Chapter Text
Hermione stares in the mirror and plumps her curls, before turning in place to assess her outfit. She was wearing a new dress, one purchased especially for tonight. It was their fifth anniversary, and she and Ron were going out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. They had been together for half a decade now, and though there had been ups and downs, they were happy-ish.
No matter what, they had stood the test of time and remained together. Sure, they weren’t as inseparable as Pansy and Neville, or as lovey dovey as Harry and Ginny. Hermione and Ron weren’t affectionate people, and Ron wasn’t into public displays of affection, so they didn’t even hold hands anymore. It was fine. They were exactly as they should be and everyone around them knew it.
In fact, Hermione had a suspicion Ron was going to propose tonight. The timing was right. They were both doing well in their jobs. Hermione worked for the Ministry, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Ron, after washing out of auror training, had gone to work for George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Obviously, there had been a period of adjustment with that, but now Ron was doing quite well.
Sure, he hated the long hours Hermione put into her work, and hinted frequently at her quitting once they started a family. Hermione was sure he’d come around and eventually agree her job was important so it would be a disservice to the wizarding world if she abandoned her work. While she wouldn’t be quitting, now or in the future, she was ready to consider marriage, and even starting a family.
Harry and Ginny were already parents to little James, and Ginny was expecting again. Hermione could recognize the benefits of their children growing up together so while she had originally planned on waiting longer, she couldn’t ignore the wistful look Ron would get every time he held James. Yes, tonight he was going to propose and she would say yes.
“Are you ready?” Ron asks through the door.
Hermione glides lip gloss across her lips and smiles at herself in the mirror. “You can do this,” she tells herself, and then to Ron says, “I’m ready.”
When she opens the door, she expects more than the brief once over he gives her. Lips tipping up in the hope that he’ll compliment her dress, her face falls when he turns and starts to walk away.
“We need to hurry or we’ll be late,” is all he says.
Hermione glances at her watch, her brows coming together when she notices they have plenty of time. Besides, if there was one thing for certain in the world, it was Hermione Granger being on time.
“Our reservation isn’t until seven,” she says, following him down the hall.
He looks over his shoulder at her. “Change of plans. I canceled the reservation. We’re now meeting the gang at the Leaky at six.”
Hermione rocks back as if struck. “Pardon?”
He stops as well, and rubs his hand over his face. “Don’t make a big deal out of this Mione. I wasn’t in the mood for something fancy and we never get to see everyone.”
Her mouth falls open, absolutely gobsmacked at what he uttered. Firstly, he saw the fellas at least weekly at some pub or another, always coming home late and stinking of fire whiskey. Hermione didn’t go because she didn’t want to, and or, had work to finish up at home. Secondly, he had clearly forgotten their anniversary.
“Ronald Weasley, that reservation you canceled was for our anniversary.”
At this he turns around and actually looks sheepish. “Shit Hermione. I forgot. I figured you just wanted to eat somewhere fancy.”
Hermione gulps, not sure what to say, and not wanting to lash out. Ron forgot something important to her, again.
Reading the displeasure written all over her face, Ron grumbles, “you should have reminded me if it was so important.”
Hermione closes her eyes and starts counting backward from ten. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
“Oh great. Now you’re ignoring me. Fine. I’m used to it. I’m the bad guy.”
She opens her eyes. “So, this is all my fault then, for not reminding you?”
His face reddens as he glares at her. “I didn’t say that.”
Hermione holds up a hand, stopping him. “You just said it less than a minute ago. You said I should have reminded you.”
At this he throws his arms up. “Fine, if you say I said it, I must have said it, seeing as how you’re never wrong.”
What?
“You change our plans at the last minute and now you’re angry at me?” She asks.
He starts shaking his head. “I can’t do this anymore Hermione.”
Her eyes bug. “Do what exactly?”
Ron motions in her direction. “Be with you.”
Reaching out, she presses her hand to the wall to remain upright, her knees wobbling. “Are you breaking up with me?”
His face turns hard, his eyes going squinty. “Brightest Witch of Her Age missed the signs, did she?”
Hermione’s knees are no longer a problem.
She pushes off of the wall. “Let’s not be mean.”
“Is it mean if it’s the truth? When was the last time we fucked Hermione?” He shouts.
She takes a step back, shocked at his question. When was the last time? Was it after Harry and Ginny’s New Year’s party?
Ron nods, watching the mental math play out on her face, his expression still taunting. “Ah ha, she’s figured it out. Months, Hermione months. I’m sick and tired of being with the most frigid witch in England.”
Frigid?
FRIGID?
“Get out,” she says, fury coating each syllable.
Ron doesn’t argue. He turns away, and stomps to the floo.
Standing on the grate, he says, “I’ll be by tomorrow to get my things.”
Then he tosses the floo powder, says, “Leaky Cauldron,” and is gone in a flash of green.
Hermione marches after him, only after she tosses her floo powder, she says, “17 Ferntree Gully Road.”
She steps out of the floo and into Pansy’s sitting room, brushing off soot off of herself. A bit of her anger dulls when she notices Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott. Since they were close friends of Pansy’s, it wasn’t surprising for either of them to be in Pansy’s stylish Notting Hill brownstone.
“Hermione, are you alright?” Malfoy asks, rising from his chair and crossing the room to her.
Theo Nott remains where he was, casually leaning against one of her bookcases.
Hermione ignore’s Malfoy’s question and asks one of her own, “is Pansy home?”
Malfoy shakes his head. “She’s at Neville’s, but should be here soon. She asked us to meet her here.”
Letting out a sigh, Hermione tilts her head to look up at the ceiling. Draco blinks at her before looking up as well. When he doesn’t see anything, he looks over at Theo in confusion.
Theo crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Let me guess. Did you have a fight with the Weasel?”
Her chin snaps back down and she glares at him. “Don’t call him th-, you know what? Never mind, call him whatever you want.”
At this reaction, Theo’s expression shifts from teasing to concerned.
Neither of them have to ask, when she adds, “he broke up with me. It’s our anniversary and he broke up with me.”
“Absolute bloody moron,” Theo says to himself and moves closer.
Hermione balls her fists. “Want to hear why?”
Draco moves closer, reaching out to touch her before thinking better of it.
She laughs, but there’s a heartbroken sound to it. “He said I was frigid. Frigid.”
When Theo shrugs, she has to stop herself from slapping him. “Do you think he’s right?”
Theo shakes his head. “I believe he’s wrong, and if you let me. I have a theory I can prove it to you either way.”
Whatever anger had lingered, vanishes in her surprise at his words and curiosity as to their meaning. “How?”
Theo moves past her, taking some floo powder from the bowl on the mantle and says, “both of you follow me through and I’ll explain.”
Then he tosses the powder and says, “Nott Manor.”
He’s gone in a flash, leaving Hermione and Draco to stare after him.
Draco recovers first. “Go ahead. I’m going to write Pans a note so she doesn’t worry if we’re not here.”
Hermione, a sometimes slave to her curious nature, doesn’t argue. She wants to know how Theo can prove she isn’t frigid. Stepping into the floo, she follows Theo to Nott Manor, not noticing the wistful expression on Draco’s face as she goes.
Theo is waiting, offering her a hand to assist her out of his floo. The receiving room of Nott Manor, a historic estate, is vastly different from Pansy’s modern sitting room. He waves his wand, deftly removing any soot from her clothes.
With her hand still in his, he leads her further into the room and says, “the timing may be off given your recent breakup, but I have to say, that is some dress Granger.”
She reddens at his words, and says, “thanks,” grateful someone complimented her dress.
“Malfoy was writing Pansy a note. He’ll be through in a moment.”
Theo nods, “care for a drink while we wait?”
Hermione exhales, and manages not to sag. “A drink sounds lovely, thank you.”
He guides her out of the receiving room and into a dark wood paneled study across the hall. This being her first visit to Nott Manor, she can’t help but spin in place as soon as he lets go of her hand. The room is massive while somehow still inviting. The back wall is made up of floor to ceiling windows, overlooking a warmly lit terrace. In front of the windows is an enormous desk, long enough for five adults to easily work at each side.
Between the doorway and the desk, is an oversized tufted leather sofa, a matching armchair on either side. Along the right wall, a perch for a large bird and a row of low bookshelves. Along the left, is a long sideboard with a bar service on top. This is where Theo currently stands and makes her drink.
Draco walks in a moment after Theo hands Hermione her drink.
“I made you a drink as well Draco. It’s on the sideboard.”
Hermione sips her drink and begins to question her impulsiveness in following Nott here.
Lowering her glass and setting it on a side table, she asks, “How can you prove I’m not frigid?”
Theo Nott sets his glass beside hers. “It’s simple, truly. Here,” he motions towards Malfoy and then himself, “you have two unbiased wizards at your disposal. Kiss each of us for two minutes and we’ll give you our honest feedback on whether you’re frigid or not.”
Hermione stares at him, while Malfoy chokes.
Finally she says, “I can’t kiss both of you. That’s mad.”
Theo slips his hands into the pockets of his robes and leans toward her, some of his wavy brown hair falling into his eyes. “Why ever not? You’re single now Granger. You can kiss half of London if you’d like.”
She glances over at Draco, surprised to see him hanging on their every word. She’d figured he would look disgusted, but he clearly wasn’t. Could she kiss Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott? His idea did appeal to her, as much as any potential negative feedback on her kissing abilities scared her.
“Two minutes?”
Theo straightens. “We’ll set a timer, and these will be real kisses Granger, not polite pecks.”
She gulps, residual anger over Ron’s cruel words plus a stubborn desire to prove him wrong propelling her forward.
Willing her Gryffindor bravery to make the first move, she fists Theo’s robes and says, “set the timer.”
With a wave of his wand, he does as commanded, and then his mouth is on hers. There is zero hesitation in the way Theo Nott kisses her. For a moment she wonders what he did with his wand when she feels his hands, both of them, on her. One boldly palms her backside, while the other slips through her curls to grip the back of her neck. Hermione can’t help but question if he has pirate ancestry given the way he plunders her mouth, taking no prisoners.
Hermione melts against his solid frame, her hands still fisting his robes. She’s never, not once, been kissed like this. For the first time in her life, her mind absolutely goes blank. Sensations are threatening to overwhelm her completely. His tongue, his lips, the domineering way he holds her as he rewrites internal pathways in her mind. Thoughts are lost, but physical understanding remains. She can’t ignore the way her nipples harden and the sudden wetness between her legs.
His fingers dig into the flesh of her ass through the thin material of her dress. Hermione’s hips shift in attempt to rub against him. Somehow her body recognizes only a bit of friction is all she’ll need to come.
Hermione gasps when Theo is pulled away from her. Her hands releasing his robes. Blinking, as the fog of her arousal lifts, she then distractedly hears the wand alarm. Theo stares at her, eyes wild as he appears to struggle to catch his breath.
Then she sees Malfoy behind him, his hands on Theo’s shoulders. His expression is determined when he steps around Theo to stand before her.
“Drac-.”
His mouth swallows the rest of his name, his hands coming up to cup her face. Hermione reels at how different his kiss is from Theo’s. Theo plundered, Draco teases. His kiss has her reacting differently from Theo’s. With Theo, she held on for the ride, and with Draco, she wants to pull him closer. Her hands coast up his chest and around his neck. Her fingers splay in his impossibly soft hair. Her nipples are as hard as they were for Theo, her knickers just as wet.
His kiss is reverent, his hands still cupping her face as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever held. As quickly as she was lost to Theo’s kiss, it’s the same for Draco. Somehow, though vastly different, his kiss is also the most intense she’s ever had. Her leg starts to rise, it’s goal to hook around his hip. When he’s pulled away, she’s unbalanced and almost stumbles to follow him. It was Theo, like Draco before him, who separated them, the wand alarm trilling loudly.
Hermione regains her balance and takes a step back. Shaking her head, she tries to expel the fuzzy fog of lust that envelopes her. Both times she hadn’t heard the shrill sound of the alarm. Draco seems to pull at Theo’s hold, trying to erase the distance between them. Hermione lifts her hand to her mouth, her fingers pressing against her kiss swollen lips. They’re both staring at her in shock. What had she done?
Spinning, she flees from the room, crossing the hall to the receiving room.
“Hermione,” Draco calls, and pulls to go after her.
Theo releases him once he hears the floo activate. “Let her go.”
Draco spins to face him. “What the fuck was that?”
Theo sinks into one of the armchairs and retrieves his drink. He gulps it down and presses the now empty glass to his forehead.
“When else would I ever have the opportunity to snog the Golden Girl herself? Fuck, you saw her in that dress? Salazar, how fucking brain dead is the Weasel to let her go? You’ve been mad for her since the Yule Ball. This was win-win. I kiss a smoking hot witch and then you get the kiss your dream girl. The two of you fall madly in love. Well, you’re already in love with her, so she falls madly in love with you, and you live happily ever after. Me, I get to rib you for the rest of time by reminding you I kissed her first.”
Draco glares down at him. “I’ve seen you kiss other witches. What you did with Hermione was different.”
Theo stares out the door, in the direction she fled. “It was.”
“Why?” Draco asks.
Still staring after her, Theo says, “trust me, I plan to find out.”