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“Fuck you, Ronald!” screamed Hermione as she slammed the bedroom door shut. Throwing up a muffliato and colloportus she started unwinding her unruly locks from their sculpted up-do, kicked off her heels and padded to the ensuite.
“Bloody idiot”, she muttered, a slow, wicked smile gracing her face.
Ron was nothing if not predictable, and this was just perfect. The young witch started the water running in the bathtub, adding her favourite scented oils; watching the foam gather on top of the water as she slipped out of her satin ball gown. Not bothering to recap the phial of natural oils, she summoned a bottle of her favourite red and poured a generous glass, letting the bottle casually drop and spill to the floor. Waving her hand, the candles around the bathtub flamed to life. Adjusting one candle on the edge of the tub, just above the pile of fluffy towels lying on the floor, she took a large gulp of wine as she waited for the tub to fill, considering the evening thus far.
Ron had behaved exactly as she’d predicted, glowering over his beer as he watched her spin around the dance floor with Rowle, working up to rage, slamming back firewhiskey as she then lightly flirted with Yaxley through the next two dances. The infamous Weasley temper finally made its appearance though, when Kingsley announced Hermione’s partnership with Malfoy on the implementation of Lupin’s Law. True, Ron was always going to be livid at the idea of her working so closely with Malfoy, but Draco just had to fan the flames by gathering her into his arms, tipping her backwards and planting a passionate kiss on her lips in front of the entire gala.
“You owe me for this, Granger” he murmured in her ear as he righted them both, steadying her with his hands on her waist. She only had time for a fleeting grin and quick wink before Ron’s hands were on her, drunkenly ripping her from Malfoy’s hold.
“Mione, What the hell?!” shouted Ron through a cloud of firewhiskey, gripping her wrist so tightly she knew there’d be bruises come morning.
“Malfoy! You’re working with Malfoy?!” he demanded, dragging her haphazardly through the crowd, “He’s a bloody death eater!”
“Honestly Ronald, it’s as though the last ten years haven’t existed!” she exclaimed loudly, “We won the war, it’s over! Draco isn’t a death eater, you know he barely was anyway … Ouch!”
Ron had tugged so hard she tripped and collided with the back of a brick wall. Large hands settled on her shoulders as said brick wall turned around.
“All right there Princess?” came the concerned voice of Thorfinn Rowle. Looking directly over her head he addressed Ron,
“Watch it Weasley, she’s a witch not a trunk, don’t drag her around like one.”
“Piss off Rowle, she’s my witch and I’ll treat her how I like” bit out Ron, “Sorry Mione” he mumbled, “Didn’t really mean that” somewhat relaxing his grip on her wrist.
Rowle reached for her abused wrist, removing it from Ron’s grasp, frowning as he saw the red abrasions on her delicate skin,
“Someone isn’t going to be happy about this Princess”, he murmured quietly as his lips brushed the back of her hand. Covertly tucking an item into her palm, he curled her fingers around it, saying more loudly,
“Take better care of your witch Weasley, if you’re not careful she’ll decide she can do better”. Waggling his eyebrows he winked, cheerfully declaring “I’m always happy to help out a pretty witch!”
Rolling her eyes at him Hermione replied sardonically “Gee, thanks Rowle. Now I really need a drink!” Turning to the agitated red-faced Weasley beside her, she sighed, “C’mon Ron, I’ve had enough, let’s go”, clutching the small object in her hand, she turned and stalked towards the floo.
Back in the moment, Hermione shut off the water and quickly divested herself of her remaining clothes, slipping into the water with a sigh. Mentally running through the inventory of her trusty beaded bag which sat waiting on the vanity, she sipped her wine; it now contained all her books and mementos, what remained in the flat were copies. Taking her wand and clothing wasn’t feasible, plus he said he wanted her to come to him with nothing but herself, he wanted to be her world. Swirling the last of her wine, she swallowed it down and rose from the water. Grabbing her wand, she dried herself off, knocking the phial of oils onto the towels.
“Oops!” She giggled gleefully, dropping her wand on the floor, drunk on the thought of what she was finally about to do. Wandlessly summoning her beaded bag and the acorn Rowle had slipped her earlier, she triggered the illegal portkey and delicately edged the candle from the lip of the bathtub to fall onto the waiting towels below. As the portkey glowed and silently whisked her away, Hermione saw the oil-soaked towels catch alight setting the room ablaze …
Darkness was all that met her as Hermione landed on a plush surface.
A lone candle flickered to life in front of her, lighting the fathomless blue eyes gazing intently at her.
“Solnyshka?”
“Antonin!”