The Green Fairy.
Forbidden Fling.
Icy Paradise.
The Dragon Slayer.
It was both simple and underhanded. About five Aurors would take the drink with Malfoy, and subtly melt back for another similar sized group to come in to buy a round for themselves and him.
That was technically his business though, and Hermione tried to chat with Ashworth as if it wasn't happening. She did keep glancing over at the loud chatter and cheers. The last drink was a boiling forest green liquid that four Aurors and Malfoy downed in one fell swoop. She'd only had The Dragon Slayer once, and it was nearly as potent as getting hit by one of their tails, so said Harry.
"He'll be fine, you know," Ashworth said drolly.
Hermione stopped craning her neck and looked back. "Hmm?"
She nodded toward the cheering group. "Malfoy. It's not as if none of us have gotten pissed before." She was a tall and powerful Auror, her voice was low and full of cynicism.
"Right." She looked over at the bar again. Auror Clarke was watching everything with a smirk while sipping on his water. His look made her uneasy, it wasn't malevolent, but it was smug. None of them looked as if they were going to drag Malfoy outside and take any of their work frustrations out of him, she supposed that would have to be enough.
"You're supposed to be having fun tonight, luv. One of the Hit Wizards has been eyeing you all night, he's fit to boot."
"I'm really not in the mood to date." Merlin, what an understatement.
"Who said anything about seeing him tomorrow?" Ashworth winked and stood up. "Looks like I'm up in the queue." She walked over to the bar, joining in the new group that ordered five The Dark Liqueurs, which was pitch black and bloody terrifying on top of all the previous drinks.
Unable to stand seeing Malfoy's laughing, thoroughly foxed face, she walked over to Clarke. "Can you take Malfoy home please?" He was the Apparater for the night, hence why he wasn't drinking.
"I'm a bit booked up tonight." Clarke replied sardonically, dark eyes travelling to the drunk in question.
Hermione frowned and crossed her arms. She could...could make him, but that wasn't right. It wasn't, no matter how sure she was that everyone would be just fine leaving their boss passed out on the bar floor. "Come on, nobody else is leaving this early."
His gaze traveled back to her, one eyebrow quirking. "If he wants to leave, I'll take him. Happy?"
"Yes." Hermione decided a grudging ride home was better than nothing, and she edged her way into the small crowd. The mingled scent of liquor and fruit juices was high in the air, a sulfur tinge lingering after the last round. Her nose wrinkled.
"Malfoy. Malfoy!" She got in close enough to touch his elbow.
He looked at her, one eye close and the other squinting. "You can't buy me a drink, Granger. Or are you looking for a drink?" He was pronunciating so carefully and failing that she was shocked he could speak and stand at the same time.
"It's time to go home."
"What? It's not even late. And I'm having a great time."
Hermione leaned closer, already feeling a trickle of sweat run down her spine at all the bodies so close to her. "You've had too much to drink." She spoke firmly and simply.
Malfoy pulled away his arm from her touch, hugely affronted and disbelieving. "And I think you haven't had enough! Have one with me! You...you need to get your priorities straight, have a bit of fun." He was focusing so hard on rehashing their previous conversation that he was openly swaying now.
"Let him have some fun, Hermione!" Turnwald grinned at her, having participated in at least three of the rounds and that was the only reason she didn't snap at him. He wouldn't remember it in the morning anyway. "We're just about to play Chief Warlock!"
"I want to play that." Malfoy spoke up immediately.
"It's a complicated game." Not to mention one that would leave everyone a mess.
"How about Spoon Quidditch?"
"If you trust anyone here with a wand," she said archly. Transfiguration and alcohol was the second most common reason for ending up in the Spell Damage wing at St. Mungo's.
"How about Ten Fingers?" One Auror called, and a chorus of agreement sounded. Many showed their hands with fingers outspread to indicate they were ready.
Hermione reluctantly sat at the small tables with everyone. There were eleven participants, so four small tables were taken with four at each, save for the last with three. She had tried to take a seat with Malfoy just in case, but he was diagonal from her and waiting.
A tray of a ridiculous amounts of Firewhiskeys waited. It was not a complicated game, but someone was going to be passed out at the end of the night, if not several. She had never seen the game played with this many people, and given the pleased smiles sent Malfoy's way, there was a good reason.
"Hermione, you're the witch of the night! You start," Turnwald said as if he were sure this was a boon.
Hermione looked down at her hands with each fingers spread and raised and took a deep breath before speaking. "Never have I ever worn men's dress robes."
A general groan came up as the nine wizards lowered a finger, and Ashworth winked at her. One of the men grumbled something about boring and she rolled her eyes.
"Sir, you're the next person of honor tonight." Hawke shot a glance at Malfoy with a harmless smile. Considering he was quite verbal about his dislike of Malfoy, she knew it was about as genuine as a Slytherin offering candy.
Malfoy looked upward as he thought.
Hermione had to admit that when he wasn't quite so determined to look stoic or superior, he was handsome. His features had filled out and he wasn't so much pointy as defined. High cheekbones, a jawline that sliced like a Diffindo.
She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, fortifying herself. Malfoy was an attractive man, but no need to fall headlong into...uhm, what was she thinking?
She opened her eyes to see Malfoy looking right at her.
"Never have I ever," Malfoy's gaze flitted over her slowly, "shagged in the office."
The others definitely appreciated that, some hoots and much laughter as three of the wizards lowered a finger. While they were being ribbed Hermione looked away from his penetrating gaze. This was absolutely not the time to start exuding whatever it was that heated her up so wonderfully.
Terribly, she meant terribly.
The next ones followed the tone that many Ten Fingers games did, just like Malfoy.
"Never have I ever...wanked to my own mirror image."
Two wizards coughed and lowered a finger, as well as Ashworth. Malfoy did not. Not that Hermione cared, but she saw the others peeking at him.
"Never have I ever spent more than ten minutes getting ready for anything."
There were some shouts of 'clearly!' and most everyone else lowered a finger, including Hermione. She didn't do it often, but it happened.
"Never have I ever paid for a shag."
Nobody else lowered their fingers, so the speaker had to. He did so with a grumble.
The next was more clever. "Never have I ever owned a house elf."
Bloody four Aurors lowered a finger, including Malfoy, and Hermione scowled to herself.
"...dated more than one person at one time."
Two wizards did; Malfoy did not.
"...shagged two people in the same day."
One wizard did; Malfoy did not.
"...called out my own name during a climax." Ashworth guessed that one. She did not seem pleased at having to lower her finger when nobody else did.
"...got off in my parent's bed."
Six wizards lowered their finger, Malfoy did not.
Sweet Merlin, what sort of person did they think Malfoy was?
Hawke had lowered eight fingers and he was on the receiving end of plenty of teasing 'slag' comments and they were now paying attention to both him and Malfoy alternatively.
Hawke was up next, and he straightened up and spoke clearly. "Never have I ever been arrested."
Two other Aurors plus Malfoy lowered a finger. He was the only one who wasn't a wearing somewhat sheepish smile. He also did not look chagrined or caught out.
It was Hermione's turn again. "Never have I ever worn mismatched socks."
There was some good-natured groaning at the tepid suggestion, but Ashworth and a wizard lowered a finger.
"I love mismatching socks!" Ashworth responded to someone teasingly poking at the skirt of her robe. They did not even pretend to lift it though, a good thing. The witch had a twitchy wand hand.
Malfoy hummed as he thought, just a small sound in the back of his throat. "Never have I ever had a nosh off."
Every other participant except Hermione lowered a finger, but all stared at Malfoy.
"Never?" One Auror gaped, before he was nudged by another. But he wasn't the only one inebriated enough to speak up.
Turnwald, who had four fingers down, leaned over to say lowly. "Wait wait wait, I must know, was that your choice?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth tilting up in either condescension or amusement. "Not all witches are comfortable with it."
Turnwald leaned back as if Malfoy just announced that he had been beaten and starved as a child. Appalled and full of pity. There were some ribald comments certainly, and one very brave or stupid Auror suggested Ashworthe put him out of his misery. The Auror in question went down with a point-blank Stinging Hex in the face and got laughed at.
It was the strangest thing; the game resumed, minus one player, and nobody was gunning for Malfoy anymore. It was as if they suddenly didn't want to add to his heap of troubles, which Hermione would have found a lot more annoying if she weren't so distracted.
She was definitely distracted. Who wouldn't be? A clean heat had taken place under her skin as she watched his hand movements, the bare skin that disappeared under the sleeves of his dark robes. The way his mouth moved when he spoke or settled back into neutral lines. How would she take him if she wanted to introduce him to the wonders of lips and tongue and the edge of teeth?
On a bed, sprawled out? Quick and dirty against a wall? Sit him in a chair like these and-
Malfoy's darkened silver eyes slid toward her, intense and utterly breath-quickening. His gaze coursed down to her lips and neck and lower, the heat of it nearly tangible to her.
Hermione turned her head away and looked at an empty table, willing her cheeks to stop burning. It wasn't with embarrassment either. For precious moments she had forgotten that she was, simply put, emitting desire all over the place if she wasn't careful.
For a second she didn't want to be careful with him, she wanted to pull him away and have him groaning her name with fingers tangled in her hair. And he'd want it too, he'd go with her, she could taste the heat and salt of his skin already.
No, no, he was pissed as a skunk, it was amazing he could even stay balanced on the stool. Hermione dragged her attention back to the game. Hawke had finally lowered all ten fingers and had to take drinks instead.
"Taking a penalty shot.," Hermione announced as she stood up. Anyone who left in the middle of the game had to take one, so she grabbed the glass on the way and drained it on the way to the toilet.
She splashed cold water on her face once she was standing in the tastefully decorated room, reminiscent of a powder room. Large sinks, triple spouts at each, soft and subtle scents wafting from the silky soap.
The water got in her hair and dripped down her neck, but she didn't magically dry it even though she hadn't drank much, all be told. The door opened and she cast a wary glance behind her.
It was just Ashworthe, fixing her hair and reapplying a color to her lips. "Clarke's taking me soon. Are you going to stick around for a bit?"
"No, I don't think so." Hermione did not think it was a good idea, and Malfoy clearly wasn't going to be the first to catch an Apparate home. Part of the reason there had to be a sober person around was The Crimson Corner did not have a Floo. Security reasons partially, but it did leave one stumbling out in the streets to find another fireplace if they didn't come on the weekend.
Or the Knight Bus, which Hermione could say from experience, the Vomit Bucket on weekends. The memory still left her horrified.
She walked out with Ashworthe, endured a 'witches do go in pairs' joke, and reminded the other female Auror to not hex anyone else that night lest they get kicked out. Apparently they had given up the game and were boasting about some of the stories that led up to the lowered finger. Hawke was slurring out a story about a past relationship with two witches and, to her surprise, it was not shady. Unusual, but not full of lies and adultery.
Malfoy was slumped over the back of his chair, breathing deeply.
Shaking her head, she snagged Clarke when he reappeared alone. "Can you bump Malfoy up the line?"
He raised one yellow blonde eyebrow as he looked over their boss. "No, he's not on my list for the night."
"What do you mean?" She was afraid she knew though.
"I only take people home who asked. I have better things to do than cart around wizards that didn't think ahead." He spoke rather coldly as he watched the unconscious wizard.
Hermione ran her fingers through her hair. Oh, she'd seen the designated Apparater cut someone off before, but Malfoy wasn't getting himself home. He'd get into trouble out there, of that she was sure. It was like a sixth sense, when one of her boys was about to end up in a situation. He wasn't Harry or Ron, but she could just feel it.
"I've seen you make exemptions."
"I have." He pointed at Malfoy. "I won't. Did you know I missed my daughter's second birthday because he wouldn't let me switch assignments?"
And that was the moment she knew there would be no use in bothering him anymore about it. "Have a good night."
He grinned at her with good humour again. "If you need a ride, I'll be around."
She watched him walk jauntily away, probably thrilled at the idea his bit of a boss might end up shoved outside on the walk when the pub closed. It was hard to blame him for that.
Nor was Malfoy her responsibility either, he'd messed with her plenty once he was in a position to do so. Yet she found herself shaking his shoulder. "Malfoy? Malfoy, wake up."
His head lifted as he peered at her, eyes bloodshot. "I'll have pancakes."
"No, I...yes, all right. Let's get you pancakes."
His head tilted back down, angled awkwardly against his shoulder. "No, bring it."
"I'm afraid you will have to go to the pancakes." Hermione wasn't quite as confident of her transporting skills even though she was openly doing wandless magic. Drinking alcohol did impair complicated spells, and magical alcohol was no different.
She sighed and sent a mild Featherlight charm before wrapping her arm under both of his and lifting him to his feet.
"I don't want to go shopping." He complained, utterly and thoroughly boxed. He did hold his own lessened weight, stumbling along next to her. Nobody was really paying attention to them, but of course they noticed. Probably thought she was a real soft touch for helping their mean old boss get home to plot more mean things.
They'd be right on both counts, undoubtedly.
Once they were in the cold night air she hailed the Knight Bus, it should be have mostly sober passengers on a weeknight. Still letting Malfoy lean on her, she listened to the spiel told by a fresh out-of-school witch named Marjorie Rose.
Marjorie didn't quite have Shunpike's crackly voice or spotted face, but she had these enormous glasses and an utterly monotone voice. "Get any baggage?" she asked flatly.
"Just this, but he'll be going on with me." Hermione carefully went up the steps with him, dropping her payments in the bored girl's hand. "Do you think you can wait-" Of course the Knight Bus jerked into life, and by Merlin Hermione barely avoided braining herself on a chandelier as they stumbled into a seat.
Malfoy was squished half against her side, face jammed into her shoulder. He had an especially bony face, she decided.
"Stupid train," he muttered, not even trying to right himself. He did sit back when she pushed him off, opening his red eyes again. "Granger." he said seriously. There was hope after all. "You're supposed to be in your own compartment."
Or not.
Yet she only smoothed down his soft hair and let him lean against her when the vehicle took sharp turns and kept him from tilting forward when the brakes were slammed on. Not exactly how she expected to end the night. And since she didn't know where he lived…
Their stop was called and she got him off the Bus with little fuss. Nobody in her neighborhood was out and about at this time of night, which made her feel a little better. Usually if the boys were this drunk they all went to Grimmauld Place.
Once they were in her apartments she took a long look at him. It was perfectly within her realm of capability to do the same modified Sobering charm she had done on Neville earlier, but she wasn't as sober as she was earlier, and second, with the amount of alcohol he had had...let's just say he'd have to be standing in the tub.
But if he was trying to get drunk, she had long since learned to let a person do as they please. He flopped on her couch and stuck his arm over his forehead, watching her with hooded eyes. "You brought me home." His voice, while somewhat slurred, was sharp and aware.
Hermione paused, a good thing as she was just about to summon blankets and a pillow. "You're not that pissed, are you?"
A slow smile appeared, still keeping that intense stare on her. "Oh, I've had far too much to get home on my own without the risk of Splinching. But I'm not 'transported to childhood' pissed."
Hermione looked upward with a sigh. "I assumed you said all those things as an adult too." He was waited hand and foot by the slave labor in the Manor, wasn't he? She didn't a hundred-percent know the answer. "Why did you pretend?"
He shrugged and kicked off his boots. Of course he didn't answer. Instead he sat up and tugged his robe off over his head and slung it over the back of the couch.
He just wanted to see how everyone would treat him. He'd been the Head for a while, why now? Hermione bit her bottom lip. He was wearing a white linen shirt beneath that he only half unbuttoned as well as black trousers. She assumed he might follow the Pureblood adage of the robes were clothes and the cloaks outerwear and anything underneath was underclothes.
Deciding not to ask why the Muggle fashion, she asked politely, "Can I get you anything besides bedding? Tea or biscuits?" She pulled out her wand and summoned a stack of neatly folded blankets to set by his feet for when he was ready.
"Why don't you tell me something, Granger?" He nudged the blankets to the edge and patted the seat next to him.
Uneasy, given her current situation, she sat by the blankets. It was still quite close to him though. They'd both have to lean in a bit to meet in the middle, but it would be very easy.
"Do you get off on being a saint or a martyr?"
"Excuse me?" Hermione stared at him with mouth ajar. So much for those flighty fancies of how close they were. Why did all the former Slytherins get in her flat and start to insult her? She literally had done nothing but offer him a sofa and tea.
He lifted one hand with long fingers, slight callouses showing beneath the hydrated skin. "A saint will go overboard on being nice, and a martyr will go overboard and complain about it for the rest of their life. Which one are you? Is everyone going to hear about this tomorrow."
Hermione sat up straight, tilting her chin up. "If I didn't want to help you, I'd have left you on your arse at the pub and imagined you drowning in a pool of your own sick as I drifted off to sleep. I might still do the latter, except with lower expectations." She got verbose when mad as Ron liked to point out. What her rants lacked in volume it made up for in time.
Malfoy tilted his head, leaning back into the soft cushions. "You're an odd one, Granger."
"Because I'm not a self-righteous prick?" Indignation and heat buzzed in her blood, leaving whatever part of her that was Veela-struck frustrated because pragmatic her was not happy about being judged. "I can be spiteful, Malfoy, I choose not to be."
"I know." He lifted a hand, the knuckles on his index and middle finger brushing her cheek. "I know about Skeeter, remember? I had never been so turned on in my life. For a minute, anyway."
Hermione blinked. Oh, she remembered what happened after he burst in the compartment, but before that he had been…? She should have figured any hint of duplicity sent his robes raising. She really wished he wouldn't have said that anyway, imagining a teenage Malfoy with ear pressed against the door, getting hard as he listened to her voice.
Damnation, she was getting distracted again. He was right on her couch, one knee slightly raised as he lounged. He wasn't a hugely muscular bloke, but he was young and strong and clearly had a flat stomach. She loved the muscles just above the hipbones, and had a sinking feeling he'd have a delicious set.
He hissed softly as the heat she couldn't control brushed his skin. His pupils dilated as they stared at each other, the hand lingering near her cheek moved to the back of her neck with hypnotic slowness.
She followed the pressure to lean over him as their mouths met. It was neither angry nor gentle but all encompassing. His lips parted immediately for her to lick just inside his mouth, alternating between sucking on his lower lip and curling her tongue against his.
The sensual slide of their tongues rubbing together made her grip the white material under her palms, her knee sliding so she was almost on his lap. Her robes left an extra layer of cloth between them, a blessing in disguise as she was this close to grinding on him like a teenager.
Clearly he wouldn't mind, one hand threaded through her hair and the other gripping her hip firmly as he thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth.
Dizzy with need, she continued undoing the buttons, knuckles brushing his hot and firm skin all the way down. His stomach muscles jumped each time, both their breathing hot and heavy. Together they tasted like the heat of Firewhiskey and the sweet of champagne.
"Let me be your first."
Hermione's eyes popped open, a sliver of awkward confusion slicing through the hazy lust. He didn't think…
"You didn't lower your finger." He whispered against her ear as he angled his cheek against hers. "Hasn't anyone licked you before?"
Oh, oh! Oh thank Godric. Then she thought about what he was offering, and for a definitely-not-virgin she blushed. Perhaps she'd call it a flush, right, that was less undignified. "Not...a preference." It undoubtedly was silly, but only one wizard had tried to do it and she had been achingly young and self-conscious then and refused. Not to mention still bruised badly from the war.
Her other relationships, some hadn't lasted very long, and in others the act had simply not been offered. She hadn't considered it a great loss and gave it little thought until now.
"You won't remember your name after I'm done with you." Malfoy pulled back enough for her to see his smirk as he captured her mouth again. He was a great snog, the naughty way he stroked in her very much made her think of all the other ways he could be inside her, the addition of fantasizing about his tongue sending shivers through her.
Such an ego on him. But she desperately didn't want to remember her own name. It also felt desperately good to be touching someone who wanted to touch her. She thought she was doing a banging job in keeping all the Veela-struck inside.
He pushed her robes up her thighs further, fingers stealing beneath and settling on the bare curve of her hips.
"Wait." Some last vestiges of her conscience managed to claw past the almost-decision she had made. "Wait, you've been drinking a lot." she whispered against his skin, closing her eyes to make herself do this.
"I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing." Malfoy muttered, thumbs curving to bring her hips down firmly on his lap. Without the layer of robes in the way she could feel him very well through his trousers.
"Then you'll have no problem doing when sober?" Hermione did feel awkward talking like this when she was practically dying inside with the effort to not rock against him. But it was important too. If he had been a date or even someone she trusted...but he was neither of those things.
A look of irritation crossed Malfoy's features as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "Of course not."
The sharp disdain in his voice was like a sudden dunk in icy cold water.
"I don't even want to be here now," he whispered before kissing her again, greedily sucking on her lower lip.
It was like someone squeezed all the air out of her lungs, hurt and fear and anger filling her again as simple as air. Hurt at his words, fear of herself. Anger at...this whole mess? Him? The other Aurors? It would simpler to be angry at herself.
A crack rent the air like a firecracker.
Wrenching herself up and out of his lap, she pressed her fingers against her mouth. He looked practically debauched on the sofa, shirt open, mouth reddened and slick, arousal tightening the trousers deliciously.
"You're welcome to stay till morning," she said icily, turning on her heel to retreat to the kitchen where the sound came from. He said nothing, and that was a good thing because her gaze immediately landed on her kettle.
It was broken in half. Her accidental surge of magic broke part of the set her grandmother left her. She Reparo'd it in a hurry, but she remained standing there for a long time, touching the seamless line that was once shattered.
When she finally turned around to head to the bathroom, she noticed a package on the kitchen table. Small enough for an Owl to carry barely. Arrogantly, or perhaps carelessly, she pulled the lid off without doing a preliminary sweep.
Luck was on her side, and nothing attacked her. It was two cuts of Japanese cherry blossom branches with closed buds. As it was exposed, the petals gently undulated to become open flowers. It also had a small white card with garish bright green borders, the ink a blinking orange.
Pick you up at 6 tomorrow!
Smiling for the first time that night it felt like, Hermione scanned the familiar signatures. But when she went to bed alone, she honestly missed the days where the answers seemed so much clearer because one side advocated for genocide.
Author's Notes:
Not to say that still didn't suck; 'Starving/Hunted vs. Genocide? Well, if those are my options…'
Yay update and stuff! Thank you for the reviews, and to answer one forlorn and lovely person, nobody is out of the picture yet, far from it. Faaaar from it ;D
Ten Fingers (Never Have I Ever) will bring up some crazy past stuff you had forgotten about if you've ever played it.
Oh, and I sincerely wish you all a great and wonderful Memorial Day weekend if that's a thing where you are and stuff! I'm working extra shifts cause nobody wants to come in, but look how I'm spending it on my breaks! That's gotta count for something. All for you ^.^.^.^.^
Ninja Edit: I MISSED the opportunity to celebrate in-fic that I had exactly 69 reviews! Bollocks! I'll make it up to you lot with something appropriately fun and decadent. I KNOW, Hermione was supposed to be doing that this time, but she's still got issues with the whole 'compelling/enchanting' thing and hasn't embraced it. C'mon Hermione, nothing wrong about loooove.
HMJ