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hp_goldenageTitle: Love and Other Forms of Chaos
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lumosed_quill
Characters/Pairings: Hermione/Millicent, (Harry/Draco, Rose/OMC, Ron/Lavender)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~7,650
Content: cunnilingus, mention of strap-ons, teen pregnancy, liberties taken with when the next gen kids were born, character death but not of anyone in the story:Arthur Weasley, but he died before the story at some point.
Prompt: After the dissolution of her marriage, Hermione finds herself a bit lost. The parting may have been amicable, but after spending the large majority of her life as Ron's wife, she's not sure how to start over. She begins to form a close intellectual relationship with her coworker, [Millicent]. The relationship deepens into something she doesn't expect.
Summary: "In the space between chaos and shape there was another chance." ~Jeanette Winterson
A/N: I really adored writing this prompt. I'd been wanting to do a longer, more in-depth femslash piece for some time, and this wonderful fest gave me the perfect opportunity! Thank you, mods, for running Salt & Pepper again! I was so happy to see it happening! And thank you to my brilliant (and many other lovely adjectives) beta. <3
~All Hallow's Eve~
"Pregnant?"
Surely she hadn't heard right. Yet Rose's silence seemed like confirmation.
"H-how?" Hermione choked.
Her daughter's head flickered in the Floo, she licked her lips, and then words – many disconcerting words – started flying from her mouth. Words like '…first time we've ever forgotten in, like, three hundred times…' Words like 'Zach and I' and 'but I'm staying at Hogwarts' and then it was just a lot of buzzing that could have been a dodgy Floo connection or maybe Hermione's head about to explode.
"She's due to arrive in the summer. I… I thought… Mum?"
"You're just eighteen."
"I know."
"I'm only fifty-three."
"Mum?"
"Did you say 'she'?"
Rose smiled. Not the patronising-her-mum smile that Hermione hated. The real one, bright and happy and genuine. She nodded. "At least we remembered how to use that spell." She gave Hermione a chagrined shrug.
Her daughter was having a daughter. Dear Merlin. In the summer. So soon. So fast. Hermione shifted on the rug to take the pressure off her bad knee. Rose began rambling on again, something about that Zabini boy being a good father, about how he wants to marry her but she's told him she wants to wait, about how the baby should arrive before the wedding and so—
"Wait, what? What wedding?"
"I— I thought you knew. He sent you an Owl. Oh Mum. Oh no. No no."
"Rose, slow down. What are you talking about? Who sent me an Owl?" Hermione looked around her office at the nearly thirty unanswered Owls piled on every surface. (Thankfully, the actual birds had gone. The Minister was going to give her such hell for it on her next performance review. Seniority might buy her leeway in using Owl post rather than the memo system, but—).
"I'm sorry, Mum." Rose interrupted her thoughts. "I didn't mean to… Oh shit."
"Rose, your mouth."
"I should go."
"Rose Weasley, you stay right there! Who's getting married?" Though Hermione was truly struggling to care. With every beat of her heart came a new realisation: nappies, crying, her daughter's life changed forever, she'd be a grandmother, a grandmother for Merlin's sake!
There was a long pause and another bitten lip. "It's Dad, Mum."
"What's Dad?"
"Dad and Lav. Ender," she corrected quickly. The two of them, Rose and Lavender Brown, had got on ever since Ron had started dating her again.
"What about your dad and—?" Hermione began, but then her brain caught up with her mouth. "Oh. Oh."
"Mum, it'll be all right, you'll see."
"Well, I know it will be all right, Rose. I'm not a child. I'm your mother." Hermione pushed a bushy lock of hair out of her eye with force. "I'm going to be a grandmother apparently. I'm perfectly all right! Everything's fantastic! Ron's remarrying. In the summer. After the baby comes. I'm happy for the jackass!" She hadn't realised that she'd begun to shout until she heard the cleared throat from her office doorway and turned to see her boss, Marla Danforth, and behind her someone who looked quite suspiciously like Millicent Bulstrode.
"I didn't mean to interrupt, Hermione, but if I could have a moment, I believe you know Millicent?"
"Er, yes." Pregnant. Grandmother. Remarried. Hermione blinked. "But I'm quite busy at the moment. I have my daughter here with urgent—"
But when Hermione turned back to the hearth, it was cold and dark.
"Or not," Hermione amended, sighing as she used the hearth to help her stand. Rose was most definitely in for it later. She couldn't just disappear after this and think things were dropped. No, Hermione would certainly be Flooing her common room (or sending a Howler) just as soon as she got, oh Merlin, Millicent bloody Bulstrode out of her office. Hermione brushed off her robes impatiently, and Millicent stuck out her hand.
Hermione frowned at it. "What's this about? What's going on?" She could hardly hear herself over the thundering of her own heart.
"It's good to see you, Granger. I'm your new partner."
Hermione felt the ground beneath her feet shifting. She held her breath for a moment, almost as though she could thereby stop time. When she exhaled, the word just spilled out; there was nothing she could do to stop it, and she didn't even think she wanted to.
"Bollocks!"
To which Millicent Bulstrode only smiled.
~
She was in Hermione's Room. In her Room. Nobody entered The Room of Unbridled Chaos without Hermione's permission.
"What the bloody hell are you doing in here?"
Millicent swished her wand. "I was just taking some measurements, making some calculations. Did you realise the waterfall that flows up also changes molecular structure from time to time? I was thinking—"
"Yes, I realised!" Hermione bit out. She took a breath and lowered her voice again."If you'll please come into the hall to talk about it. The Nifflers will wander." And they were, at that very moment, forming a bit of a mob, though a slow and ineffectual one, and making their adorable way toward the open doors.
"Of course," Bulstrode said amiably, which was not a tone Hermione was familiar with as far as Millicent was concerned. Millicent holstered her wand, and Hermione sighed with relief as she stepped out of the Room, Hermione's Room.
Hermione spun and began marching down the twisting and frankly surreally-constructed corridors of the Unspeakable floor.
"Where are we going?" Millicent asked on her heels.
"I am going to the Minster to straighten this out. You should never have been assigned to me, and this 'partnership' simply isn't going to work out, so—"
"You've been avoiding me for a week. It's really no wonder it's not working, wouldn't you say?"
When Hermione ignored her and proceeded down a short flight of stairs, Millicent persisted.
"Look, Granger, we can work something out. If you'd only slow down—"
"I'm afraid I don't have time to slow down." Though, truth be told, Hermione's dodgy hip was acting up already from her near-sprint. "I have a lot of work to do that doesn't require your assistance."
"Oh, my assistance." Millicent laughed.
"No offence."
"None taken," Millicent said, an unmistakable eye-roll in her voice.
The lifts shone a gilded gold in the low light at the end of the hall, and Hermione resolutely marched toward them, wincing a bit.
"I'm sure the Minister will be able to work out whatever mistake you've made and I—"
"Mistake I've made. Granger, for someone with a room full of chaos you sure seem to think you already know everything."
Hermione stopped abruptly and opened her mouth to, very possibly, shout, but Millicent startled her with a brandished purple memo.
"Found it."
"Found what?" Hermione snatched it out of her hand, to which Millicent gave a tiny smirk. Hermione read to herself, her frown deepening with every word.
"…because my project is 'floundering'?! How bloody dare they?"
"I know. It's a bit harsh, yeah? I happen to think you've maybe just reached a plateau, but you don't see the word 'plateau' much in office memos. Maybe whoever writes those things doesn't like French. Or geology. Or you."
"Wha—? I—"
"Keep reading." Millicent gave a nod at the paper now fluttering in Hermione's shaking fists.
Fuming, Hermione continued to the end, at which point the fuming turned to incredulous, dejected gasping. "It's only been three years. How long do they think it should take to prove the universality of patterns, for Merlin's sake? I'm only determining something as intrinsic to daily life as, say, I don't know, gravity!"
"Spot on." Millicent nodded.
"Well, if you agree with me, why are you here? Why are you…" She held the memo up and read from it directly, "'…being assigned to provide a much-needed counterpoint'?"
"Because a counterpoint is much-needed, I'm guessing?"
"Say them!"
The smirk was back now, and Hermione's fist practically itched. Though if she was honest it was really the Minster's jaw she'd most like to put a dent into. She'd avoided actually working with Millicent the short week she'd been hanging about, but with the Minister's seal of approval… Well, it wasn't all too likely Hermione was going to be able to get out of this. It wasn't Millicent's fault, either. She didn't especially deserve the throttling Hermione desperately wanted to dole out. She was just conveniently near and had the misfortune of being given this assignment, paired with having been a right terror to Hermione in their childhood.
"Granger," Millicent began now, settling her hands on the curve of her hips. "Do you mean to say you're entrenched in the magical sciences, and you don't believe your work requires the rigors of testing against other hypotheses?"
Hermione's jaw dropped and she hastily snapped it shut again with an embarrassing click of her teeth. Her face had begun to heat as well, and rather mortifyingly, she thought she could feel her hair getting bushier by the breath.
Millicent raised a patient and infuriating brow at her. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, avoided Millicent's rather invasive gaze, and sniffed. "No."
Millicent sighed, and the softening in her demeanor made Hermione glance up once again.
"You're looking to prove that everything ultimately forms a pattern. I happen to be an expert on chaos. You have a Room of Unbridled Chaos. Maybe we could even, I don't know… have some fun here? If you'll stop avoiding me."
A tiny war raged silently inside Hermione then. "I'm not doing this for fun," she said. And yet there was a twinkle in Millicent's eye. It was one Hermione had once seen in her own when she'd peered into a mirror. It was interest and fascination and pleasure at the thought of discovery.
Hermione had not seen that twinkle, in her own eye or anyone else's, for a very long time.
Remarried…
Pregnant…
Merlin. Her life was distinctly unfun at the moment. And it felt like a very long moment indeed.
Hermione unfolded her arms and stood straight again. She pressed invisible wrinkles from her robes. "I suppose I could use an extra set of hands."
"I'm not your bloody assistant," Millicent scoffed.
"Well, you do appear to have a working brain as well."
"Last I checked."
"I don't imagine I'm going to like you very much."
"Don't have to. Although, trying not to dislike me would be a great start. Loads of others in our year have managed to transcend the old…"
"Grievances?"
"I was going to say bollocks."
"Ah."
"Sorry for the chokehold, by the way."
It was true that they were long decades beyond such things. It was also true that Daphne Greengrass worked two levels above and they'd chatted over tea once or twice. And that Neville owned a business with Pansy Parkinson, of all people. And that Harry and Malfoy had completely transformed their seething hatred into nothing more than a bitter Quidditch rivalry that had lasted the span of their illustrious Seeker careers only to change shape again when they opened competing Quidditch supply shops upon retiring their brooms.
The least Hermione could do was give Millicent Bulstrode an inch.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Work begins at precisely seven each morning. The coffee cart in the canteen is terrible. I have tea and coffee in my office to which you are welcome. The beverages, not my office. I will not be sharing my office space with anyone. We can work out a new code for the room to which we each have access, but if you share it with anyone and I mean anyone I will personally see to your hexing, is that clear?"
Millicent just gazed at her for a moment. A moment that stretched out, lazy like a cat, in which her gaze dropped and travelled Hermione's body, down and then slowly back up. It made Hermione's elbows break out into a sudden and very odd sweat.
"Cream?" Millicent said finally.
"E—excuse me?"
"Do you provide cream for the coffee or should I bring my own?"
Hermione blinked, her lips instantly dry. "Er, there's milk. And, uh, cream. Yes."
"Good. All right." Millicent held out her hand.
Hermione hesitated but then saw no call to be as rude as she'd been before; she took it. Millicent's hand was warm and soft, her grip confident.
"I'll see you Monday," Hermione said.
"Right." Millicent spared her a small, amused grin.
Hermione slipped her hand free and then watched as Millicent retreated down the hall toward the lifts, only then noticing that her robes were a deep rich green rather than black.
~Christmas~
If it were only Rose and Hugo, Hermione would have said yes immediately. Of course she wanted to see her kids as much as possible while they were on holiday. She'd even put up with the Zabini boy if that meant spending Christmas Eve with her daughter and son.
Just not there. Not at the Burrow, with her former mum-in-law and all of Ron's brothers and Ginny and Ron himself and Lavender Brown and everyone laughing and talking and eating. God, if she had to watch Ron eat tonight, Hermione'd probably end up Obliviating herself.
It was still a tough call. Not seeing Rose and Hugo tonight meant only seeing them after Hermione got off work in the evenings and the one weekend before they went back to Hogwarts.
Hermione stood at the Floo in her bedroom. She'd dressed to go. She'd planned to just suck it up. But then she ended up staring into the cold grate for ten minutes, frozen to this one spot on the floor and imagining all those Weasleys and all that egg nog and all the noise and bluster and biscuits and cheer.
Hermione sighed. She loved her kids. She knew she'd even come to possibly sort of like Zachary Zabini. Her daughter was a smart young woman with very good taste, after all, and Hermione's patented dislike for the boy had much more to do with his vicinity to Rose the past three years than any personal deficit of his she could name.
But Christmas Eve at the Burrow… That was the last thing she wanted right now.
If she was honest, all she really wanted was to go into her office, set the coffee to brew extra strong, and sit in front of a roaring fire to contemplate the latest theory Millicent had thrown her way. She knew right where the parchments were, under the paperweight that Hugo's first transfiguration of cauldron to feather had become. Nothing budged from beneath it.
Hermione smiled to herself. She imagined opening the doors to her Room of Unbridled Chaos, the energy of it pulsing out around her, pulling her into its unpredictable swarm of magic. She imagined going over their latest figures with her sock feet propped up on her favourite ottoman. Her pulse beat faster at just the thought, and before she could talk herself out of it with internal remonstrations of 'You're being a Scrooge,' 'You're a no-fun fuddy duddy, Hermione Granger,' and worse, 'You're a bad mother,' Hermione threw some Floo powder down, stepped into the green flames, and set off to the Ministry.
It was chilly and near dark, and the sound of her shoes striking marble echoed like war drums through the foyer.
The hallways leading to her office were always at least dimly lit, but it had still taken her a long while to lose her fear of them – all those memories of running from Death Eaters; of the harsh, frightened breath of her friends at her back; of Ron and Harry, all of their lives in their own hands.
Harry. Hermione stopped short just steps from her office. Harry would also be at the Burrow tonight, and she'd miss seeing him for Christmas altogether.
"Shit," she whispered.
"Granger?" came a voice down the hall.
"Bulstrode?" Heat flared along Hermione's skin. Millicent wasn't supposed to be in her office, and yet— "What are you doing in here?" Hermione fumed as she rounded the corner and found her partner lounging in the very chair Hermione had imagined herself sinking into.
Like Hermione, Millicent hadn't bothered with her robes, it being late evening the night before Christmas and all that, and she sat there in dark trousers and a light blouse (untucked), her heels kicked off and tumbled haphazardly on the floor, one leg flung over the arm of Hermione's beloved chair. She had a parchment in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.
The whole office was fragrant and inviting with coffee and wisps of woodsmoke.
"I was thinking," Millicent began, ignoring Hermione's (albeit dampening) ire. "What if it's the human condition, a need and desire for pattern, that imposes patterns on an un-human universe? It's our inability to remove ourselves from the center of it all, right? To admit that chaos reigns. It's fear, Granger. What are we so afraid of?"
"Don't you mean, what am I so afraid of?"
Millicent merely raised an inquiring brow. The top buttons on her blouse were open, and her neck and chest were flushed with the heat of the nearby fire. Hermione shivered as the last of the night's chill warmed from her skin.
Millicent was in her office. It was definitely against the rules.
Hermione sighed and dropped her bottomless bag by the door, striding into the room. "I need a hot drink before I read your parchment there. It's bloody freezing tonight."
Millicent smiled at her, drew her wand, and shut the office door.
~New Year's Eve~
"I knew I shouldn't have gone with the black. I look like a bloody vampire."
"Oh Harry, you look brilliant," Hermione admonished even as she straightened his tie.
"How did I let you convince me to come to this thing anyway?" Harry abruptly unstraightened Hermione's work.
She sighed and left off. "Well, let's see. We haven't seen each other since the summer, and I bribed you with the idea that I'd buy you chips and a pint after."
"What do you mean 'the idea' that you'd buy me—?"
"Well, hello, Neville. It's lovely to see you," Hermione said, smiling as their friend wandered over to the buffet of finger foods beside which Harry had camped. Truly, he probably wasn't the best choice for a date to a Ministry New Year's Eve ball – too high profile and no chance of sex – but in a way both those things suited her as well. Though, Merlin, it had been a while. Hermione cringed inwardly, realising she'd been standing there staring at Neville Longbottom and unconsciously sizing him up as a possibility.
Bloody hell, no. Not even as fit as he'd got. Honestly, if Hermione ever wanted to have sex again, she needed to meet some people outside her current set of friends.
Working less than eighty hours a week would probably also be beneficial to the task.
Hermione sipped her Elven wine while Neville tried to discuss his and Parkinson's new hybrid plant with Harry, who seemed infinitely more interested in making a pyramid of cocktail sausages on his plate.
Once Neville excused himself, Harry leaned in and whispered to her, "If he's here, she's here."
"Who, Parkinson?"
"Yeah."
"So?"
"Well, if she's here, he's here."
"Malfoy?"
Harry rolled his eyes and took a bite of sausage. "Just what I need tonight."
"I thought you two had buried the hatchet."
Harry shrugged desultorily, gaze scanning the room in a way that meant he thought he was being subtle about scanning the room.
"You're an idiot," Hermione told him.
"He's the idiot." Harry's eyes stopped and fixed on a spot across the room.
"How old are you exactly? Twelve?" Hermione followed his rapt attention, and sure enough, there was Malfoy, blond as ever while Harry'd gone as much grey as black. Malfoy looked quite comfortable in his charcoal dress robes, very relaxed and in his element here as he laughed at something the woman with whom he was speaking said.
The woman gestured with a whiskey glass, and a sheath of dark green flimsy shawl slid from her arm, exposing a bare shoulder. Her answering laugh travelled the room, she tossed dark curls from her face and neck, and then she turned as though she felt Hermione watching her and—
"Is that Millicent Bulstrode with him? Don't you work together now?"
Hermione's mouth was dry, and it took her a moment to wet her lips to speak. In that moment, Millicent's gaze found hers, and her smile widened. She turned slightly, her shiny dress wrapped snug around her waist and hips, flaring and cascading to the ground. She gave Hermione a little wink.
Hermione swallowed. "No, not together," she began. "Well, yes, actually."
Millicent raised her whiskey glass – which Hermione nearly missed because she was staring at the way the dress nudged her breasts up and how the creamy flesh over the tight fabric rose and fell with her breath. But then the light caught the amber of the whiskey as it swirled in Millicent's hand, and Hermione managed to give a short nod of greeting, turning toward Harry and drinking down her wine in one last gulp. "I need another."
"Yeah, sure, me too. Although it's close to midnight. Should we switch to champagne?" They started over to the bar, and another of Millicent's throaty laughs made its way into Hermione's ear.
"Firewhisky?"
Harry smiled and gave Hermione a friendly elbowing. "Hell yes."
~
"Ten, nine, eight—"
Harry smiled, the joy in his eyes something she had very much missed of late, and Hermione found herself grateful that she had someone so innocuous to kiss in the next moment.
"—six, five, four—"
Yes, it was nice to be here with someone with whom she felt so safe, who didn't make her pulse pound or her elbows sweat.
"—two, one, Happy New Year!"
Hermione leaned in, and the corners of their lips met for two seconds. It was lovely and safe and nice.
When she turned, her gaze roving the room and finding dozens of other kissing couples, it didn't mean anything that Hermione's eyes fell on Millicent.
Malfoy had moved on, Merlin knew where, and Millicent stood surrounded by people yet alone. She didn't look lonely, though. She didn't look sad. The air around her seemed to crackle with life and energy. And not only that, but she was looking right back at Hermione, as though perhaps she had been for some time.
One corner of Millicent's lips curved up.
When Hermione realised she was staring, she averted her gaze. She spared Harry a perfunctory smile only to find his gaze had wandered as well and he seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd.
Hermione glanced back at where Millicent had been before, yet now the crowd had milled between them, blocking her line of sight.
"I…" Hermione wet her lips and touched Harry's arm to get his attention. "I think I'm going to go."
"It's only midnight," Harry said, and it was lovely that he sounded genuinely disappointed by her departure.
"Harry, I've normally been asleep two hours by now."
They said their goodnights, and Hermione made her way out of the ballroom and into the foyer. The sudden quiet felt reassuring, instantly calming her nerves.
Calm was good. Reassuring was good. Nice and safe and innocuous were good.
As Hermione walked, the memory of Millicent's curves hugged in that dress flitted into her mind… that slight smile, the knowing behind it.
For no reason that she could fathom – she was not being chased, after all, though that was certainly the tingling sensation at her back – Hermione picked up the skirt of her own dress and set out at a slight run toward the Floos.
~Valentine's Day~
Hermione passed the parchment over to Millicent without a word, starting in on the next pile of magical journal articles she needed to read while Millicent made her little noises of 'hmm' and 'mmyes' that Hermione had once found distracting in a bad way and now received with more mixed feelings.
She'd got used to Millicent mooching about in her office. She'd even got used to thinking of it as theirs instead. She'd never say it aloud, but Hermione had come to like the feel of another person's energy radiating through the space. She liked the occasional warm chuckle when Millicent read through the Prophet's editorial page, which she always did in the mornings before she'd start work for the day. She liked the way Millicent lounged. It belied the very hard work she actually did, and Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with both her work ethic and her wit.
But Hermione liked the lounging for other reasons, too. Reasons she couldn't quite explain or articulate and that made her intensely uncomfortable in her own body. Because when Millicent lounged, it looked… Well, it was distinctly…
Okay, well, often her blouse would have been unbuttoned a bit more; her skin would glow golden from the warmth of the fire; that lazy, confident smile might grace her lips. And there were times when Hermione would be working at her desk and look up to find Millicent looking at her from that sort of lounge, and their gazes would meet, and Millicent wouldn't say anything, and Hermione's throat would go dry, and something inexplicable would happen – this uncomfortable, silent thing -- and it would be then that Hermione would realise she was…
Well, sometimes, when Millicent would look at her like that, Hermione would realise she was…
Wet.
Millicent made another of her noises now. "Mmm, yes, this."
Hermione took a deep inhale, realising with a start how shallowly she'd been breathing. "What is it?" she asked a bit shortly.
"Oh, it can wait. You've got an Owl." Millicent nodded toward the window, and as Hermione stood to go open it, she went on, "You know, Granger, you could just take memos like everyone else around here."
"I do take memos. I just also take Owls."
"Because you like a bit of chaos."
Hermione let the bird in and then turned to see Millicent smirking at her.
She blushed. "I do not."
"You do so. You might believe in patterns, but you like chaos."
"Rubbish." Hermione waved a hand at her and opened the parchment to find Rose's neat handwriting. She smiled. She looked up at Millicent. "Baby shower."
"Oh, that's lovely." Millicent had leaned her head back against the chair, her expression softened. Hermione felt something funny happening inside her chest.
"Would you…?" she began and then faltered.
Millicent lifted her head slightly. She looked drowsy and relaxed, slightly flushed. "What, Granger?"
"Would you like to come? With me?"
Millicent blinked. Fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. "I'd love to."
"Really?"
Millicent snorted. "Did you want me to turn you down?"
"No! No, it's just… Well, do you like babies?"
"Who doesn't like babies?"
"Plenty of people."
Millicent shrugged. "Just because I didn't want to have one doesn't mean I hate them or something."
"Well, of course, I just—"
"Plus, it's your daughter. It's not just any old baby, right?"
Hermione snorted an abrupt laugh.
Millicent held out her hand. "May I?"
Hermione walked over and handed her the parchment. As Millicent read, Hermione stood there by the chair. She could smell Millicent's perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and something spicy. The neck of her blouse gaped a little, and Hermione could see the black lace of her bra… the dip between her breasts…
"Easter Sunday, hmm? What is that, about five weeks? I'm sure I can find a decent gift by then." Millicent handed the parchment back to Hermione, but it took a moment for Hermione to realise. She took it belatedly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.
She made to retreat.
"Hey, Granger." Millicent reached out and grasped her arm suddenly.
Hermione swallowed. "Yes?"
"Did you even realise that it's Valentine's Day?"
"What, today?"
Millicent's fingers were warm and soft on her arm. They slipped down to Hermione's wrist.
"Yeah."
"No. I didn't realise."
Millicent's hand slipped still further, her fingers entangling with Hermione's. "Well, now you know." Her voice sounded different, slightly deeper.
Hermione felt like she couldn't get her breath. Millicent's fingers moved against her own. A tingle raced up her arm and into her chest. It raced down then, and Hermione felt the hot slick flood her panties. She stifled a shiver and quickly pulled her hand away.
~Easter~
Hermione almost didn't want to admit it, but Rose and Zachary opening their gifts was a delight. Her daughter looked so happy, so truly happy, her hand lighting on the round of her expanding belly often and smoothing over it. Zachary, too, seemed to glow, and he was solicitous without being overbearing.
When all the gifts were open, and the Zabini's living room was hardly traversable due to the explosion of tissue paper, Hermione turned to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. There she found Harry, his face in the icebox.
"Hey," she said.
He stood. "Hey!" A bright smile swept over his face. "Congratulations. Do you know where I could find a beer? This is all pumpkin juice, pumpkin juice, pumpkin juice."
"We're not all bachelors, Harry," Hermione mocked gently. "Although, I suppose I sort of am. Or whatever the equivalent is. And if you call me a spinster, I'll have your bollocks for earrings!"
"Wouldn't dare," Harry said. "Though, you don't really wear earrings." He sighed and closed the icebox door.
"So, Harry…" Hermione Accioed some tea from the cupboard and set a pot of water to boil.
"Yeah?"
"How is he?"
Harry sighed and leaned his arse against the countertop. "He's good."
Hermione took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm glad." It was nice to have someone with whom she had this easy shorthand.
"Do you think you'll come? To the wedding?"
Hermione thought about it. "I don't know. With the baby and work, I just haven't even given it a thought. Probably not, though. I just… don't think it's necessary. You know?"
"Sure." Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and Hermione was struck by how little he had changed over the years. Ron had lost half his hair; she had a bad knee, a dodgy hip, and more wrinkles than she cared to count. Harry, on the other hand, despite the grey and laugh lines, looked pretty much like he had eighth year. It would be maddening if she didn't love him so.
They'd all changed, of course. Probably more on the inside than out. Hermione thought about picking Millicent up for the party earlier, how both dashing and feminine she looked in her cream-coloured suit, the neck enticingly open and that smile blooming on her face. She'd never smiled like that when they were young. Well, not at Hermione at any rate. And whereas in school she'd worn her robes like a shield and sort of hunkered under them, now she went without robes as often as not, and she wore clothes that flaunted her curves in a way that Hermione found perplexing and exciting and—
"What are you smiling about?" Harry asked, transferring his hands to his pockets and grinning in return.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Harry," she started, even before she knew what she wanted to say. She just knew the words had been there, waiting, maybe for weeks.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think…? I mean, do you think falling for a Slytherin is, well, proper now?"
Instantly, the smile fell off Harry's face. His arse launched from where it had been pressed to the counter. "What do you mean? What have you heard?" He walked close to her and lowered his voice to a rather dramatic whisper. "For Merlin's sake, it's only shagging. It just happens a few times a year. If he didn't own the shop across the bloody street…! It was easier to lay off when we both travelled for Quidditch, but even then, when we played each other… I can't be expected to share a locker room with him and not—!" He ran a hand through his hair. "And look!" His hand shot out toward the living room. "He's everywhere. He's here, for Merlin's sake. Blaise invited him." He looked at her sternly. "But I'm not falling for him. Where in the bloody hell did you hear that?"
Hermione realised she was gaping but couldn't seem to stop. "Um… I didn't?"
"What?"
"Harry, I wasn't talking about you and Malfoy, I was… Seriously? You and Malfoy?"
"Shhh!"
Hermione felt herself smiling. It was brilliant really. It only took a moment of thinking about it to see how obviously brilliant it was, even if Harry looked half-mortified. Maybe because he looked half-mortified.
"You like a bit of chaos."
"It's okay, Harry. I'm not going to give an interview with the Prophet or anything."
Harry sighed, his jaw still adorably tight, his teeth grinding. She placed her palm against his face. "Oh, Harry. If I may ask, how do you know you're not falling for him?"
At that, Harry sighed. He peered down into her eyes. His lips gave a pathetic little smirk. "I don't."
~
It was such a lovely, balmy evening that she and Millicent decided to walk a bit before seeking a good Apparition point. Hermione hadn't seen her that much at the party; Millicent had become ensconced in conversation with first Blaise and then Luna and then Neville and Pansy. Not that Hermione had kept an eye.
Except that, bloody hell, she totally had.
They walked slowly now, the sun dipping behind some dark clouds on the horizon.
"It's going to rain tonight," Millicent said.
"Maybe you're right."
Millicent shrugged. "Those certainly look like rain clouds."
"No, Mill." Hermione stopped her with a hand on her arm, and Millicent turned to her, the surprise of hearing her name like that evident in the round of her eyes. Her pretty, deep brown eyes that Hermione could stare into for days. Hermione cleared her throat and went on. "I don't mean the rain. I mean, maybe you're right." She licked her lips, her heart thundering. "God, maybe there's no pattern and we're all just at the mercy of this riot of… of life and love and, and desire. And things don’t make sense, and maybe they don't have to." She swallowed. "If it feels right."
Millicent frowned. "No," she said. "No, I think maybe you were right. There's a pattern."
The air all around them felt charged. Dusk was falling, and a cool breeze disturbed the warm air. "Why?" Hermione breathed.
Millicent cupped Hermione's face in her hand, and Hermione shivered.
"Because maybe everything has led to this."
And then Millicent kissed her.
~
They Apparated to Millicent's flat, which, if she cared to pay that much attention, Hermione might have categorized as unpredictably neat. But whereas she could file that away for later, she couldn't stop kissing Millicent long enough to really appreciate the irony.
Hermione shoved the suit jacket from Millicent's shoulders, letting it pool on the living room floor. She started work on the buttons of her blouse.
"Wait," Millicent came away gasping. "Hermione, I— Have you done this before?"
Hermione's lips felt wonderfully, sinfully swollen. She shook her head. "No. You have, I suspect."
"It's been a while."
Hermione leaned in, Millicent's neck looking like the perfect place for her lips, but Millicent stopped her again.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Hermione breathed a soft laugh. She leaned in, emboldened by the avid galloping of her own blood through her veins. She got close enough to feel Millicent's shivering breaths against her own lips. She found Millicent's hand and brought it between them, slipping it between her thighs. She gasped as Millicent's fingers curled and slid against her, the damp heat more than evident even through Hermione's trousers.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Oh fuck." Millicent angled her head and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. Hermione opened them readily, licked her tongue into Millicent's mouth, and felt her desire met as Millicent deepened the kiss and pulled her close.
They stumbled to the bedroom, leaving clothes along the way. Hermione's shoes clunked off in the hall. Millicent's blouse fluttered to the floor just outside her bedroom. Hermione cupped her breasts in her hands, unable to wait a moment longer, leaning down and tonguing a hard, rosy nipple through the lace of her bra.
"Oh, Granger… Fuck…"
Hermione's whole body responded to the sound of Millicent's voice, the feel of her shaking just because of the gentle way Hermione now sucked on her nipple. The absolute rush of doing this to her… to another woman… to Millicent… Hermione's skin pricked with energy. Her tits ached and tingled for touch. She was so very wet. And when Millicent's nipple got harder in her mouth, Hermione got wetter still.
"Bloody hell, bed," Millicent breathed.
Hermione shed the rest of her clothes on the way, and Millicent's gaze raked down her body, her eyes going dark. Hermione felt herself blushing, but it was much less embarrassment than it was lust. As Millicent dropped her trousers, Hermione crawled onto the bed, lying back against the pillows. They were far softer than any she owned, and Hermione had the wisp of a thought that maybe paired with an appreciation for chaos was a hedonistic tendency as well. Millicent's bed was a treasure trove of soft bedding, fluttery curtains, and rich textures. Hermione's naked body thrummed amidst it all.
Then Millicent came up over her, soft and warm and heavy, and Hermione instinctually spread her legs. Millicent settled there, and she felt perfect. They fit together in such a way that Hermione just wanted to wrap her arms around her and kiss her and rock and rock and rock until she came. Hermione rolled her hips up, and Millicent gasped.
"Granger…" she murmured, when Hermione rolled her hips again."Hold on," she said, and then she began mouthing her way down Hermione's body.
Millicent's lips and tongue met Hermione's nipple, and belatedly Hermione's hands flew up to grasp the slats of the headboard. She arched into the pleasure, the heat of her mouth and the flick of her tongue that had Hermione's pussy soaked still more.
Millicent licked her and sucked her and hummed approval of Hermione's writhing only to move to her other nipple to do the same, and different, and it was so good Hermione felt dizzy. Her hands tightened into fists around the slats, and her body moved against the fire rippling through her. She arched, her head thrown back, giving in as an aching groan purred past her throat.
"You're so bloody wonderful," Millicent said, her mouth descending and skating over Hermione's stomach.
Forgotten was the bad knee, the dodgy hip. Hermione suspected they'd smart tomorrow, but for now…
"Merlin, yes," Hermione cried as Millicent licked lower still, mouthing kisses over the coarse V of her pubic hair, lower to the split of her sex. Millicent opened Hermione's thighs and settled, her warm breath making Hermione mewl with anticipation.
"Hold on," Millicent whispered again, lips tickling her inner thigh.
And then she parted the lips of Hermione's cunt, lapped slow between her folds, and Hermione fell into rapturous chaos.
~Nearly Summer~
"Hon? What time is it?"
Millicent's voice filtered through Hermione's deep sleep and slowly woke her.
Even before Hermione opened her eyes, though, she knew something was off. Very much off. The light in the room was entirely too bright and strange and—
"Bugger!" Hermione wailed. And then when she cast a Tempus charm, "Oh bloody bugger!"
Millicent stretched beside her, bra still on but pushed up to expose her tits, just like it was last night when they'd finished, and Hermione would have really appreciated the picture she made, but…
"The train will be here in ten minutes, get up!"
Hermione scrambled from the bed and immediately regretted her haste as her hip caught and she doubled over in pain. "Bugger."
"Hip?"
"Yes," she hissed while trying not to breathe.
"Shouldn't have been on your hands and knees so long."
"It wasn't that. It was the other thing. The thing I did to you."
"Oh I doubt that! I was on top for Merlin's sake. All you had to do was lie there and look pretty and lube it up again from time to time."
Hermione slowly straightened, grimacing. "There's more to it than that, I'll have you—" She turned and glared at Millicent. "You're winding me up on purpose."
"Yes."
Hermione threw a sock at her. "Well, bloody help me, will you? We can't be late."
Millicent smiled and crawled over to Hermione's side of the bed. "Come here," she murmured.
"There's no time for that."
"Not that. This." Millicent took Hermione's face in her hands, and stilled her frenzy with a soft, slow kiss. "I'll get you there on time. Promise."
Hermione's pulse calmed. She let go of the panicked grasp she tended to feel she needed on life. She looked at Millicent smiling at her, and time slowed. She breathed out a sigh. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Millicent gave a pat to her arse. "Now go find your knickers, Granger."
~
The train arrived right on time, and thanks to Millicent's stealthy Side-Along, so did they.
Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet as she craned to look over the heads of the little ones.
Hugo was off first, and it warmed her heart that even at fifteen, he yelled, "Mum!" and strode over to give her a big hug.
"How are you, darling? How were your O.W.L.s? Did you make it through Transfiguration?"
Hugo ignored her. "Hi, Millie! Hey! I'll tell you about me later. It's Rose needs you."
"What, why? What's wrong?"
"Oh, there's nothing wrong. It's just a few days early, that's all." Hugo shrugged like it was nothing.
Hermione raised round eyes to find her daughter, then, supported by Zachary and another kid, her large pregnant belly preceding all of them, her mouth an 'O' of rapid labour breathing.
"Oh my god," Hermione gasped.
"Everybody up for a trip to St. Mungo's?" Rose asked. Then she warbled out, "Hi, Mum. I got Outstandings in everything except Herbology."
~
It was late, and everyone who had mobbed around the nursery window to coo over the baby had pretty much gone. Molly hadn't wanted to leave, but the excitement had got the better of her, and she'd had Bill and Fleur take her home. All of the other great-uncles and aunts and Hermione's nieces and nephews had gone. Ginny and Dean were among the last to linger, but they'd said their goodnights, too. The Zabinis had fallen away, though Blaise was reportedly still down in the lobby crowing to any stranger who would listen about how beautiful his granddaughter was.
"Granger," Malfoy had smiled, extending his hand. She'd gone to shake it, but he'd turned her hand and kissed the back. He gave her a fleeting wink over her wrist.
"Night, Hermione. Millicent," Harry had said with a warm grin.
She had watched them walk down the hall and couldn't help but smile as Malfoy slipped his arm around Harry's waist, leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and she'd heard Harry's laugh in response.
Then Hermione and Millicent were the only ones left.
Except for Ron.
"Well," he said finally, an adoring hand pressed to the glass before he turned to Hermione. "I think I'll just run home for a kip and then come back before Rosie's awake again."
Hermione nodded. "Of course."
Ron sighed. He looked down at the floor, and Hermione could tell he was fighting tears. "I wish… I'm just sorry Dad wasn't here to meet her. You know?"
Hermione felt her own emotions threaten. She cleared her throat. "So am I, Ron."
He looked up at her and gave her a sad smile that, when he turned one last glance at the nursery, turned brighter. "Goodnight," he said to the both of them and turned to walk away.
Millicent laid a hand at Hermione's back and gave her a nod.
"Ron?" Hermione called.
He turned back to her. "Yeah?"
Hermione gave him a small smile. "Congratulations. To you and Lavender, I mean."
Ron returned her smile and nodded. "Thanks, Hermione." Then he glanced at Millicent and back at her. "You, too."
Hermione turned back to the window of the nursery where Zoey slept, swaddled and safe.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Hermione whispered, the tears that she hadn't let rise before finally swimming in her eyes. And yet she couldn't stop smiling.
Millicent slipped her hand into Hermione's. "Just like you," she said.
Hermione turned to find her smiling that soft smile that had once seemed so incongruous and now was like the most natural thing in the world.
"You're catching me at a good moment," Hermione said, returning it. "My best moment." She squeezed Millicent's hand in her own. "What's your best moment, Mill?"
"Oh, Granger, don't be daft."
"What?" Hermione asked, slightly alarmed.
"You know it's any moment with you in it."
Hermione's chest filled with light and air and heat, and her breath seemed to elude her.
"Bloody hell, don't faint," Millicent chided. Then she pulled her close, and Hermione laughed, and she wrapped her arms around her. "Do you want to stay a while longer?" Millicent asked.
Hermione sighed. "Mmm, just another moment."
And then when, again, Millicent asked her in a whisper five minutes later, Hermione snuggled against her, and said the same.
~the end
Author:
lumosed_quillCharacters/Pairings: Hermione/Millicent, (Harry/Draco, Rose/OMC, Ron/Lavender)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~7,650
Content: cunnilingus, mention of strap-ons, teen pregnancy, liberties taken with when the next gen kids were born, character death but not of anyone in the story:
Prompt: After the dissolution of her marriage, Hermione finds herself a bit lost. The parting may have been amicable, but after spending the large majority of her life as Ron's wife, she's not sure how to start over. She begins to form a close intellectual relationship with her coworker, [Millicent]. The relationship deepens into something she doesn't expect.
Summary: "In the space between chaos and shape there was another chance." ~Jeanette Winterson
A/N: I really adored writing this prompt. I'd been wanting to do a longer, more in-depth femslash piece for some time, and this wonderful fest gave me the perfect opportunity! Thank you, mods, for running Salt & Pepper again! I was so happy to see it happening! And thank you to my brilliant (and many other lovely adjectives) beta. <3
~All Hallow's Eve~
"Pregnant?"
Surely she hadn't heard right. Yet Rose's silence seemed like confirmation.
"H-how?" Hermione choked.
Her daughter's head flickered in the Floo, she licked her lips, and then words – many disconcerting words – started flying from her mouth. Words like '…first time we've ever forgotten in, like, three hundred times…' Words like 'Zach and I' and 'but I'm staying at Hogwarts' and then it was just a lot of buzzing that could have been a dodgy Floo connection or maybe Hermione's head about to explode.
"She's due to arrive in the summer. I… I thought… Mum?"
"You're just eighteen."
"I know."
"I'm only fifty-three."
"Mum?"
"Did you say 'she'?"
Rose smiled. Not the patronising-her-mum smile that Hermione hated. The real one, bright and happy and genuine. She nodded. "At least we remembered how to use that spell." She gave Hermione a chagrined shrug.
Her daughter was having a daughter. Dear Merlin. In the summer. So soon. So fast. Hermione shifted on the rug to take the pressure off her bad knee. Rose began rambling on again, something about that Zabini boy being a good father, about how he wants to marry her but she's told him she wants to wait, about how the baby should arrive before the wedding and so—
"Wait, what? What wedding?"
"I— I thought you knew. He sent you an Owl. Oh Mum. Oh no. No no."
"Rose, slow down. What are you talking about? Who sent me an Owl?" Hermione looked around her office at the nearly thirty unanswered Owls piled on every surface. (Thankfully, the actual birds had gone. The Minister was going to give her such hell for it on her next performance review. Seniority might buy her leeway in using Owl post rather than the memo system, but—).
"I'm sorry, Mum." Rose interrupted her thoughts. "I didn't mean to… Oh shit."
"Rose, your mouth."
"I should go."
"Rose Weasley, you stay right there! Who's getting married?" Though Hermione was truly struggling to care. With every beat of her heart came a new realisation: nappies, crying, her daughter's life changed forever, she'd be a grandmother, a grandmother for Merlin's sake!
There was a long pause and another bitten lip. "It's Dad, Mum."
"What's Dad?"
"Dad and Lav. Ender," she corrected quickly. The two of them, Rose and Lavender Brown, had got on ever since Ron had started dating her again.
"What about your dad and—?" Hermione began, but then her brain caught up with her mouth. "Oh. Oh."
"Mum, it'll be all right, you'll see."
"Well, I know it will be all right, Rose. I'm not a child. I'm your mother." Hermione pushed a bushy lock of hair out of her eye with force. "I'm going to be a grandmother apparently. I'm perfectly all right! Everything's fantastic! Ron's remarrying. In the summer. After the baby comes. I'm happy for the jackass!" She hadn't realised that she'd begun to shout until she heard the cleared throat from her office doorway and turned to see her boss, Marla Danforth, and behind her someone who looked quite suspiciously like Millicent Bulstrode.
"I didn't mean to interrupt, Hermione, but if I could have a moment, I believe you know Millicent?"
"Er, yes." Pregnant. Grandmother. Remarried. Hermione blinked. "But I'm quite busy at the moment. I have my daughter here with urgent—"
But when Hermione turned back to the hearth, it was cold and dark.
"Or not," Hermione amended, sighing as she used the hearth to help her stand. Rose was most definitely in for it later. She couldn't just disappear after this and think things were dropped. No, Hermione would certainly be Flooing her common room (or sending a Howler) just as soon as she got, oh Merlin, Millicent bloody Bulstrode out of her office. Hermione brushed off her robes impatiently, and Millicent stuck out her hand.
Hermione frowned at it. "What's this about? What's going on?" She could hardly hear herself over the thundering of her own heart.
"It's good to see you, Granger. I'm your new partner."
Hermione felt the ground beneath her feet shifting. She held her breath for a moment, almost as though she could thereby stop time. When she exhaled, the word just spilled out; there was nothing she could do to stop it, and she didn't even think she wanted to.
"Bollocks!"
To which Millicent Bulstrode only smiled.
~
She was in Hermione's Room. In her Room. Nobody entered The Room of Unbridled Chaos without Hermione's permission.
"What the bloody hell are you doing in here?"
Millicent swished her wand. "I was just taking some measurements, making some calculations. Did you realise the waterfall that flows up also changes molecular structure from time to time? I was thinking—"
"Yes, I realised!" Hermione bit out. She took a breath and lowered her voice again."If you'll please come into the hall to talk about it. The Nifflers will wander." And they were, at that very moment, forming a bit of a mob, though a slow and ineffectual one, and making their adorable way toward the open doors.
"Of course," Bulstrode said amiably, which was not a tone Hermione was familiar with as far as Millicent was concerned. Millicent holstered her wand, and Hermione sighed with relief as she stepped out of the Room, Hermione's Room.
Hermione spun and began marching down the twisting and frankly surreally-constructed corridors of the Unspeakable floor.
"Where are we going?" Millicent asked on her heels.
"I am going to the Minster to straighten this out. You should never have been assigned to me, and this 'partnership' simply isn't going to work out, so—"
"You've been avoiding me for a week. It's really no wonder it's not working, wouldn't you say?"
When Hermione ignored her and proceeded down a short flight of stairs, Millicent persisted.
"Look, Granger, we can work something out. If you'd only slow down—"
"I'm afraid I don't have time to slow down." Though, truth be told, Hermione's dodgy hip was acting up already from her near-sprint. "I have a lot of work to do that doesn't require your assistance."
"Oh, my assistance." Millicent laughed.
"No offence."
"None taken," Millicent said, an unmistakable eye-roll in her voice.
The lifts shone a gilded gold in the low light at the end of the hall, and Hermione resolutely marched toward them, wincing a bit.
"I'm sure the Minister will be able to work out whatever mistake you've made and I—"
"Mistake I've made. Granger, for someone with a room full of chaos you sure seem to think you already know everything."
Hermione stopped abruptly and opened her mouth to, very possibly, shout, but Millicent startled her with a brandished purple memo.
"Found it."
"Found what?" Hermione snatched it out of her hand, to which Millicent gave a tiny smirk. Hermione read to herself, her frown deepening with every word.
"…because my project is 'floundering'?! How bloody dare they?"
"I know. It's a bit harsh, yeah? I happen to think you've maybe just reached a plateau, but you don't see the word 'plateau' much in office memos. Maybe whoever writes those things doesn't like French. Or geology. Or you."
"Wha—? I—"
"Keep reading." Millicent gave a nod at the paper now fluttering in Hermione's shaking fists.
Fuming, Hermione continued to the end, at which point the fuming turned to incredulous, dejected gasping. "It's only been three years. How long do they think it should take to prove the universality of patterns, for Merlin's sake? I'm only determining something as intrinsic to daily life as, say, I don't know, gravity!"
"Spot on." Millicent nodded.
"Well, if you agree with me, why are you here? Why are you…" She held the memo up and read from it directly, "'…being assigned to provide a much-needed counterpoint'?"
"Because a counterpoint is much-needed, I'm guessing?"
"Say them!"
The smirk was back now, and Hermione's fist practically itched. Though if she was honest it was really the Minster's jaw she'd most like to put a dent into. She'd avoided actually working with Millicent the short week she'd been hanging about, but with the Minister's seal of approval… Well, it wasn't all too likely Hermione was going to be able to get out of this. It wasn't Millicent's fault, either. She didn't especially deserve the throttling Hermione desperately wanted to dole out. She was just conveniently near and had the misfortune of being given this assignment, paired with having been a right terror to Hermione in their childhood.
"Granger," Millicent began now, settling her hands on the curve of her hips. "Do you mean to say you're entrenched in the magical sciences, and you don't believe your work requires the rigors of testing against other hypotheses?"
Hermione's jaw dropped and she hastily snapped it shut again with an embarrassing click of her teeth. Her face had begun to heat as well, and rather mortifyingly, she thought she could feel her hair getting bushier by the breath.
Millicent raised a patient and infuriating brow at her. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, avoided Millicent's rather invasive gaze, and sniffed. "No."
Millicent sighed, and the softening in her demeanor made Hermione glance up once again.
"You're looking to prove that everything ultimately forms a pattern. I happen to be an expert on chaos. You have a Room of Unbridled Chaos. Maybe we could even, I don't know… have some fun here? If you'll stop avoiding me."
A tiny war raged silently inside Hermione then. "I'm not doing this for fun," she said. And yet there was a twinkle in Millicent's eye. It was one Hermione had once seen in her own when she'd peered into a mirror. It was interest and fascination and pleasure at the thought of discovery.
Hermione had not seen that twinkle, in her own eye or anyone else's, for a very long time.
Remarried…
Pregnant…
Merlin. Her life was distinctly unfun at the moment. And it felt like a very long moment indeed.
Hermione unfolded her arms and stood straight again. She pressed invisible wrinkles from her robes. "I suppose I could use an extra set of hands."
"I'm not your bloody assistant," Millicent scoffed.
"Well, you do appear to have a working brain as well."
"Last I checked."
"I don't imagine I'm going to like you very much."
"Don't have to. Although, trying not to dislike me would be a great start. Loads of others in our year have managed to transcend the old…"
"Grievances?"
"I was going to say bollocks."
"Ah."
"Sorry for the chokehold, by the way."
It was true that they were long decades beyond such things. It was also true that Daphne Greengrass worked two levels above and they'd chatted over tea once or twice. And that Neville owned a business with Pansy Parkinson, of all people. And that Harry and Malfoy had completely transformed their seething hatred into nothing more than a bitter Quidditch rivalry that had lasted the span of their illustrious Seeker careers only to change shape again when they opened competing Quidditch supply shops upon retiring their brooms.
The least Hermione could do was give Millicent Bulstrode an inch.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Work begins at precisely seven each morning. The coffee cart in the canteen is terrible. I have tea and coffee in my office to which you are welcome. The beverages, not my office. I will not be sharing my office space with anyone. We can work out a new code for the room to which we each have access, but if you share it with anyone and I mean anyone I will personally see to your hexing, is that clear?"
Millicent just gazed at her for a moment. A moment that stretched out, lazy like a cat, in which her gaze dropped and travelled Hermione's body, down and then slowly back up. It made Hermione's elbows break out into a sudden and very odd sweat.
"Cream?" Millicent said finally.
"E—excuse me?"
"Do you provide cream for the coffee or should I bring my own?"
Hermione blinked, her lips instantly dry. "Er, there's milk. And, uh, cream. Yes."
"Good. All right." Millicent held out her hand.
Hermione hesitated but then saw no call to be as rude as she'd been before; she took it. Millicent's hand was warm and soft, her grip confident.
"I'll see you Monday," Hermione said.
"Right." Millicent spared her a small, amused grin.
Hermione slipped her hand free and then watched as Millicent retreated down the hall toward the lifts, only then noticing that her robes were a deep rich green rather than black.
~Christmas~
If it were only Rose and Hugo, Hermione would have said yes immediately. Of course she wanted to see her kids as much as possible while they were on holiday. She'd even put up with the Zabini boy if that meant spending Christmas Eve with her daughter and son.
Just not there. Not at the Burrow, with her former mum-in-law and all of Ron's brothers and Ginny and Ron himself and Lavender Brown and everyone laughing and talking and eating. God, if she had to watch Ron eat tonight, Hermione'd probably end up Obliviating herself.
It was still a tough call. Not seeing Rose and Hugo tonight meant only seeing them after Hermione got off work in the evenings and the one weekend before they went back to Hogwarts.
Hermione stood at the Floo in her bedroom. She'd dressed to go. She'd planned to just suck it up. But then she ended up staring into the cold grate for ten minutes, frozen to this one spot on the floor and imagining all those Weasleys and all that egg nog and all the noise and bluster and biscuits and cheer.
Hermione sighed. She loved her kids. She knew she'd even come to possibly sort of like Zachary Zabini. Her daughter was a smart young woman with very good taste, after all, and Hermione's patented dislike for the boy had much more to do with his vicinity to Rose the past three years than any personal deficit of his she could name.
But Christmas Eve at the Burrow… That was the last thing she wanted right now.
If she was honest, all she really wanted was to go into her office, set the coffee to brew extra strong, and sit in front of a roaring fire to contemplate the latest theory Millicent had thrown her way. She knew right where the parchments were, under the paperweight that Hugo's first transfiguration of cauldron to feather had become. Nothing budged from beneath it.
Hermione smiled to herself. She imagined opening the doors to her Room of Unbridled Chaos, the energy of it pulsing out around her, pulling her into its unpredictable swarm of magic. She imagined going over their latest figures with her sock feet propped up on her favourite ottoman. Her pulse beat faster at just the thought, and before she could talk herself out of it with internal remonstrations of 'You're being a Scrooge,' 'You're a no-fun fuddy duddy, Hermione Granger,' and worse, 'You're a bad mother,' Hermione threw some Floo powder down, stepped into the green flames, and set off to the Ministry.
It was chilly and near dark, and the sound of her shoes striking marble echoed like war drums through the foyer.
The hallways leading to her office were always at least dimly lit, but it had still taken her a long while to lose her fear of them – all those memories of running from Death Eaters; of the harsh, frightened breath of her friends at her back; of Ron and Harry, all of their lives in their own hands.
Harry. Hermione stopped short just steps from her office. Harry would also be at the Burrow tonight, and she'd miss seeing him for Christmas altogether.
"Shit," she whispered.
"Granger?" came a voice down the hall.
"Bulstrode?" Heat flared along Hermione's skin. Millicent wasn't supposed to be in her office, and yet— "What are you doing in here?" Hermione fumed as she rounded the corner and found her partner lounging in the very chair Hermione had imagined herself sinking into.
Like Hermione, Millicent hadn't bothered with her robes, it being late evening the night before Christmas and all that, and she sat there in dark trousers and a light blouse (untucked), her heels kicked off and tumbled haphazardly on the floor, one leg flung over the arm of Hermione's beloved chair. She had a parchment in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.
The whole office was fragrant and inviting with coffee and wisps of woodsmoke.
"I was thinking," Millicent began, ignoring Hermione's (albeit dampening) ire. "What if it's the human condition, a need and desire for pattern, that imposes patterns on an un-human universe? It's our inability to remove ourselves from the center of it all, right? To admit that chaos reigns. It's fear, Granger. What are we so afraid of?"
"Don't you mean, what am I so afraid of?"
Millicent merely raised an inquiring brow. The top buttons on her blouse were open, and her neck and chest were flushed with the heat of the nearby fire. Hermione shivered as the last of the night's chill warmed from her skin.
Millicent was in her office. It was definitely against the rules.
Hermione sighed and dropped her bottomless bag by the door, striding into the room. "I need a hot drink before I read your parchment there. It's bloody freezing tonight."
Millicent smiled at her, drew her wand, and shut the office door.
~New Year's Eve~
"I knew I shouldn't have gone with the black. I look like a bloody vampire."
"Oh Harry, you look brilliant," Hermione admonished even as she straightened his tie.
"How did I let you convince me to come to this thing anyway?" Harry abruptly unstraightened Hermione's work.
She sighed and left off. "Well, let's see. We haven't seen each other since the summer, and I bribed you with the idea that I'd buy you chips and a pint after."
"What do you mean 'the idea' that you'd buy me—?"
"Well, hello, Neville. It's lovely to see you," Hermione said, smiling as their friend wandered over to the buffet of finger foods beside which Harry had camped. Truly, he probably wasn't the best choice for a date to a Ministry New Year's Eve ball – too high profile and no chance of sex – but in a way both those things suited her as well. Though, Merlin, it had been a while. Hermione cringed inwardly, realising she'd been standing there staring at Neville Longbottom and unconsciously sizing him up as a possibility.
Bloody hell, no. Not even as fit as he'd got. Honestly, if Hermione ever wanted to have sex again, she needed to meet some people outside her current set of friends.
Working less than eighty hours a week would probably also be beneficial to the task.
Hermione sipped her Elven wine while Neville tried to discuss his and Parkinson's new hybrid plant with Harry, who seemed infinitely more interested in making a pyramid of cocktail sausages on his plate.
Once Neville excused himself, Harry leaned in and whispered to her, "If he's here, she's here."
"Who, Parkinson?"
"Yeah."
"So?"
"Well, if she's here, he's here."
"Malfoy?"
Harry rolled his eyes and took a bite of sausage. "Just what I need tonight."
"I thought you two had buried the hatchet."
Harry shrugged desultorily, gaze scanning the room in a way that meant he thought he was being subtle about scanning the room.
"You're an idiot," Hermione told him.
"He's the idiot." Harry's eyes stopped and fixed on a spot across the room.
"How old are you exactly? Twelve?" Hermione followed his rapt attention, and sure enough, there was Malfoy, blond as ever while Harry'd gone as much grey as black. Malfoy looked quite comfortable in his charcoal dress robes, very relaxed and in his element here as he laughed at something the woman with whom he was speaking said.
The woman gestured with a whiskey glass, and a sheath of dark green flimsy shawl slid from her arm, exposing a bare shoulder. Her answering laugh travelled the room, she tossed dark curls from her face and neck, and then she turned as though she felt Hermione watching her and—
"Is that Millicent Bulstrode with him? Don't you work together now?"
Hermione's mouth was dry, and it took her a moment to wet her lips to speak. In that moment, Millicent's gaze found hers, and her smile widened. She turned slightly, her shiny dress wrapped snug around her waist and hips, flaring and cascading to the ground. She gave Hermione a little wink.
Hermione swallowed. "No, not together," she began. "Well, yes, actually."
Millicent raised her whiskey glass – which Hermione nearly missed because she was staring at the way the dress nudged her breasts up and how the creamy flesh over the tight fabric rose and fell with her breath. But then the light caught the amber of the whiskey as it swirled in Millicent's hand, and Hermione managed to give a short nod of greeting, turning toward Harry and drinking down her wine in one last gulp. "I need another."
"Yeah, sure, me too. Although it's close to midnight. Should we switch to champagne?" They started over to the bar, and another of Millicent's throaty laughs made its way into Hermione's ear.
"Firewhisky?"
Harry smiled and gave Hermione a friendly elbowing. "Hell yes."
~
"Ten, nine, eight—"
Harry smiled, the joy in his eyes something she had very much missed of late, and Hermione found herself grateful that she had someone so innocuous to kiss in the next moment.
"—six, five, four—"
Yes, it was nice to be here with someone with whom she felt so safe, who didn't make her pulse pound or her elbows sweat.
"—two, one, Happy New Year!"
Hermione leaned in, and the corners of their lips met for two seconds. It was lovely and safe and nice.
When she turned, her gaze roving the room and finding dozens of other kissing couples, it didn't mean anything that Hermione's eyes fell on Millicent.
Malfoy had moved on, Merlin knew where, and Millicent stood surrounded by people yet alone. She didn't look lonely, though. She didn't look sad. The air around her seemed to crackle with life and energy. And not only that, but she was looking right back at Hermione, as though perhaps she had been for some time.
One corner of Millicent's lips curved up.
When Hermione realised she was staring, she averted her gaze. She spared Harry a perfunctory smile only to find his gaze had wandered as well and he seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd.
Hermione glanced back at where Millicent had been before, yet now the crowd had milled between them, blocking her line of sight.
"I…" Hermione wet her lips and touched Harry's arm to get his attention. "I think I'm going to go."
"It's only midnight," Harry said, and it was lovely that he sounded genuinely disappointed by her departure.
"Harry, I've normally been asleep two hours by now."
They said their goodnights, and Hermione made her way out of the ballroom and into the foyer. The sudden quiet felt reassuring, instantly calming her nerves.
Calm was good. Reassuring was good. Nice and safe and innocuous were good.
As Hermione walked, the memory of Millicent's curves hugged in that dress flitted into her mind… that slight smile, the knowing behind it.
For no reason that she could fathom – she was not being chased, after all, though that was certainly the tingling sensation at her back – Hermione picked up the skirt of her own dress and set out at a slight run toward the Floos.
~Valentine's Day~
Hermione passed the parchment over to Millicent without a word, starting in on the next pile of magical journal articles she needed to read while Millicent made her little noises of 'hmm' and 'mmyes' that Hermione had once found distracting in a bad way and now received with more mixed feelings.
She'd got used to Millicent mooching about in her office. She'd even got used to thinking of it as theirs instead. She'd never say it aloud, but Hermione had come to like the feel of another person's energy radiating through the space. She liked the occasional warm chuckle when Millicent read through the Prophet's editorial page, which she always did in the mornings before she'd start work for the day. She liked the way Millicent lounged. It belied the very hard work she actually did, and Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with both her work ethic and her wit.
But Hermione liked the lounging for other reasons, too. Reasons she couldn't quite explain or articulate and that made her intensely uncomfortable in her own body. Because when Millicent lounged, it looked… Well, it was distinctly…
Okay, well, often her blouse would have been unbuttoned a bit more; her skin would glow golden from the warmth of the fire; that lazy, confident smile might grace her lips. And there were times when Hermione would be working at her desk and look up to find Millicent looking at her from that sort of lounge, and their gazes would meet, and Millicent wouldn't say anything, and Hermione's throat would go dry, and something inexplicable would happen – this uncomfortable, silent thing -- and it would be then that Hermione would realise she was…
Well, sometimes, when Millicent would look at her like that, Hermione would realise she was…
Wet.
Millicent made another of her noises now. "Mmm, yes, this."
Hermione took a deep inhale, realising with a start how shallowly she'd been breathing. "What is it?" she asked a bit shortly.
"Oh, it can wait. You've got an Owl." Millicent nodded toward the window, and as Hermione stood to go open it, she went on, "You know, Granger, you could just take memos like everyone else around here."
"I do take memos. I just also take Owls."
"Because you like a bit of chaos."
Hermione let the bird in and then turned to see Millicent smirking at her.
She blushed. "I do not."
"You do so. You might believe in patterns, but you like chaos."
"Rubbish." Hermione waved a hand at her and opened the parchment to find Rose's neat handwriting. She smiled. She looked up at Millicent. "Baby shower."
"Oh, that's lovely." Millicent had leaned her head back against the chair, her expression softened. Hermione felt something funny happening inside her chest.
"Would you…?" she began and then faltered.
Millicent lifted her head slightly. She looked drowsy and relaxed, slightly flushed. "What, Granger?"
"Would you like to come? With me?"
Millicent blinked. Fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. "I'd love to."
"Really?"
Millicent snorted. "Did you want me to turn you down?"
"No! No, it's just… Well, do you like babies?"
"Who doesn't like babies?"
"Plenty of people."
Millicent shrugged. "Just because I didn't want to have one doesn't mean I hate them or something."
"Well, of course, I just—"
"Plus, it's your daughter. It's not just any old baby, right?"
Hermione snorted an abrupt laugh.
Millicent held out her hand. "May I?"
Hermione walked over and handed her the parchment. As Millicent read, Hermione stood there by the chair. She could smell Millicent's perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and something spicy. The neck of her blouse gaped a little, and Hermione could see the black lace of her bra… the dip between her breasts…
"Easter Sunday, hmm? What is that, about five weeks? I'm sure I can find a decent gift by then." Millicent handed the parchment back to Hermione, but it took a moment for Hermione to realise. She took it belatedly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.
She made to retreat.
"Hey, Granger." Millicent reached out and grasped her arm suddenly.
Hermione swallowed. "Yes?"
"Did you even realise that it's Valentine's Day?"
"What, today?"
Millicent's fingers were warm and soft on her arm. They slipped down to Hermione's wrist.
"Yeah."
"No. I didn't realise."
Millicent's hand slipped still further, her fingers entangling with Hermione's. "Well, now you know." Her voice sounded different, slightly deeper.
Hermione felt like she couldn't get her breath. Millicent's fingers moved against her own. A tingle raced up her arm and into her chest. It raced down then, and Hermione felt the hot slick flood her panties. She stifled a shiver and quickly pulled her hand away.
~Easter~
Hermione almost didn't want to admit it, but Rose and Zachary opening their gifts was a delight. Her daughter looked so happy, so truly happy, her hand lighting on the round of her expanding belly often and smoothing over it. Zachary, too, seemed to glow, and he was solicitous without being overbearing.
When all the gifts were open, and the Zabini's living room was hardly traversable due to the explosion of tissue paper, Hermione turned to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. There she found Harry, his face in the icebox.
"Hey," she said.
He stood. "Hey!" A bright smile swept over his face. "Congratulations. Do you know where I could find a beer? This is all pumpkin juice, pumpkin juice, pumpkin juice."
"We're not all bachelors, Harry," Hermione mocked gently. "Although, I suppose I sort of am. Or whatever the equivalent is. And if you call me a spinster, I'll have your bollocks for earrings!"
"Wouldn't dare," Harry said. "Though, you don't really wear earrings." He sighed and closed the icebox door.
"So, Harry…" Hermione Accioed some tea from the cupboard and set a pot of water to boil.
"Yeah?"
"How is he?"
Harry sighed and leaned his arse against the countertop. "He's good."
Hermione took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm glad." It was nice to have someone with whom she had this easy shorthand.
"Do you think you'll come? To the wedding?"
Hermione thought about it. "I don't know. With the baby and work, I just haven't even given it a thought. Probably not, though. I just… don't think it's necessary. You know?"
"Sure." Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and Hermione was struck by how little he had changed over the years. Ron had lost half his hair; she had a bad knee, a dodgy hip, and more wrinkles than she cared to count. Harry, on the other hand, despite the grey and laugh lines, looked pretty much like he had eighth year. It would be maddening if she didn't love him so.
They'd all changed, of course. Probably more on the inside than out. Hermione thought about picking Millicent up for the party earlier, how both dashing and feminine she looked in her cream-coloured suit, the neck enticingly open and that smile blooming on her face. She'd never smiled like that when they were young. Well, not at Hermione at any rate. And whereas in school she'd worn her robes like a shield and sort of hunkered under them, now she went without robes as often as not, and she wore clothes that flaunted her curves in a way that Hermione found perplexing and exciting and—
"What are you smiling about?" Harry asked, transferring his hands to his pockets and grinning in return.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Harry," she started, even before she knew what she wanted to say. She just knew the words had been there, waiting, maybe for weeks.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think…? I mean, do you think falling for a Slytherin is, well, proper now?"
Instantly, the smile fell off Harry's face. His arse launched from where it had been pressed to the counter. "What do you mean? What have you heard?" He walked close to her and lowered his voice to a rather dramatic whisper. "For Merlin's sake, it's only shagging. It just happens a few times a year. If he didn't own the shop across the bloody street…! It was easier to lay off when we both travelled for Quidditch, but even then, when we played each other… I can't be expected to share a locker room with him and not—!" He ran a hand through his hair. "And look!" His hand shot out toward the living room. "He's everywhere. He's here, for Merlin's sake. Blaise invited him." He looked at her sternly. "But I'm not falling for him. Where in the bloody hell did you hear that?"
Hermione realised she was gaping but couldn't seem to stop. "Um… I didn't?"
"What?"
"Harry, I wasn't talking about you and Malfoy, I was… Seriously? You and Malfoy?"
"Shhh!"
Hermione felt herself smiling. It was brilliant really. It only took a moment of thinking about it to see how obviously brilliant it was, even if Harry looked half-mortified. Maybe because he looked half-mortified.
"You like a bit of chaos."
"It's okay, Harry. I'm not going to give an interview with the Prophet or anything."
Harry sighed, his jaw still adorably tight, his teeth grinding. She placed her palm against his face. "Oh, Harry. If I may ask, how do you know you're not falling for him?"
At that, Harry sighed. He peered down into her eyes. His lips gave a pathetic little smirk. "I don't."
~
It was such a lovely, balmy evening that she and Millicent decided to walk a bit before seeking a good Apparition point. Hermione hadn't seen her that much at the party; Millicent had become ensconced in conversation with first Blaise and then Luna and then Neville and Pansy. Not that Hermione had kept an eye.
Except that, bloody hell, she totally had.
They walked slowly now, the sun dipping behind some dark clouds on the horizon.
"It's going to rain tonight," Millicent said.
"Maybe you're right."
Millicent shrugged. "Those certainly look like rain clouds."
"No, Mill." Hermione stopped her with a hand on her arm, and Millicent turned to her, the surprise of hearing her name like that evident in the round of her eyes. Her pretty, deep brown eyes that Hermione could stare into for days. Hermione cleared her throat and went on. "I don't mean the rain. I mean, maybe you're right." She licked her lips, her heart thundering. "God, maybe there's no pattern and we're all just at the mercy of this riot of… of life and love and, and desire. And things don’t make sense, and maybe they don't have to." She swallowed. "If it feels right."
Millicent frowned. "No," she said. "No, I think maybe you were right. There's a pattern."
The air all around them felt charged. Dusk was falling, and a cool breeze disturbed the warm air. "Why?" Hermione breathed.
Millicent cupped Hermione's face in her hand, and Hermione shivered.
"Because maybe everything has led to this."
And then Millicent kissed her.
~
They Apparated to Millicent's flat, which, if she cared to pay that much attention, Hermione might have categorized as unpredictably neat. But whereas she could file that away for later, she couldn't stop kissing Millicent long enough to really appreciate the irony.
Hermione shoved the suit jacket from Millicent's shoulders, letting it pool on the living room floor. She started work on the buttons of her blouse.
"Wait," Millicent came away gasping. "Hermione, I— Have you done this before?"
Hermione's lips felt wonderfully, sinfully swollen. She shook her head. "No. You have, I suspect."
"It's been a while."
Hermione leaned in, Millicent's neck looking like the perfect place for her lips, but Millicent stopped her again.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Hermione breathed a soft laugh. She leaned in, emboldened by the avid galloping of her own blood through her veins. She got close enough to feel Millicent's shivering breaths against her own lips. She found Millicent's hand and brought it between them, slipping it between her thighs. She gasped as Millicent's fingers curled and slid against her, the damp heat more than evident even through Hermione's trousers.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Oh fuck." Millicent angled her head and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. Hermione opened them readily, licked her tongue into Millicent's mouth, and felt her desire met as Millicent deepened the kiss and pulled her close.
They stumbled to the bedroom, leaving clothes along the way. Hermione's shoes clunked off in the hall. Millicent's blouse fluttered to the floor just outside her bedroom. Hermione cupped her breasts in her hands, unable to wait a moment longer, leaning down and tonguing a hard, rosy nipple through the lace of her bra.
"Oh, Granger… Fuck…"
Hermione's whole body responded to the sound of Millicent's voice, the feel of her shaking just because of the gentle way Hermione now sucked on her nipple. The absolute rush of doing this to her… to another woman… to Millicent… Hermione's skin pricked with energy. Her tits ached and tingled for touch. She was so very wet. And when Millicent's nipple got harder in her mouth, Hermione got wetter still.
"Bloody hell, bed," Millicent breathed.
Hermione shed the rest of her clothes on the way, and Millicent's gaze raked down her body, her eyes going dark. Hermione felt herself blushing, but it was much less embarrassment than it was lust. As Millicent dropped her trousers, Hermione crawled onto the bed, lying back against the pillows. They were far softer than any she owned, and Hermione had the wisp of a thought that maybe paired with an appreciation for chaos was a hedonistic tendency as well. Millicent's bed was a treasure trove of soft bedding, fluttery curtains, and rich textures. Hermione's naked body thrummed amidst it all.
Then Millicent came up over her, soft and warm and heavy, and Hermione instinctually spread her legs. Millicent settled there, and she felt perfect. They fit together in such a way that Hermione just wanted to wrap her arms around her and kiss her and rock and rock and rock until she came. Hermione rolled her hips up, and Millicent gasped.
"Granger…" she murmured, when Hermione rolled her hips again."Hold on," she said, and then she began mouthing her way down Hermione's body.
Millicent's lips and tongue met Hermione's nipple, and belatedly Hermione's hands flew up to grasp the slats of the headboard. She arched into the pleasure, the heat of her mouth and the flick of her tongue that had Hermione's pussy soaked still more.
Millicent licked her and sucked her and hummed approval of Hermione's writhing only to move to her other nipple to do the same, and different, and it was so good Hermione felt dizzy. Her hands tightened into fists around the slats, and her body moved against the fire rippling through her. She arched, her head thrown back, giving in as an aching groan purred past her throat.
"You're so bloody wonderful," Millicent said, her mouth descending and skating over Hermione's stomach.
Forgotten was the bad knee, the dodgy hip. Hermione suspected they'd smart tomorrow, but for now…
"Merlin, yes," Hermione cried as Millicent licked lower still, mouthing kisses over the coarse V of her pubic hair, lower to the split of her sex. Millicent opened Hermione's thighs and settled, her warm breath making Hermione mewl with anticipation.
"Hold on," Millicent whispered again, lips tickling her inner thigh.
And then she parted the lips of Hermione's cunt, lapped slow between her folds, and Hermione fell into rapturous chaos.
~Nearly Summer~
"Hon? What time is it?"
Millicent's voice filtered through Hermione's deep sleep and slowly woke her.
Even before Hermione opened her eyes, though, she knew something was off. Very much off. The light in the room was entirely too bright and strange and—
"Bugger!" Hermione wailed. And then when she cast a Tempus charm, "Oh bloody bugger!"
Millicent stretched beside her, bra still on but pushed up to expose her tits, just like it was last night when they'd finished, and Hermione would have really appreciated the picture she made, but…
"The train will be here in ten minutes, get up!"
Hermione scrambled from the bed and immediately regretted her haste as her hip caught and she doubled over in pain. "Bugger."
"Hip?"
"Yes," she hissed while trying not to breathe.
"Shouldn't have been on your hands and knees so long."
"It wasn't that. It was the other thing. The thing I did to you."
"Oh I doubt that! I was on top for Merlin's sake. All you had to do was lie there and look pretty and lube it up again from time to time."
Hermione slowly straightened, grimacing. "There's more to it than that, I'll have you—" She turned and glared at Millicent. "You're winding me up on purpose."
"Yes."
Hermione threw a sock at her. "Well, bloody help me, will you? We can't be late."
Millicent smiled and crawled over to Hermione's side of the bed. "Come here," she murmured.
"There's no time for that."
"Not that. This." Millicent took Hermione's face in her hands, and stilled her frenzy with a soft, slow kiss. "I'll get you there on time. Promise."
Hermione's pulse calmed. She let go of the panicked grasp she tended to feel she needed on life. She looked at Millicent smiling at her, and time slowed. She breathed out a sigh. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Millicent gave a pat to her arse. "Now go find your knickers, Granger."
~
The train arrived right on time, and thanks to Millicent's stealthy Side-Along, so did they.
Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet as she craned to look over the heads of the little ones.
Hugo was off first, and it warmed her heart that even at fifteen, he yelled, "Mum!" and strode over to give her a big hug.
"How are you, darling? How were your O.W.L.s? Did you make it through Transfiguration?"
Hugo ignored her. "Hi, Millie! Hey! I'll tell you about me later. It's Rose needs you."
"What, why? What's wrong?"
"Oh, there's nothing wrong. It's just a few days early, that's all." Hugo shrugged like it was nothing.
Hermione raised round eyes to find her daughter, then, supported by Zachary and another kid, her large pregnant belly preceding all of them, her mouth an 'O' of rapid labour breathing.
"Oh my god," Hermione gasped.
"Everybody up for a trip to St. Mungo's?" Rose asked. Then she warbled out, "Hi, Mum. I got Outstandings in everything except Herbology."
~
It was late, and everyone who had mobbed around the nursery window to coo over the baby had pretty much gone. Molly hadn't wanted to leave, but the excitement had got the better of her, and she'd had Bill and Fleur take her home. All of the other great-uncles and aunts and Hermione's nieces and nephews had gone. Ginny and Dean were among the last to linger, but they'd said their goodnights, too. The Zabinis had fallen away, though Blaise was reportedly still down in the lobby crowing to any stranger who would listen about how beautiful his granddaughter was.
"Granger," Malfoy had smiled, extending his hand. She'd gone to shake it, but he'd turned her hand and kissed the back. He gave her a fleeting wink over her wrist.
"Night, Hermione. Millicent," Harry had said with a warm grin.
She had watched them walk down the hall and couldn't help but smile as Malfoy slipped his arm around Harry's waist, leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and she'd heard Harry's laugh in response.
Then Hermione and Millicent were the only ones left.
Except for Ron.
"Well," he said finally, an adoring hand pressed to the glass before he turned to Hermione. "I think I'll just run home for a kip and then come back before Rosie's awake again."
Hermione nodded. "Of course."
Ron sighed. He looked down at the floor, and Hermione could tell he was fighting tears. "I wish… I'm just sorry Dad wasn't here to meet her. You know?"
Hermione felt her own emotions threaten. She cleared her throat. "So am I, Ron."
He looked up at her and gave her a sad smile that, when he turned one last glance at the nursery, turned brighter. "Goodnight," he said to the both of them and turned to walk away.
Millicent laid a hand at Hermione's back and gave her a nod.
"Ron?" Hermione called.
He turned back to her. "Yeah?"
Hermione gave him a small smile. "Congratulations. To you and Lavender, I mean."
Ron returned her smile and nodded. "Thanks, Hermione." Then he glanced at Millicent and back at her. "You, too."
Hermione turned back to the window of the nursery where Zoey slept, swaddled and safe.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Hermione whispered, the tears that she hadn't let rise before finally swimming in her eyes. And yet she couldn't stop smiling.
Millicent slipped her hand into Hermione's. "Just like you," she said.
Hermione turned to find her smiling that soft smile that had once seemed so incongruous and now was like the most natural thing in the world.
"You're catching me at a good moment," Hermione said, returning it. "My best moment." She squeezed Millicent's hand in her own. "What's your best moment, Mill?"
"Oh, Granger, don't be daft."
"What?" Hermione asked, slightly alarmed.
"You know it's any moment with you in it."
Hermione's chest filled with light and air and heat, and her breath seemed to elude her.
"Bloody hell, don't faint," Millicent chided. Then she pulled her close, and Hermione laughed, and she wrapped her arms around her. "Do you want to stay a while longer?" Millicent asked.
Hermione sighed. "Mmm, just another moment."
And then when, again, Millicent asked her in a whisper five minutes later, Hermione snuggled against her, and said the same.
~the end
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no subject
Date: 2016-03-08 11:17 pm (UTC)Ooh and the sexual tension... It was absolutely gorgeous. Thank you so much :)
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Date: 2016-03-22 01:20 am (UTC)