A Gift for kiertorata: Striking Midnight, (Hannah/Hermione)

[rarepairs_mod]

Author: flipflop_diva
Recipient: kiertorata
Title: Striking Midnight
Pairing: Hannah Abbott/Hermione Granger
Rating: R, but just barely
Word Count/Art Medium: 2,468 words
Summary: If you had asked her a year ago, Hermione would have told you that she would never have expected to end her year like this — getting ready to drink the night away by herself at an old wizarding pub. But what happens next she really would never have expected.
Author's Notes: Thank you to A for the last-minute beta! And thank you to the mods for the extra time and for hosting this wonderful fest every year! And thank you especially to kiertorata for the inspiring prompts and for this pairing that I had never really considered otherwise but am now a little in love with thanks to this fic. I hope you enjoy!



The clock in her sitting room was just chiming eleven when Hermione Apparated away from there, with only one destination in mind.

Her feed landed with a soft thud, and she almost slipped on the icy ground, causing her to groan.

“That would have been just perfect,” she muttered to herself. She looked around carefully to make sure no one was in sight before stuffing her wand in the pocket of her jeans and placing the hood of her very Muggle-looking black coat over her head.

She inched her way carefully down the alley, until she could step out into the middle of a busy London street, no one noticing her in the middle of all the smiles and laughter and celebrations that had already begun.

She sighed inaudibly as she began making her way down the street. Passersby jostled her arm, but no one looked at her or talked to her or smiled at her. She was as alone as she felt, and she had to blink quickly in the frosty air to keep the tears at bay.

A year ago, toasting the bride and groom with her best friends at Neville and Luna’s wedding, Hermione would have sworn that this was going to be her year. She was going to get that promotion she’d been working toward (it wasn’t going to go to Lavender Brown, of all people, instead), she was going to fall in love (she wasn’t going to just go out on bad date after bad date after bad date), she was going to move into a bigger flat (she wasn’t still going to being living out of the tiny place that could barely be called a home), and she was going to ring in the new year with all her friends (they weren’t all going to ditch her, one by one, to be with their own significant others). She never would have guessed she would be here, getting ready to drown her sorrows away all by herself, on New Year’s Eve.

Well, not entirely by herself.

Hermione felt her mood lift by just a fraction as she thought of the one person who she had come to confide in and rely on most the past few months, the one person who had been there when she needed her, even as some of her other friends had been unable to be.

Of course, she knew deep in her heart that Hannah had only been there because it was her job to be there. They had never gotten together for so much as lunch outside of The Leaky Cauldron. Their entire relationship was Hannah serving her drinks and listening to her moan about her life. That Hannah had good advice, and that she made Hermione feel like she understood her, were just more reasons why Hannah had been the one chosen to take over the pub when the old owner, Tom, had decided it was time to call it quits.

But Hermione still couldn’t help the tiny flutter in her chest when she thought about seeing Hannah in just seconds.

“You’ll be here for New Year’s Eve, yes?” Hannah had asked her last weekend when Hermione had just finished her last Firewhisky of the night.

“I have no where else to be,” she had said, and Hannah had smiled sadly at her.

“I want you here,” Hannah had told her. “Come about eleven. We’ll have fun.”

Hermione wasn’t sure about the fun part, but at least being out was better than ringing in the new year alone on her couch. Even Crookshanks had made a friend with another kneazle that lived down the hall and barely spent time with her these days.

Hermione stopped in front of The Leaky Cauldron, just as the sky above seemed to open up, and white drifts of snow came flying down. She paused for a moment, looking upward, and then she pushed opened the door to the pub.

She expected to be assaulted by the sounds of pissed people laughing and hollering and singing, maybe even dancing, but the pub was strangely quiet. And dark.

Hermione stood in the entrance, trying to adjust to the dim light as the door swung closed behind her. No one was in sight. There was no sound either, except the dim buzz of the muggles passing by outside.

Hermione frowned. Had she gotten the day wrong? The time wrong? Had she misunderstood what Hannah had asked her?

She felt the tears she had been trying to keep at bay all night — all day, if she was being honest with herself — finally spill over. She shoved a mittened hand into her mouth to choke back the sobs as her other hand rubbed roughly at her eyes, probably smudging the makeup she had spent so long on, not that it mattered now.

She let herself stand there for a minute, biting on her mitten, rubbing at her eyes, feeling terrible disappointment and hurt wash over her, before forcing herself to take a deep breath and get a grip on herself. She wasn’t a child, and she didn’t need to be crying over someone unintentionally hurting her feelings. There were plenty of pubs in the wizarding world that would be serving drinks all night long. She could go to any one of those and drink as much as she wanted, until she was blissfully numb.

She turned around to leave, but then froze in mid-stride.

Almost as if she had just Apparated there, Hannah now stood between Hermione and the door to the street. She was wearing a glittery, silver, low-cut dress that showed off more of her than Hermione had ever seen before. Her hair was piled on her head, and pieces of that, too, glittered in the light.

She was smiling, but she looked nervous, Hermione thought.

“Please don’t go,” Hannah said, and her voice shook just the tiniest bit, confirming Hermione’s suspicion.

Hermione stared at her, trying to understand what was happening. She glanced around the pub again and then back at Hannah.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the truth was trying to tickle her, but she ignored it. It didn’t make sense.

“Where is everyone else?” Hermione finally said. “Did you have to close?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. She bit down on her lip. “We are closed tonight.”

Hermione looked again at Hannah’s outfit, at the dress that was clearly meant to be worn to some sort of gala.

“You have somewhere to go?”

“Not exactly.”

And then the truth hit Hermione harder. “You have a date,” she said.

“I hope so.”

Hermione wasn’t prepared for the crushing disappointment that rammed through her entire body. Or for the jealousy that followed as, for just one minute, she pictured Hannah, her arms wrapped around someone else, their lips pressed together, hands that weren’t Hannah’s sliding up under her dress, touching her legs, her arse, sliding between …

Hermione shook her head, hard, willing the image to go away, willing the ache in her heart to go away, willing the tears to not fall again.

What in bloody hell was she even doing? Or thinking? Or wishing?

Hermione opened her mouth, trying to force words out. There was a lump in her throat that seemed to have made speaking harder than it should be. Hannah was still standing where she had first appeared, still staring at Hermione, as if waiting for something.

“Go,” Hermione finally managed, the word burning her as it came out into existence. “I’ll …” And she darted forward, suddenly desperate to reach the door, to run back outside into the cold air, to Apparate somewhere, anywhere, everywhere that wasn’t here.

Something stopped her. Something soft and gentle reverberating in the air.

“Please don’t.”

Hannah’s words wound themselves around her, clearing the panic and the desperation in her mind and in her body. She stopped moving, now right in front of Hannah, to look into the other woman’s eyes, to study her face.

“I want you to stay,” Hannah said. “I want you. … I …”

Hannah stopped talking like she, too, had run out of words. They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity.

Every interaction they’d had in the past few months, every conversation, every accidental touch of Hannah’s hand when she offered Hermione a drink. Every smile Hannah had given her, every laugh, every scowl she had made in anger toward whatever perceived hurt Hermione had shared, all of these passed through Hermione’s mind as she and Hannah stood there, trapped by their own fears and insecurities and miscommunications.

Hermione was afraid to move, afraid to speak. Afraid if she did the wrong thing, this wouldn’t be true. Hannah wouldn’t be here now, waiting for her, wanting to spend the night with her. Hannah wouldn’t be wearing a silver dress for her, wouldn’t be hoping for a date with her, wouldn’t be asking her to stay.

But now Hannah was tilting her head, and she pointed upward. Hermione looked too.

Mistletoe. Hanging right above where they both stood.

Hermione didn’t remember it being there before, not in all the days she had been coming here after work, not even just now when she had stepped through the door, but where it had come from and how long it had been there was not of importance in this moment. She found herself nodding at Hannah, and then Hannah was stepping toward her.

Hermione could smell her now, a combination of peppermint and Firewhisky that somehow made her lightheaded and delirious just on contact. Hannah’s hands, impossibly soft, came up to cup Hermione’s face, and then her lips were moving toward Hermione’s, and Hermione forgot how to breath as those same lips touched hers, and then she was drowning, lost in the most perfect smell and touch and sensation.

She managed to wrap her arms around Hannah, hold her close, more so she wouldn’t fall over, and she felt herself floating as Hannah snogged her and snogged her and snogged her some more.

Finally they broke away, both gasping for air.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Hannah panted.

“Have you?” Hermione found her thoughts were still a little incoherent. “I have too.”

Hannah flushed then, as if she was suddenly ashamed at something. She bit her lip. “I am sorry,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“For tonight. The false pretenses.”

“The false …?”

“I shouldn’t have made you think it was going to be more people,” Hannah said quickly. “I should have just.” She stopped, shrugged her shoulders. “Asked,” she finally finished.

Hermione almost laughed, mostly with relief, partly at the knowledge of how scared she had been thinking of Hannah with someone else, even for just a second.

“Yes,” she said. “You should have. But,” she continued quickly as Hannah grimaced. “I’m not complaining about being alone with you.”

“You’re not?” Hannah said.

“Not at all,” Hermione said.

Hannah glanced over Hermione’s head. Hermione turned to see where she was looking and took in the huge clock over the fireplace on the other side of the pub. Eleven forty.

“We should get drinks,” Hannah said. “To toast the new year.” She paused. “If you want, that is?”

“I want,” Hermione said. “I want very much.”

--

Three hours and the same number of Firewhiskys later, Hermione lay contentedly in Hannah’s bed, feeling happier and more sated than she had in as long as she could remember.

Somewhere on the floor lay a silver dress and Hermione’s jeans and red top. Knickers and bras had been tossed somewhere in the room as well. A smile was still plastered on Hermione’s face, and her body still buzzed slightly with the memories of her orgasms.

Next to Hermione, Hannah was lying on her side, watching her, the sheet revealing just a tease of a perfect breast that Hermione had been licking and sucking on not too long ago. The fingers of one of Hannah’s hands were idly playing with the blanket that was resting over Hermione’s lower half.

“Did you know I have fancied you since we were at Hogwarts?” Hannah said quietly, breaking the peaceful silence at last.

Hermione turned her head to look at her. “You have not,” she said, wondering how that could possibly be true.

“I have,” Hannah said. “But I knew it could never happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione almost laughed, remembering her nerdy self and her frizzy hair and the piles of books she’d always had her nose in.

Hannah snorted, though, like the thought of it happening was ridiculous. “You were way out of my league, Hermione Granger,” she said.

Hermione stared at her. “That’s not true.”

“You were part of the Golden Trio,” Hannah said. “You probably didn’t even know my name.”

“I knew your name, Hannah Abbott,” Hermione said. She stared at the beautiful woman beside her. “I’ve fancied you for a while now too.”

“Yes?” Hannah asked, cocking her head in such a way that a curl of blond hair fell over her eyes.

“Why do you think I keep coming here?”

“You like to drink?”

Hermione laughed. “A little. But the company made me stay.”

Hannah studied her for a few moments before speaking. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you,” Hermione pointed out.

“True.” Another pause. “I didn’t mean to trick you tonight. I just … I didn’t know how to ask you. I thought if I said something …”

“Hannah.” Hermione rolled over on to her side, so she could rest her hand on top of Hannah’s that was still fiddling with the blanket. “You are so incredibly brave. I would never have said anything, let alone done something as perfect as this. But you … you put yourself out there and you didn’t even know if I’d say yes.”

Hannah flushed at her words. “It wasn’t anything special.”

“Yes, it was. It was special. And you are special.”

Hannah flushed more.

“I’m really glad I’m here,” Hermione told her. “I thought this year was going to start out horrible, but this is the best start to a year I’ve ever had.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A smile spread across Hannah’s face. “For me too.” Then she smirked. “Maybe if we’re lucky, this will be the best year we’ve ever had.”

Hermione couldn’t help matching Hannah’s smirk. “Maybe it will,” she said, and she lifted herself up just enough to practically dive on top of Hannah, capturing her lips with her own.

Hannah squealed, before rolling them both over and starting a slow descent southward.

Hermione closed her eyes, letting her happiness spread throughout her body as Hannah’s fingers delved between her legs.

Yes, she thought, before desire overcame her and all she saw was stars, she could definitely get used to this.