I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters
--
Unbeknown to Hermione, as she sat herself down in her private Head Girl quarters beside her two best friends, there was a large, somewhat goofy grin, plastered over her features, and seemingly impossible to remove. When Harry asked repeatedly why she appeared so happy, she could only answer with an offhand, "I'm not," before blushing and ducking behind Hogwarts: A History. She did not catch the knowing yet still curious look that passed between her two friends, and nor did she see them mouthing words such as "she got some" to each other. In fact, she was far too engrossed in the words of her book to notice anything, other than that she had been holding the hand of the man about whom she was reading less than an hour previously.
"Mione," Ron said finally, tapping his quill on her table impatiently and running his spare hand through his red hair, "if you won't tell us why you're so happy, will you at least tell us why I need to use Figs and Ginseng to make a Love Potion?"
She sighed. "Because, Ronald, as you'd know if you paid the slightest bit of attention during Potions lessons, they have aphrodisiac qualities. The ginseng increases the drinkers desire for physical contact, whilst the figs are associated with copulation rituals."
"Copulation rituals?" Ron uttered in disgust. "That's revolting. Why would you have a ritual just so you could get a shag?"
Hermione snapped her book shut. "Because it was traditional. And because back then boys weren't so shallowminded that they'd 'shag' anything that moved!" She jumped to her feet and pointed to the door. "I'm going to bed. Could you leave?"
Both looking flustered and bewildered, they gathered up there things and left, both muttering stuttered goodbyes as they went.
--
Hermione was by no means any more fond of the House Elf enslavement as she was in fifth year. In fact, if it were possible, she was even more liberated in her beliefs that such creatures deserved pay and equal rights to humans. And so, on becoming Head Girl, she had specifically requested a House Elf whom she herself could pay, and even befriend, to clean her dormitory. As she had expected, very few came forth, and with Dobby so old and fragile, his own service was hopeless. Yet she had found one, by the name of Poker, whose pointy ears spouted oddly ginger hair, and whose skin seemed a light shade of bluey grey. He wore mittens over his ears in winter, and sported an overly large leather jacket he said he had discovered in a Muggle bin earlier in the summer. He was naturally shunned by the other House Elves, due to his seemingly unnatural behaviour and conversing with witches and wizards, and had in fact taken up residence in Hermione's wardrobe, something he claimed to delight in, as it reminded him of a water closet, a luxury rarely used by his ancestors. Hermione had not argued her point, and was in fact delighted that he was her constant companion. It seemed rather odd to say that one of her closest friend was a House Elf, yet there was nothing wrong about it in her eyes; he was trustworthy, and gave surprisingly good advice for a member of another species. In fact, as Hermione entered her bedroom and found Poker dancing rather odd-footedly on her bed to a record playing on her wizarding radio, it brought a laughter to her that she found was very rare outside of his presence.
"Missus Hermy!" Poker shrieked gleefully. "Poker has learnt tap dance!" At this, he tapped his foot rapidly on the fluffy duvet, his toothy smile making his two ears point upwards in delight. Hermione smiled, shaking her head as she gently placed her book on it's shelf.
"Poker, that's fantastic."
"You is too kind Missus Hermy," he said, seemingly humbled. "Poker is only just starting Missus. Poker can't do anything but tap..." at this, he repeated the same tap of his foot."
Hermione walked over, seating herself at the end of her bed with a smile. "I'm sure you'll improve Poker. I could buy you some tap-dancing shoes if you'd like?"
At this, his blue eyes lit with glee, and he began to jump and clap at the same time, delight all too clear. "Oh Missus Hermy, Poker would love it, Poker would." And he hugged her round her neck in utter happiness. "Poker will make you tea Missus Hermy, and biscuits. And Missus Hermy can tell Poker all about dark, tall man with whom she walks."
Hermione looked at him sharply, her blush covering her cheeks. "How did you...?"
Poker smiled toothily, hands grasped. "Poker must have Poker's secrets Missus Hermy." He hopped from the bed, scurrying over to the kettle with a strange whooping noise.
"Poker, should I make the tea?" Hermione offered.
Poker shook his head vigorously. "Oh no Missus Hermy, you are too kind. Poker is still a House elf, and Poker would feel silly to not make the tea for Missus Hermy. Silly Poker, Poker would say. Silly, silly Poker!"
Hermione smiled. "Alright, but please come and talk to me afterwards Poker? I can't tell anyone else, and I trust you won't tell anyone."
She lay back and rested her head on her pillow, listening to Pokers whistling as he bustled about making tea. Amused, she looked over at him, smiling to herself as he handed her a steaming china cup, full of mily tea, just as she liked it. "Thank you Poker," she said softly, taking a sip and patting the bed beside her. Several moments passed, where the elf scrabbled excitedly onto the sheets and sat happily, bouncing lightly on his rear. "Do you know something?" Hermione said, the smile never leaving her lips.
"Poker knows lots of things Missus Hermy. Poker knows the name of all the teachers, and Poker knows the names of lots of friends of Missus Hermy, and Poker knows..."
"I mean, do you know something, about the man I was with?"
If house elves could blush, Hermione was quite sure that Poker would have turned a bright, vivid shade of pink. "Poker only knows that he has large hands, and dark hair, and nice smile. Poker never knows anything else. Poker doesn't want to Missus Hermy. Poker saw man smiling, and Poker saw Missus Hermy smiling, and Poker put two with two and got five."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow, then smiled, letting the exhilarating thrill overcome her. "Oh Poker, he's lovely!" She said, in such a sing-song, girly manner that she quite wondered if it was in fact her own.
Poker smiled. "Poker sees Missus Hermy. And Poker likes." A beaming smile overcame his features and he toyed oddly with one of his ears.
Grinning hopelessly, Hermione attempted to drink her tea in a way that did not mean liquid escaped the open corners of her smiling mouth, unfortunately, she found it entirely too difficult, and after spilling half of its contents on her blouse, she gave up, placing the cup on her bedside table and looking at Poker with an unhidden smile. "Do you think he likes me?" Hermione asked quietly, half-embarrassed, yet wholly intrigued. Poker grinned manically but said nothing. Sighing, Hermione shook her head, as though suddenly brought out of a dreamy reverie that she could not quite comprehend.
"Oh I'm being foolish!" She reprimanded herself, pulling her knees up to her chest. "He's a thousand years older than me! Can you imagine the newspapers?"
"Poker can. Poker likes. Poker see's "Old Man's In-Outie" on Missus Hermy's papers, Poker does."
Hermione giggled, shaking her head slowly. "No Poker. I'm not going to do anything like that with Godric. He's far too... well..." She pondered thoughtfully, searching for a word with which to describe him in as least flattering a way as possible, yet found none. "Oh curse it." She groaned. She flicked her wand, transfiguring her clothing into a mid-thigh length nightgown, before sliding under the covers with a loud grunt of annoyance. Poker shrieked with laughter and bounded up the bed, grinning at her insanely. "Night Missus Hermy." He planted a soft, house elf kiss on her cheek, before clapping his hands. The light went out, and Hermione felt him slip under the covers beside him.
"If Old Man does come in for In-Outie, please let Poker know. Poker would hate to wake up to an in-outie on Pokers bed Poker would."
Biting her lip to stop from laughing, Hermione spoke quietly. "Goodnight Poker."
--
She was kissing him. Kissing him in such a way that made the world spin on a seemingly wonky axis. Her tongue slid into his mouth, tasting every corner, every soft cavern... his heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel hers, right beside his own, thundering just as fast and unevenly. "Godric..." she whispered. And his name on her lips fell like a caress on his ears, sending shivers of utter delight down his spine as they gripped each other so tightly they could hardly breath. He pulled back to look at her, his breath short, his hair ruffled, taking in her own mussed appearance; her hair was a mess from where his hands had massaged it, and her lip-paint was smudged across her face from where he had grazed his lips across her face. But most incredible of all were her eyes, those golden orbs housing such intense desire that he felt his chest constrict with anticipation. "Sunrise," he breathed, and their lips met again, an all-consuming fire bursting out over his body as their tongues danced...
--
Godric awoke just in time to hear himself speak "Sunrise", and instantly leapt from his bed, gripping his head with his hands and attempting to rid himself of that disturbingly wonderful dream. How, he wondered, was he to look her in the eyes again, when he had just had such a fantastic dream of those eyes filled with lustful need? He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to control his erratic breathing, and ignore the raging erection currently residing between his legs. Merlin damn her, he thought, for having such lovely hands.
For he was certain it was her hands. They'd held hands on that silly little walk, far more than he thought they should have done, but no less than he wanted to. Oh yes, it was the hands. From now on, he told himself, no physical contact. No handholding, finger brushing, or any other physical contact which resulted in this; a far too painful lust, and more sexual scenarios chasing through his head than he had ever considered before. Dear Merlin, the girl was a curse!
And yet, he thought, she was a curse he was not at all inclined to deflect. Though he wished he could deny it, the dream of her kissing him, face and hair so deliciously dishevelled, was a wonderful change to those recollections of his friends that had been forced on him since his arrival. Given the choice, he would much rather prolong that dream...
Yet even with that admission clear in his head, there was no way he could possibly continue to think of Hermione like that. She was not a woman with whom he could become involved, and even if there was the slimmest of chances that he allowed to in any way become attached to her, there was no possible way in which he could do so sexually.
But he was curious.
Curious, he realized, as to whether his body would respond to the images of her that cascaded through his mind, in the same way it responded to images of other women, in his own time. He felt a painful twitch and gritted his teeth, glancing out of the window which overlooked the grounds. It was long past sunrise, and he could see several people dotted over the grassy plains of his school. It was a Saturday, he reminded himself. And on Saturdays, Hermione came to see him early, usually asking as many questions as she could about the last few days in his own time...
Her name sent shivers up his spine, and he angrily walked into the bathroom that adjoined his sleeping quarters. He couldn't well greet her with a bulge in his trousers, and so, whether it was immoral or not, he had no choice in the matter. The second he'd considered it, he'd realized that imagining anyone else would not work, especially after his reaction to that make-up smeared face and dishevelled hair. Aroused and angry, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid them low on his hip, taking himself in hand uncertainly. He knew he'd already crossed a boundary. There would be no civil conversing with her after getting such a reaction, at least not with an ulterior motive. That motive flashed before his eyes, images of Hermione sprawled out on his bed, hair messy and matted with sweat, her chest heaving as he pounded into her... his hand moved up and down his length, eyes closed to that blissful image, feeling his hand as her own tight, wet sleeve. All coherent thought left him, and all he could think of was how good she would look, how tight she would feel surrounding him. He pumped his hand mercilessly for minutes, imagining her in so many different ways, feeling himself growing closer and closer to that pinnacle of pleasure. His body shook as he approached, sweat covering him in a thin sheen, and just as he came he saw her before him, sucking him deeping into her mouth, eyes closed in delighted bliss. "Hermione!" He gasped, sagging against the wall as he let his hand drop, blissful, dreamy haze of pleasure enveloping him, the images in his mind not ceasing as he dragged himself up, pulling his trousers up his hips and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his arm. Only when there was a knock at the door did his fantasizing cease, and he carried himself slowly to the wooden door, opening it to see the object of his affections smiling at him.
"Hermione..." he said, unnerved and certain that she knew what he had just done.
"Sorry..." she blushed, her eyes running over his chest. "I brought you some breakfast... I'll just..." she went to pull the door closed but he shook his head.
"No." He stood back and let her in. "I'll just change in the bathroom.." Closing the door behind her, he headed over to the small pile of clothing, selecting a black shirt and trousers, before heading into the bathroom again.
--
Hermione sat nervously on his bed, pondering vaguely how he had got so sweaty so early in the morning. Perhaps he worked out, she thought, or perhaps he had a bad nightmare and had just woken up... either way, he looked incredible with his toned stomach and muscular arms. The sweat just made her drool. Blushing at her foolishness, she looked up to see him re-enter the room in a loose button down shirt, which he seemed to have taken advantage of, leaving it open halfway down. He sent a small smile at her, then looked away. She smiled and flicked her wand, a silver platter of food appearing on a table before them. Gratefully, he smiled at her, helping himself to a bacon roll and eating it slowly and deliberately, attempting to forget the light blush that had graced her features.
Dear Merlin, he was a pervert.
--
Hermione reached for a bacon sandwich and nibbled it tentatively before saying "I had a dream about you last night..."
At this, Godric spluttered and choked on the mouthful of sandwich, coughing to the extent that his face turned bright red before he swallowed several consecutive gulps of orange juice.
"You had... a dream... about me?" He gasped, eyes watering and throat hurting, though interest probably written in block capitals across his forehead. At least if she were dreaming about him too it wouldn't be considered quite so wrong...
"Oh no!" Hermione said suddenly, blushing brightly. "Nothing like that. You weren't... we weren't... you met Poker?"
Rather stunned, Godric queried, "Who or what is Poker?"
"Poker is a house elf." Hermione said, smiling slightly. "He stays in my rooms with me actually..."
"House elf? You mean the little slaves you people use to run around after you?"
"Well... yes, in a way.. but you see, Poker's more of a friend than a slave. I very much view him as an equal."
Godric snorted in disbelief. "Equality is something most people cannot even define Hermione."
Hermione looked stung, and Godric felt the urgent need to kick himself. "What would you call equality then, Godric? You're all highly strung about this kind of thing. What's your view?"
"There's no such thing." Godric stated simply. "Everybody looks out for number one. It's instinctive to dodge a hex yourself without thinking about the person behind you. You can't tell me that you would sacrifice yourself for this creature, can you?"
Hermione looked at him in unhidden disgust. "I don't know how you people live in your time, but here, most people have morals and would sacrifice themself for someone else any day of the week."
Godric smirked. "Only when something is not aimed at them. If a hex were aimed at them they would dodge it. Perhaps if another was in line of shot you might jump in the way, but instinct is then replaced by folly."
Glaring at him, she said. "This has nothing to do with equality!"
"Meaning, of course, that your own theory has been sunk and disproved, thereby meaning you are searching for an escape from this conversation." He raised an eyebrow. "Am I correct?"
She glared at him. "Equality is the principle by which all persons or things under consideration are treated in the same way!"
He rolled his eyes, quipping a retort quickly. "A definition you've memorised from a book full of other such sayings that have absolutely no relevance and are most definitely not true. To have any such quality would be to treat every other person as you treat yourself, and that, Hermione, is completely impossible."
"We're talking about house elves, not people!" Hermione snapped back.
Godric smirked. "And therein lies the answer. You don't see the house elf as a person, you see it as just another creature. You've given it a ridiculous name you would never give to a person, and you expect me to believe they're your equal?"
"For your information, I didn't give him any such name. His parents chose it. And, he is a creature, and it's a fact of life, but I treat him as any other person, and he definitely has more of my respect than you do!" She went to stand, but was distracted by the loud crack in the corner of the room. Her eyes snapped round and Poker hopped over to her beaming.
"Missus Hermy, Poker has found you the loveliest dress for your evening with the Big Man! Poker thinks it would be..." he was stifled when Hermione placed a hand over his mouth and said.
"Poker, this is Godric." She pointed rudely at the man before her, who winced slightly at her bitter tone. Hermione's eyes didn't leave Godric's as she said, "he's a rude, self-obsessed, rather vain man, who has no interest in anything but returning to his time so that he can chase women and have teenagers fawn all over him." She smiled overly sweetly, then continued. "Godric, this is Poker. He's a house elf, who I'm very close to, and I view as one of my closest friends. He also shares my bed, and gives me advice, whilst I buy him gifts as I would any other friend, and teach him how to read and write."
Godric could only stare at the little creature in shock, not really listening to anything anymore. It wasn't the appearance that shocked him, niether was it the way in which he spoke in the third person. It was the fact that Hermione shared a bed with it... him.
"I think I'll be leaving," she said, standing up and brushing down her clothes. "I'll see you tomorrow I suppose," she said with distaste, glancing over Godric with a look of utter disdain. She headed for the door. Godric stood quickly, following her over to the door and hissing to her.
"If this is your way of showing your views on equality your being mighty immature and hypocritical about it."
"Hypocritical?" Hermione gasped. "How dare you! You don't have any clue who I am!"
"You say you're against treating them like slaves, and yet you have him call you Missus? You act as though you don't want to order them around and yet he's chasing around finding you a dress for an evening with some man who you don't even have th decency to tell him the name of!"
Hermione glared up at the older, taller man, anger flaring behind her eyes. "And you won't even call Poker by his name!"
Godric bristled. "I've never met him before. Or any member of his kind. Do you treat the others like you treat him? Or is it just your special little princeling?"
It was her turn to bristle. "As a matter of fact I do. Or at least I would, if they'd accept it!"
Surveying her down his nose, so worked up and angry with him, was making Godric rather hot. He was about to question her, when Poker spoke loudly.
"Missus Hermy tells Poker call Missus Hermy Hermione. But Poker doesn't likes to, and Poker doesn't likes you." The defensive little creature planted himself firmly at Hermione's feet, eyes glaring up at Godric with what would have been frightening coldness, had the elf itself not reached just below his kneecap.
"I can't say I'm overly found of you at this moment either Poker." Godric said quietly. "Though your mistress clearly has you trained into thinking she's treating you correctly."
"Missus Hermy is a good witch. And you shall not insult Missus Hermy in front of Poker, or Poker shall bite you!" At this, Poker bared some rather disconcertingly white teeth at him.
Godric quirked his eyebrow. "Trained like a protective little dog, I see. Amazing what equality you see Hermione." He held the door open for her and indicated that she leave. "Enjoy your evening with 'Big Man'. I do hope he measures up to that incredible nickname you've given him. It would be a dear shame for him to turn out to be 'Small Man' instead. But then it's nearly guarunteed he's small, isn't it, with a nickname like that?"
"For your information," Hermione said, that sickly sweet smile on her face, "'Big Man' was our nickname for you. And I suppose you'd know better than anyone how small you are." She shrugged. "But I suppose there are other men I can spend my evening with. Probably bigger men, too."
And with that, the door closed on him, leaving him staring at the wooden panel, gaping open-mouthed. Poker glared at him for several seconds, before disappearing with a loud crack.
--
"Oh Poker," she sighed, resting her head on her pillow and looking at the house elf beside her. "He's such an ignorant, arrogant prat sometimes."
"Poker thinks Big Man likes Missus Hermy. And Poker doesn't like Big Man." The elf seemed to shake in anger. "Big Man has In-Outie smell all over him Missus Hermy."
Hermione looked at him with a small frown. "What?"
"Big Man smells of In-Outie Missus Hermy. The sweat and the man juice and..."
"Please don't Poker, the thought's quite repulsive." It was in fact, one of the least repulsive things she had ever thought of. It would explain the dishevelled hair, the sweat, the near-nakedness with which he opened the door. "Who with though?" She said thoughtfully. "Only me, you, Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey and McGonnagall know he's even here..." she grimaced. "You don't think it was McGonnagall do you?" The thought was quite sickening.
"Poker thinks not Missus Hermy." He said meekly, rubbing a large, batlike ear absently.
"Madame Pomfrey it is then?" Again, not a wonderful thought...
"No Missus Hermy."
She paused, then sat bolt upright. "Oh good Merlin!" She gasped.
"Yes Missus Hermy?" Poker asked, a smile on his face.
"You don't think...?"
"Poker does, Missus Hermy..."
Hermione covered her mouth in digust. "Oh Merlin... is he gay?"
"Yes... NO Missus Hermy!" Poker corrected, shaking his head in disbelief. "Mister Dumbledore is not Big Man's type!"
"Oh thank Merlin!" She breathed, falling back on her pillow. "That was a thought I could do without."
Poker cackled with laughter, eyes filled with mirth as he held his feet and rolled in hilarity on her bed.
"Poker, what on earth..?"
"The Big Man likes Missus Hermy. And Missus Hermy wasn't there. So Big Man helped himself Missus Hermy."
"I don't understand.." Hermione frowned, holding herself on an elbow. At this, Poker rolled his large eyes, then made very exagerrated hand movements inwards and outwards from his groin area. Hermione was torn between a wild desire to laugh, and another to retch. Poker's face was one that seemed to be a mix of thoughtfulness and constipation, whilst his hands moved ridiculously fast and he made loud grunting noises. Collapsing in a fit of giggles, Hermione shook her head helplessy. When he finally stopped, and tears of laughter had subsided, she gasped out. "I don't think so Poker. I'm far too young for him."
"Big Man is a man Missus Hermy. Men make happy time for selves when women not there Missus Hermy."
--
I want Poker.
It's short. And it took as long time. But to be honest, I love Poker.
Thank you to anonymous reviewer Lili, for the name.