Title: Kissing Hermione Granger
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: K/Hr, D/Hr, F/Hr (M/F and F/F)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. J.K.R. and a whole host of others do. I make no claim and no money (off of this, at least).
Warning: This fic contains both Male/Female and Female/Female pairings. For those of you who can't handle seeing boys with girls, you might want to look elsewhere. There's plenty of straight-up slash (pardon the potential oxymoron), here and elsewhere. I don't want you to become overly upset at finding that you're reading something that hints of blatant heterosexuality at times. I know that kind of behavior can be disturbing to some.
A/N: I've never read any of the books, but I've seen ¾ of the movies. I have an unnatural fondness for Hermione, and thought I'd like to write this little piece of fluff. I'll be at Xfjnky2@yahoo.com, if you'd like to find me.
Hermione Granger was not the kind of girl who found herself embroiled in love rectangles. Those kinds of things were more the domain of Lavendar and Parvati, and to be brutally honest, she conceded that they would undoubtedly be better about the handling of such situations than would she. Which didn't do much to explain her current situation really so much as it was a bit of a resounding, karmic cry of "Why?"
Kissing Viktor Krum made her feel inescapably girly. She wasn't sure what did it. Maybe it was the way he loomed over her, Quiddich honed body seeming to dwarf her own slender frame. Or, maybe it was the way he looked at her, with something close to adoration in his eyes, as long and slightly callused fingers traced over the fine bones of her face as if she were made of porcelain and inclined to break. It could be the soft husk of his voice, rich with the seductive and distinctive Slavic drawl that she suspected she would forever associate with his particular brand of spicy yet delicate cologne. Whatever it was, as he leaned over her, entirely too lush lips brushing against her own to deliver seemingly never-ending butterfly kisses, she had the insane urge to run out and buy a wardrobe full of pink taffeta.
Viktor wasn't much for conversation, particularly if it didn't revolve around his chosen sport, but he did seem content to sit with her for hours as she studied, nimble fingers clasped around her own. It forced her to turn book pages with the one remaining hand, but despite the slight awkwardness of it all, she somehow didn't mind. After all, there was no doubt that he was quite dashing, and she couldn't forget the jealous stares directed her way when she sashayed into the Yule Ball on his arm. The wave of unexpected (and quite frightening) domestic desire that accompanied the memory was enough to make her want learn the names of various kitchen utensils and unearth tasty casserole recipes, and the sudden craving for a Dutch oven and a double boiler was enough to make her want to weep.
Kissing Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, made her feel really quite naughty. She wasn't entirely sure how it happened, just that one second she had been blithely making her way back to her common room and the next she was trapped between the rough stone of a dark and deserted hallway and the surprisingly solid bulk of a pale, glittering Slytherin. Draco's lips looked hard but were distressingly soft against her own, and long slim hands slid under the fabric of her jumper to glide across the skin of her back before she even began to comprehend what was happening. She would have protested, but it took her at least two minutes to pull her wits together enough to care and by that time she had the feeling he was slyly trying to inch his way up to the clasp of her bra.
A well placed heel in the instep and a hard shove to his shoulders, and Draco was pushed back far enough for her to see something like madness glinting in his normally cool gray eyes. A lock of pale blonde hair had managed to escape the grip of his undoubtedly rather strict product, and despite herself, she couldn't help but think that the way it hung over his cheek was quite alluring. She assumed that she must also have been suffering from the curse of the strange allure of the escaped strand of hair, because his fingers were as soft as silk as he reached forward slowly, fingers securing an errant lock behind her ear. The contrast between the boy she'd always known and the one who looked at her with eyes full of desire was so great that it wasn't until the third straight day of impromptu darkened hallway trysts that she began to wonder if she should protest.
Kissing Fleur Delacour, unlike all others, was immediately addictive, so much so that she forgot to think and forgot to protest and forgot to care that she wasn't doing either. Her name, murmured softly in that smooth French accent, was enough to make her melt. She didn't understand it, really, neither her own traitorous inability to move as the other girl took advantage of an empty tent to do something she'd obviously been contemplating for a while nor the way her heartbeat had accelerated to what had to be a quite dangerous speed as those bright blue eyes drew closer. Fleur's body against her own was sinfully delicious, soft breasts and surprisingly strong arms acting as a siren's call so strong she had to wonder if she had fallen under some type of Veela spell. And her lips… well, her lips tasted like honey and dark chocolate, and Hermione found she could do little more than whimper as one kiss melted into two and two into infinity until she found that her legs were no longer willing to support her.
As it was, she wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or incensed that Fleur had pulled away just as one fine-boned hand had reached the apex of her thighs, having stolen under the scratchy wool of her skirt almost without her notice. But she could hear the noises too, the threat of someone approaching, and the last thing she needed was an article splashed across the front of the Daily Prophet detailing just what, exactly, she'd been doing to cheer along this particular Tri-Wizard Champion. Instead she'd received a kiss so gentle it nearly broke her heart, and a softly whispered promise of, "Soon." And she was almost sure what that one word meant, but the prospect was really a little scary and she wondered where her famed Gryffindor courage had gone because it was nowhere to be found.
She decided it had to be the Yule Ball dress, and perhaps the shock of seeing her in it. That didn't account for Viktor, but really, there was no accounting for Viktor. He had been enchanted long before she'd donned the fateful bit of fabric, and she wondered if that ought to earn him bonus points. After all, she doubted that the Prince of Slytherin would have felt the inexplicable need to start haunting deserted hallways had she not discovered that bit of sartorial genius. Or perhaps it was the hair, well behaved for perhaps the first time ever. She had to admit that without all that frizz floating around to obscure it, her face wasn't that bad. Not traditionally pretty, not in the way of girls who will always be beautiful despite the personality or lack thereof that went along with their looks. She was more of a combination kind of girl, or at least she figured she had to be, because tamed hair did not a raving beauty make. And certainly there had to be something else. How else would she have managed to attract the attention of the Slytherin Prince and two Tri-Wizard Champions? And, if the Daily Prophet had its way, she'd be cavorting with yet another. Not that she got her hopes up where that was concerned… she wasn't blind to the looks Harry shot Cedric when he thought no one was looking.
Either way, she wasn't sure what to do with the madness that had become her love life. The fact that one existed at all was enough to send her reeling. She hadn't seen so much action since her Muggle preschool boyfriend had decided to declare his feelings with a well-placed handful of sand to the face.
She had a feeling she should protest, or should at least make some effort to turn some of her unexpected suitors away, but she didn't really feel like it. After a lifetime of being the brains behind the operation, she found that she was quite happy with her newfound role as the unwitting seductress. After all, it wasn't every day that the class bookworm discovered herself on the receiving end of amorous attention from three of the most desirable students to be found. Given the uncertainty of the future, she saw no problem with letting her romantic escapades run unchecked.
Besides, it would be nice to think with something other than her brain for once.