Chapter 4
Hermione had not danced, truly danced, in years. She had loved ballet as a child, and she had continued her studies every summer while home from Hogwarts. She had no aspirations of greatness, and held no delusions of grandeur that she could have ever been a Prima Ballerina, but she loved to dance all the same. When Dumbldore had died, and the hunt for the Horcruxes had begun, she had found herself unable to dance. The movements were too beautiful for something as ugly and cold as war.
After the war she had retreated into the safety of books and studying as she trained to become a Healer, and there had been little time for dancing. Tonight, waltzing in Malfoy’s arms, she found she missed dancing. He had been a surprisingly capable partner - it was more than just years of training in formal dancing. She could feel it in the way he moved, the way the melody lifted him up and swept him away. For the first time in many years, she had longed for her ballet slippers.
She had spent most of the night dancing in the ballroom Theo had created, the room a scene straight from a Jane Austen film. She had danced with several partners, but none had felt the music as Malfoy had earlier in the evening, or as she always did.
Her feet ached, and it felt wonderful to dip them in the cool water. The room was vast and silent as lily pads swirled in the water and fireflight and faeries filled the night with their soft, mystic, light. A haunting melody began, so soft she was not sure if it was real or imagined. She lifted onto her toes automatically, her feet skimming the top of the water with a wordless charm. Ripples flowed out when her toes touched the water, as if someone had skipped a rock across the surface.
She danced, pirouetting and twirling, her body weightless as she let the music carry her. The music rose in intensity, the beat growing stronger. She was swept away with it, dancing over the middle of the lake, the faeries swirling around her and lifting her into the air as they mimicked her movements.
Her dress transformed, the crystals changing their hues to reds and oranges as ribbons and feathers cascaded from the corset, forming wings of living flame. She was a phoenix, rising into the air, and her laughter bubbled from her chest. Suddenly a man was hovering in the air above her, his hand extending down to hers in offering. She placed her hand in his, and they were off, dancing through the air and over the sparkling water below, the music building around them. The faeries were chittering, their voices rising as they sang, their hands joining as they formed a double helix around her and the mysterious man.
It was fantastical, and had anyone described it to her she would not have believed them. The music began to slow as their dance came to an end, the faeries slowly flitting away as they drifted back towards the surface of the lake.
The mystery man followed her, his bare feet hovering just over the edge of the water, his movements lithe and nimble. He had handsome ankles, she thought, and then berated herself for thinking it. What kind of person found ankles attractive? Yet, here she was, attracted to his ankles.
“That was lovely,” she said, turning towards him once they were back on the soft grass of the bank.
“You were lovely,” he replied, and his voice sent a thrill down her spine. She found it somewhat familiar, but couldn’t place it. She blushed under his stare.
“Thank you,” she murmured, stepping slightly closer to him.
“I’d very much like to kiss you now,” he admitted.
“I’d like that as well,” she agreed, placing her hand on his chest as he tilted her face up to his. Her eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his mouth to hers, his lips soft and supple and warm. His hands moved to her hair, and she leaned into him, deepening the kiss. He tasted of spearmint and firewhisky, but it somehow suited him.
It was a slow build up, the heat blossoming in her core so subtly that at first she did not notice it. When he pulled away from her, she realised it as she gasped for breath and felt the loss of him far greater than the loss of air.
“Should we go somewhere more private? I think the host has probably set some rooms aside for this purpose.” He asked her.
She looked around. “I don’t see anyone else here,” she said coyly, feeling emboldened by the dance and the booze and the kiss.
He bit his lip as he stared at her, his eyes darkening at her words. He pulled her under the cover of a nearby willow tree, the leaves hiding them further from view. She tore at his clothes, not bothering to take the time to undo the buttons as carefully as he did with her zipper. Buttons scattered around them as she pulled his shirt open and shoved it down his shoulders, kissing along his newly exposed chest. The zipper sounded harsh and shrill against the quiet of the night, and then her dress was falling away from her, leaving her in black lingerie and her heels. She pulled the pins from her hair until it cascaded in waves down her back and over her shoulders. She watched him swallow thickly as he studied her, and she smiled. She had not felt so confident in front of a man in years, but something in her expression told her he found no part of her lacking.
He dropped his trousers and it was her turn to stare, her eyes roving across his exposed body. He had not worn undergarments, and the realisation zipped straight to her core. He was hard, his cock standing at attention and precum beading at the tip. She stared at it, transfixed. She had made him that way - she had caused that reaction. It was an intoxicating discovery. She sank to her knees in front of him, inspecting him from a new angle. He stared down at her, his eyes dark and filled with lust. He made no move to touch her, or himself. He simply stared at her, waiting to see what she would do.
She ran a trembling finger down his length, stroking his cock softly, watching it twitch slightly from her touch. She cupped his bollocks lightly in her fingertips, rubbing her thumb along the thin skin that encased them. He drew in a sharp breath but said nothing. She scraped her fingernails down the hard plane of his stomach, his abs defined in the shadows of the moonlight that filtered through the branches of the willow tree. She massaged his hip flexors and quads reverently, exploring his body. Desire pooled at her centre, seeping out slowly between her thighs.
She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, working her hand up and down in a circular motion. He groaned softly, and she felt it shoot down her spine like lightning. She placed her mouth around the head, swirling her tongue around the tip and flicking her tongue over the frenulum. His hips jerked forward slightly, but she wanted more. She wanted more from this stranger. She delighted in the idea of it. She wanted him unhinged for her. She wanted him feral. She held her breath in an attempt to stifle her gag reflex, and she shoved him further inside of her mouth.