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I Could Think of a Few Good Ways

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“Please consider supporting the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare! We could use your support. Hello Ma’am, would you like to know about...”  

Hermione huffed as yet another witch turned up her nose at the ream of flyers that had scarcely been distributed since she had posted herself at a street corner in Diagon Alley earlier that morning. She had been there for hours.  

Truth be told, she hadn’t expected that interning for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures  would  be  all  that difficult. Or that humiliating. She had been thrilled when her boss gave her the go-ahead to pursue S.P.E.W. on a wider scale, but she had naively assumed that meant the department would have given her the support and resources to make it happen.   

She had quickly become disillusioned with the prospect. ‘Grassroots efforts,’ her boss had called it. Hermione could bet it was just a way to get her out of the office for a day or two.   

“Please support the Promotion of Elvish Welfare!” She called out half-heartedly, tired of standing there in the cold, under the snow and surrounded by witches and wizards who purposefully averted their gaze when they  had no other option but  to walk past her.   

“Now, what do we have here?”  

Hermione nearly slipped on the icy ground as she whipped in the direction of the familiar voice. Narcissa Malfoy stood before her, bundled in an exquisite fur coat of shimmering grey. A pointy hat – much more stylish and doubtlessly more expensive than the usual fare sported by a certain Hogwarts Headmistress – covered much of her blonde hair, but one intricately woven plait rested onto her shoulder.  

The young Ministry worker could only gape as a gloved hand gingerly lifted her chin with surprising tenderness. “Well, well, well. Ms. Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe.”  

Hermione ignored the shiver she felt at the unfamiliar touch, chalking it up to the cold. “Madam Malfoy,” she breathed out, her breath visible in the frigid air. She had planned on saying something further, at least for the sake of politeness, but there was something about the elegant witch before her that simply rendered her speechless.   

Narcissa leaned over, peering at the sizeable stack of flyers Hermione held. “I see the Ministry is putting our Golden war hero to good use. Pray tell, Ms. Granger, what is...” her eyes narrowed as she examined the top pamphlet more closely. “What exactly is Spew?”  

“S-P-E-W,” Hermione corrected by rote. “It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare,” she continued in a single breath, unaccustomed to having someone stand and listen to her but taking the chance she got, even if it came in the form of Narcissa Malfoy. “It promotes the establishment and enforcement of laws and regulations that oversee the betterment of working conditions and the creation of...”  

“My, what a lively little thing you are,” Narcissa interrupted with an amused chuckle. “Slow down, Ms. Granger. Come; tell me more over a hot cup of tea.”  

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again, the wind taken out of her sails by the interruption. Narcissa had already begun to walk away, the invitation clear as crystal.   

“But...” Hermione mumbled half-heartedly. “My... I’ve got to...”  

“Please, feel free to stand in the cold for as long as you wish,” Narcissa quipped, without sparing her another glance.   

Hermione looked at the witch’s retreating form in the snow, then at the stack of pamphlets she still held. With an angry grunt, she shoved them furiously into the nearest rubbish bin, picking up her pace to catch up with the blonde.  


They sat together at an isolated booth at the Leaky Cauldron. Narcissa looked decidedly out of place in the grimy pub with her impeccable outfit and elegant presence.  

Hermione certainly  felt  out of place, sitting with this woman, of all people. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Narcissa – sometime during the War Trials, most likely – but the woman looked good. Not just good—she looked beautifully radiant in this cold winter morning. There was something about her that just intrigued Hermione to no end; it drew her in like the sweet nectar of a  flower... or, knowing Slytherins, a  Venus fly trap.   

Narcissa had not said a word beyond ordering their tea; Hermione now sipped it slowly, relishing in the much-needed warmth as it coursed through her body. She felt awkward in their self-imposed silence.   

“So... um... What brings you to Diagon Alley, Madam Malfoy?”  Hermione tried, grimacing at the mundaneness of the question, yet preferring banal small talk over that oddly charged silence between them.   

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Narcissa drawled, her sultry tones and perfect diction alluring for reasons Hermione could not name. “Just a bit of...” her eyes raked over Hermione’s body in a slow, deliberate hungry gaze that had Hermione sweltering in the span of a second. “Window shopping.”  

Hermione supressed the shudder she felt travelling from her shoulders down. “O-oh? Find anything interesting?”  

She felt the heat of Narcissa’s gaze on her once again. Her throat felt very, very dry, all of a sudden.   

“You could say that.”  

Hermione swallowed against the unusual dryness of her throat, taking a hasty sip of tea to try to alleviate the parched sensation. Was the Leaky Cauldron always so hot? She was sweating in her jumper.   

“Besides making the Brightest Witch of her Age stand out in the cold distributing pamphlets,” Narcissa pivoted, to Hermione’s relief. “How has the Ministry been treating you, Ms. Granger?”  

“Good! Good,” Hermione said a bit too quickly, eager for distraction in whatever form it came. “I mean, I can’t really complain.”  

“Oh? I didn’t think the field of pamphlet distribution was so... riveting.”  

Hermione reddened, unable to come up with a response. Even if she had one in mind, she was sure she would never have been able to voice it, for Narcissa suddenly leaned forward over their table, dainty and graceful as ever, and delicately grasped her chin, gently tilting Hermione’s face to better look at the brunette.  

“Such a shame... to waste a  witch  like you rself .”  

There it was, that unfamiliar, positively delicious shiver that puzzled and intrigued Hermione to no end. What was Narcissa playing at?  

“Uh... excuse me?”  

“All I mean, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa spoke softly, her other hand slowly grazing a maddening path over Hermione’s arm on the table, drawing lazy circles that drove the young Gryffindor to distraction. “Is that Gryffindor’s Golden Girl ought to be doing something more... engaging than giving out pamphlets at a street corner.”  

“I... uh, you mean...”  

“For instance,” Narcissa continued, interrupting Hermione’s stuttering with a sensual drag of her fingers up Hermione’s forearm, under her sleeve. “I could think of a few ways to put you to good use for an afternoon.”  

Hermione let out  the breath she had been holding in a strangled  hiss, feeling goose bumps erupt all over her body following another of those delicious shudders. A surge of heat immediately pooled between her legs and she shifted in her seat in a fruitless attempt to relieve some of the pressure she now felt beginning to coil in her abdomen.   

Her whole body was on fire. Narcissa’s intent was clear as day – that hungry gaze left absolutely no doubts as to what Narcissa had in mind. It confused Hermione a great deal – why her, why Narcissa, why now and also just a great big general  why.  However, her curiosity took the better of her; it drowned her in intrigue, and she would be lying if she said she was not very,  very  interested in Narcissa’s ideas for an engaging afternoon.   

“You mean, you mean...”  

“Tell me, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa interrupted again, looking thoroughly amused at Hermione’s inability to string coherent sentences together. “Would you give  me  the  pleasure  of your company for this afternoon?”  

Hermione was speechless for a few moments, mouth opening and closing in a desperate attempt to form something intelligible. Her mind ran a mile a minute; she felt her blood run hot in her veins and the arm under Narcissa’s sensuous ministrations shivered onto the cold table.   

“I, uh, I... Uh, I mean, I think I...” she swallowed harshly as Narcissa’s eyelashes briefly fluttered over the oceanic depths of her blue eyes. It took her an eternity to control her breathing enough to whisper a ragged ‘yes.’  

Narcissa’s smile was both radiant and predatory, not to mention immensely self-satisfied.   

“Splendid,” she whispered, leaning even closer to Hermione, so close that her breath trailed the brunette’s reddened cheeks in a sultry murmur. “I’ve never had a Muggleborn before.”  



Hermione followed Narcissa on wobbly legs up to a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron. It was only a short flight of stairs, but the journey felt like an absolute eternity. Hermione had never thought she would find herself in this position – she was no prude, but this was unlike her.  

Any trepidation went out the window anytime she caught a glance of Narcissa’s swaying hips a few steps above her. Screw it, she was an adult and Narcissa was simply too intoxicating, too intriguing, and too devastatingly beautiful to ignore. Who cared what happened between two consenting witches?  

She swallowed a ball of nervousness as the click of the lock echoed into the empty corridor. Narcissa strode in confidently, leaving the door ope n  and beckoning Hermione in.   

Hermione walked in with her blood thundering in her ears. She kept swallowing dryly, her hands trembled at her sides, and yet she thrummed with anticipation.  

“Have a seat, Ms. Granger.”  

There were no chairs in the simple room, so Hermione gingerly lowered herself onto the bed, trying not to shiver too much. Narcissa closed the door with a soft click of finality, then turned to Hermione with a raised brow.   

“Ms. Granger, should you at any point feel uncomfortable, I want you to know that you are free to leave at any time. Is that clear?”  

Hermione nodded, surprised at the blonde’s thoughtfulness but thankful for it. There was no hiding her nervousness, but she had no second thoughts.   

Narcissa smiled, then turned the lock – the sound made Hermione shiver all over again, her anticipation palpable.   

“Very good.”  

Hermione felt awkward and nervous as she trembled on the bed, waiting for Narcissa’s approach. The blonde gracefully removed her coat as she walked over to where the Gryffindor sat, eyes hungrily raking over Hermione’s body like a wild animal eyeing its prey.   

Narcissa’s hands found the base of Hermione’s neck and Hermione gasped at the gentleness and heat of the touch as the Slytherin trailed a path all the way to her cheeks. Narcissa stood impossibly close, and Hermione had to look up at her.   

“Tell me, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa whispered, fingers weaving into Hermione’s thick curls, fingernails raking her scalp before she grasped the brunette’s hair  just tightly  enough to angle Hermione’s head  towards her . Her breath was hot in Hermione’s ear as she spoke. “Have you ever been with a witch before?”  

Hermione whimpered her answer in the negative, the feeling of Narcissa softly pulling her hair making her synapses go haywire and her breathing go ragged. There was a sudden feeling of imbalance, and with it came a distinct dose of embarrassment. What if Hermione wasn’t any good? What if she did something wrong? Good heavens, she hadn’t even had the time to properly research anything about  any of this !  

Narcissa seemed amused by  Hermione’s  train of thought, almost as if she could read them.   

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Ms. Granger” she murmured so very close to Hermione’s ear, grazing her teeth on the brunette’s earlobe. “I’ve heard you’re an  exceptional  student.”  

Hermione drew in a breath in a ragged gasp , overwhelmed by the feeling of Narcissa’s fingers in her hair, her face, her breath tickling her skin with those unbearably soft whispers. Narcissa’s lips traced a maddening path from her ear along her cheekbone before settling on her lips for the briefest, softest of moments.  

Hermione wasn’t a stranger to kissing, of course. She knew what it felt like—or maybe what it was supposed to feel like. Maybe it was her body’s already hyped state, but the moment Narcissa’s lips touched hers, the heat within became a true inferno.  

She didn’t know what she ought to be doing with her hands. Should she hold Narcissa? Where?? Her shoulders, her waist, her... Wait a minute, should she be doing anything with her mouth?  

“Ms. Granger,” Narcissa interrupted, eyes twinkling with mirth with Hermione’s utter breathlessness. “Stop thinking so much.”  

“Sorry,” Hermione gasped, not knowing what to do or where to look, wanting to see everything, touch everything and feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Yeah, sorry, sorry, I just... Well, I just...”  

Her rambling was interrupted as she caught  sight  a flash of skin. Hermione nearly moaned audibly when Narcissa’s blouse begin to slip away from her shoulders – Hermione had not even noticed her unbuttoning it , but here she was, gifted with the most glorious of views.   

“Oh my... Oh!”  

“Shh,” Narcissa shushed her through a smile, a hand coming to rest upon Hermione’s chest, toying with the neckline of her jumper  with seemingly little to no regard to how badly her every gesture affected the young Gryffindor.   

Hermione gasped with the teasing pressure of Narcissa’s hand upon her chest. Her eyes snapped up to meet the blonde’s in question, and she was at once lost in those wondrous blue depths.   

The pressure increased ever so slightly, and Hermione succumbed to Narcissa’s silent demand, lowering herself onto the bed and nearly drowning in the Slytherin’s intoxicating scent as Narcissa leaned over her.   

Her trembling only worsened as Narcissa’s hands began to slowly trace the hem of her jumper and the waistline of her trousers. In a moment of surprise, Hermione clasped her hands onto Narcissa’s waist, right under her expensive, blessedly open blouse.  

Hermione hissed with the shock of Narcissa’s warmth and snapped her hands away, as if the delicious heat of Narcissa’s pale skin had burned her.  

“Ah! Oh, ah, I’m sorry, I...”  

“Sh,” Narcissa breathed out, not bothering to hide how amused she felt with the embarrassment of the Gryffindor beneath her, though the gentleness of her gaze reassured the brunette.  

“Don’t worry about it. Here” she took Hermione’s frightened hands and placed them upon her waist in earnest encouragement.   

Hermione was quite certain her body had forgotten how to function entirely—more specifically, her lungs had no clue how to continue on breathing.   

“You can touch me, Hermione.” Narcissa murmured hotly in her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of the brunette’s neck. “I  want  you to touch me.”  

Perhaps it was the clear desire to be touched, perhaps it was the way Narcissa whispered it so sensually... perhaps it was the way her name—her name, not ‘Miss Granger’  dripped from Narcissa’s lips in a sultry, desperate whisper...  

Whatever the cause, Hermione’s hands quickly found Narcissa’s naked body beneath them, and she was in heaven. She felt the gentle slopes of Narcissa’s back, the delicate curve of her waist, the mesmerizingly soft underside of her full breasts beneath her wandering fingertips.  

A gasp echoed in the small bedroom, but Hermione felt exhilarated to not it hadn’t come from her, but from Narcissa. She relished on the sound that tickled her ear, venturing her hands lower, then higher, absolutely everywhere she could possibly reach, touching and feeling in silent reverence.   

Said exhilaration was relatively short-lived—she was distracted by Narcissa’s questing hands pulling at her jumper in quiet, desperate persistence.   

Hermione arched her back, purely by reflex, allowing Narcissa to peel the garment off her torso in one swift movement—the action earned a satisfied hum from approval from Narcissa.  

The Slytherin’s hands were like a blaze of fire igniting a trail of gunpowder all over Hermione’s body. Her breath hitched almost painfully when Narcissa’s fingers toyed with the edges of her bra.   

Suddenly realizing her hands had become static due to delicious shock, Hermione resumed her previous exploration of Narcissa’s smooth skin. It did not take long, however, for the brunette to suddenly dig her nails onto Narcissa’s back as she felt the Slytherin’s teeth softly grazing her breast over her bra.  

“Oh, Merlin—oh!”  

Narcissa chuckled—a deep, sultry sound that reverberated over Hermione’s skin, setting it alight with  more  delicious heat.   

Things moved faster after that—or, perhaps, more slowly—it was difficult to tell in the haze of feeling Hermione found herself in. It was too much to process all at once—there was the softness of Narcissa’s hands, the wet heat of her tongue and the teasing sharpness of her teeth—all together, all over Hermione’s body.   

There was the frantic rustling of fabric. First her trousers, then Narcissa’s, and then there was the immeasurable heat of two bodies entwined, moving frantically and softly all at the same time. Hermione felt the sting of Narcissa’s nails as they carved paths onto her skin; she felt the suppleness of the other woman’s flesh as she sunk her teeth into the blonde’s neck when Narcissa’s hand found its way down, down, then lower still.   

Her senses went haywire as Narcissa—by then moving deep within her with maddening ease and skill—took hold of her other hand, guiding it to where she wanted it. Hermione’s eyes snapped open, but the responding blue gaze was full of nothing but deep certainty and encouragement.   

And so, she moved—taking cues from Narcissa’s own movement but largely in some degree of experimentation, she moved. There was an innate rhythm, somewhat clumsy and fumbling at the start, but one that quickly evolved in a steady, fiery crescendo that showed no signs of relenting until it finally, blessedly, did culminate in an explosion of sensation.  

It was not exactly unknown to Hermione, the sensation of losing control. But it was still so deep, so impossibly raw as Narcissa moved within her with purpose, rocking her gently, dropping kisses along her neck. It was a thoroughly overwhelming, baffling blending of emotion and sensation, and Narcissa expertly guided Hermione along up until the moment she pushed her over the precipice.  

Hermione guessed she stayed mostly conscious only due to the beautiful, mesmerizing tremors that wracked Narcissa’s body shortly after the brunette’s fall. It was short and unbearably intense, not to mention an utter privilege to see the great Narcissa Malfoy shatter to pieces above her, only to come crashing down onto the bed beside her.   

They lay together for long moments. Hermione could take the time to process what had just transpired, but she chose to focus on regaining her breath instead. She was aware of the rapid rise and fall of Narcissa’s chest beside her and the room was suddenly mercifully cold after the inferno they had been through.   

The cold became more pronounced, sharper, until Narcissa brought the covers over them in one swift movement, plastering her body against Hermione’s. The Gryffindor could find any reason to complain.   

Narcissa let out a sigh;  it  tickled Hermione’s neck.  

“Splendid,” she said, her voice so full of mirth Hermione simply had to turn around to face playful blue eyes. “I believe I shall be having a particular Muggleborn again, very, very soon.”