I don't own anything. Although... perhaps the mistakes.

It's Tuesday night and Hermione is in a room where a four poster bed takes most of the space, although she assumes that one of the doors gives way to a walk-in closet quite the size of their own. She's been here before, many times even, but she was startled when a disembodied voice told her to come up to the room on her own. An invisible patronus, she recognized, which didn't surprise her as the witch sending it was highly skilled. The only thing surprising about it was perhaps the fact that the witch was able to send a patronus. After all, it was general believe that the dark side couldn't send them.

She undresses, as requested by the voice and places her clothes on the nightstand near the bed. She never opens the drawers. There is no need to investigate, her priorities to come here differ vastly from the characteristics that led her survive the war and subsequently but unwillingly made her famous. She hears another door open and close again. She exhales, and feels her own shoulders unwind a little with the woman's presence in the room.

The first time she walked to this room, following Narcissa Black in silence, she had wondered whether the design of the building had been magically altered to give the impression that no matter what room you went to, it would lay a little away from the rest of the brothel. Ensuring a fake sense of privacy. The blonde witch offers discretion and the costumers believe her because no one ever gets caught. They think the security is outstanding here, but Hermione thinks glamour does a lot for this muggle brothel.

She knows Narcissa owns this place. Apparently the woman whose hair has turned blonder than before even though she divorced her husband right after his trial, invested her money from the divorce into this brothel, which is now quite successful with lots of employees. She knows this solely because she read the file. Working at the ministry of magic means to have access to certain files a normal citizen wouldn't. And perhaps Hermione checking this file was not completely according to the rules but she realized that she's broken so many rules in her life that she now naturally undermines any form of authority. It is not as if she checked Narcissa's private file. Just the files on the building. And perhaps on the trial of Lucius.

But it is all of little importance as she sees the blonde approach in a deep green robe. When she takes it off Hermione's pupils dilate and she heat slips into her body.

'Magic or muggle?' the older witch asks like she asks every time and it's good that she does because Hermione enjoys choosing muggle and be aware of it. It's erotic to see Narcissa deciding which colour and shape will fill Hermione this time. And it is erotic to see Narcissa, pureblood toujours, embrace muggle technology without shame.

'Muggle.'

With a swift gesture a complicated pattern of straps appear around Narcissa's hips and thighs with a beryl blue cock standing out in the middle of pale blonde curls. Narcissa steps closer and they move until they are almost touching while kneeling both on the bed. The toy leaning against Hermione's leg.

Elegant hands start to stroke her body softly. Apparently Narcissa is in a gentle mood, and she is relieved because it has been a tiring week at the ministry and she had been apparating between France and London to make sure the ties between the ministries stayed smooth in face of the upcoming right wing that contains of both muggle and wizards. She knows they sent her because she is the face of peace. She is the label of the 'good' ones, icon of both ratio and kindness. And this angers her because who are they to define who she is and what she wants out of life.

Yet her muscles relax under Narcissa's gentle caresses and a familiar heat bundles between her legs as the blonde continues to stroke her hands through her hair and across her shoulders, over her breasts where they each take a nipple between their fingers. She moans and feels wanton.

Hermione lets her hand glide over the other witch her stomach and the muscles underneath it contract. Narcissa's skin is warm and soft and her hand goes up to cup a full breast. Narcissa's nipple hardens and the blonde woman's hold on Hermione's body increases. The older woman kneads the globes of Hermione's ass and lets out a low growl.

'Turn around.'

Hermione does so and leans against Narcissa's frame. She can feel the toy against her bottom, but is more focused on the soft breasts against her back and the smell of Narcissa's skin and arousal. Narcissa's breasts are perfect. Full and milky white.

When fingers slide through her folds she shudders and she smells herself as well. She is wet and ready as Narcissa slowly pushes the head of the toy into her. She lets out a gasp and falls forward. With her hands she grabs the board of the bed, as the blond witch slides all the way in.

She doesn't ask whether Narcissa fucks others like she fucks Hermione. Talking about fucking and related actions is the only talking they do, but it always concerns around sex between them and no one else. Like their settlement also concerns only hands and hardly any mouths. They do not kiss, lick, suck, but rather grasp, stroke and rub. Sometimes, they bite, but that's all and they never draw blood. Velvet, leather, silk, it all has come by but most of the time it is enough to just have Narcissa's hands on her. To know the blonde chooses her, even if it might be a covert fulfillment of revenge-phantasies on defeating the light side. It does not matter whether Narcissa takes Hermione or the Golden Girl. Hardly anyone in her life make a distinction between those two anyway and she knows the numbness inside makes her own assessment blurry.

And besides, she doesn't come here to have an assessment on her inner psyche. She has a therapist for that. And Molly's eyes that look at her like she is the lost daughter every time she comes over to the burrow. It would not have worked out between her and Ron anyway, no matter what mental condition Hermione is in. He seeks the easy way out, with his simple desire for a family and a dog. He would have married her with the idea that she would want the same without ever asking her, and now that it has become clear that she doesn't, he is just as happy marrying that Lavender woman.

She can't be bothered with it. She has ruined other people's dreams about her life but she just doesn't consider herself that much of a public property to conform to their wishes. No one ever asked her what she wanted, and she didn't feel anything resembling want for a long time until she saw Narcissa's name mentioned in a sideline as a benefactor to the new west-wing of the ministry. Granted, it had been a want to destroy the woman who got away without blame while her side of the war had ruined so many lives including her own. But once she entered the brothel where the woman apparently now resided and Narcissa had taken her without preamble to her room and had proceeded to take her in her room as well Hermione had felt the nature of the want to destroy change in a want for relief.

A want to blur with the woman who brings out the closest thing to non-fucked-up-ness in her, even if that un-fucked-up-ness is obtained through the very act of fucking in the personal chambers of a brothel owned by a former wife of a death eater.

Slowly the dark blue phallus slides in and out of her. The strokes are not rough but they are deep and she moans because it feels good and complete. Freud would have a field day with her pleasures and desires but she can't find it in herself to care. Narcissa is the only one that treats her like she has agency. Always making sure she is not crossing borders, asking questions verbal and non-verbal, about what Hermione needs.

'Faster?' the raspy voice behind her ear whispers.

'Yes.'

The thrusts speeds up and she can feel herself clenching down on the silicone cock. Narcissa's hands find Hermione's breasts and her back arches while a thin shed of sweat is covering her body. Listening to Narcissa's pants she knows they are at the same level of arousal.

That particular part of sex took her longer to develop. The knowledge of Narcissa's physical cues of arousal that were not the wetness between the witches' legs or her hardened nipples. The first few times Hermione had been here it was about blind release and she couldn't care less about what or why the blonde seeked as long as she gave Hermione that short death. But now she knows Narcissa needs their meetings as much as Hermione does. She had missed one once, because of work and a flu. The week after that she had paid for it, as Narcissa had taken her angrily, just a tad more forceful then she otherwise would have and her voice had been a shade of desperate when Narcissa had gasped 'you weren't there. I waited for you and you didn't show up.'

She had whispered sorry, and Narcissa had bitten her when she came, instead of letting Hermione go off first like she usually did, but she had rubbed her lips around the teeth marks and it was so close to kissing Hermione's skin that Hermione had come instantly.

They had resumed their routine after that but it dawns on her more and more that she wants Narcissa to kiss her shoulders when the woman climaxes. Or kiss her body while they are having sex. She wants the blonde's mouth all over her and it disturbs her because it means that she is considering the woman as neither dark nor light. Neither good nor bad. That she is creating space in her head for the woman to just be, and with that to hold a degree of importance to Hermione.

Narcissa starts rubbing Hermione's clit, and Hermione feels her orgasm approach. She starts moving her hips in a way that she knows will let the toy rub more intensely back at Narcissa's clit and by the high, short moans that the woman is giving every time Hermione undulates Narcissa is not far behind her in losing control. Their pace goes into frantic and it takes only so much for Hermione to utter 'fuck… Cissa', while spasms take over her body and flashes of lights appear behind her eyelids.

She can feel her body dragging Narcissa into her own release and it intensifies the feelings of high and reality that marks these Tuesday nights. This is good, her body says. This is right, her mind echoes. This is what you need, and it makes no sense but this is not about goddamned sense. It is about Narcissa taking her, and simultaneously giving her. Giving Hermione some feelings back, to peel off the thick layers of numbness that war and a life under the scrutinizing eye of the moralizing world brought to Hermione.

And it is now that she realizes that she is balancing on this delicate line of feeling again but not letting those feelings immediately lash back at her body. That she has to start bracing herself when remembering that Narcissa has given no indication of desiring anything other out of their liaison then physical release, but not closing up completely after she just found this small way of coping. It is in this uncertain moment of recapturing their breaths while they lean limp towards each other that Hermione feels the urge to kiss Narcissa's body. Not necessarily her mouth, she is not that far gone yet that she couldn't live without kissing Narcissa's mouth. But to seek something… more. More intimate without being suffocating.

Apparently Narcissa has recaptured herself enough to gently but swiftly slip out of Hermione. She is halfway through her hand gesture before Hermione stops her and asks

'May I?'

And it is not exactly surprise on Narcissa's face but it is something, and she gives her consent with a slight nod of her head. Hermione starts slowly to undo the straps and it is all a bit sticky around the blonde's inner thighs but nevertheless it is more than they ever did and Hermione can feel herself balancing again and it is a good thing.

After she strips everything off the woman they both claim a lying position on the bed, about a foot away from each other, and Hermione lets her hand glide through the coarse hairs at the apex of Narcissa's thighs and the woman gives a short sigh. Afterglow is apparently something that can be carefully acknowledged if they are distant about it and Hermione lets her hand rest on the sheets in the space between them.

A frown appears on the older witch forehead and Hermione looks at Narcissa's closed eyes with light blonde eyelashes and it adds to the realness of the situation that Narcissa didn't put on mascara.

'The ministry ball is next week.'

Hermione realizes what Narcissa is talking about because it is the opening of the very west wing that brought Hermione here in first place. And they both have to make an appearance and mingle with the people who see Narcissa as out-crowd and her as in-crowd even though Narcissa did more for that west wing than she ever would or could, which does not mean that the world will treat her any better because being glared at or being sucked up to are both lonely positions to uptake. Nevertheless they both will wear fashionable gowns and pretend they don't know each other even though Hermione is certain that of all the people in the room Narcissa knows her most but that is her own responsibility and not Narcissa's. She realizes as well that it will be the first encounter where they will be in public since the war, and the fact that it is says more about Hermione's refusal to go to public events then about the time that has passed because they are now both considered as the upper layer of society which means they could have encountered each other numbers of times.

But it appears that it is not what Narcissa is talking about at all because the next thing she says is

'It will be on a Tuesday evening.'

So it means that they'll miss a week which makes her frown too because she is not willing to miss a week. She owns these Tuesday nights, they are all that she has for herself even if she shares them with the older which and probably because she shares them with the older witch. But perhaps it shouldn't surprise her that the world would want to interfere with what little space of privacy Golden Girl gets.

'I don't want that.'

Again there is no surprise on Narcissa's face but there is something between relief and delight which eases Hermione. She doesn't know what Narcissa seeks in their encounters, just that she seeks and having affirmed that they both seek the same outcome is almost comforting. To be at the same page physically in a far-away room in a building where no one will recognize you leaves more breathing space then to be at the same page mentally when you face the situation of being among others.

'Be at the balcony at nine, I'll apparate us here.'

Hermione nods. She will be there. And she realizes that she does not care what the whole of the ministry will think if they happen to see her touching Narcissa's arm because touching Narcissa is what has kept her functioning which means come hell or high water she shall own up to it. All that Gryffindor courage and fierce lioness that they so conveniently use for their own gain will without second thought burn them with golden flames of the Golden Girl should they assume to have a say on her Tuesday nights. Because Tuesday nights are her beacon and it is enough. Because it is something more, something more real to have, to own, to share. Something that she has with Narcissa, even if they have it without mouths or declarations or within a confined space. It is more than anyone has offered her before, and she is grateful and proud that the woman chooses her.

She will be at the balcony, because it is a Tuesday night, and Tuesday nights are the nights that she needs Narcissa.