25th Dec, 4 PM Evening, Hermione's Home
The wards around her house shimmered faintly in the setting sun, humming softly like an ancient melody only she could hear as Hermione pushed open the front door. Her briefcase dangled precariously from her fingers, the weight of the day dragging her down. The quiet that greeted her was almost too familiar, wrapping around her like a cold, unyielding cloak—eerily consistent and unfailingly empty. She sighed, long and slow, the sound barely audible over the creak of the door as she nudged it shut with her heel.
Her heels clattered to the floor as she kicked them off, wincing as the sharp sting of raw skin reminded her of how tightly they'd pinched. She flexed her toes, relief fleeting, before her thoughts spiraled back to the meeting that had left her frayed at the edges.
Draco Malfoy's voice still echoed in her ears, sharp and cutting, each syllable dripping with calculated cruelty. - "Some of us have families to return to. Unlike you."
The words coiled around her like a serpent, sinking their venom deep beneath her skin. Her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding as the memory of his smirk resurfaced—so casual, so infuriatingly smug as he leaned back in his chair, utterly at ease. No matter how far she'd come, how many battles she'd fought and won, Malfoy always seemed to know precisely where to aim. It wasn't just the insult that stung; it was the kernel of truth buried within it, one she refused to acknowledge but couldn't entirely deny. The humiliation of the meeting replayed in her mind in sharp, vivid detail—the smirks from the goblin delegate, the derisive snort from the centaur, and the French dignitary's impatient dismissal. Her credibility, so carefully built over years, had crumbled in a matter of minutes.
Hermione dragged herself to the small kitchen and retrieved a vial of calming draught from the cabinet. Her fingers fumbled with the stopper, her hand shaking as she poured the pale blue liquid into a glass. She downed it in one gulp, the bitter taste coating her throat, but the potion began working almost instantly, slowing her racing thoughts.
The soft hum of magic stirred her back to the present as she flicked her wand toward the kitchen. The kettle sputtered to life on the stove, and the mundane sound grounded her, if only for a moment. She tugged at the clip holding her hair, letting the messy strands tumble down in waves around her shoulders. Her fingers combed absently through the tangles, seeking some relief from the echoes going off in her mind and the humiliation she faced, but even that small reprieve felt hollow tonight.
Her gaze drifted to the sitting room, where the coffee table lay buried beneath a chaotic sprawl of papers, books, and parchment rolls. The mess, testament to her relentless work on the elves' freedom bill—now felt like a weight pressing against her chest. She inhaled sharply, trying to shake off the unease. Not now, she told herself. You'll clean it up later.
The kettle shrieked, breaking the silence, and she poured the steaming water over a tea bag with trembling hands. The mug was warm against her palms as she cupped it tightly, letting the heat seep into her skin. She leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the rising tendrils of steam. The warmth was grounding, but it did little to quiet the voices in her head.
"You will never have a family of your own—never!"
Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out unbidden, sharp and unforgiving, blending seamlessly with Ron's anguished screams, Lucius Malfoy's cold laughter, and the dreadful hissing of Nagini. The memories collided in a cacophony of sound and sensation, a symphony of pain that refused to be silenced. Hermione shook her head violently, trying to banish them, but they clung to her like shadows.
She forced herself to move, her body restless with unspent energy. The mug clattered against the counter as she set it down and turned her attention to the clutter in the sitting room. She folded the blanket draped over the couch, stacked the books into neat piles, and gathered the empty teacups that had multiplied like tribbles. Her movements were sharp and efficient, each task a desperate attempt to impose order on the chaos within and around her.
It wasn't until her fingers brushed against a small, brightly wrapped parcel tucked at the edge of the couch that she paused. Her brow furrowed as she picked it up, the cheerful red-and-green wrapping paper an almost jarring contrast to her mood. A hastily scrawled note was taped to the top. -
"Dear 'Mione, Sorry I forgot to get you a gift and more so for not being there. I am off to find Ginny Let us catch up in real as soon as I am back. - Harry"
Tears cooled down the heat she had been facing. She had thought Harry would not even talk to her following their tiff. She cleared her throat trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. She has felt alone for a long time. Harry still considering her a friend was a big source of comfort, especially after the events of the last two days. A faint smile tugged at her lips, a flicker of warmth amidst the gloom. Trust Harry, she thought, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't quite name. She tore the paper carefully, revealing a small, ornate wooden box beneath. Its surface was etched with intricate carvings of phoenixes and ancient runes, the craftsmanship exquisite. Hermione's curiosity stirred as she lifted the lid. Tucked inside were coupons from a famous spa located in Diagon Alley. Alley. Hermione allowed herself a small, weary smile. Harry, always thoughtful, always trying to pull her out of her own head.
The idea was tempting. After the disaster of the day, her body ached with tension, and the thought of someone unknotting the stress from her muscles was hard to resist. She found another note scribbled in Harry's messy writing- "Use them soon or they will expire". She glanced at the clock—there was still time before the spa closed. Grabbing her coat and the coupons, Hermione left her coat, determined to at least take a moment to feel human again.
The Spa - 25th Dec, 5 PM Evening, Hermione's Home
The reception area of the spa was warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to the biting chill of the evening outside. Soft music floated through the air, and the scent of lavender and eucalyptus was almost enough to lull Hermione into relaxation. She could see the receptionist sitting at the front counter through the window. Clad in red robes and a green pointy hat, the witch kept glancing at the clock on her left, clearly waiting for the closing time. Overriding her thoughts on imposing on receptionist's plans of an early finish, Hermione dragged herself to the counter.
"Hi, I am Hermione Granger. I am sorry to come in without an appointment but I was hoping there would be an empty slot? Is anyone available at the moment." Hermione asked the young witch sweetly.
"Welcome, Ms. Granger," said the the receptionist. She was visibly irritated by the late customer but she knew Hermione held a senior position in the Ministry and it wouldn't augor well to blow her off. Greeting her with a polite smile, she replied "You're in for a treat. Our best masseuse are available. Please follow me." The witch introduced herself to be Amy and led Hermione to one of the private suites. A handsome looking young Latino was clearing out the tissues from his appointment. He looked up only when the two ladies entered the room. Recognising Hermione at once, he stood straight and then bent at waist in a polite welcome of a distinguised guest.
"Welcome, Ms Granger. It is an honour to meet you. This humble being is named Alaric". He said. Amy made introduced them and went back to her station with a naughty wink at Alaric that did not go unnoticed. Hermione saw the sudden rush of blood to their cheeks and thought about the possibility of them having plans for Christmax, hence felt obligatory only customary to ask, "I hope I am not impinging on any plans", her cheeks red with embarrassment.
"None at all. Lord Potter had let me known that you would be coming. Also, please don't mind Amy. Her folks are going to meet her boyfriend for the first time, so she is a bit of her rocker." Alaric explained while extracting fresh sets of soft white towels. "I understand you have a coupon?" "Yes, I do. Just give me a minute." "Sure"
Hermione was impressed and knew immediately why Harry preferred to come here. The staff's professionalism clearly stood out reflecting not only in their conduct but also the clean hygienic environment they had made. Soft jazz music played in the background that took her to her childhood. She produced the coupon gifted by Harry and handed it to the Alaric.
Passing the towels to her, he requested her to change into them in the adjoining room and wait for him. Hermione nodded and went in the pointed direction. Once sure he was alone, he pressed the tip of his wand on the coupon using the Revelio Charm. The ink dissipated at once and reformed into four words - "Rein in the otter. Pleasure is everything."
Alaric knew his mission. Tossing the coupon in the fireplace, he picked up his favorite oils and joined Hermione in the suite. With a calm voice and cheerful smile, he gestured to the massage table, draped in crisp white linen, and reassured her, "This is your time to relax, Miss Granger. Let the world melt away."
She hesitated briefly, her innate cautiousness prickling at the edges of her mind, but exhaustion won out. She laid face down on the table. The table was pre-warmed, the gentle heat seeping into her skin and loosening the tension already.
"You seem like you carry a lot, Miss Granger. Tonight, you'll leave it all behind." Hermione managed a faint smile, resting her face in the cushioned cradle. "That's the idea," she murmured, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
The first touch of his hands on her shoulders sent a shiver through her. His fingers were firm yet gentle, kneading into the tight knots with a precision that was almost too perfect. She exhaled deeply, the weight of her humiliation at the Ministry beginning to loosen its grip on her chest.
"Relax," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "Let me take care of you."
As he worked, his touch became more deliberate, almost sensual. His hands moved from her shoulders down the length of her arms, tracing the tension in her muscles as if reading her like a book. Hermione felt her walls begin to crumble under his expert touch, the tension melting away with each stroke.
"You've been so tense," he commented softly, his hands returning to her back. "So much responsibility on such a delicate frame."
His words stirred something in her, a mixture of vulnerability and comfort. Hermione sighed again, her breathing deep and steady as his hands explored the length of her spine, pressing into each muscle with care.
The warmth of his touch spread through her body like a slow-burning fire. When his hands moved to her lower back, she let out a soft, involuntary moan, her body betraying how deeply she needed this release.
"Good," he said, his tone approving. "That's better."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush as his hands moved lower, his thumbs pressing into the tightness of her hips with deliberate pressure. The ache she hadn't realized was there dissolved under his skilled touch, replaced by a warmth that pooled low in her stomach. Her mind, heavy with the memories of the day's humiliation, began to drift, tethered only to the rhythm of his hands.
He moved to her legs, his hands gliding over her thighs with firm strokes that sent shivers up her spine. The sensation was intoxicating, the boundary between relaxation and something deeper blurring with every passing moment. Hermione tried to focus on her breathing, but the combination of his touch and the faint hum of magic in the air left her almost dizzy.
"You deserve this," he said softly, his voice like honey dripping into her consciousness. "A moment to let go of everything."
Hermione's fingers curled into the edge of the table as his hands moved lower, tracing the taut muscles of her calves and ankles. She bit her lip, her body responding in ways she hadn't expected, warmth spreading to her fingertips.
"You're doing well," he continued, his tone gentle but with an edge that felt oddly commanding. "Just let yourself feel it."
Her body grew heavier with each word, her mind a hazy cloud of sensation. She felt his hands return to her feet, his thumbs pressing into her arches in slow, deliberate circles. It was almost too much, her body trembling slightly under his ministrations.
And then, his touch shifted.
His hands returned to her shoulders, but this time his fingers danced along her neck, trailing down to her temples. Hermione sighed deeply as his fingers massaged her scalp, tangling lightly with her curls. It was a sensation of pure bliss, her entire body tingling under his touch.
"You hold so much here," he murmured, his fingers pressing gently at the base of her skull. "It's time to let it all go."
Hermione felt the tension in her neck and head dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming wave of euphoria. Her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as her body melted into the table.
But as his hands moved lower again, trailing down her arms and lightly brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrists, she felt a faint prickle at the back of her mind. A warning, buried beneath the haze of pleasure.
"You're almost there," he said, his voice soothing. "Let me take you the rest of the way."
He paused briefly, his hands resting lightly on her ankles. "We offer a magical enhancement to deepen the experience. Would you like to try it?"
Hermione hesitated. Something about his tone—too smooth, too knowing—tugged at her subconscious. But the lure of relief was too tempting. She nodded. "Sure, why not?"
Alaric murmured an incantation under his breath, and a wave of warmth spread from her feet, spiraling up her body. The sensation was intoxicating, a heady mix of lightness and euphoria. She felt like she was floating, her body weightless, her mind untethered.
For a moment, it was bliss. Every nerve in her body hummed with pleasure, her senses heightened. The world narrowed to this single experience, all thoughts of Draco, the Ministry, and her loneliness dissolving like mist.
Alaric's hands paused for a moment, and Hermione opened her eyes, disoriented. "Is everything alright?" she murmured, her voice heavy with relaxation.
"Perfectly," he replied, but there was an edge to his tone now, something that didn't match the earlier warmth.
The warmth in her muscles suddenly turned burning, the tingling sensation no longer pleasant but sharp and invasive. Hermione tried to move, to sit up, but found her limbs unresponsive. Panic flared in her chest as she realized she couldn't even lift her arms.
"W-what's happening?" she managed to gasp, her voice weak and trembling.
Alaric leaned over her, his kind face now eerily blank. "A special service for a special client," he said, his voice devoid of its earlier gentleness.
Hermione's eyes widened as she felt invisible bonds tighten around her wrists and ankles, securing her to the table. The room seemed to darken, the soothing music warping into an eerie hum.
She fought against the bonds, but her body was betraying her, every sensation now a sharp, unbearable contrast to the bliss she'd felt moments ago. The warmth had turned into a suffocating heat, the pressure on her muscles no longer soothing but oppressive.
A sickening lurch in her stomach announced the activation of a Portkey. The table beneath her dissolved, the room spinning around her as she was pulled into the magical vortex. The last thing she saw before the world went black was Alaric's impassive face and a faint, mocking smile.