Harry Potter Fic: Sleeping with the Enemy (1/2)
Title: Sleeping with the Enemy (1.2)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hermione/Millicent
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11.130
Summary: Hermione and Millicent have an unspoken - and secret - arrangement. When Ron and Harry find out about it, and Millicent tries to change the terms, Hermione gets a bit overwhelmed.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, that's all J.K. What you see here is simply derivative, non-commercial fanfiction.
Author's Note: One-shot. Post-Hogwarts. Not canon compliant. Happy reading.
~*~*~*~
"Hermione." Ron, who has been saying her name, and being ignored, for nearly five minutes, is beginning to sound desperate. A bit hoarse, too, though Hermione doesn't know if it's because of a true rawness of the throat, or an auditory hallucination brought on by her own burgeoning guilt. Blatantly ignoring a good friend who is begging for one's attention is hard on a conscience, even when it is Ron, and Hermione knows she is not far from breaking. Which is, of course, the last thing she wants to do, but unfortunately she's not made of complete stone.
Still, she tries. Taking another sip of beer, hoping the alcohol will dull the sharp prick of guilt, she forces herself to focus on Harry, who is telling her about the fireworks the twins want to set off during his wedding to Ginny. It sounds positively terrifying, and likely quite dangerous - Hermione is envisioning Prophet headlines screaming of disaster and number of injured parties - but those are the twins for you.
"Hermione. Please?"
That last pathetic entreaty is the proverbial straw and, defeated, Hermione turns to Ron. "What?" she says, tone as annoyed as she can make it - which is quite aggrieved - hoping to impress upon him that this is not a conversation she wants to have. But of course he doesn't notice, busy as he is looking past her, toward the bar where Alicia Spinnet has been standing since they left her there nearly half an hour ago, when Harry decided he wanted to sit in a newly vacated booth. Ron had invited Alicia to sit with them, but, much to Hermione's relief, she declined. Not that Hermione dislikes Alicia; quite the contrary, in fact. It's just she'd wanted to avoid Ron's match-making attempts. The man is even more unsubtle than his mother, an impressive, but presently inconvenient, accomplishment.
But, unfortunately for Hermione, putting the length of the pub and near fifty people between her and Alicia has done nothing to deter Ron's enthusiasm for his plans.
"She's staring at you."
Ron's excitement as he relays this tidbit nearly has him bouncing in his seat, and Hermione closes her eyes and counts slowly to five. "Lovely. Now if only I cared."
"I think," Ron cranes his neck again to see over her head, "yes, she definitely wants you to turn around."
"I'm not going to."
"Just a little wave, then."
"No."
"But, Hermione -"
"No, Ron," Hermione says, her tone probably just a little too curt, but honestly.
There's a disgruntled silence, which Hermione uses to encourage Harry to continue with his explanation, then, "Bit rude tonight, aren't you?"
"Not really," Hermione says, speaking through clenched teeth, trying to sound more conversational because, yes, she is being rude. Though, it's becoming obvious that the only conversational tools that will get through to Ron right now are blunt ones. "I've already told her I have plans for the evening, so there's no sense encouraging her."
"Lies," Ron breathes, and if he was trying for an impersonation of a scandalized Molly Weasley, he was spot on. "You've no more got plans than I have."
Hermione sighs, taking a moment to ponder how well Ron might have done in school if he'd paid half as much attention to lessons as he does her love life. The brightest witch of their age might well have been a wizard had that been the case.
"Sorry," she says, "but I thought that was more polite than telling her I didn't fancy going back to hers for a drink and a shag."
Ron sways like he's taken a Bludger to the head, one hand clutching at the table. "But, but she's dead sexy." His gaze swings to Harry, searching for support. "Scorching really."
Harry, ever the diplomat, shrugs and mumbles, "I really hadn't noticed," against the rim of his glass.
"Coward. I saw you clock her in that skin-tight jumper, don't think I didn't. I'm a happily married man and even I noticed. There's no harm in it," he adds, defensively.
Inherent disapproval of such debasing comments aside, Hermione has to agree that Alicia looks lovely in that jumper. But then, Alicia's always filled out her clothes very nicely. There was more than one occasion, back at Hogwarts, when Hermione found herself entranced by the way Alicia's Quidditch uniform managed to emphasize her assets when it made every other female player depressingly shapeless. And though it had embarrassed and confused her at the time, the sight of Alicia's arse in those trousers had done more for Hermione's bedtime fantasies than any kiss from Ron ever had. But Hermione would burn all of her copies of Hogwarts: A History before admitting to an appreciation of Alicia's form within hearing distance of Ron, who would likely take it as permission to comment on the appearance of every woman they came across.
"Ron," she says instead, giving him an oft-used look of impatience, "she's got a mind, too. And I've already told you, my being a lesbian does not mean you get to give me a running commentary on which women I should see. In fact, I'd rather you say nothing on the subject at all."
"Fine." Ron falls back against the booth cushion, his demeanor so petulant Hermione's surprised he doesn't cross his arms over his chest and stick out his lower lip. "But I still say that's your loss. I've a keen eye, you know."
Hermione opens her mouth to tell him that, with the exception of Luna, his "eye" has always been highly suspect, but she's interrupted by Harry, who guffaws and says, "Coming from the man who had a one-night -"
"Hey!" With reflexes Hermione hasn't seen in a long time, Ron throws a peanut across the table, hitting Harry in the forehead just above his scar. "Shut it, or do you want me trotting out the names of all your prize pulls?"
The protracted silence that follows is answer enough, and Ron's lips twist into a knowing smile as he gives himself a self-congratulatory nod. "Yeah, that's right, aren't so eager to share now, are you?"
"Ancient history," Harry says, after a few false, stuttering starts, "considering I've been with Ginny three years."
"And I've been married for five, so your crimes are much more recent than mine."
"Crimes?" Hermione echoes in disbelief, while Harry says, "Not near as bad, though, you've got to admit."
"Admit? There's nothing to admit." Ron is clearly affronted, and Hermione well-reminded of why she never minds them having their "boys only" nights. "In fact -"
"Please stop," Hermione says, torn between disgust at her friends' exchange, and relief that Ron's focus has moved off her potential bed-partners. "I did not come out tonight to hear you two talk about the women you've shagged. And, honestly," she continues, not able to leave well-enough alone, "I will never understand how you can sleep with someone you're ashamed to admit to being with afterward. It makes absolutely no sense."
"Ha." Ron points a finger in her direction and Hermione frowns back at him. "Like I'm going to believe that one. Don't even try it," he says, when she starts to protest, "I won't believe a word. Everyone's past has at least one horror story, someone you'd rather vomit slugs than admit to shagging."
"Coming from a man who would know," Harry says, snickering, and Hermione almost laughs along with him. Instead she reaches for her beer and lifts it almost to her lips before saying, primly, "Not me. I've never slept with anyone I wasn't attracted to and didn't absolutely want to be with."
Ron makes a rude noise before muttering, "Not bloody likely. Everyone's blind desperate at least once in their life, present company most definitely included."
"I'm sorry," Hermione says, unable to believe that Ron is actually going to argue with her about this, "but some of us have more -"
"Here's an idea," Harry says, grabbing her shoulder and eyeing the bottle clutched in her hand like he's afraid she's going to lunge across the table and try to shove it up Ron's nose, "how about we change the subject?"
Already distracted by something going on at the bar, Ron waves a hand and says, "Whatever," at the same time Hermione answers with a decisive, "Yes, please."
"So," Harry says after a moment, voice bursting with forced enthusiasm, "how about those -"
"Damn," Ron interrupts, slapping an open hand on the table. "You've been replaced."
"What do you mean?" Harry says, and Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose because there is only one possible answer to that question, and it is a subject she'd hoped not to visit again for the rest of the night.
"Alicia's got her eye on someone else," Ron says, and he couldn't sound more dejected if he'd been the one Alicia had her eye on.
Hermione rolls her eyes. "How tragic."
"Ugh. Speaking of tragic, look who she's got her eye on now. Honestly, where's her Gryffindor pride?"
Hermione doesn't want to look, but curiosity, no matter how reluctant, has ever been her weakness and she turns toward the bar. The pub has gotten more crowded since they sat down, and it takes her a moment to find Alicia, but when she does, and when she recognizes the woman with her, Hermione's eyes nearly pop from their sockets.
Standing next to Alicia, looking altogether too large for the crowded space, is Millicent Bulstrode. Never a dainty girl, Millicent's somehow managed to grow more imposing since Hogwarts, her solid form broad-shouldered and powerful-looking in a way that demands attention. Most of it of the intimidated variety.
Not that she looks particularly intimidating at the moment, Hermione thinks, struggling to process the sight of Millicent lounging lazily against the bar while Alicia offers her a suggestive smile. Hermione doesn't think she's ever seen the other woman so at ease in a public setting, and she frowns, hand tightening to a fist, as Alicia steps closer to Millicent and runs not-so-subtle fingers along her forearm. When one side of Millicent's mouth quirks in a quietly pleased grin, Hermione nearly lurches to her feet, her first instinct to charge across the room and make her presence very known. Possibly with a stinger to Millicent's arse. But, thankfully, Hermione is quick to remember Millicent's personal life is none of her business, and if she tried to interrupt not only would she cause a scene, but Millicent would not be pleased, Ron would have a field day, and, most humiliating of all, Millicent would probably send her scuttling back to her booth before continuing to preen under Alicia's attentions.
"Now who's being rude," she says, irritated by Ron's automatic denigration of Millicent.
"Excuse me? It's Millicent Bulstrode," Ron says, like he can't believe Hermione is chastising him. "You remember her, don't you? Slytherin extraordinaire, tried to pop your head off your shoulders. Multiple times if I'm not mistaken."
"That was a long time ago," Hermione says, mumbling in her distracted state.
"Maybe, but I can still see the dent she put in your neck."
"Careful, Ron, you don't want Bulstrode to overhear." Harry follows Hermione's gaze, looking genuinely worried, though Millicent hasn't so much as glanced in the direction of their booth. "She might try for a repeat performance, and I don't think I've the strength to pry her off this time."
"Merlin, don't even say it. She'd enjoy it too much. Probably some twisted kind of foreplay for her."
Harry's mouth twists. "Maybe."
It takes more effort than it should for Hermione to turn away from Millicent and Alicia's antics - Alicia is trying to feed Millicent a maraschino cherry, looking ridiculous standing on her tiptoes, arm almost fully extended to reach Millicent's mouth - but she does and manages to level Ron with a beady-eyed stare as well.
"Could you manage to be just a little less disgusting?"
"I think she's even taller than I am," Ron says, not marking Hermione's agitation because he's preoccupied, letting his eyes travel the length of Millicent's form, appraising. "Not that I'd get close enough to find out, mind. Can you imagine sleeping with a woman whose hands could crush your skull?" He turns to Hermione, who is still glaring, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively, obviously expecting some sort of response, be it denial or more outrage. When Hermione doesn't say anything, he gives her arm a playful shake, trying to coax a smile. "Well, can you?"
"Ron," Hermione starts, fully intending to insult his maturity level again before assuring him that she has no intention, now or ever, of imagining sex of any kind with Millicent Bulstrode. But the lie, one she is sure is only a pale gray, catches just long enough in the back of her throat to make her reconsider the words altogether. Not to say she wants to tell Ron the truth, because that would be a ridiculous given that Ron is making fun and Millicent is giving another woman the eye less than a stone's throw away. But her mind and mouth can't agree on what she should say, so for long, increasingly awkward moments, she says nothing at all.
And as Ron continues to stare at her, and she at him, the cheeky smile slips from his face, until his jaw is so slack Hermione imagines she can see every last one of his teeth, and enlightenment dawns. In tandem, their eyes begin widen, in shock and desperation respectively, until Ron finally whispers, sounding almost afraid, "Have you imagined?" His gaze flickers toward the woman in question, then he leans forward, offering an even more hushed, "Have…have you done more than imagine?"
Harry's reaction to that hesitant inquiry is instantaneous and frightfully loud. "You've shagged Bulstrode?" he says, nearly falling out of the booth in his haste to face her.
Hermione wants to deny it, she wants to clap her hands over Harry's and Ron's mouths and tell them both to keep their bloody voices down. Or, better yet, she wants to pull out her wand and hit them both with Memory Charms and erase the last five minutes from their minds. But her voice seems to have evaporated, so she does the only thing she can, which is blush. If the warmth creeping up her neck and across her cheeks is anything to go by, she's doing that quite eloquently.
"Sweet Merlin!" Ron's mouth opens and closes, and Hermione can't tell if he's trying to censor himself or if he's just plain speechless. His eyes dart between Hermione and Millicent with nauseating speed. "Hermione!"
Hermione cringes and risks a glance at Harry, who looks like he can't decide whether he wants to laugh hysterically or offer his sympathies. It's disappointing, as she'd expected better from him, but she supposes she can't deny the shock value.
"I'm not discussing it," she finally manages to choke out, slumping backward, feeling oddly defeated.
Her words seem to break some sort of spell because Ron's dazed expression clears and suddenly he's bent over the table, laughing so hard Hermione thinks his head might explode. A part of her hopes it does.
"Bulstrode." Ron is barely able to get the name out between fits of wheezing. "And weren't you the one being all high and mighty just now, going on about never shagging someone you didn't want to?" he says, after a drawn-out struggle to contain most of his mirth. He wipes a tear from one eye and sighs. "Oh, Merlin. Millicent Bulstrode. This is priceless, I mean it. You're never living this one down."
It's obvious Ron thinks it was a one-off, maybe a drunken mistake or a desperation shag, and she has no intention of correcting him. Him or Harry. Instead she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, putting on as haughty a face as she can before she says, "There's absolutely nothing to live down."
"Of course not," Harry says, though he doesn't sound quite convinced.
"Guess I doubted the wrong Gryffindor's house pride." Ron grins at her, then polishes off his drink before setting the bottle on the table with a satisfied sigh. He stares at her for a moment, smiling widely, and Hermione refuses to give him the satisfaction of responding to the look on his face. Eventually, he leans forward and whispers, "Did she make you wear a set of whiskers? Or a tail? No, don't answer that." He waves his hands frantically, as if to swatting away any potential response. "I don't want to know, imaging it's bad enough. But on that note, I have to go home. Because nothing," he says, getting to his feet, "absolutely nothing, is going to top that and I'm leaving while we're still in the afterglow."
He pats Harry on the back, then leans across him and places a smacking kiss on Hermione's forehead. "We've all been there," he says as he pulls away, sounding almost kind. "I'll tell Luna you say hello." Then he winks at her and heads toward the fireplace to Floo home, and Hermione can tell he's chuckling the entire way.
Hermione watches Ron until he disappears, very aware of the expectant silence deepening between her and Harry. Refusing to meet his eyes, she takes another long drink of her beer, because Voldemort will rise again before she gives him the details he's obviously craving but trying not to beg for.
Eventually Harry squeezes her forearm in a gesture of sympathy. "You've given him ammunition for years, you know."
The words carry an unexpected sting, and Hermione closes her eyes and grits out a tired, "I'm well aware, thank you very much."
"But, honestly, shagging Millicent isn't so bad. I mean, sure she's a Slytherin and all -"
"Harry," Hermione says, lifting a hand, "I appreciate the attempt, really, but I'd rather not talk about it just now."
"Okay." He nods and it's obvious to them both their fun night out has died a painfully awkward death. He gestures toward her beer, "Why don't you just leave that and head home."
"Thanks, but this really needs finishing. You can go ahead, don't worry about me."
Harry sighs, looks like he's going to say something else, but just nods. He gets to his feet slowly, as if giving her time to ask him to stay, but she only offers a small wave. "Good night, Harry. See you Monday at the office."
"Unless I quit before then." Harry smiles. "See you."
With her two friends gone, and nothing else to occupy her thoughts, Hermione's mind slips back to Millicent and the scene that could be playing out behind her. Part of her wants to look and see what the two women are up to: if Alicia's managed to stick her tongue down Millicent's throat yet, or if they've vacated the premises entirely, off to slip into something more comfortable and before slipping into each other. But a larger part of her just wants to make a break for it, preferably before Millicent notices her and awkwardness, or pity, or indifference ensues.
She finishes her drink with haste, and starts to scoot her way out of the booth, careful to keep her face turned away from the bar, as if her mass of curls isn't equally identifiable to someone intimately acquainted with them. She is just about to stand when, in complete defiance of all conscious commands, her eyes turn rebelliously toward the front of the pub, narrowing in on the exact spot Millicent and Alicia were standing mere minutes ago.
The spot is empty, the two women gone.
For a moment Hermione actually feels light-headed, and she closes her eyes, one hand bracing against the table for support. She hates herself a little bit for feeling this way, even though she can't quite define it, whether it feels more like disappointment or rejection or something more insidious. It's not like Millicent actually leaving with Alicia has anything to do with her, after all. She is not with Millicent in any kind of real way, and certainly never expected her to not sleep with other women during the course of what can probably most accurately be described as their mutual back scratching.
Still, that does nothing to stop the wild, half-formed thoughts that are suddenly charging through her brain, like maybe she should hunt the two down and curse Alicia's nose off. Or Transfigure Millicent's thrice-cursed cat into a chastity belt to which only she has the key.
Hermione is telling herself these are not the thoughts of a woman who does not care who Millicent shags when she notices the woman in question weaving through the crowd, a bottle of beer clutched in each hand. When their eyes meet Millicent offers a small nod, obviously making her way over, and Hermione thinks she's light-headed all over again, this time with something that feels too much like relief for comfort.
Irritated, Hermione frowns, belatedly realizing Millicent will doubtless think the expression is aimed at her. Still, she doesn't soften it, since there's no reason to let Millicent think she's overly pleased to see her.
When Millicent reaches Hermione's booth she doesn't wait for an invitation, just sits down and slides one of the beers across the table. "Hermione," she says, her lips curving into what Hermione's begun to consider the Slytherin equivalent of a genuine smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Hermione almost asks if that was why Millicent was chatting up Alicia, but her better sense takes over just in time and she manages a less damning, "Ron wanted a night out," instead.
"Not much of a night out," Millicent says, after a glance at her watch.
"Well, he is a married father of two," Hermione says, and shrugs. Millicent is visibly surprised by the terse answer, but manages to hide it quickly, taking a long pull from her beer.
A strained silence follows, with Hermione staring at Millicent, and Millicent frowning down at the table. It goes on long enough that Hermione honestly wonders if Millicent would notice or care if she got up and left, and it makes her more than half-tempted to do it. Better to storm off in a huff than sit here in a mood and let Millicent wonder at its cause.
But she finds she can't be quite that rude, so she reaches for the beer Millicent bought her. She's probably had too much to drink tonight already, but, with the way things are going, a bit more alcohol could hardly hurt, and it might even be beneficial.
"What are you doing here?" she says after a moment, unable to take the silence any longer.
Millicent shrugs, looking disinterested, her eyes roaming the pub as if she wishes she hadn't sat down and was mingling instead. "I was bored," she says finally. "I sent a note to your office, to see if you wanted to meet up tonight, but you didn't reply."
Hermione doesn't know if she should feel relieved by that, that Millicent wanted to see her but couldn't get hold of her.
"I left early. I'll probably find the note in my in-box Monday."
Millicent smirks. "Feel free not to respond."
"Oh, I won't" Hermione says, cringing at her own pointed tone.
"Right," Millicent says, and she's frowning at the table again, though this time she looks more confused than mutinous. Despite her irritation, the sight floods Hermione with guilt, and she's trying to think up a believable excuse for her behavior when Millicent reaches out and grabs her hand in a firm grip.
"Fancy a night-cap at my place?" she says, when she knows she has Hermione's full attention.
Hermione's never turned Millicent down, she's never considered it. And somehow, as of late, there hasn't even been the need to ask the question, the two of them ending evenings spent together at one or the other's flat by unspoken agreement. But the thought of Alicia and what Millicent might have wanted to do with her, what she likely would have done if she hadn't noticed Hermione in her darkened corner, nearly makes her refuse out of hand.
This, Hermione thinks, means she should definitely stop spending nights with Millicent, now and for the foreseeable future, since it's obvious she is starting to care more than she has a right to about who else Millicent is inviting into her bed. And while it's probably natural for her to feel slightly...possessive of the source of such consistently amazing orgasms, it's not as if Millicent has a finite number of orgasms she can hand out, leaving Hermione no option other than to hoard them all for herself. The reality is neither she nor Millicent has ever pretended exclusivity, and Hermione should probably find another bed partner soon, even if she doesn't particularly want to, just to keep the scales balanced.
So yes, now would be a good time to nip this particular flower in the bud, before it grows into something Hermione isn't in control of.
Millicent, she notices, has grown tense, her knuckles turning stark white against the brown bottle clutched in her hand. Hermione wonders, with some reluctance, if the other woman knows what she is thinking, and if the thought actually upsets her.
If she's honest, Hermione can't imagine Millicent will find much to mourn when their arrangement ends, beyond the loss of a steady presence in her bed that is. Though, she supposes, the two of them have managed to become friends, of a sort, and while Hermione knows Millicent doesn't lack for friends, it isn't much of a stretch to think she's gotten used to spending time with Hermione. Maybe even come to enjoy it a little bit.
Which is another reason going home with Millicent is a bad idea. It's becoming more difficult to tell if they're simply casual sex partners or friends who regularly sleep together, and the ambiguity makes Hermione uncomfortable.
But, just as she opens her mouth to tell Millicent she has to give Crookshanks a bath, she thinks again about Alicia, and suddenly all she can see is Millicent shrugging her wide shoulders in response to the knock back, then going off in search of the very eager Chaser. Which definitely will not do, not tonight, and so a reason to turn Millicent down becomes a reason to accept. Hermione shrugs and says instead, "Why not?" and watches Millicent's lips curve into a smile that isn't quite.
~*~*~*~
When Hermione wakes the next morning, she is snug in Millicent's bed, with Millicent pressed up against her side, one arm lying across her back, and one leg slung over both her considerably shorter ones. The first time Hermione woke up to find herself pinned beneath Millicent - after finally allowing herself to fall asleep with the other woman as opposed to slinking from the bed as soon as the last aftershocks of orgasm faded - she'd felt embarrassed and awkward. Yes, it was difficult to control one's body during sleep, but the unconscious cuddling, or whatever it was, made the situation, already more intimate than Hermione was comfortable with, seem affectionate as well.
She had been trying to slip from beneath Millicent without waking her when the other woman roused, rolled onto her back, and, after patting Hermione's suddenly exposed arse with one broad and firm hand, mumbled something that sounded like, "Tight as a drum, isn't it," and fell back to sleep.
The timely observation shattered the atmosphere of unwanted emotion and, relieved, Hermione covered herself with the sheet and went back to sleep. It had been a long night, after all.
Now, months later, Hermione has no reservations about spending the odd night pinned by Millicent's warm weight, and she's even come to enjoy waking up with someone sleeping deeply and contentedly at her side. This, she's discovered with more than a little envy, is the only way Millicent knows how to sleep.
With that thought, Hermione turns her head to look at Millicent and notes she is very obviously still asleep, her mouth open and surprisingly soft snores vibrating in the back of her throat, sounding almost like a contended cat. She certainly looks at peace with the world, her lack of expression a far cry from the tension that tightened her lips and furrowed her eyebrows last night when they first arrived at her flat.
They had been women of few words then, and those that had been spoken were mostly demands: to remove a particular item of clothing, to go faster, or harder, or do it just like that. Thankfully, no mention was made of Hermione's odd behavior at the pub, or Millicent's whatever-it-was with Alicia, and Hermione very much wants that to remain the case this morning. Because, despite her recent, fleeting reservations, Hermione wants this arrangement with Millicent to continue. After all, Millicent is an excellent shag, a surprisingly deft conversationalist, and, far more than Hermione predicted beforehand, pleasing company. With no prospects for a real relationship anywhere on the horizon, Hermione doesn't see the point in giving up this one.
As if woken by the whir of Hermione's thoughts, Millicent stirs, and Hermione fights against a rush of trepidation as she watches Millicent stretch noisily and grumble at the morning. For a moment Hermione wonders if she should pretend sleep to stymie any conversation Millicent might want to have about alcohol-induced bouts of irrationality, the type of conversation that does no good for sex-based relationships. But she discards the idea almost instantly, since she's terrible at feigning unconsciousness. Instead she resolves to act as normal as possible, like there is no reason for anything to be awkward or strange between them.
"Morning," Millicent says, a good three minutes later, when she's finally reached full consciousness. Briefly she tightens her arm around Hermione shoulders, then she rolls onto her back and blows air noisily between her lips. Her voice is gruff when she says, "You been awake long?"
"I don't think so," Hermione says, because she honestly has no idea, having lost track of time while caught up in her own thoughts.
"You hungry?"
"Are you offering to cook?"
Millicent, always a bit irritable in the morning, snorts and pushes a large hank of black hair out of her face. "I asked if you were hungry, didn't I?" But she softens the words by running her fingers lightly down the length of Hermione's arm.
"Yes, I'll take a little something." Hermione smiles, relieved by the innocuous morning exchange. "Thank you."
Millicent gives a quick nod and gets to her feet, grabbing a robe from the closet before disappearing into the hall.
Hermione releases a relieved breath when the first sounds of Millicent banging around in the kitchen reach her, sure she's been spared having to make potentially awkward explanations. Millicent is not one to avoid a subject she wants to discuss, no matter how unpleasant, and her normal behavior his morning can only mean she didn't notice anything off last night. Or, if she did, simply doesn't care. Hermione tells herself it's a blessing.
Not, she knows, that she is out of the woods completely. Ron, and maybe even Harry, will have a few words to say the next time they see her and, realistically, she'll have to let them get their jabs in. But it will have to be a one-off, because she has no intention of being teased over Millicent the rest of her life, or for any more than half an hour, really. Any longer than that, and she isn't sure she'll be able to stop herself from saying something ill-advised.
Feeling more at peace, and equipped to face the day's challenges, Hermione settles deeper into the pillows and closes her eyes on a contented sigh.
Some minutes later, Millicent returns, carrying a tray brimming with toast, eggs, sausages, and two cups of coffee. She sets it on the bed beside Hermione, then removes her robe and slips back beneath the covers. Hermione, careful not to out-and-out ogle, allows herself to enjoy the way the muscles of Millicent's shoulders and arms ripple and bulge as she tucks the blanket in around her waist.
When the show is over, Hermione grabs a coffee and smiles. "Breakfast looks delicious," she says, resisting the urge to lean over and press a kiss to Millicent's cheek at the other woman's small grin. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Millicent says, reaching for her own cup. "So, plans for the day?"
Hermione shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of coffee before saying, "Not really. Well, I do have to go to Diagon Alley to meet Ginny at some point. We're having final fittings on the wedding robes, but after that I'm just going back home," she adds, in case Millicent wants to invite her back over.
Millicent doesn't say anything to that, but Hermione's trying to decide between eggs and toast and doesn't notice the silence. Eventually she chooses toast and, between bites, glances at Millicent, surprised to see the other woman sitting with her arms crossed and a decidedly annoyed expression on her face.
"What is it?"
Millicent chuckles, but it's a weary sound, and Hermione feels a prickle of alarm. "I've been waiting for you to invite me to Harry and Ginny's wedding. Guess I'll be waiting a long time, won't I?"
The words are the last Hermione expected and she thinks the shock momentarily stops her heart. Her mouth certainly goes dry, and she has to spit a bit of toast into her napkin or choke on it. "Sorry?" she says, wanting clarification, just in case Millicent doesn't mean what Hermione thinks she does.
"I want to know if you're going to invite me to Harry and Ginny's wedding. Or invite me out with your friends, ever."
"I - I hadn't thought..." Hermione clears her throat, not having the first clue what to say, completely unprepared for this subject. "You want to go with me to the wedding?"
"Why wouldn't I want to go with you?" Millicent counters, her tone going from cautious to incredulous at Hermione's bewildered look. "Has it even occurred to you to ask me?"
Still in the midst of being stunned, Hermione says something that, had she stopped to think about it at all, would never have crossed her lips. "Actually, no, it hasn't."
The awkwardness is instantaneous and overpowering, and Hermione's too caught up in the horror of her own words to do more than stutter for long, horrible moments, and watch Millicent's face turn a deep red. Eventually she forces out a strained, "Millicent, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean -"
"Of course you did." Millicent's words are clipped, and Hermione notices hands are clenching and releasing rhythmically. "Are you ashamed of me? Is that the reason?"
"What? That's ridiculous -"
But Millicent isn't done. "Obviously something's bothering you, otherwise why -" She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "Is it because your friends won't approve? Are they going to make fun of you because I'm not as pretty or as clever as the other women you've slept with? Or is it because I was sorted Slytherin at school?"
"This is an ambush," Hermione says, because, at the moment, that's all she can think. "I mean, where is this even coming from?"
"Where's this coming from?" Millicent seems to swell in size, until it feels like she is towering over Hermione, but in reality she's only leaned forward, invading Hermione's personal space. "We've been sleeping together for months. Months in which neither of us has shown interest in anyone else, I might add."
"Well, neither of us has shown any interest in taking this outside the bedroom, either," Hermione says, knowing even as she says the words they aren't completely true. Meeting up for drinks, both alcoholic and not, trips to the book store, watching Muggle programs on the telly, are all things they have done together with increasing regularity. Just because they want to. None are prerequisites for shagging.
"I'm sorry," Millicent says, heavy on the sarcasm, "I didn't think you were a woman who'd fuck the same person for nearly half a year if it didn't mean anything."
The obscenity is a shock, and Hermione recoils physically, her mouth twisting in distaste. "Obviously you thought wrong."
The words are the harshest spoken yet, and Hermione is instantly sorry. Especially when Millicent's lips thin and she turns away like she can't stand the sight of Hermione's face.
"Millicent, please," she says, grabbing the other woman by the shoulders, trying to make her turn back. Millicent doesn't budge, and all Hermione can do is watch the muscles in her jaw bunch and flex with growing unease. "I'm sorry, it's just - we never wanted..." Hermione trails off, not sure where she's going with this, but feeling the urge to speak nonetheless, if only to keep Millicent from saying something she doesn't want to hear. "Don't ruin this."
"Ruin this?" Millicent's laugh is harsh. "I thought this wasn't anything? Isn't that what you said? How can you ruin nothing?" Millicent gets to her feet, starts yanking on her trousers from the night before, looking for all the world like she's going to storm out of her own flat. "Is nothing why you spend nearly every weekend here? Why you stay for breakfast, or looked a second away from hitting Alicia with a Bat-Boogey Hex last night? Is a casual shag the reason you're on the verge of tears right this second?"
"Wait a minute, were you trying to make me jealous?" Hermione says, desperate to latch on to something that will divert the conversation from her feelings. "Last night with Alicia, I mean."
Millicent closes her eyes and sighs, shoulders drooping as she lets out a long breath. "No, Hermione," she says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "I wasn't. I didn't even know you were there until after I started speaking with her."
"All the more reason for you the two of you to get friendly."
"Merlin, Hermione, are you even listening to yourself? It was completely harmless. Alicia likes to flirt, but she doesn't really want anyone but Bell. And anyway, I've got too many relationship problems of my own to worry about hers, too."
Hermione's righteous indignation fades just like that, and she collapses back against the headboard, rubbing at her forehead. The room falls silent, and Hermione feels the bed dip as Millicent sits down. She thinks she can feel the other woman's eyes on her, but she refuses to look to be sure.
"Don't you have anything else to say?"
Emotions are overwhelming Hermione, but all she can manage is a defensive, "I'm sorry if I can't reply immediately to this…this attack."
"Fine." Hermione doesn't like the resignation she hears in Millicent's voice. "I did spring this on you, and I'm sorry, but what we're doing, the way we're doing it, it doesn't work for me anymore. I need us to be something meaningful or quit this altogether. I can't live in limbo anymore." Hermione's stomach plummets, but she still doesn't look at Millicent. After a moment, Millicent continues, "You're not the only one who went against type, you know. You think my friends won't screech with laughter when they find out? Though I'm starting to think I won't have to worry about that."
The vulnerability in Millicent's voice is wrenching, and already Hermione hates herself for hurting the other woman this way. She wants to take everything back, but the apologies are choking on her pride.
"Millicent -"
"I'd like you to leave."
Hermione lurches upright and reaches toward Millicent, but the other woman moves out of her reach. "Now, Millicent -"
"I'd like to be alone, Hermione. Please."
Millicent's words, her rigid posture and steely glare, leave no room for argument. Hermione Disapparates without even getting dressed.
Continued in Part II
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hermione/Millicent
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11.130
Summary: Hermione and Millicent have an unspoken - and secret - arrangement. When Ron and Harry find out about it, and Millicent tries to change the terms, Hermione gets a bit overwhelmed.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, that's all J.K. What you see here is simply derivative, non-commercial fanfiction.
Author's Note: One-shot. Post-Hogwarts. Not canon compliant. Happy reading.
~*~*~*~
"Hermione." Ron, who has been saying her name, and being ignored, for nearly five minutes, is beginning to sound desperate. A bit hoarse, too, though Hermione doesn't know if it's because of a true rawness of the throat, or an auditory hallucination brought on by her own burgeoning guilt. Blatantly ignoring a good friend who is begging for one's attention is hard on a conscience, even when it is Ron, and Hermione knows she is not far from breaking. Which is, of course, the last thing she wants to do, but unfortunately she's not made of complete stone.
Still, she tries. Taking another sip of beer, hoping the alcohol will dull the sharp prick of guilt, she forces herself to focus on Harry, who is telling her about the fireworks the twins want to set off during his wedding to Ginny. It sounds positively terrifying, and likely quite dangerous - Hermione is envisioning Prophet headlines screaming of disaster and number of injured parties - but those are the twins for you.
"Hermione. Please?"
That last pathetic entreaty is the proverbial straw and, defeated, Hermione turns to Ron. "What?" she says, tone as annoyed as she can make it - which is quite aggrieved - hoping to impress upon him that this is not a conversation she wants to have. But of course he doesn't notice, busy as he is looking past her, toward the bar where Alicia Spinnet has been standing since they left her there nearly half an hour ago, when Harry decided he wanted to sit in a newly vacated booth. Ron had invited Alicia to sit with them, but, much to Hermione's relief, she declined. Not that Hermione dislikes Alicia; quite the contrary, in fact. It's just she'd wanted to avoid Ron's match-making attempts. The man is even more unsubtle than his mother, an impressive, but presently inconvenient, accomplishment.
But, unfortunately for Hermione, putting the length of the pub and near fifty people between her and Alicia has done nothing to deter Ron's enthusiasm for his plans.
"She's staring at you."
Ron's excitement as he relays this tidbit nearly has him bouncing in his seat, and Hermione closes her eyes and counts slowly to five. "Lovely. Now if only I cared."
"I think," Ron cranes his neck again to see over her head, "yes, she definitely wants you to turn around."
"I'm not going to."
"Just a little wave, then."
"No."
"But, Hermione -"
"No, Ron," Hermione says, her tone probably just a little too curt, but honestly.
There's a disgruntled silence, which Hermione uses to encourage Harry to continue with his explanation, then, "Bit rude tonight, aren't you?"
"Not really," Hermione says, speaking through clenched teeth, trying to sound more conversational because, yes, she is being rude. Though, it's becoming obvious that the only conversational tools that will get through to Ron right now are blunt ones. "I've already told her I have plans for the evening, so there's no sense encouraging her."
"Lies," Ron breathes, and if he was trying for an impersonation of a scandalized Molly Weasley, he was spot on. "You've no more got plans than I have."
Hermione sighs, taking a moment to ponder how well Ron might have done in school if he'd paid half as much attention to lessons as he does her love life. The brightest witch of their age might well have been a wizard had that been the case.
"Sorry," she says, "but I thought that was more polite than telling her I didn't fancy going back to hers for a drink and a shag."
Ron sways like he's taken a Bludger to the head, one hand clutching at the table. "But, but she's dead sexy." His gaze swings to Harry, searching for support. "Scorching really."
Harry, ever the diplomat, shrugs and mumbles, "I really hadn't noticed," against the rim of his glass.
"Coward. I saw you clock her in that skin-tight jumper, don't think I didn't. I'm a happily married man and even I noticed. There's no harm in it," he adds, defensively.
Inherent disapproval of such debasing comments aside, Hermione has to agree that Alicia looks lovely in that jumper. But then, Alicia's always filled out her clothes very nicely. There was more than one occasion, back at Hogwarts, when Hermione found herself entranced by the way Alicia's Quidditch uniform managed to emphasize her assets when it made every other female player depressingly shapeless. And though it had embarrassed and confused her at the time, the sight of Alicia's arse in those trousers had done more for Hermione's bedtime fantasies than any kiss from Ron ever had. But Hermione would burn all of her copies of Hogwarts: A History before admitting to an appreciation of Alicia's form within hearing distance of Ron, who would likely take it as permission to comment on the appearance of every woman they came across.
"Ron," she says instead, giving him an oft-used look of impatience, "she's got a mind, too. And I've already told you, my being a lesbian does not mean you get to give me a running commentary on which women I should see. In fact, I'd rather you say nothing on the subject at all."
"Fine." Ron falls back against the booth cushion, his demeanor so petulant Hermione's surprised he doesn't cross his arms over his chest and stick out his lower lip. "But I still say that's your loss. I've a keen eye, you know."
Hermione opens her mouth to tell him that, with the exception of Luna, his "eye" has always been highly suspect, but she's interrupted by Harry, who guffaws and says, "Coming from the man who had a one-night -"
"Hey!" With reflexes Hermione hasn't seen in a long time, Ron throws a peanut across the table, hitting Harry in the forehead just above his scar. "Shut it, or do you want me trotting out the names of all your prize pulls?"
The protracted silence that follows is answer enough, and Ron's lips twist into a knowing smile as he gives himself a self-congratulatory nod. "Yeah, that's right, aren't so eager to share now, are you?"
"Ancient history," Harry says, after a few false, stuttering starts, "considering I've been with Ginny three years."
"And I've been married for five, so your crimes are much more recent than mine."
"Crimes?" Hermione echoes in disbelief, while Harry says, "Not near as bad, though, you've got to admit."
"Admit? There's nothing to admit." Ron is clearly affronted, and Hermione well-reminded of why she never minds them having their "boys only" nights. "In fact -"
"Please stop," Hermione says, torn between disgust at her friends' exchange, and relief that Ron's focus has moved off her potential bed-partners. "I did not come out tonight to hear you two talk about the women you've shagged. And, honestly," she continues, not able to leave well-enough alone, "I will never understand how you can sleep with someone you're ashamed to admit to being with afterward. It makes absolutely no sense."
"Ha." Ron points a finger in her direction and Hermione frowns back at him. "Like I'm going to believe that one. Don't even try it," he says, when she starts to protest, "I won't believe a word. Everyone's past has at least one horror story, someone you'd rather vomit slugs than admit to shagging."
"Coming from a man who would know," Harry says, snickering, and Hermione almost laughs along with him. Instead she reaches for her beer and lifts it almost to her lips before saying, primly, "Not me. I've never slept with anyone I wasn't attracted to and didn't absolutely want to be with."
Ron makes a rude noise before muttering, "Not bloody likely. Everyone's blind desperate at least once in their life, present company most definitely included."
"I'm sorry," Hermione says, unable to believe that Ron is actually going to argue with her about this, "but some of us have more -"
"Here's an idea," Harry says, grabbing her shoulder and eyeing the bottle clutched in her hand like he's afraid she's going to lunge across the table and try to shove it up Ron's nose, "how about we change the subject?"
Already distracted by something going on at the bar, Ron waves a hand and says, "Whatever," at the same time Hermione answers with a decisive, "Yes, please."
"So," Harry says after a moment, voice bursting with forced enthusiasm, "how about those -"
"Damn," Ron interrupts, slapping an open hand on the table. "You've been replaced."
"What do you mean?" Harry says, and Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose because there is only one possible answer to that question, and it is a subject she'd hoped not to visit again for the rest of the night.
"Alicia's got her eye on someone else," Ron says, and he couldn't sound more dejected if he'd been the one Alicia had her eye on.
Hermione rolls her eyes. "How tragic."
"Ugh. Speaking of tragic, look who she's got her eye on now. Honestly, where's her Gryffindor pride?"
Hermione doesn't want to look, but curiosity, no matter how reluctant, has ever been her weakness and she turns toward the bar. The pub has gotten more crowded since they sat down, and it takes her a moment to find Alicia, but when she does, and when she recognizes the woman with her, Hermione's eyes nearly pop from their sockets.
Standing next to Alicia, looking altogether too large for the crowded space, is Millicent Bulstrode. Never a dainty girl, Millicent's somehow managed to grow more imposing since Hogwarts, her solid form broad-shouldered and powerful-looking in a way that demands attention. Most of it of the intimidated variety.
Not that she looks particularly intimidating at the moment, Hermione thinks, struggling to process the sight of Millicent lounging lazily against the bar while Alicia offers her a suggestive smile. Hermione doesn't think she's ever seen the other woman so at ease in a public setting, and she frowns, hand tightening to a fist, as Alicia steps closer to Millicent and runs not-so-subtle fingers along her forearm. When one side of Millicent's mouth quirks in a quietly pleased grin, Hermione nearly lurches to her feet, her first instinct to charge across the room and make her presence very known. Possibly with a stinger to Millicent's arse. But, thankfully, Hermione is quick to remember Millicent's personal life is none of her business, and if she tried to interrupt not only would she cause a scene, but Millicent would not be pleased, Ron would have a field day, and, most humiliating of all, Millicent would probably send her scuttling back to her booth before continuing to preen under Alicia's attentions.
"Now who's being rude," she says, irritated by Ron's automatic denigration of Millicent.
"Excuse me? It's Millicent Bulstrode," Ron says, like he can't believe Hermione is chastising him. "You remember her, don't you? Slytherin extraordinaire, tried to pop your head off your shoulders. Multiple times if I'm not mistaken."
"That was a long time ago," Hermione says, mumbling in her distracted state.
"Maybe, but I can still see the dent she put in your neck."
"Careful, Ron, you don't want Bulstrode to overhear." Harry follows Hermione's gaze, looking genuinely worried, though Millicent hasn't so much as glanced in the direction of their booth. "She might try for a repeat performance, and I don't think I've the strength to pry her off this time."
"Merlin, don't even say it. She'd enjoy it too much. Probably some twisted kind of foreplay for her."
Harry's mouth twists. "Maybe."
It takes more effort than it should for Hermione to turn away from Millicent and Alicia's antics - Alicia is trying to feed Millicent a maraschino cherry, looking ridiculous standing on her tiptoes, arm almost fully extended to reach Millicent's mouth - but she does and manages to level Ron with a beady-eyed stare as well.
"Could you manage to be just a little less disgusting?"
"I think she's even taller than I am," Ron says, not marking Hermione's agitation because he's preoccupied, letting his eyes travel the length of Millicent's form, appraising. "Not that I'd get close enough to find out, mind. Can you imagine sleeping with a woman whose hands could crush your skull?" He turns to Hermione, who is still glaring, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively, obviously expecting some sort of response, be it denial or more outrage. When Hermione doesn't say anything, he gives her arm a playful shake, trying to coax a smile. "Well, can you?"
"Ron," Hermione starts, fully intending to insult his maturity level again before assuring him that she has no intention, now or ever, of imagining sex of any kind with Millicent Bulstrode. But the lie, one she is sure is only a pale gray, catches just long enough in the back of her throat to make her reconsider the words altogether. Not to say she wants to tell Ron the truth, because that would be a ridiculous given that Ron is making fun and Millicent is giving another woman the eye less than a stone's throw away. But her mind and mouth can't agree on what she should say, so for long, increasingly awkward moments, she says nothing at all.
And as Ron continues to stare at her, and she at him, the cheeky smile slips from his face, until his jaw is so slack Hermione imagines she can see every last one of his teeth, and enlightenment dawns. In tandem, their eyes begin widen, in shock and desperation respectively, until Ron finally whispers, sounding almost afraid, "Have you imagined?" His gaze flickers toward the woman in question, then he leans forward, offering an even more hushed, "Have…have you done more than imagine?"
Harry's reaction to that hesitant inquiry is instantaneous and frightfully loud. "You've shagged Bulstrode?" he says, nearly falling out of the booth in his haste to face her.
Hermione wants to deny it, she wants to clap her hands over Harry's and Ron's mouths and tell them both to keep their bloody voices down. Or, better yet, she wants to pull out her wand and hit them both with Memory Charms and erase the last five minutes from their minds. But her voice seems to have evaporated, so she does the only thing she can, which is blush. If the warmth creeping up her neck and across her cheeks is anything to go by, she's doing that quite eloquently.
"Sweet Merlin!" Ron's mouth opens and closes, and Hermione can't tell if he's trying to censor himself or if he's just plain speechless. His eyes dart between Hermione and Millicent with nauseating speed. "Hermione!"
Hermione cringes and risks a glance at Harry, who looks like he can't decide whether he wants to laugh hysterically or offer his sympathies. It's disappointing, as she'd expected better from him, but she supposes she can't deny the shock value.
"I'm not discussing it," she finally manages to choke out, slumping backward, feeling oddly defeated.
Her words seem to break some sort of spell because Ron's dazed expression clears and suddenly he's bent over the table, laughing so hard Hermione thinks his head might explode. A part of her hopes it does.
"Bulstrode." Ron is barely able to get the name out between fits of wheezing. "And weren't you the one being all high and mighty just now, going on about never shagging someone you didn't want to?" he says, after a drawn-out struggle to contain most of his mirth. He wipes a tear from one eye and sighs. "Oh, Merlin. Millicent Bulstrode. This is priceless, I mean it. You're never living this one down."
It's obvious Ron thinks it was a one-off, maybe a drunken mistake or a desperation shag, and she has no intention of correcting him. Him or Harry. Instead she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, putting on as haughty a face as she can before she says, "There's absolutely nothing to live down."
"Of course not," Harry says, though he doesn't sound quite convinced.
"Guess I doubted the wrong Gryffindor's house pride." Ron grins at her, then polishes off his drink before setting the bottle on the table with a satisfied sigh. He stares at her for a moment, smiling widely, and Hermione refuses to give him the satisfaction of responding to the look on his face. Eventually, he leans forward and whispers, "Did she make you wear a set of whiskers? Or a tail? No, don't answer that." He waves his hands frantically, as if to swatting away any potential response. "I don't want to know, imaging it's bad enough. But on that note, I have to go home. Because nothing," he says, getting to his feet, "absolutely nothing, is going to top that and I'm leaving while we're still in the afterglow."
He pats Harry on the back, then leans across him and places a smacking kiss on Hermione's forehead. "We've all been there," he says as he pulls away, sounding almost kind. "I'll tell Luna you say hello." Then he winks at her and heads toward the fireplace to Floo home, and Hermione can tell he's chuckling the entire way.
Hermione watches Ron until he disappears, very aware of the expectant silence deepening between her and Harry. Refusing to meet his eyes, she takes another long drink of her beer, because Voldemort will rise again before she gives him the details he's obviously craving but trying not to beg for.
Eventually Harry squeezes her forearm in a gesture of sympathy. "You've given him ammunition for years, you know."
The words carry an unexpected sting, and Hermione closes her eyes and grits out a tired, "I'm well aware, thank you very much."
"But, honestly, shagging Millicent isn't so bad. I mean, sure she's a Slytherin and all -"
"Harry," Hermione says, lifting a hand, "I appreciate the attempt, really, but I'd rather not talk about it just now."
"Okay." He nods and it's obvious to them both their fun night out has died a painfully awkward death. He gestures toward her beer, "Why don't you just leave that and head home."
"Thanks, but this really needs finishing. You can go ahead, don't worry about me."
Harry sighs, looks like he's going to say something else, but just nods. He gets to his feet slowly, as if giving her time to ask him to stay, but she only offers a small wave. "Good night, Harry. See you Monday at the office."
"Unless I quit before then." Harry smiles. "See you."
With her two friends gone, and nothing else to occupy her thoughts, Hermione's mind slips back to Millicent and the scene that could be playing out behind her. Part of her wants to look and see what the two women are up to: if Alicia's managed to stick her tongue down Millicent's throat yet, or if they've vacated the premises entirely, off to slip into something more comfortable and before slipping into each other. But a larger part of her just wants to make a break for it, preferably before Millicent notices her and awkwardness, or pity, or indifference ensues.
She finishes her drink with haste, and starts to scoot her way out of the booth, careful to keep her face turned away from the bar, as if her mass of curls isn't equally identifiable to someone intimately acquainted with them. She is just about to stand when, in complete defiance of all conscious commands, her eyes turn rebelliously toward the front of the pub, narrowing in on the exact spot Millicent and Alicia were standing mere minutes ago.
The spot is empty, the two women gone.
For a moment Hermione actually feels light-headed, and she closes her eyes, one hand bracing against the table for support. She hates herself a little bit for feeling this way, even though she can't quite define it, whether it feels more like disappointment or rejection or something more insidious. It's not like Millicent actually leaving with Alicia has anything to do with her, after all. She is not with Millicent in any kind of real way, and certainly never expected her to not sleep with other women during the course of what can probably most accurately be described as their mutual back scratching.
Still, that does nothing to stop the wild, half-formed thoughts that are suddenly charging through her brain, like maybe she should hunt the two down and curse Alicia's nose off. Or Transfigure Millicent's thrice-cursed cat into a chastity belt to which only she has the key.
Hermione is telling herself these are not the thoughts of a woman who does not care who Millicent shags when she notices the woman in question weaving through the crowd, a bottle of beer clutched in each hand. When their eyes meet Millicent offers a small nod, obviously making her way over, and Hermione thinks she's light-headed all over again, this time with something that feels too much like relief for comfort.
Irritated, Hermione frowns, belatedly realizing Millicent will doubtless think the expression is aimed at her. Still, she doesn't soften it, since there's no reason to let Millicent think she's overly pleased to see her.
When Millicent reaches Hermione's booth she doesn't wait for an invitation, just sits down and slides one of the beers across the table. "Hermione," she says, her lips curving into what Hermione's begun to consider the Slytherin equivalent of a genuine smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Hermione almost asks if that was why Millicent was chatting up Alicia, but her better sense takes over just in time and she manages a less damning, "Ron wanted a night out," instead.
"Not much of a night out," Millicent says, after a glance at her watch.
"Well, he is a married father of two," Hermione says, and shrugs. Millicent is visibly surprised by the terse answer, but manages to hide it quickly, taking a long pull from her beer.
A strained silence follows, with Hermione staring at Millicent, and Millicent frowning down at the table. It goes on long enough that Hermione honestly wonders if Millicent would notice or care if she got up and left, and it makes her more than half-tempted to do it. Better to storm off in a huff than sit here in a mood and let Millicent wonder at its cause.
But she finds she can't be quite that rude, so she reaches for the beer Millicent bought her. She's probably had too much to drink tonight already, but, with the way things are going, a bit more alcohol could hardly hurt, and it might even be beneficial.
"What are you doing here?" she says after a moment, unable to take the silence any longer.
Millicent shrugs, looking disinterested, her eyes roaming the pub as if she wishes she hadn't sat down and was mingling instead. "I was bored," she says finally. "I sent a note to your office, to see if you wanted to meet up tonight, but you didn't reply."
Hermione doesn't know if she should feel relieved by that, that Millicent wanted to see her but couldn't get hold of her.
"I left early. I'll probably find the note in my in-box Monday."
Millicent smirks. "Feel free not to respond."
"Oh, I won't" Hermione says, cringing at her own pointed tone.
"Right," Millicent says, and she's frowning at the table again, though this time she looks more confused than mutinous. Despite her irritation, the sight floods Hermione with guilt, and she's trying to think up a believable excuse for her behavior when Millicent reaches out and grabs her hand in a firm grip.
"Fancy a night-cap at my place?" she says, when she knows she has Hermione's full attention.
Hermione's never turned Millicent down, she's never considered it. And somehow, as of late, there hasn't even been the need to ask the question, the two of them ending evenings spent together at one or the other's flat by unspoken agreement. But the thought of Alicia and what Millicent might have wanted to do with her, what she likely would have done if she hadn't noticed Hermione in her darkened corner, nearly makes her refuse out of hand.
This, Hermione thinks, means she should definitely stop spending nights with Millicent, now and for the foreseeable future, since it's obvious she is starting to care more than she has a right to about who else Millicent is inviting into her bed. And while it's probably natural for her to feel slightly...possessive of the source of such consistently amazing orgasms, it's not as if Millicent has a finite number of orgasms she can hand out, leaving Hermione no option other than to hoard them all for herself. The reality is neither she nor Millicent has ever pretended exclusivity, and Hermione should probably find another bed partner soon, even if she doesn't particularly want to, just to keep the scales balanced.
So yes, now would be a good time to nip this particular flower in the bud, before it grows into something Hermione isn't in control of.
Millicent, she notices, has grown tense, her knuckles turning stark white against the brown bottle clutched in her hand. Hermione wonders, with some reluctance, if the other woman knows what she is thinking, and if the thought actually upsets her.
If she's honest, Hermione can't imagine Millicent will find much to mourn when their arrangement ends, beyond the loss of a steady presence in her bed that is. Though, she supposes, the two of them have managed to become friends, of a sort, and while Hermione knows Millicent doesn't lack for friends, it isn't much of a stretch to think she's gotten used to spending time with Hermione. Maybe even come to enjoy it a little bit.
Which is another reason going home with Millicent is a bad idea. It's becoming more difficult to tell if they're simply casual sex partners or friends who regularly sleep together, and the ambiguity makes Hermione uncomfortable.
But, just as she opens her mouth to tell Millicent she has to give Crookshanks a bath, she thinks again about Alicia, and suddenly all she can see is Millicent shrugging her wide shoulders in response to the knock back, then going off in search of the very eager Chaser. Which definitely will not do, not tonight, and so a reason to turn Millicent down becomes a reason to accept. Hermione shrugs and says instead, "Why not?" and watches Millicent's lips curve into a smile that isn't quite.
~*~*~*~
When Hermione wakes the next morning, she is snug in Millicent's bed, with Millicent pressed up against her side, one arm lying across her back, and one leg slung over both her considerably shorter ones. The first time Hermione woke up to find herself pinned beneath Millicent - after finally allowing herself to fall asleep with the other woman as opposed to slinking from the bed as soon as the last aftershocks of orgasm faded - she'd felt embarrassed and awkward. Yes, it was difficult to control one's body during sleep, but the unconscious cuddling, or whatever it was, made the situation, already more intimate than Hermione was comfortable with, seem affectionate as well.
She had been trying to slip from beneath Millicent without waking her when the other woman roused, rolled onto her back, and, after patting Hermione's suddenly exposed arse with one broad and firm hand, mumbled something that sounded like, "Tight as a drum, isn't it," and fell back to sleep.
The timely observation shattered the atmosphere of unwanted emotion and, relieved, Hermione covered herself with the sheet and went back to sleep. It had been a long night, after all.
Now, months later, Hermione has no reservations about spending the odd night pinned by Millicent's warm weight, and she's even come to enjoy waking up with someone sleeping deeply and contentedly at her side. This, she's discovered with more than a little envy, is the only way Millicent knows how to sleep.
With that thought, Hermione turns her head to look at Millicent and notes she is very obviously still asleep, her mouth open and surprisingly soft snores vibrating in the back of her throat, sounding almost like a contended cat. She certainly looks at peace with the world, her lack of expression a far cry from the tension that tightened her lips and furrowed her eyebrows last night when they first arrived at her flat.
They had been women of few words then, and those that had been spoken were mostly demands: to remove a particular item of clothing, to go faster, or harder, or do it just like that. Thankfully, no mention was made of Hermione's odd behavior at the pub, or Millicent's whatever-it-was with Alicia, and Hermione very much wants that to remain the case this morning. Because, despite her recent, fleeting reservations, Hermione wants this arrangement with Millicent to continue. After all, Millicent is an excellent shag, a surprisingly deft conversationalist, and, far more than Hermione predicted beforehand, pleasing company. With no prospects for a real relationship anywhere on the horizon, Hermione doesn't see the point in giving up this one.
As if woken by the whir of Hermione's thoughts, Millicent stirs, and Hermione fights against a rush of trepidation as she watches Millicent stretch noisily and grumble at the morning. For a moment Hermione wonders if she should pretend sleep to stymie any conversation Millicent might want to have about alcohol-induced bouts of irrationality, the type of conversation that does no good for sex-based relationships. But she discards the idea almost instantly, since she's terrible at feigning unconsciousness. Instead she resolves to act as normal as possible, like there is no reason for anything to be awkward or strange between them.
"Morning," Millicent says, a good three minutes later, when she's finally reached full consciousness. Briefly she tightens her arm around Hermione shoulders, then she rolls onto her back and blows air noisily between her lips. Her voice is gruff when she says, "You been awake long?"
"I don't think so," Hermione says, because she honestly has no idea, having lost track of time while caught up in her own thoughts.
"You hungry?"
"Are you offering to cook?"
Millicent, always a bit irritable in the morning, snorts and pushes a large hank of black hair out of her face. "I asked if you were hungry, didn't I?" But she softens the words by running her fingers lightly down the length of Hermione's arm.
"Yes, I'll take a little something." Hermione smiles, relieved by the innocuous morning exchange. "Thank you."
Millicent gives a quick nod and gets to her feet, grabbing a robe from the closet before disappearing into the hall.
Hermione releases a relieved breath when the first sounds of Millicent banging around in the kitchen reach her, sure she's been spared having to make potentially awkward explanations. Millicent is not one to avoid a subject she wants to discuss, no matter how unpleasant, and her normal behavior his morning can only mean she didn't notice anything off last night. Or, if she did, simply doesn't care. Hermione tells herself it's a blessing.
Not, she knows, that she is out of the woods completely. Ron, and maybe even Harry, will have a few words to say the next time they see her and, realistically, she'll have to let them get their jabs in. But it will have to be a one-off, because she has no intention of being teased over Millicent the rest of her life, or for any more than half an hour, really. Any longer than that, and she isn't sure she'll be able to stop herself from saying something ill-advised.
Feeling more at peace, and equipped to face the day's challenges, Hermione settles deeper into the pillows and closes her eyes on a contented sigh.
Some minutes later, Millicent returns, carrying a tray brimming with toast, eggs, sausages, and two cups of coffee. She sets it on the bed beside Hermione, then removes her robe and slips back beneath the covers. Hermione, careful not to out-and-out ogle, allows herself to enjoy the way the muscles of Millicent's shoulders and arms ripple and bulge as she tucks the blanket in around her waist.
When the show is over, Hermione grabs a coffee and smiles. "Breakfast looks delicious," she says, resisting the urge to lean over and press a kiss to Millicent's cheek at the other woman's small grin. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Millicent says, reaching for her own cup. "So, plans for the day?"
Hermione shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of coffee before saying, "Not really. Well, I do have to go to Diagon Alley to meet Ginny at some point. We're having final fittings on the wedding robes, but after that I'm just going back home," she adds, in case Millicent wants to invite her back over.
Millicent doesn't say anything to that, but Hermione's trying to decide between eggs and toast and doesn't notice the silence. Eventually she chooses toast and, between bites, glances at Millicent, surprised to see the other woman sitting with her arms crossed and a decidedly annoyed expression on her face.
"What is it?"
Millicent chuckles, but it's a weary sound, and Hermione feels a prickle of alarm. "I've been waiting for you to invite me to Harry and Ginny's wedding. Guess I'll be waiting a long time, won't I?"
The words are the last Hermione expected and she thinks the shock momentarily stops her heart. Her mouth certainly goes dry, and she has to spit a bit of toast into her napkin or choke on it. "Sorry?" she says, wanting clarification, just in case Millicent doesn't mean what Hermione thinks she does.
"I want to know if you're going to invite me to Harry and Ginny's wedding. Or invite me out with your friends, ever."
"I - I hadn't thought..." Hermione clears her throat, not having the first clue what to say, completely unprepared for this subject. "You want to go with me to the wedding?"
"Why wouldn't I want to go with you?" Millicent counters, her tone going from cautious to incredulous at Hermione's bewildered look. "Has it even occurred to you to ask me?"
Still in the midst of being stunned, Hermione says something that, had she stopped to think about it at all, would never have crossed her lips. "Actually, no, it hasn't."
The awkwardness is instantaneous and overpowering, and Hermione's too caught up in the horror of her own words to do more than stutter for long, horrible moments, and watch Millicent's face turn a deep red. Eventually she forces out a strained, "Millicent, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean -"
"Of course you did." Millicent's words are clipped, and Hermione notices hands are clenching and releasing rhythmically. "Are you ashamed of me? Is that the reason?"
"What? That's ridiculous -"
But Millicent isn't done. "Obviously something's bothering you, otherwise why -" She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "Is it because your friends won't approve? Are they going to make fun of you because I'm not as pretty or as clever as the other women you've slept with? Or is it because I was sorted Slytherin at school?"
"This is an ambush," Hermione says, because, at the moment, that's all she can think. "I mean, where is this even coming from?"
"Where's this coming from?" Millicent seems to swell in size, until it feels like she is towering over Hermione, but in reality she's only leaned forward, invading Hermione's personal space. "We've been sleeping together for months. Months in which neither of us has shown interest in anyone else, I might add."
"Well, neither of us has shown any interest in taking this outside the bedroom, either," Hermione says, knowing even as she says the words they aren't completely true. Meeting up for drinks, both alcoholic and not, trips to the book store, watching Muggle programs on the telly, are all things they have done together with increasing regularity. Just because they want to. None are prerequisites for shagging.
"I'm sorry," Millicent says, heavy on the sarcasm, "I didn't think you were a woman who'd fuck the same person for nearly half a year if it didn't mean anything."
The obscenity is a shock, and Hermione recoils physically, her mouth twisting in distaste. "Obviously you thought wrong."
The words are the harshest spoken yet, and Hermione is instantly sorry. Especially when Millicent's lips thin and she turns away like she can't stand the sight of Hermione's face.
"Millicent, please," she says, grabbing the other woman by the shoulders, trying to make her turn back. Millicent doesn't budge, and all Hermione can do is watch the muscles in her jaw bunch and flex with growing unease. "I'm sorry, it's just - we never wanted..." Hermione trails off, not sure where she's going with this, but feeling the urge to speak nonetheless, if only to keep Millicent from saying something she doesn't want to hear. "Don't ruin this."
"Ruin this?" Millicent's laugh is harsh. "I thought this wasn't anything? Isn't that what you said? How can you ruin nothing?" Millicent gets to her feet, starts yanking on her trousers from the night before, looking for all the world like she's going to storm out of her own flat. "Is nothing why you spend nearly every weekend here? Why you stay for breakfast, or looked a second away from hitting Alicia with a Bat-Boogey Hex last night? Is a casual shag the reason you're on the verge of tears right this second?"
"Wait a minute, were you trying to make me jealous?" Hermione says, desperate to latch on to something that will divert the conversation from her feelings. "Last night with Alicia, I mean."
Millicent closes her eyes and sighs, shoulders drooping as she lets out a long breath. "No, Hermione," she says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "I wasn't. I didn't even know you were there until after I started speaking with her."
"All the more reason for you the two of you to get friendly."
"Merlin, Hermione, are you even listening to yourself? It was completely harmless. Alicia likes to flirt, but she doesn't really want anyone but Bell. And anyway, I've got too many relationship problems of my own to worry about hers, too."
Hermione's righteous indignation fades just like that, and she collapses back against the headboard, rubbing at her forehead. The room falls silent, and Hermione feels the bed dip as Millicent sits down. She thinks she can feel the other woman's eyes on her, but she refuses to look to be sure.
"Don't you have anything else to say?"
Emotions are overwhelming Hermione, but all she can manage is a defensive, "I'm sorry if I can't reply immediately to this…this attack."
"Fine." Hermione doesn't like the resignation she hears in Millicent's voice. "I did spring this on you, and I'm sorry, but what we're doing, the way we're doing it, it doesn't work for me anymore. I need us to be something meaningful or quit this altogether. I can't live in limbo anymore." Hermione's stomach plummets, but she still doesn't look at Millicent. After a moment, Millicent continues, "You're not the only one who went against type, you know. You think my friends won't screech with laughter when they find out? Though I'm starting to think I won't have to worry about that."
The vulnerability in Millicent's voice is wrenching, and already Hermione hates herself for hurting the other woman this way. She wants to take everything back, but the apologies are choking on her pride.
"Millicent -"
"I'd like you to leave."
Hermione lurches upright and reaches toward Millicent, but the other woman moves out of her reach. "Now, Millicent -"
"I'd like to be alone, Hermione. Please."
Millicent's words, her rigid posture and steely glare, leave no room for argument. Hermione Disapparates without even getting dressed.
Continued in Part II