal?" Hermione whispered to him. He knew she was whispering so he didn't get in trouble.
"You needed it. Just don't tell anyone how old you really are, and everything will be okay." She nodded enthusiastically.
"Just one more drink then? I'll go home after. Don't want to worry anyone," Hermione says.
"Why don't you go home now?" He asks. She shrugs.
"It's too quiet there. Everyone is mourning. I don't want to be there right now. So please, one more?" She begs. He sighs and pours the drink.
After her fourth drink, Hermione was struggling to stay upright in her seat. She sways and giggles and continues talking to the barman.
"I don't know your name. You've been my best friend ever for the last three hours and I still don't know your name!" She cries out then giggles.
"My name is Tad," He tells her with a smile. "Let's see if you remember me at all in the morning, hey?"
An older guy enters the club. He looks around as though looking for someone. Tad always notices the older guys. They are generally pretty creepy when they come in looking for some young meat.
The older man has longish black hair; he's around about 35, maybe older. He has scars on his face and tattoos all over his body, not that many are viewable. His eyes are what Tad notices most though; they aren't the usual eyes of the perverted older guys with nothing to do. They are worried and slightly scared.
The man notices Hermione at the bar and his eyes both light up with relief and annoyance. He makes his way over quickly.
"Sirius! What are you doing here? You know you aren't allowed out of the house! Bad dog," Hermione giggles the entire time she talks.
"Are you drunk, Hermione?" He asks blanching.
"No, of course not, Siri!" She cries out. "Wanna meet my new best friend? His name is Tad. Like tadpole!" Sirius eyes Tad angrily.
"So, Tad, what did you think you were doing getting her drunk?" Sirius growls at him. Tad is actually frightened by the look in his eyes then. Almost insane.
"She needed to get away from her problems. By the smell of you, you've been running away from yours as well," Tad replies. He doesn't know the alcohol on the older man's breath but some of the oddest people have come into the club smelling the same.
"I'm taking you home now, Hermione. Say goodbye to Tad," Sirius talks softly to Hermione. Hermione smiles brightly at Tad.
"Bye, Tad! I hope I see you again soon!" Hermione doesn't stop smiling.
"Next time I hope it's sober. You're definitely at your best when you're sober." Hermione is guided out of the club swiftly. Tad hopes that he really does get to meet her again, next time when she's sober.
Hermione clings to Sirius as they walk towards their street. Hermione rambles about anything and everything. She smiles more than she has in a long while and Sirius can't help but revel in her joy.
"We've got to be quiet when we get inside, Herms, we don't want to wake everyone up," Sirius tells her. Hermione smiles and nods. Sirius hopes that Hermione will try at least to be quiet.
They finally reach the house and any attempt to sneak inside is instantly forgotten. Five seconds inside the door and Hermione falls over a table and laughs loudly.
"Come on, Hermione. We're going to get you up to bed, and in the morning I'll bring you a nice hangover potion," Sirius tells her quietly. "But you have to be quiet. You don't want Harry and Ron coming down and asking what's going on, do you?"
Hermione instantly straightens up, the smile falling from her face. "No, Sirius," She whispers to him. He leads her upstairs, the reminder of her friends causing her to almost sober up. The pair reach Hermione's bedroom, enter and close the door quietly.
Hermione unties her wrap around cardigan and unbuttons her jeans. Sirius stands in shock watching her.
"Hermione! What are you doing?" Sirius' voice cracks as he speaks. Hermione looks at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
"I'm taking off my pants and cardigan so I can go to bed, is that okay?" She asks, sarcasm lacing her tone.
Now only in her singlet and panties, Hermione slips under her covers. Sirius turns to leave.
"I'll see you in the morning, then," He tells her. She frowns and sit up.
"I don't want to be alone tonight. Please, don't leave me," She says it softly. He blinks, then sighs. He can't say anything to her, it wouldn't come out right and Sirius is frightened for Hermione.
He takes off his jacket only, not caring to be found half naked with a 16 year old girl, no matter how beyond-her-years she seems. Sirius climbs into the other side of the bed, planning to leave once Hermione has fallen asleep.
"Sirius?" Hermione whispers, turning to face Sirius' back. Sirius sighs and turns over slowly.
"Yes, Hermione?" He asks. The way she looks at him makes Sirius wish he was young and beautiful in the way he was those years before Azkaban. Sirius wishes that when he was young he would have been worth her time.
She reaches towards his face and her fingers trace a pattern on his face. Sirius closes his eyes. Hermione leans forward and her lips ghost across his. His eyes open in shock.
"Hermione," He warns her. His tone tells her everything she needs to know. He wants her. He can make her feel better than she has in a while. She can trust him, wholly and completely.
She kisses him; properly this time. He kisses back and he means it. He wants to protect her, wants to save her from the horrors affecting her. He was jealous of the young man in the bar, he is jealous of the people who see her everyday but worst of all, he is jealous of the future people who get to kiss her. What can an escaped convict offer a beautiful young woman, really?
This night he can offer her his love, and in the morning they can both feel the shame and regret of their drunken actions. But just for tonight, they will give in.