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Hermione
It all started from a single question – spoken loudly and inappropriately like a harlot inside church.
The harlot was her; the church was Diagon Alley's newest club, pounding music and free-flowing liquor facilitating the feeling of its walls moving in. Hermione evaded the four sets of eyes staring at her like a prisoner dodging Azkaban.
"Sorry – didn't catch that."
And to prove it, she took a sip from the penis-shaped straw Ginny had insisted upon.
"Best cock of your life," repeated Lauren, her expression stoic. "Who was it?"
Fleur looked disgusted as Parvati spat part of her cocktail onto Hermione's shirt, giggling hysterically at the face she made.
Lauren was Harry's girlfriend of six months, bestowed the honour of bridesmaid (much to Ron's insistence) given Hermione's lack of female company. Ginny found the American witch rather hilarious and thought the question was justified, answering without hesitation.
"For me – Dean Thomas. Hands down. Although Harry gets honourable mention for effort."
"He certainly does," Lauren concurred.
Parvati nodded, drunk as Doxy on Christmas as she answered.
"I fucked Theo Nott at a wedding last year … Holy. Shit –"
"Ack," said Fleur, glaring at the witch next to her. "Wasn't 'is father a Death Eater?"
"Maybe. His son definitely knew how to eat something, though … "
Lauren and Ginny burst out laughing, but Hermione just glared in camaraderie with Fleur.
"Honestly," she said, looking away. "Must you all be so crude?"
"Come on, Hermione. Don't be such a prig," said Ginny, groaning. "This is your hen night! It's the one night of your life you can be dirty as you want."
Lauren nodded. "Exactly. And nice try – you still haven't answered."
"I – er, Ron. I guess?"
"The man you're marrying?" Lauren crinkled her nose as if her drink had a rather foul smell to it. "Really? No one marries the best cock of their life."
"I'm just … lucky, I guess."
"What Hermione means to say is that she's never slept with anyone else," said Ginny, very much wrong.
It wasn't Ginny's fault for not knowing. No one did and for good reason, judging from Fleur's reaction to the very mention of a one-night stand with Theo Nott.
No one needed to know about Hermione having an on-again-off-again fling with Draco Malfoy for the past five years, their flame rekindled every time she and Ron went on one of their many (many) breaks.
Lauren called a server over to their private booth inside the VIP section.
"Another round of Dragon Fizz shots, please."
To avoid any more questions and to keep from accidentally spilling the biggest secret of her life, Hermione took the shots that materialised out of thin air.
"Miss prude can drink, though," said Lauren, leaning back in the booth.
She really couldn't.
She was drunk, toeing the line of her limit.
But Hermione kept tipping her head back to each round of shots. She drank through that bloody pink straw, hoping that liquor might quench the nagging voice inside her mind.
You don't love him.
You want someone else.
It'll never work … not with Ron.
He was her best friend: her one and only, and she loves him, she does.
Did.
Loved, past tense.
She couldn't get that question out of her mind. It was all she could think about while the group of girls joked and drank. Even after they got drunk enough to hit the dance floor, her thoughts were preoccupied with him.
Hermione was never a girl's girl, and she was forever reminded of why at events like this.
Her memory felt hazy, and her limbs were heavy, and she could feel the familiar pull that happened every time she drank … The ache below her naval, a twinge wanting the forbidden.
Hermione slipped out of the club's back entrance while everyone danced to the newest Spellbound single. Once outside, she disapparated, half-hoping the splinching risk would take her out of the running before making the worst mistake of her life.
One of the worst. One of many.
Because soon, Hermione stood face to face with the answer she evaded earlier.
Draco
How could he say no?
When Britain's brightest witch appeared after midnight, removing articles of her clothing like his bedroom was a sauna.
"Granger, what are you doi —"
"I want you."
She removed the shirt reading 'Bride' in bold lettering, an unknown stain from some cocktail trailing red down its front.
She was drunk.
Beyond so.
"Where did you come from?"
"It's my Hen night."
Right. The ghastly Muggle tradition would be tragic were it not so beautifully ironic given where she ended up tonight.
Inside his room. Drunk, fast-approaching naked.
"You chose him," said Draco.
She might go back, but her counterargument this time was equally valid.
"I didn't choose him tonight," she said, whispering her own demise. "One last time, for old time's sake."
Draco never won any awards for morality and didn't plan on starting now. So he kissed back when she jumped forward; made her whimper by cupping her breasts, ripping off her bra, and brushing his fingers against her hardened nipples.
"I want you, Malfoy — fuck … I miss your cock." She grabbed said appendage, massaging him through tented fabric. "So much."
Her words were sloppy; she'd blush with embarrassment were it not for the blissful haze of intoxication.
Draco walked them toward his bed, not breaking the kiss. The back of her knees hit the mattress; she took a seat as he stayed standing.
She clarified her intentions, tugging down his trousers and pants and watching his cock spring free.
Draco sucked in a sharp inhale as she licked the tip, running her tongue along the underside of his length.
He used his fingers to coax her mouth wider, thrusting into warm wetness after she obliged. Her lips were perfect; she always looked fantastic like this, gagging and choking and dripping spit like the eager minx she pretended not to be. Sucking his cock without hesitation, groaning, so her mouth vibrated around him.
He had nearly come in his pants the second she started stripping, rock hard and ready from the long-overdue meet-up. So he let her suck him off to completion, knowing he wouldn't last long inside her this go around.
Draco watched as she swallowed, letting a tiny amount trickle down her chin.
How long had it been since he was inside her? A month? Two? Not since Weasley proposed.
He needed more. To taste her, to fuck her. To make her his.
"Lay back, Granger."
She opened her legs as Draco settled between them, whimpering her eager expectation — knowing he always returned the favour.
He leaned down, face-to-face with those perfectly pink lips, glistening with arousal and waiting patiently. "So wet already." He reached out, dipping inside her wetness and coating his fingers. "Just from sucking my cock."
Torture turned to foreplay; she begged for more as he ran his fingers along those parted lips, touching everywhere except where she wanted. She bucked her hips in desperation.
"Patience, Granger."
"I hate you."
"Hm. Interesting," he teased, thrusting two fingers inside her, curling against her most sensitive spot. "Could have fooled me."
Draco soon gave what she wanted, unable to wait any longer as he withdrew his fingers, arousal coating down to his knuckles.
He licked up her slit, starting at her centre and stopping right before reaching that bundle of nerves aching for attention. Her cunt tasted of freedom. Like heaven mixed with ecstasy, like 'one last time' wasn't enough.
He swiped his tongue against her swollen clit, and she dug all ten fingers into his hair, singing a melody of moans and pleas as he gently sucked the sensitive bud.
She loved when he alternated between flicking his tongue and sucking her off – driving her to the edge of that peak, then dragging her back. He didn't allow her the orgasm just yet, noting when both legs began tensing.
Instead, Draco moved up the length of her body, forcing her legs wider.
"You want me to fuck you, Granger?"
She moaned, nodding frantically.
"That wasn't an answer."
"Please … I need you; I want to. I want – ah, fuck, fuck, fuck."
He took her with little warning, not giving any tender moments to adjust as he stretched her.
There was no sweetness. Just lust, hard cock into wet cunt; her slickness aiding his brute showmanship.
Draco lifted her leg, positioning himself, so her clit had friction from the base of his cock.
"You sick of Weasley making love to you?" he asked knowingly. "When all you want is a hard fuck —"
"Yes."
Her breasts bounced in tandem with each thrust. Draco was drunk too, dizzy from the high of her body around his.
"Such a good whore," he said, not easing up. "What would people say – if they saw how much you loved this?"
She whimpered, losing all control when he reached down and drew gentle circles atop her hood.
"– if they knew how much you love the way I fuck you?"
She tensed, moments away from the inevitable.
" – if they could see you come on my cock right now?"
"I ... Gods, yes."
She followed it like an order, clenching around him as she yelled his given name alongside a multitude of curses.
If someone asked to define pleasure, the image of Hermione Granger unravelling beneath him would flash through his mind.
He followed soon after, filling her with one final thrust, imagining her as his, and only his.
They lay in bed together, their breathing turning from ragged to steady.
"I'm leaving him," was her version of pillow talk. "I swear this time ... It's over."
Draco would believe it when he saw it, but who was he to argue the beauty of Weasley getting dumped after his fiancé just fucked the person he hated most.
When Draco woke the next day, she was gone, the sheets still carved into the shape of her body.
Hermione
"Where were you?" asked Lauren when Hermione arrived back home, the blues and pinks of dawn starting to peak through her curtain.
They had all agreed to stay at Hermione's tonight, given her flat's central location within Diagon Alley and the night of heavy drinking that flooded their itinerary.
"I ... nowhere," she said, kicking off her shoes and stumbling inside the sitting room. "I took a long walk. Fell asleep on a bench outside Madam Malkin's."
Hermione and Lauren were the only ones up, the latter of the pair disregarding privacy and taking it upon herself to treat this as an interrogation.
"You aren't wearing a bra."
Hermione looked down, blushing at how the t-shirt left little to the imagination, her nipples peeking through its white fabric. Of all the nights to leave her undergarments in Malfoy's bedroom.
Of all the nights to end up there in the first place.
"I saw how you reacted ..." Lauren dropped her voice an octave. "When I asked that question … I won't tell –"
"There's nothing to tell."
Lauren pursed her lips, resembling someone about to tell a toddler no.
"Yeah … okay," she settled on instead. "Ginny was about ready to call the Aurors, so worried after you just vanished ... Lucky she found a wizard to go home with as a distraction."
Hermione battled waves of lingering drunkenness, taking a seat on the couch, and hanging her head.
"There's someone else, isn't there?"
Lauren was nothing if not blunt. And Hermione's silence became her admission.
"I love him," she said finally, hardly knowing who she referenced. "I can't pick –"
"You have to."
"And what if I pick wrong?"
"You might," said Lauren, conjuring a blanket and a pillow for Hermione to sleep with. "And that's alright ... Life is about making mistakes."
She didn't make mistakes ... Not like this. Not when so much was at stake.
So, she picked Ron.
She had always picked him, unable to imagine life without her best friend, her everything. He was safe and sturdy; would make her laugh every day. But she imagined someone else, too. With a cock like Adonis and a tongue coated in silver that could make her come every night.
She was going to hell. And somehow, all she considered was how he'd be right there beside her.
"Get some sleep, girl. Big day of shopping tomorrow — you still haven't found your dress yet, and the wedding's a month out."
"I can't pick."
"I know … You don't have to tonight."
Hermione
"What are you doing here?" asked Draco, newspaper falling from his hand onto the floor of his flat.
The cumbersome wedding dress must weigh half a stone, at least.
"I can't do it," Hermione said, tears pricking her eyes. "I can't marry him."
"You left Weasley at the alter?"
"What?" She looked down, following his wide-eyed gaze. "Oh, this? I was trying on wedding dresses for Molly and Ginny, and I just … panicked."
As if apparating to your ex-lover's flat was any way to deal with a fitting room panic attack.
Molly hardly needed another reason to distrust her. But she didn't care. She would be free of the woman soon enough, once the engagement was broken, uncaring how the world and the Weasleys saw her.
"It's you," she whispered, unable to tear her gaze away. "I choose you."
As if there was any choice in the matter.
His answer was a kiss, and she was reminded how much she missed the taste of spearmint on her lips and expensive cologne wafting into each nostril as her fingers entangled blond hair.
"I chose you too," he said when they finally broke apart, gasping for breath. "It's always been you, Granger."
His words while wearing white felt heavier than the wedding dress itself.
He moved to intensify the kiss, tugging at the expensive material. Hermione giggled her protest.
"Wait, Draco – I still have to return this to the boutique."
He made a show of ripping the dress, pulling the sweetheart neckline below her breasts.
"I'll pay for it."