Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Hermione grunted and pressed sloppy kisses onto the silky neck of the witch she was fucking, one hand down the girl’s pants, knuckle deep, the other hand over her mouth trying to keep her noises to a minimum. Then the girl opened her mouth and sucked in two of her fingers.
“Fuck,” hissed Hermione, feeling the heat of the girl’s mouth shoot right down to between her thighs. She whispered, “Don’t bite me, okay?”
The girl mewled and licked around the fingers before pulling back and rushing a reply in panting breaths, “Just ‘urry up and keep fucking me, ‘Ermione Granger. We ‘ave two minutes left and I want to come.”
Hermione frowned as she looked up at the floating timer, which seemed to taunt her by slowly swirling around the various bunches of mistletoe that had been hung on the ceiling of the wardrobe they were in. She was doing the best she could with the maneuvering space she was given; if only the girl would’ve let her unzip her jeans. Feeling challenged and frustrated, the bookworm threw her thigh behind her hand to help with more forceful friction.
The girl’s moans got louder and Hermione was again annoyed that the wardrobe was warded against the use of proper silencing and muffling charms. It only allowed its own proprietary version of one, no doubt thanks to the ingenious Weasley twins who’d left the wardrobe to Ron after they graduated. She’d been told it was enough to muffle low volume conversations but louder sounds would be heard by those nearby. Hermione was doing her best with either her hand or her mouth over the girl’s mouth to smother the moaning, but now that she was thrusting her hips against the girl, she had no doubt people nearby could hear the thumping sounds on the wardrobe’s wall coming from inside. And she couldn’t be sure but it kind of felt like the wardrobe was rocking a bit. Hermione could only hope they didn’t knock the thing over.
Then the witch’s words hit Hermione. She’d been too distracted by the timer and their noises to fully absorb them but now she recognized certain things had just been revealed, not least of which was that this girl knew her name.
Before she’d entered the wardrobe for this game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, Seamus and Ron had told her that each person inside would have a modified disillusionment charm cast on them, allowing the general shape of the person to be seen, maybe a physical feature or two in very close proximity (wink wink), but that would be it. The wardrobe also had wards that prevented the use of a revelio to undo the disillusionment while both occupants were inside. So, Hermione had no idea who this girl was. But now she had clues. The girl knew who she was and had a slight French accent. Their brief conversation from a few minutes ago came to mind; the witch had used a non-descript English accent. Faking it meant the girl thought her voice would give her away. Did Hermione know her? There was a familiarity she couldn’t quite place. Hermione obviously couldn’t tell who it was due to the charm but a French accent could only mean...
She’s a Beauxbatons student!
Now she had even more motivation to get this girl off. She would not want it said that Hermione Granger didn’t know how to finish what she started.
*::::*
~Earlier that day~
Hermione was reading in the library after lunch. It was still the holiday break which meant she had the library to herself and even though she’d been fighting off the blues recently, she was enjoying the peace and quiet. That all ended when she heard a tinkling laugh that made her jaw clench so hard it hurt. Taking a peek over her book, she saw those Beauxbatons girls over by a shelf, Fleur Delacour among them. They seemed to inhabit the library whenever she was there. Just to annoy her, she was sure of it. She scowled, wanting to yell at them for being in uniform when they didn’t have to be. But she held her tongue, not wanting more of their attention. Laughter always followed their grating looks in her direction. Hermione didn’t know why they looked at her like that but she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if any of them wanted to be friends. And she knew this for a fact after the humiliation that happened a few weeks ago.
She’d been eating dinner in the Great Hall when she finally summoned her courage to speak to one of the Beauxbatons students that had caught her eye. They were all beautiful but one in particular haunted her thoughts and dreams. A blonde, blue-eyed girl with a steely, intelligent air. Fleur was the chosen champion for the Triwizard Tournament and practically every boy in the school was drooling over her. She was a Veela and her thrall lured them to her but she didn’t appear interested in any of them. In fact, it was Hermione who she had been stealing looks at ever since the visiting schools had arrived. And the brunette knew this because she was stealing looks at her, too. There had been a couple of passing exchanges in the castle corridors that intrigued Hermione and gave her the impression that Fleur was intrigued as well. The brunette had also researched as much as she could about Veela and she liked that she wasn’t affected by the blonde’s thrall; she liked to think that it made what she felt more real than those drooling idiots. Her attraction to the girl got to the point where her friends Harry and Ron had noticed and encouraged her to do something about it. That evening she’d decided it was time.
Hermione had walked over to the Ravenclaw table. Many eyes were on her at that point but Fleur’s back was to her and hadn’t noticed. To her lifelong mortification, she didn’t see the student barreling towards her as he rushed to his seat. He knocked into her as he passed, which caused Hermione to trip over her own feet and went shoulder first into Fleur’s back, accidentally forcing the girl’s face into her plate of food. Hermione had apologized profusely, had tried to help clean Fleur with a napkin, all the while stumbling through an invite to Hogsmeade. But Fleur’s rage would not be mollified. The blonde angrily declined her invite and rudely admonished Hermione and Hogwarts students in general over their poor manners. Other students laughed at her and there were a few insults tossed in from the Slytherin table. Losing her temper, she unleashed her own anger at the blonde and then she ran out of the Great Hall. Harry later tried to tell her that Fleur looked regretful and eyed the doors for a long time during dinner as if she waited for her return, but Hermione refused to believe him. If that were true, Fleur would’ve sought her out to smooth things over. Not this constant invasion of her space with amused stares and laughter at her expense, making her relive that horrifying event every time she saw them.
And yet.
Sometimes her eyes would meet blue ones and Hermione would get the sense that Fleur longed for something. It was unnerving. Because as angry as she was at what happened, she was still attracted to the blonde. But she wasn’t going to be the one to approach this time. It was Fleur’s turn.
Just as she thought this, she noticed Fleur stepping away from her friends and walking towards her. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Ron came into view, quickly striding towards Hermione’s table.
“Party tonight. Room of Requirement,” Ron said loudly.
“What?” Hermione asked distractedly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see how Ron’s words had caught the Beauxbatons girls’ attentions.
“Seamus and I are preserving Fred and George’s tradition of throwing a holiday party. Spread the word.”
“The Yule Ball was just three days ago, that wasn’t enough party for you?”
Shivers went down her spine at the memory of the Yule Ball. She’d gone with the Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum. Hermione liked boys as well as girls, and she’d liked the attention he’d given her. But whatever spark she thought she could fan into flame died at the sight of Fleur at the ball. Viktor was nice but nothing could compare to the heat she felt whenever cold blue eyes met hers. Fleur sent fierce glares her way and Hermione had answered them in kind. It was like some sort of battle that lasted throughout the night. Hermione still didn’t understand why it had happened, only that it had ruined her date. When the ball ended, Viktor politely thanked her for accompanying him but told her in no uncertain terms that he would cease his pursuit as it was clear she wasn’t interested. It added one more thing to the list of reasons to not like Fleur Delacour.
“Besides, you know I never went to any of the twins’ parties while they were here. Just juvenile excuses to get drunk and cause mayhem. That’s not my idea of fun.”
“You’ll want to go to this one, believe me,” Ron replied with a smirk.
“And why is that, Ronald Weasley?”
“Because it’s going to be a makeout party.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped open. He laughed and then walked away. A striking, raven-haired Beauxbatons girl stopped him. Fleur looked bored and uninterested, but Hermione noted how a few of the other girls glanced at her while Ron was gesticulating wildly as he told them about the party, doing well considering Fleur usually made him a purple-faced mess.
Later that evening, Hermione sat alone in the Gryffindor common room, reading a book. It was empty because of the holiday break and most of the younger students had gone home, but it was also empty because many of the sixth and seventh years still in the castle were currently attending this so-called Mistletoe Party.
Throwing her book down in frustration, Hermione glowered at the fireplace, the cheery fire doing nothing to brighten her mood. She wished she’d just gone home to spend the break with her family. Now the stresses of the holiday were compounded by homesickness and an ache for a girl that didn’t like her. The humorous stockings her fellow Gryffindors had hung up on the mantle usually drew a smile during the holiday season but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn’t get that damned party out of her head. A makeout party? She absolutely, one hundred percent did not want to go. Hermione was entirely satisfied with her level of experience at her seventeen years of age. There was an ex-boyfriend from last year who was a very good kisser, although she didn’t sleep with him, and a summer fling with a girl with whom she did. And often, she thought with a self-satisfied smile. The fling had been a physical thing only and she had learned a lot. But now she didn’t just want physical, she wanted the emotional connection, too.
Would she find that at this party, though?
Ron and Seamus had done their best during dinner in their attempts to convince her that she would have fun, that it would be a great holiday stress reliever. Even Harry joined in on the peer pressure, even though he wasn’t going since his girlfriend Ginny was a fifth year and Seamus and Ron were only letting in sixth and seventh years. Her friends also said it would soften her image. As the school know-it-all and a prefect, she did find it hard to make friends outside of her existing circle. And she was feeling kind of lonely. She glanced at the time. It was nearly ten o’clock. Ten was when they would close the door to new entrants.
Fine. Hermione would go. She would go and prove she could loosen up and have fun with her peers. And maybe it would be fun. Maybe a spark would light up with someone new, someone she hadn’t considered. Maybe she could make a certain blue-eyed girl jealous.
The prefects were in on helping students make it to the party so Hermione didn’t even have to borrow Harry’s invisibility cloak to sneak past Filch and any other professors on their nightly rounds.
Easily making it to the seventh floor, Hermione arrived at the door. The music was loud and she could tell there were a lot of students inside. To her surprise, some students were already leaving, though there were still students arriving right at ten o’clock just as she was. Following behind one such group, Hermione saw everyone was being met and vetted by Seamus and Ron. Seamus even had a quill and parchment at the ready, writing down a few things after talking with each entering person.
Hermione knew ahead of time about the two-galleon price for entry so she was prepared for that. But after overhearing pieces of the conversation ahead of her, she was aghast. She kept her mouth shut, though, until it was her turn.
When they were ready for her, she stepped forward and huffed at Ron.
“The last one in. So glad you could make it, ‘Mione,” Ron said with a smile. He gestured towards Seamus to lock the door to entry. No more students would be coming in. “I promise you’ll have a good time.”
Skipping the small talk, she jumped right to it.
“Required participation, Ronald? You’re forcing people to kiss people?”
“No, we are not,” replied Seamus. “Everyone is free to leave. And they have done so as I’m sure you saw when you came in.”
“That’s right. Everyone walking through has heard the rules and has freely consented.”
“Incentivizing with firewhisky is a bit of a manipulation, don’t you think?”
“Hold on now, everyone who participates is going to get as much butterbeer as they want. There are areas throughout the room to grab a bottle. Firewhisky is for those who can handle a bit more fire, if you get my meaning, and that can only be dispensed at that bar over there. Besides, I was completely upfront about telling you it was going to be a makeout party. I just didn’t mention the part about the kissing games,” Ron stated. Hermione scowled. She hated whenever he managed to argue coherently.
“And you probably missed us telling this to that group ahead of you,” Seamus added, “But we’ve told everyone at the door our plans before they hand over their galleons. We don’t want anyone to feel like they’re missing out on a chance to let loose with friends just because they don’t want to kiss anyone, so we’re going to use the proceeds from tonight’s door money to throw a New Year’s Eve party in a few days. Fifth years and higher will be invited. No kissing games required.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped open. They really had thought of everything. And now it wasn’t just a choice she had to make on whether to party or not. It was whether to attend this party, which required kissing game participation, or not.
After taking a minute to think it over, she handed over her two galleons. She had made it this far, what did she have to lose?
Seamus told her to touch her wand to the parchment, which she did, then he wrote her name down. She tilted her head, trying to see what was next to the names of the people ahead of her on the list.
“Hey, no peeking!” warned Seamus, pulling the parchment to his chest. “This is an enchanted parchment. And we are bound by secrecy not to reveal the names of participants of a certain game involving a wardrobe to anyone.”
Rolling her eyes, she waved at them to continue. The boys then proceeded to give her the rundown of the party rules. In addition to the two galleons, all entrants were required to participate in at least one of three games.
The first was Spin the Bottle. Everyone was required to stay in the game long enough that they kissed at least one person. Closed-mouth pecks were permitted, but it had to be on the lips. If they kissed three people, that would earn them a shot of firewhisky. Ron said a majority of attendees had chosen this game. Looking over his shoulder, Hermione could see various circles of people throughout the room smiling and laughing over a bottle on the ground.
The second game was Truth or Dare. This wasn’t necessarily a kissing game but Hermione knew it often went in that direction. Participating meant drinking a dose of veritaserum, creating the incentive to take some dares to avoid honest truth telling. One dare minimum required, and for every two dares taken, that would earn a shot of firewhisky. Not surprisingly, the boys told her there weren’t many people who’d signed up for this game. Seamus pointed out one group off in a corner and sure enough, it consisted of the more adventurous students she knew of at Hogwarts.
Seven Minutes in Heaven in a wardrobe was the third game. Anyone who signed up for this game was guaranteed three shots of firewhisky. Unlike Spin the Bottle where a quick peck on the lips counted as the minimum, the magical mistletoe hanging in the wardrobe required participants to kiss on the mouth for at least twenty seconds. Those who didn’t would violate the mistletoe contract and have bad luck for two weeks.
“I don’t see why anyone would choose that game then,” Hermione laughed nervously, trying to hide her interest.
“You’d be surprised. I think the added incentive of a disillusionment charm takes away some of the fear.”
“What do you mean?”
They explained that Seven Minutes participants would have modified disillusionment charms cast on them; some features might be visible but not enough to determine a person’s identity, making it impossible to know who people were kissing unless they themselves decided to tell their partners. There were some other peculiarities to the wardrobe and she was impressed with the twins’ foresight and magical abilities. She wasn’t keen on the random selection to the pairings (what if she got someone she hated?) but if she kept quiet on who she was, then whoever she got wouldn’t have rumors to spread. Ron was right; the anonymity of it was an appealing incentive. Playing spin the bottle meant whoever she had to kiss would see her and the prospect of seeing disappointment on their faces didn’t sit well with her.
“You know, all the Beauxbatons girls here put their names down for Seven Minutes. And none of them have been called yet,” said Ron in a low, conspiratorial voice.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and she resisted scanning the room. She could feel it in her gut, though. Fleur was here somewhere.
“Did they? Aren’t you not supposed to say who’s playing that game?” she asked in as indifferent a voice as she could muster. It was a futile effort. Ron knew which girl she was itching to look for and he laughed at her playacting.
“Did I name names? Whose name would you want me to say, hmm?”
Hermione pursed her lips, irritated with Ron’s hints at her crush on Fleur.
“So, what shall it be?” asked Seamus, defusing the tension with a chuckle. His expression told her he already knew her choice.
“Three shots of firewhisky is incentive enough,” Hermione answered casually. “Put me down for Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
“Brilliant!” Seamus and Ron said together gleefully. Seamus wrote the game’s name on the parchment next to her name and instructed her that when it was her turn, one of them would come get her. Two others were currently in charge of gathering students for that game but after they finished signing her in, it would be their turn.
“I’m surprised you’re not participating, Ron,” teased Hermione, letting go of her annoyance at him from a moment ago. “This seems like something you would kill to be a part of.”
“Yeah well, I don’t think Lavender would like it,” he replied sheepishly, and Hermione smiled back, glad to hear he was finally doing something about his crush on Lavender Brown.
Seamus laughed and slapped him on the back and said, “And I’ve got my eye on someone, too, so we’re the perfect ones to be in charge. Now with the time we have available, not everyone will be able to go into the wardrobe so there’s a chance you won’t be called at all. But you’ll still be able to have the firewhisky while you wait.”
Ron asked, “Preferences on your kissing partner?”
She gave them both a hard stare. This was where she would ordinarily remind them that she liked wizards and witches but in the end she muttered, “Witches.”
Hermione just didn’t feel like kissing a random boy who would likely try to grope her in the dark. Not that girls didn’t grope, too. She told herself her preference had nothing to do with wanting to improve the odds of getting paired with Fleur, assuming her gut was right and she was here. Hermione just wanted to get the Frenchwoman out of her head and thought a witch would do a better job of that.
Seamus marked it down and they pushed her further into the room to get swallowed up by raucous music and teenage hormones.
Hermione smiled politely at a few classmates as she walked to the bar. In order to get there, she had to walk around the dancefloor, where lots of students were dancing wildly. She saw various Beauxbatons students but so far none were the ones from the library. It was interesting how the foreign students chose to dress at the party. The Durmstrang boys and girls coordinated in red turtlenecks and black trousers. The Beauxbatons students were mainly in their uniforms, although some were in regular clothes. From what she could see, most of those were in pretty cocktail dresses and skirts so they may as well be in their uniforms as far as she was concerned. Feeling a little self-conscious about her blue jeans and simple pink long-sleeve henley, she continued on towards the bar.
It wasn’t a very big bar, maybe two meters long. There weren’t any stools to sit on so she just leaned up against it, put her hands on top, and yelled for the bartender’s attention. He was a seventh year Hufflepuff, and when he turned her way, he immediately looked down at something before promptly serving her a shot of firewhisky along with a bottle of butterbeer. It was probably a list that matched with the enchanted parchment Seamus had which made sense; the students in charge of handing over the shots had to know which games people signed up for and what they were allowed to have. She felt a blush on her cheeks at the knowing smile coming from the Hufflepuff. Wanting to avoid that smile, Hermione looked down at her drinks. The alcohol content of this particular brand of butterbeer was not strong, maybe the equivalent of a quarter serving of regular beer, but it served its purpose as a chaser for the firewhisky. Downing her shot which burned her throat, she grabbed the butterbeer and decided to walk around the room.
Everything was decorated in garish holiday decorations, tinsel hanging from the ceiling, twinkling lights of every color imaginable thrown up on walls and on various shaped trees and bushes. The lighting was dim, giving the games an intimate atmosphere but also making the dancefloor feel like a nightclub. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Seven Minutes wardrobe was positioned towards the back of the room, but not up against a wall. The students who were standing near it appeared to be laughing. Was that a cheer she just heard? Turning away, she focused on the other games around her. Comfortable loveseats and pillows on the floor were strewn about the room, giving those spin the bottle games a cozy ambience. Hermione made her way to a wall where she could watch the proceedings without drawing attention. There was less debauchery than expected for what had been pitched to her as a makeout party. Aside from the partially clad truth or dare players, and a few couples kissing in secluded corners and alcoves, the dancing was tame and the overall mood seemed lighthearted and carefree. After a while, she realized most of the party-goers seemed more excited about the games and less so about the firewhisky. Not that they weren’t drinking, and she did see a few that looked drunk, it just seemed that most of the students weren’t making it a goal to get as wasted as possible. It took a while for her to get it but she eventually came to the conclusion that the alcohol was the excuse, not the incentive. It was something to blame for why they had consented to participate in these games so they didn’t have to admit that they wanted to kiss people.
A laugh bubbled up in her chest at this realization but then she finally spotted the Beauxbatons girls that Ron had spoken to in the library, the ones that always seemed to know when she’d be alone at the library. They were laughing together near a game of spin the bottle. It appeared a couple of girls in their group were playing. Looking closer, she saw Fleur give a quick peck to a Ravenclaw girl. Then blue eyes met hers, and pink lips curled into a smile. She didn’t know how to interpret that smile. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said Fleur looked pleased to see her. But she did know better. Which meant that smile was a taunt, a taunt of what she couldn’t have.
Jealousy slashed through Hermione’s chest. Part of her wanted to join that circle and snog every person there except Fleur. That would show her.
The other part of Hermione, the hurt part, wanted to run. And that’s exactly what she did, heading straight back to the bar for her second shot of firewhisky.