cinderella/one night stand
The hall was alive with twirling, twinkling, decadence. The entire ministry had left its stuffy office attire behind in exchange for a night of silks and satins, vibrance and vivacity, music and mystery.
Not normally one to bloom in such environments, Hermione had to admit that the ‘masq’ in masquerade had warmed her up to the idea, somewhat. Finally she was not being asked to expose herself to the public, to cede control in a circumstance that would put her fully on display. This time she was being encouraged, mandated even, to hide in plain sight amongst all the other somebodies-turned-nobodies for the night.
Free of ‘Hermione Granger, War Hero, Department Head, Order of Merlin second class’, she was allowed to be ‘woman in yellow, decked out in citrine and topaz, dancing with beautiful strangers and helping herself to another cocktail glass of whatever-it-may-contain’. Hardpressed as she would be to admit it on Monday, she was having an exceptionally nice time.
Her happy prospects for the evening were increased when one such beautiful stranger approached her at the bar, where she had stopped for a glass of water as well as glass-number-something. The stranger was dressed in a dark suit with a plunging neckline. Although the outfit was masculine, the body within was decidedly feminine – and just Hermione’s type. As the stranger ordered a martini, Hermione was seized by the reckless desire to jump her right there in the middle of the ballroom. Instead, she turned her bedroom eyes on the stranger and asked for a dance.
One dance turned into several, and a waltz morphed into a different creature entirely when the stranger dipped Hermione, disorienting her completely, before enveloping her in a lusty kiss that made her head spin and her senses tingle. Before she knew it, her wand was out and she was whispering, ‘my place?’ and the stranger was nodding and her wand was twirling of its own accord and then they were falling into bed together and she wasn’t sure which body was hers any longer and then the clock was chiming one, two, three - too many times to count, except apparently the stranger did count, and the chimes did count, because when the chimes faded away so did the strangers’ disguise, and then Pansy Parkinson was looking down at her with bedroom eyes and intoning softly, “after midnight, Granger. Seeing as this all began hours ago, I guess this isn't just a one night stand.”