Scratching The Itch - H/Hr NC-17
By Anne U
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's note: This is the companion piece to The Snitch by napalmnancy. I started out as Nancy's betareader/sounding board on that story, and when she was about halfway through it I begged her to allow me to write the flip side of it, telling it from Hermione's point of view. Nancy's story is absolutely brilliant and before you read even one word of my story, you MUST read hers first. So go there, read hers first and then come back and read mine J .
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Now that you've read Nancy's story, I'd like to thank my beta readers, Jori and especially Molly Moon, for their wonderfully helpful suggestions. Mostly though, I want to thank Nancy for drawing the wonderful art that inspired her insanely wonderful story and for allowing me to try to give Hermione's point of view. As for what belongs to whom, the overall plot is Nancy's but I wrote one extra H/Hr scene (*cough*) at the beginning of the last part of the story. Other than that scene, all dialog that includes both Harry and Hermione is Nancy's. Otherwise, any scene where Harry isn't present came completely from my somewhat addled brain. Also, scattered through the story are occasional turns of phrases that are Nancy's handiwork (from her story); she's seen them all and is okay with them. In those instances I simply couldn't find a way to phrase something better than she had.
Now that you're thoroughly confused, please read and, I hope, enjoy Scratching The Itch.
~~*~~~*~~~
Part 1 - Marking
They were all insanely drunk. This was certainly as drunk as Hermione had ever seen any of them, and she'd seen all of them pickled in the past year. Ever since Ron Weasley had - finally - been signed to play reserve Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, she and Ron's other best friend, Harry Potter, had been fixtures not only at the team's professional Quidditch games but also at the parties that inevitably followed them. Ron's team mates didn't seem to care about two extra revelers, but the fact that both Harry and Hermione came to support Ron at virtually every game seemed to tick off the Quidditch Girlfriends no end.
Hermione didn't have much use for any of the Quidditch Girlfriends. They spent much too much time talking about Quidditch statistics and team politics and apparently had little interest in anything else. They were all a little too blonde, a little too perky, a lot too slinky and bitchy and high-maintenance for her taste. They pranced around in their too-tight outfits, flashing a bit too much of their tits and arses at the players and anyone else who offered to buy them a pint of butterbeer or a shot of firewhisky. No, Hermione really didn't have much use for any of them, and apparently, they had very little use for her either, and they made sure she knew it.
"Are you Ron's girlfriend?" she was asked on more than one occasion.
Hermione would laugh and say. "Oh goodness, no, I'm his best friend. My name is Hermione." This always seemed to draw titters from whoever asked the question, but she always ignored that response. After all, it wasn't her fault if this pack of bints couldn't understand how two young men and a young woman - who'd known each other since they were eleven - could be best friends without sex entering into the picture at all. These young women were groupies whose lives revolved around Quidditch the way rock groupies' lives (and love lives) revolved around certain musicians. They could assume whatever they wanted, but they couldn't possibly understand what she and Ron and Harry had been through together or what they meant to each other.
"That's a very interesting top," a blue-eyed young woman snickered at Hermione one evening, a glass of wine tipped to the blonde's lips while her blue eyes roved over Hermione's frame.
"Oh," Hermione looked down at her lavender gauze peasant top and pushed up the elastic wristbands. "It's just something I bought for a night out."
"Of course." The smile on the girl's face didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes, I often think about trying the second-hand chic look myself, but I doubt I could really pull it off. My looks require fine haute couture. It doesn't gel." The girl looked Hermione up and down again and tilted her head prissily. "It works with you wonderfully. Must be that natural look you have. Almost charming in a mousy sort of way."
Hermione felt her face tighten with annoyance. After seven years of dealing with Slytherin snideness, she could spot a putdown a kilometre away. She'd just bought this top a month ago and rather liked it, and she didn't much cotton to the other woman's tone of voice. And why would this tart assume that Hermione cared what she thought about her appearance?
Hermione's lips formed a thin, tight line. "Aaah. Must be wonderful to have the time and energy to invest in your appearance," she chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I don't have time for a heavy regimen. Not with my career anyway."
"Oh, and what is it you do, darling?"
"I work for the Ministry," she answered with a note of glee.
"And what do you do?"
She glared a bit at the other girl and held her gaze a few seconds. "I hunt down Dark Wizard…and the blonde cows that follow them."
"Oh."
Needless to say, after that conversation the other girls wrote Hermione off and never approached her again. Hermione didn't care, though. She'd always thought they were a fussy, snooty, annoying pack of bints, and she neither wanted nor needed their approval. She had the company of her two best friends and that was all she really needed.
While he'd always seemed more attuned to her emotionally than Ron had, Harry in particular had become very solicitous toward Hermione during Ron's year with the Cannons. He apparently had decided she couldn't look out for herself at these parties and always seemed to keep an eye on her whenever they hung out with the team. She hated him doing that and tried more than once to talk him out of it, but his mind was made up, and knowing him as well and as long as she had, she knew that once he got an idea, even she had difficulty talking him out of it. She couldn't really say he cramped her style or interfered with her love life, though, because she didn't exactly have one these days. She was too busy with her job, researching the organization and business ties of the remaining Death Eaters, to put much effort into dating. Besides, she had a very stable and happy life these days, sharing a flat in London with her two best friends. She really shared it much more with Harry, of course, because Ron was frequently gone on road trips with the team. No, she really didn't have time to waste time thinking about boyfriends, or sex, or any of that distracting rubbish. At least that's what she kept telling herself.
The post-game celebration that night was vastly more rowdy than usual because, for the first time in many years, the Cannons had made it to the last round of the semi-finals. Despite their loss to the Falmouth Falcons, the team had exceeded everyone's expectations grandly, which caused tremendous good spirits among players and fans alike. So even though the Cannons had been knocked out of the playoffs, the mood in the pub was mostly upbeat and Hermione was happy to help them celebrate the end of their better-than-expected season. She liked to believe that Ron was the main reason they'd done so well this year. His passion for the game and his head for Quidditch strategy had served him well as reserve Keeper, so much so that the team's captain now sought his advice. Hermione was thrilled for Ron, who had followed the Cannons since he was a little wizard in knee pants, and she knew that Harry was thrilled for him too. As his best friends, they truly enjoyed attending his games when they could, helping him celebrate the team's victories and drown his sorrows after their losses. Putting up with the Quidditch bints' put-downs seemed a small price to pay to support one of her best friends, though it didn't always help her mood.
This was one of those Quidditch bint nights. Hermione, scowling, nursed a butterbeer while Ron chatted with his teammates and Harry stood further down the bar rail, keeping an eye on her. Harry had watched out for her for years, of course, but now his vigilance seemed to go a shade beyond the caring eyes of a close friend. Lately there was something infinitesimally different about how he watched her, almost a quantum leap in the way his eyes seemed to linger whenever she looked at him. Her cheeks burned as she sucked down some of the clear liquid in her mug. Since when did Harry looking at her make her blush? Hermione shook her head as if to shake the silly thought - and the paths it could lead to - out of her mind. There had long been an unspoken line between her and Harry, a line that had never been crossed and that she hadn't really considered crossing until recently. She shook her head again at the mere thought of considering it. Harry had been her best friend for more than ten years and even the suggestion of going beyond that line gave her a flicker of panic she couldn't fathom.
Before she could ponder this further, however, a commotion in the pub interrupted her thoughts. Hermione's friend and former dorm-mate, the inimitable Lavender Brown, had just arrived making her usual grand entrance. Hermione and Lavender had never been close at Hogwarts, and through fourth year, Lavender had seemed a bit of a space cadet, a silly (so Hermione thought) girl who cared only about boys, fashion and the strange whimperings of her Divination teacher. But when Lavender chose to join the Defence Association in fifth year, Hermione began to look at her in a new light and to understand why she'd been placed in Gryffindor House. Lavender wasn't book-smart, but she was very sharp about people and profoundly loyal to her friends. These qualities served her well in the D.A. and after they all finished school.
Once Voldemort was defeated, Lavender had joined the Daily Prophet and worked her way up the staff ladder, first as an astrologer, then as a gossip column editor and now as a social commentator dealing with serious issues. She'd disappeared from the trio's lives for a couple of years, but once she started writing about serious topics she began to come round for their opinions, especially Harry's, on issues like Wizarding politics and hunting bad guys. In addition to their professional relationship with her, they re-discovered Lavender's love of a good party. Her job kept her much too busy for frequent partying, but when she did have time to let down her hair, she partied as hard as anyone they knew. She was also tremendously fond of Ron and didn't miss an opportunity to let him know how much she enjoyed his company. She was smart, well dressed and didn't take any guff from anyone. The Quidditch girlfriends seemed to dislike her even more than they disliked Hermione, which made Lavender all the more endearing.
All in all, Hermione was glad to discover how much she had underestimated Lavender when they were younger. She now saw Lavender as an ally as well as a friend. And that was really how the whole thing started…
~~~*~~*~~
"Where's Hermione? And my Ronnie friend?" Lavender's bright voice floated over the crowd in the pub. She's just put down a minor insurrection led by Sandra Levine, the self-appointed queen of the Quidditch girlfriends, who'd bristled at Lav's suggestion that the team should've gathered at the Leaky Cauldron after the game rather than at this out-of-the way pub that no one in the press would think of visiting.
Ron blushed as Lav gathered him into a hearty hug then dragged him down to the end of the bar where Harry and Hermione were nursing their butterbeers. Lav sat down next to Hermione, who squeezed her hand and smiled.
"So we're drinking already?" Lav inquired.
"We'll need it with this bunch," Hermione replied.
"Bunch of snobs," Lav agreed, waving at the bartender. "The hell with them."
Ron sat next to Lavender, a sullen look on his face. "I would have the friends nobody likes."
"But Ronnie, the boys like me," Lavender countered, lifting a brow in the direction of Ron's teammates, who were so drunk they wouldn't have noticed if the Hogwarts Express had steamed through the pub.
"Blokes always like a pretty girl, Lav."
"That's so sweet of you to say," she smiled at him. Ron returned her smile, a hint of the Cheshire cat in his expression.
Harry, meanwhile, was keeping his own counsel. He looked relieved that Hermione finally had a friendly female to converse with and could now feel free to ignore the unpleasant glares from the other end of the bar. Actually she'd had no trouble ignoring those glares, but Hermione was happy for Lavender's company. Lavender almost always made any night out more fun, and Hermione had a feeling this night could end up as one of their wildest evenings yet.
She finished up her pint and glanced at Harry, who was regarding her with a somewhat wistful expression. Hermione used to feel that she could figure out what Harry was thinking just by looking at him, but lately he'd become a lot harder to read. Something about his expression made her cheeks burn.
Bollocks, blushing again.
Fortunately Lavender distracted her from the impossible road this might have gone down. "Shots all around," she ordered, slapping the bar. "Tequila first! Come on!"
Already feeling a bit tipsy, not to mention knackered from a very long day, Hermione groaned. "We're not going to repeat Harry's birthday, are we?"
"Oh no, of course not," Lavender admonished her. "This will be loads better." Hermione groaned again and attempted to push away the shotglass full of tequila that Lavender shoved at her. This drew an amused smile from Harry, who soon had a shotglass of his own, while Ron obediently took the shotglass Lavender fixed for him.
"Everybody ready for some tequila?" Lavender asked them.
Not that we have any choice here, do we? Hermione thought, hoping for the best.
"One, two, three…down the hatch!"
As quickly as she could, Hermione swallowed the tiny glass of sharp, clear liquid. Though it didn't have much taste going down, it made her throat burn and her eyes water. It also made her even tipsier very quickly. She'd rather drink butterbeer, thankyouverymuch. Lavender showed her appreciation by smacking her lips and yelling at the bartender for more booze.
"Oh yes! Yes! More for everyone! Anyone want a slippery nipple?"
Now the party was really starting to rock. The other players left the gaggle of Quidditch Girlfriends and came down to the Hogwarts end of the bar, enticed both by the booze itself and by the drinking games Lavender loved to get going. The room and its occupants seemed to wiggle a bit as Lavender led the crowd in one bawdy song after another. When they sang one about Voldemort having a "shrivelled pin-dick and a foetus for a head," Hermione chose to sit quietly and not sing along. She'd been there when Harry finally killed the bastard, so singing a drunken song about Voldemort's anatomy didn't seem nearly as funny to her as it did to the Chudley Cannons, but she did manage to down another shot of tequila in time with everyone else. And the thought that she, Harry and Ron and their friends were still around to joke about it brought a smile to her face.
The room was spinning now, but Hermione didn't care. Lavender was plying everyone with booze and they were all high as kites, Hermione included. She didn't understand why, but being around Lavender always made her feel more adventurous than she would on her own. A conversation from another drunken evening suddenly flitted through her brain. She and Lavender had somehow got on the topic of kissing techniques, which veered off toward whether either of them had ever kissed another girl. Lavender had said that if Hermione were ever interested in taking a test drive, she'd be more than happy to oblige. Hermione remembered blushing at the offer and smiling at Harry, who was nearby and had probably overhead them talking. If the bulge in his pants was any indication, he'd been very turned on by what he'd heard. For some reason, this hadn't bothered her at all.
Hermione's mind snapped back to the present. Lavender was chatting with her again, this time going on about wizard politics, which intrigued her very much. Without knowing when it had happened, Hermione realized she was leaning up against Harry, his side against her back. His body felt solid and oh so comfortable against hers, and as she leaned against him, she felt his fingers drift into her hair, playing with her curls. Perhaps she really was too drunk now but she found that she liked how his hand felt in her hair and really wouldn't mind if he never removed it -
Suddenly Harry pulled away from her, his free hand flying out as a tiny flitter of gold zipped toward him. Reflexively his fingers wrapped around the Snitch, which fluttered helplessly in his grip. A roar erupted from the other end of the bar; one of the players chortled, "Once a Seeker, always a Seeker!" and ordered his mates to pay up on a bet. Shifting away from her, Harry placed the Snitch on the bar then drifted into a conversation with Ron.
Somewhere deep inside her, flittering beneath her consciousness, Hermione envied that Snitch.
Almost magically, Lavender appeared on the barstool Harry had just vacated. She grabbed Hermione's hand, looked her in the eye and - almost as a dare - said, "Let's snog!"
"You mean, you and me? Here? Now?" Knowing that Lav was probably at least as drunk as she was, Hermione wanted to make sure she'd heard right.
"Why not? It'll drive those bints wild," Lavender replied with a saucy smile directed toward the Quidditch girlfriends. Then she noticed Hermione's hesitation. "I know we talked about this a while ago. C'mon, Hermione, it'll be fun. And it'll make the blokes insane…"
Hermione looked around the room and shrugged. "Okay, but …"
"But what?"
"You understand that I'm doing this for me. I'm genuinely curious as to what it'd be like. I'm not doing this for them. That's just a fringe benefit."
"Oh, that's fine, Hermione, really," Lavender cooed as she moved closer.
From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ron fidgeting and whispering with Harry. As Lavender leaned in, Hermione closed her eyes and was vaguely aware of the crowd roaring around them. Lavender's lips were smooth and soft as rose petals, and she tasted of the peachy lip gloss she wore. The silky tip of her friend's tongue sent shivers through Hermione's body, and she had to admit that Lavender really was a terrific kisser -- but Lavender's kisses weren't what she wanted. She wanted… she didn't know who she wanted, but it wasn't another girl, not even one as pretty and funny as Lav. When Lavender broke the kiss Hermione's cheeks burned, and upon opening her eyes she discovered Harry staring at her, wide-eyed and blushing just as hard as she was.
"Thanks, Hermione, that was lovely," Lavender said, stroking her cheek lightly. "You taste like chocolate and Black Russians."
Ron, too, was blushing furiously, but Hermione was pretty sure Lavender would much rather kiss him than her on a regular basis. She knew Harry wasn't interested in Lavender that way, so his reaction to that innocent little kiss just didn't make sense. Unless…
No.
Bugger, she admonished herself. Don't be ridiculous. He'd probably blush if he watched any two girls kissing. Well, perhaps not if it were Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.
The rounds of drinks continued unabated, as did Hermione's drinking. While Harry, Ron and Lavender continued to throw drinks back effortlessly, Hermione struggled to keep up with them. After more shots of tequila and more butterbeers, Hermione eventually knew only one thing - she'd never had so much alcohol in her life, including the unauthorized leaving-school party the night before they completed their seventh year at Hogwarts. At last, right before midnight, as if trying to put them out of their alcohol-poisoned misery, the publican shouted, "Time to shut up shop, folks!"
Lavender seemed horrified at the prospect of leaving. "But I'm not ready to go home yet," she whined, grabbing Ron's hand. Ron, obviously quite drunk, just nodded vaguely.
At times like this, Hermione usually had one of two reactions. Either she folded her tent and went home to sleep if off, or she got a second wind. On this evening, the huge amount of alcohol she'd drunk seemed to bring out a boldness she didn't know she had.
"We won't!" she called out, propping herself up on the footrest of the bar so she could stand up taller than everyone else. Then she let out a shrill whistle to get everyone's attention.
"We're going to the Leaky Cauldron! Who's going with us?"
When Hermione caught his eye a moment later, Harry looked at her like he'd never seen her before in his life.
~~*~~*~~
Most of the Chudley Cannons went with them, while the majority of the girlfriends dropped out, which suited Hermione just fine. Being a hotel as well as a public house, the Leaky Cauldron was open all night, and it was well known as one of the most Wizarding popular pubs in London. But the old, dark pub didn't normally host gatherings quite as raucous as the Chudley crowd. The players and their hangers-on piled into the pub with their orange cloaks tied about various parts of their bodies, chanting the team anthem slowly like a funeral dirge, which led to a bit of clucking and head-shaking by the regulars. This, of course, did nothing to stop the flow of alcohol, which continued to flow as freely as butterbeer on a Hogsmeade weekend.
Ron leaned on the bar with Lavender wrapped around his arm, both of them sipping firewhisky.
"It's a pity Ginny couldn' be here," he muttered. "She'dah loved it."
Hermione smirked, knocking back her own whisky. "I'm sure she's having fun on her secret mission thing. Bloody nutter." Ron shook his head sadly.
"She would work for the Department of Mysteries," Lavender chimed in.
Apparently not quite as drunk as she was, Harry looked at Hermione with that solicitous expression he often adopted at times like this. Perhaps he'd noticed something she was only starting to realize herself. "You all right?" he asked.
She nodded, wincing a little. "I just don't think all the different spirits are sitting well in my stomach. You know what they say - you should never mix your drinks-" She stopped, eyes bugging. "Excuse me!"
Jumping off her stool, she ran off towards the little witches room, hands clamped over her mouth. She shoved the rest room door with her elbow and hustled into the first open stall she could find. As she knelt next to the toilet and started retching, she heard a most familiar male voice call her name from inside the rest room.
"Hermione?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't answer.
"Hermione? You want me to come in?"
As she continued to retch, she felt Harry kneel beside her and pull her hair off her face. He sighed and stroked her hair with his soft, strong hands.
"Silly. Shouldn't try to keep up with Lav."
Hermione only groaned. She sat on the floor, and after leaning on the rim of the bowl, she reached up and grabbed some toilet paper, wiping at her face. She hated him seeing her like this. He'd seen her cowering from a troll, with a face full of cat fur, Petrified, with beaver-like front teeth, and half-dead more than once -- but she hated any and every time he saw her when she'd overindulged or otherwise lost control. And yet as much as she hated him seeing her like this, the fact that he always came after her, made sure she would be okay, never failed to touched a nerve that ran still and deep inside her. She knew he was the only man she'd allow to see her looking like a common drunkard, with vomit all over her face. Perhaps that meant something, but she was too drunk to try to figure it out now.
"I feel like someone is trying to mix a chemical bomb in my stomach."
He wrapped an arm around her, leaning his head against hers and continuing to stroke her hair.
"Will you be all right?"
She nodded, and turning, she burrowed into his arms, snuggling to the nape of his neck. Just as he'd always been, for longer than she could remember, he remained her rock, her North Star, the person who always accepted her as-is, no questions asked. Although Ron was also her best friend, Harry was first among equals to her, and she loved holding him and being held by him, and always had. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and she felt his lips brush her hair. It was a gesture as rare as it was tender, and her body softened against his, almost molding to his lean but muscled physique. At that moment she was reminded of how delicious his physique actually was and how much she enjoyed this kind of extended physical contact with him.
Suddenly the little wave of panic rustled through her brain again and she forced herself to shift slightly away from him. She looked up at him with a sorry expression in her eyes.
"I must look terrible," she mumbled.
Harry smiled, cradling her cheek and stroking it with his thumb as he shook his head.
"You never look terrible," he said.
She snorted and shakily pulled herself to her feet.
"Please! I'm not silly, you know." Standing in the cubicle, she swayed a little and pointed at him, her
finger wandering to and fro. "You have this strange idea in your head that I'm pretty or something and
it's utter bunkum. Bunkum!" She attempted to poke his chest to reaffirm her point but only managed to poke him
in the nipple. She frowned at him -- why wouldn't he stand still? -- and growled. Turning, she strode out of the
cubicle and washed her face in the basin.
Harry plodded to where she stood and pulled her hair out of her face again. Why did he keep doing that? She could take care of herself. She didn't need him standing there all Harry-like in his saving-people mode, with his wonderful body and beautiful face and unique scent and hands that sent little shocks through her and lips that had chosen to kiss her hair, and …
Suddenly she stood up and glared at him.
"What are YOU doing in here anyway?! It's a LADIES toilet!"
The git chuckled as if she'd cracked a joke. ""I was looking for Moaning Myrtle?"
"Huh." She bent over and washed her face and gargled water. Bloody hell, her mouth tasted like the bottom of a dustbin. She stood up and scowled at herself in the mirror. He would have to see her looking like this. Buggerysmeggerydammittohell
"All my bloody make-up's been washed off." Waving a hand disgustedly at the mirror, she turned away and walked toward the door. "Bloody waste of time anyway."
She stomped back into the pub, hoping he wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow. She hoped she could find some way to forget it herself.
~~~*~~~*~~~
The next two hours were basically a repeat of the previous six. Along with everyone else, Hermione continued to consume more of the "silly juice," as Harry called it. She had at least two more shots of tequila and her love of Kahlua led her to a Screaming Orgasm and a Dirty Nipple. At least that was what she thought the drinks were called; Hermione had barely mentioned her love of the chocolate-flavored liqueur and Lavender started ordering up drinks that sounded like the titles of porn films. Where had Lavender learned the names of all these drinks? Perhaps the Daily Prophet staff was not nearly as stuffy as Hermione had always believed.
After losing count of how much she'd drunk that evening, Hermione found the Leaky Cauldron and its inhabitants spinning slowly around her. As she sat at the bar near Harry, she discovered just how drunk Ron was. He'd dropped the team's Snitch down Lavender's blouse and the poor girl was close to hysterical as the thing flapped around inside her blouse and up and down between her breasts. Ron's teammates were urging him to "Go for it!" while Lavender hissed and squealed for him to get it out. Hermione could just barely watch, her hand clasped over her mouth in horror.
Slipping his hands up under Lav's blouse, Ron managed to corral the Snitch between her breasts before the thing popped out of her cleavage. But Lavender apparently had lost interest in the Snitch and stood there with her blue eyes wide and fixed on him. That was when Hermione saw something electric pass between Ron and Lavender. If she was correct about it, Ron Weasley was hoping to get lucky later that night. Still, he needn't be so obvious about it. She leaned forward, feeling a bit wobbly.
"Ron, you're in public. Get your hands out of her bloody top."
The Chudley players roared at this, assuming Hermione was jealous of Ron's actions toward Lavender. Somehow they'd got the bloody stupid idea that she, Hermione Granger, was in love with Ron Weasley. They winked and nudged at Ron, who finally realized where his hands oughtn't be and removed them to a less incriminating location.
Now it was two in the morning and things really started getting out of hand. One of the Chudley players decided to do body shots on his girlfriend, who was wearing a halter top and hip huggers that rode down below her waist. The sight of that shot of rum trickling between the woman's breasts, then trailing down toward her stomach, only to be licked off slowly just south of her navel, made Hermione squirm in a delicious sort of way. Another player let his girlfriend do shots on him, and Hermione uttered a low sigh as the liquid slid between his naked shoulder blades and down to the small of his back, where the girl's tongue swept up the pale liquid just before it rolled down toward his arse.
These people had no shame. They also had no pity on those who'd come stag and couldn't indulge in this wicked little game. When one of the blokes suggested that Harry join in, Hermione felt that delicious squirming sensation yet again. Then he declined the invitation, and a little flame of pique rose in her. There he goes again, spoiling my fun, her drunken brain grumbled. But by then she was too drunk to try to figure out why she suddenly cared whether he wanted to do this.
Then Lavender came up to Hermione and grabbed her hand; the two of them wandered out of the pub without even so much as a goodbye to Ron or Harry.
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as they stumbled through the magical entry into Diagon Alley.
"We're gonna go get something stiffer to drink, love," Lavender giggled, pulling her by the elbow. "And who knows what else."
"You mean…?"
"Whatever else tickles our fancy!" Lavender roared as she hooked her arm in Hermione's and led her gingerly down the cobbled street. The shops along Diagon Alley had closed hours earlier, which meant they had to be heading to Knockturn Alley. Hermione got a funny feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with all the alcohol she'd imbibed during the evening. As an Auror, she knew that Knockturn Alley was home to all sorts of unsavory activities. What in Merlin's name could Lavender be on about now?
They passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and then, as they reached Gringott's Bank, veered left down a short flight of stairs and into Knockturn Alley. Three doors down on the right, just before the Dark Arts shop, Borgin & Burkes, they found what Lavender was looking for -- Master Mallowdrus' Parlour of Body Arte and Painless Piercings. Open 24 Hours.
A tattoo parlour?? Hermione gulped. Oh bloody hell, I should've stayed at the pub...
Lavender's years of studying Divination apparently enabled her to read her friend's mind. "Oh come on, Hermione, don' you wanna get one? Itta be fun."
Hermione winced at the prospect. "No, Lav, I don' really wanna get a tattoo. They use needles and stick you and it hurts. "
Lavender was not deterred. She peered into the small, cluttered tattoo parlor then opened the door and pulled Hermione along with her. They stumbled into the shop, almost upending a short, pudgy, somewhat smelly man whose broad arms bristled with tattoos. He looked the two young women up and down as if wondering whether they were in the right place. Even as drunk as she was, Hermione realized that she in her jeans and blue oxford shirt and Lavender in her pink power suit did not look like they belonged in a tattoo parlor in Knockturn Alley at two a.m.
"Anything I can help you ladies with? I'm Master Mallowdrus, at your service," the man finished with a bow.
"We want to get tattooed," Lav announced brightly while Hermione glared.
"Both of you?"
"Yes, of course!" Lav elbowed Hermione, who slumped a bit as the enormity of her exhaustion and drunkenness began to hit her.
The tattoo artist peered at them thoughtfully. "Please choose one of the designs on the wall while I set up my equipment." Then he disappeared into the back of the shop.
Lavender scanned the dozens of designs on the wall. One area of the wall was filled with feminine images -- cats, butterflies, ponies and the like. Another area contained typical Muggle tattoo designs like hearts, flowers, common animals and the word MOTHER, but other images were obviously magical designs, including magical beasts and objects.
She continued to poke Hermione, whose eyelids were beginning to flutter up and down from exhaustion.
"Hermione, I know exactly what you should get."
"Oh, really."
Lavender leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Yes, love. You should get a Snitch."
Hermione's eyes popped open. "Wha-? Lav, are you mad?"
"Oh honey, it's such a sexy little image. Just think about it," Lavender giggled.
Hermione felt herself go red, or possibly green. "No way, Lav! I'm serious, no fucking way. I am NOT getting a Snitch tattoo. That'd be like you getting a weasel tattooed on your arse," she objected.
"OOOOH really? I didn't see a weasel on the wall. Now I want one!" Lavender seemed possessed by the idea of the weasel and the Snitch. "Come on, Hermione, you must! You must!"
"No, no, no! Stop asking, Lav." Now Hermione was getting angry at Lavender for dragging her here and at herself for not putting up a fight back at the Cauldron.
"Hermione Granger, what is your problem with getting a Snitch tattoo?" Lavender asked. "What could possibly be better for you? A book? The front page of the Daily Prophet?" Hermione snickered.
"No wait, that would be what I would get," Lavender laughed, that bright infectious laugh she'd had since childhood, and Hermione felt her resistance waning.
"Listen, honey," Lavender lowered her voice, "think about it. That cute little golden orb, with the streamlined wings fluttering away... it's like desire drawn on your skin."
Too drunk and tired to fight about it, Hermione could feel herself giving in. Plus she realized that Lavender was right. She could get a tattoo someplace where no one would ever see it. And if it was in an out-of-the-way place, she could get something she really liked. And try as she might to resist it, she really did like that Snitch on the wall, a tiny golden ball with feathery wings that fluttered almost like the real thing. To her besotted mind, something about it felt very right.
"Okay, Lav. I'll get a Snitch."
Lavender threw her arms around Hermione and hugged her. "Oh honey, this will all work out for the best, I'm sure of it. And I'm going to get a weasel, right here --", and she pointed to her hipbone.
"Ready, ladies?" Mr. Mallowdrus inquired.
"Ready as we'll ever be," Lavender said, turning to Hermione. "She'll have the Snitch and I'll have the weasel."
Master Mallowdrus' lips curled in a tiny smile. "Excellent choices," he agreed, escorting them to the back room. "I should warn you that this will hurt a bit. But my magical tattooing techniques will give you a tattoo that is not only beautiful but attuned to your every mood."
"That sounds fabulous!" Lavender gushed as the tattoo artist directed them to a pair of padded tables.
"Where would you like me to put your tattoos?"
"I'd like the weasel jumping over my right hipbone," Lavender said as she lay down on one of the tables.
Hermione crawled up on the other table and lay on her back, arms dangling. "Don' really care. Put it where nobody can see it, only me... I'm just gonna lie here and rest... so tired," she yawned and unconsciously undid the button and zipper on her jeans to make herself more comfortable.
As Master Mallowdrus worked on her, Hermione felt prickling sensations but not as much pain as she'd expected. The tattoo needle felt more like a tickle... and the tickle was in a place where she didn't get tickled very often. She dozed off and half an hour later awoke to Lavender pulling her up off the table and buttoning up her jeans.
"There you go, all done. Not bad at all, was it?" Lavender asked as she gave Master Mallowdrus twenty Galleons. Hermione tried to dig in her purse to pay for her share, but Lavender waved her off.
"It's my treat. I think our tattoos will be lucky for both of us," she winked as she pushed Hermione out the door. "Now let's find us some rotgut so we can get really drunk."
~~~*~~~*~~~
Ten minutes later, the two young women reached the top of Knockturn Alley. As they stumbled about, convulsing with laughter, they smashed right into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
"What! My GOD!" Harry grabbed Hermione and hugged her, sighing deeply. "Bloody hell, don't DO that to me, Hermione!"
She wriggled in his arms, still giggling from the joke she had just shared with Lavender.
"Harry! I'm all right! Silly boy!"
"Silly-" He glared at her and seemed headed for a full-blown conniption fit. "You were gone for three quarters of an hour, and when we DO find you, you're coming out of Knockturn Alley of all places!!"
She waved her hand dismissively. "We couldn't get what we were after anywhere else."
Harry's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Wh- what the hell were you after anyway?"
Looking plastered but happy, Lavender held up a bottle of a dangerous-looking green liquid.
"This stuff," she said. "Very strong naughty wizard's stuff that I couldn' get at the Cauldron." She wrinkled her nose and, extending her arm to him, offered him the bottle. "Chug-a-lug, Harry!"
Harry sighed and grabbed the bottle. He hung back behind Hermione and Lavender as if to guard them from whatever might be lurking in Knockturn Alley, then looked at the bottle, apparently trying to decide if he wanted to chance what was in it. When he pulled the stopper and sniffed the contents, he looked like the smell had knocked him for a loop.
"Good shit, Harry," Lavender said, elbowing him in the ribs.
He took a quick swig, knocked some of the stuff back, then missed a step and nearly fell right over. Thankfully Ron caught him.
"Whah-the--"
"Careful, Harry!" gasped Hermione, "It's *very* strong." She could vouch for this, as she and Lav had drunk some of this concoction only five minutes earlier. Harry merely glared at her.
Toxic booze in hand, the four of them finally bid goodbye to Diagon Alley. Fearful of splinching themselves in their drunken stupor, they walked groggily home to the flat that Harry, Ron and Hermione shared in a Muggle neighborhood near Charing Cross Road. By the time they piled into the flat, they were all close to incoherent. Hermione was surprised to see Harry make his way toward the pantry as if to get a snack. Between her head spinning and her mouth tasting like a sewer, she doubted she could eat a thing, but she followed him into the pantry just for his company. When they came back to the lounge room with biscuits and flavored crackers, they found Ron and Lavender snogging enthusiastically on the couch. This was not the kind of snogging that embarrassed the snoggers the next day; it was the snogging of two old friends who'd finally admitted an attraction that had simmered between them for years.
Hermione looked at them on the couch, placed the crackers on the coffee table and smiled. About bloody time, she thought.
"Well, I'm going to bed," she told Harry, the only person who still knew she was there.
He nodded and left the room with her. As they walked down the hall together, a surge of affection came over Hermione and the next thing she knew, she'd slipped her hand into Harry's. When they reached his door, he looked down at her and she smiled up at him. He lifted his brows at her, a hint of confusion on his face.
"Than's for the uhm-" She waved a hand at her hair and made a face that indicated her vomiting. "Was good of you."
He smiled back at her, wobbling a little. "S'no problem."
Stepping forward, Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek. She'd done this many times before, but this time she felt unwilling or unable to remove her lips. As she pulled herself away, she couldn't resist giving his jaw a tiny nuzzle.
"Night, Harry," she breathed. A feeling she'd tried to stomp out suddenly welled up inside her and she looked at him with tenderness, longing and more than a little confusion. Then she turned and disappeared into her own room.
Too tired to try to clean herself up, she collapsed in bed in her jeans and oxford shirt. That night she dreamed that she was a Snitch and a pair of green eyes was chasing her.
~~~*~~~