Chapter Text
Lairg, Scotland
Thomas was late. It wasn't unusual for this particular contact of Hermione's, but it irked her all the same. The rush of muggles that always filled this pub on Friday nights was beginning to thin out, and the effects of her polyjuice potion would begin to fade soon. She had enough for one more dose, but she was hoping to save that for after this meeting; there was a muggle boy, Martin, in a nearby village who knew this particular facade as Lila. Hermione had given him her mobile number when they first met months ago, and they had been hooking up semi-regularly ever since. He wasn't always available, but when he was Hermione liked him well enough and, more importantly, he was very, very good with his hands. He had texted her a little while ago asking to meet tonight, and she was rather desperate to blow off some steam. If Thomas didn't show in the next half hour, she was going to have to cancel on Martin to wait for him instead, a thought that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. Trading the company of a handsome boy who, for once, wasn't trying to get into her pants because she was Harry Potter's best friend, for that of a fat, sweaty, balding man twice her age who might have valuable information concerning the next Order supply run, wasn't exactly an exciting prospect.
The minutes ticked by at high speed, and finally Hermione sighed, pulling out her mobile.
L: Sorry, can't make it tonight after all. Work thing.
M: Bugger. Next time you're in town, yeah?
L: Definitely.
She dropped the phone on the bar in front of her with a frustrated huff, thinking longingly of Martin's long, dark fingers. After a moment, she signaled to the bartender, this time putting in an order for something with plenty of booze; the drink in front of her was non-alcoholic, since she was technically on duty until her meeting with Thomas was over. She slipped off her stool and collected her bag before heading into the dimly lit bathroom, locking the door, and pulling out her flask of Polyjuice, downing it in one face-twisting shot. They had managed to develop a variation of the potion that could last up to twelve hours, but it somehow managed to taste even worse than the normal one, and it took some effort to not run to the toilet and hurl it back up. Instead, she focused on the mirror, watching as her features rippled slightly. Her hair, which had begun to coil more tightly into her own curls, fell back into Lila's looser ringlets, and her nose crooked just a little. It wasn't much, but she knew that once the potion began to wear off, it took only a minute or so to go from little hints of a witch or wizard's actual appearance to a total transformation. It wasn't something she could easily explain away, nor could she Obliviate an entire bar, so she opted to be overly cautious.
Emerging from the bathroom with the bitter taste of the potion heavy on her tongue, Hermione surveyed the space, hoping to see Thomas, and nearly marched right up and slapped him when she watched him settle himself at the bar. As it was, she muttered a few choice words about him as she forced herself to move casually back towards her seat, settling down beside him and hoping he'd caught at least the last few names. If the dirty look he'd tossed her way was any indication, he had, and Hermione had to try and bite back a grin when he began to speak in a waspish tone.
"I haven't got anything new for you tonight." Her smile immediately vanished, any amusement evaporating, a surge of anger rushing in to take its place. She'd given up her plans for the night because he was late, and now she wouldn't even have anything to show for it.
"The hell, Thomas? It's been two weeks since you had anything new for me. I'm beginning to think you want to be turned over to the Dark Lord." Her threat was empty, something she'd never go through with, but Thomas didn't need to know that. It normally made Hermione uncomfortable, blackmailing and threatening like this, dangling someone's life over their head, but after the day- hell, after the month she'd had, she couldn't find it in herself to feel particularly bad as the sweat began to practically stream off her informant.
"No! Lila, I swear, I've been trying, but the Department has been practically locked down for weeks now!" The fear in his voice made her conscience twinge ever so slightly. "Nobody has been able to get so much as an apparition license! I've been reaching out to my contact over and over, but-" Hermione tuned out his nervous babbling as he rambled on and on, trying to process the information he had given her: The Department of Magical Transportation being shut down was not a good sign. The Order had been managing to get supplies to the different safe houses without compromise thanks to Thomas's friend procuring sanctioned portkeys, which were becoming more and more difficult to come by these days; If that route was now closed to them, it was going to be infinitely more difficult to make sure everyone got what they needed. With most of the country blanketed in Anti-Apparition wards and the monitoring of the Floo network, their options had already been disappearing, and now they were basically gone.
Tuning back in as Thomas finally began to wind down his explanations, Hermione reluctantly decided to cut the man a break. It wasn't actually his fault if the DMT was closed, and really, he didn't deserve to be the target of her frustrations.
"Fine." She kept her tone bland and her expression blank, betraying nothing. "But for the love of Merlin, do not be late next time I call, or you will regret it." She smiled sweetly at him then. "Are we clear?" He nodded frantically just as the bartender approached with her drink. "Excellent. Dismissed." Hermione turned away without so much as another glance in his direction, pulling out her phone and taking a sip of her drink as Thomas scurried off into the night. A new message from Martin flashed across her screen, and for a moment she considered telling him she could make it after all. She was now officially off duty, and nobody would miss her at headquarters for at least a few hours.
Hermione glanced up into the mirror that made up the back wall of the bar as she pondered her options, watching absently as the pub's neon sign lit up, proudly proclaiming this to be "The Irish Moon". A crescent moon underscored the blazing green letters, and it was under this moon that she first saw him, and all thoughts of Martin went straight out of her head.
Peering in through the bar’s picture window was a broad-shouldered man with dark, curling hair, sweeping his gaze over the now mostly-empty pub. The dirty mirror kept her from properly examining him, and Hermione swiveled almost instantly on her stool to get a better look. Her sudden movement attracted his attention, and her temporarily-hazel eyes locked on piercing blue as they both took one another in. Yes, she was definitely interested, and judging by the way he strode into the pub and made straight for the seat beside her, he was as well.
Hermione admired him as he came into the light and approached, enjoying the view of his long, athletic body and stylish clothes. His mouth quirked into a lopsided smirk at her blatant staring, and he made a point to return the favor, dragging his gaze over her in a way that almost made her feel naked. Undressing her with his eyes, Ginny would call it.
He dropped easily onto the stool next to her where Thomas had just been, and the bartender appeared asking for his order.
"A shot of firewhis- erm, sorry, a shot of Fireball, please." Hermione frowned just slightly at the slip, but shook her head and pushed the notion away. She was in a muggle pub, in the middle of muggle nowhere. She focused instead on his voice, which rang out low and deep and sent a thrill running down her spine.
"Anything else for you?"
The stranger didn't even hesitate to respond: "And one more of whatever she's having, on me." He shot her a sly smile as the barman nodded and turned away, and she blushed furiously.
"I hope that's alright?" The man spoke suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, a slight hint of apprehension appearing on his face. Hermione flushed as she realized she had been staring.
"It's more than alright!" She rushed to reassure him. "Sorry, I just got caught up in my head over… erm…tomorrow’s schedule."
"Ah. Happens to the best of us,"
“It does depend on how the night goes.” She shrugged, though a smile tugged at her lips.
“Trying to squeeze someone special in after a long night?” He leaned in closer, and she almost laughed.
But then his hand was grasping her gently just above her knee, distracting her with gentle strokes from his thumb, and she nearly lost the entire thread of the conversation.
“I- well. And what if I am?”
“Then that someone is a fool for leaving such a beautiful woman alone in a pub on a Friday night.” He spoke coolly, leaning in further until they were nearly nose to nose.
“Where any stranger could buy her a drink or touch her-“ he paused, his eyes dropping to his hand on her knee.
“-Like this.”
His fingers surged upwards suddenly, slipping easily past the hem of her dress and coming to rest possessively on the warmth of her inner thigh. Hermione gasped as his fingertips just brushed the edge of her knickers.
“Perhaps-“ Hermione glanced down coyly before looking back up at the man and meeting his gaze boldly. She placed her hand on his thigh in return, letting her fingers trail lightly upward, until she was nearly palming him over his trousers.
“-He trusts me,” she murmured, breathless as she watched the man’s eyes darken.
“His mistake then,” The heaviness lingered in his gaze even as he grinned mischievously, suddenly pressing more deliberately against her core.
Hermione had to grab onto the bar top beside her to stop from bucking against his touch.
But then his hand was gone, sliding back out from beneath her skirt, and he turned to face forward on his own stool, letting her hand fall away. Frustrated, she aimed a fiery glare at the side of his head, turning the heat to inferno levels when he glanced at her and laughed.
“What?” She huffed, crossing her arms
over her chest.
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “You just remind me of a girl I went to school with. She did a damn good death stare too.” The mirth was back, dancing in his eyes at whatever he was remembering.
“Well, I hope it taught you something, like, say, manners.”
“Have I been rude? Please forgive me, I can never seem to stop myself from teasing pretty girls." He grinned in mock apology.
"I suppose you were one of those boys who liked to chase the girl he fancied on the playground then? Perhaps pulling on her braids if he really liked her?" She asked with faux disdain, pretending to turn up her nose.
"Naturally," he said easily, idly fiddling with a bowl of pretzels resting on the counter between them.
"And have you grown up since then?"
"Oh certainly, though I must admit, the hair-pulling has remained a favorite... technique, shall we say."
"Then we'll get along splendidly, since I quite like having my hair pulled." Their eyes met in the mirror once more, gazes heavy.
This was exactly what she needed. Skipping past the rules of common sense so that she could have a perfect night, hot and fast and filthy. And then come morning, she would walk away with a sigh of relief and forget his name.
"Fireball and a Rob Roy for you, Miss." The bartender reappeared with their drinks, breaking the heated tension in the air. They both murmured a quiet thanks before sitting back and sipping silently for a moment, observing one another.
"I'm August, by the way,"
"Lila." She said simply, extending her hand.
“Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Hermione snatched her hand back at his wry smirk; lt was obvious to both of them where this was heading, and yet she’d stuck her hand out as if they were two people making a formal acquaintance.
Though, as last call approached, Hermione was almost regretting that she wouldn't see him again; she hadn't met anybody like him in a long, long time. Order headquarters wasn't exactly crawling with eligible bachelors, as so many of her friends had paired off and married rather quickly after the Battle. Harry's almost-death seemed to have lit a fire under nearly everyone, and the weddings had come fast and furious in the three years since, with Harry and Ginny leading the way and Ron and Lavender not far behind. And the few men who did remain single were just... not enough for Hermione. She had high standards, she knew, but she wasn't willing to compromise on them, even if it meant dying in the war and leaving nothing and no one behind.
So that left her with men like Martin and August. Men that could keep up with her long enough to get into bed, give her the relief she needed, and get out.
Realizing she ought to make her move, Hermione was aided in her plan to get them out of the pub and into the nearest bed (or alley, or closet, she wasn’t picky) by the clamoring of a brass bell and the bartender calling out for last orders. Upon hearing it, she opened her mouth to officially give her proposition, but August beat her to it.
“Care to come back to mine for a nightcap?” His eyes seemed to sparkle, though with mirth or desire she couldn’t quite tell.
“Only if yours isn’t more than round the block,” Hermione replied cheekily. “I believe
I’m properly good and wrecked now.”
“You’re good and sloshed now,” August corrected, then leaned in and whispered: “I intend for you to be wrecked after I’ve had my way with you.” The words sent a shiver down her spine, and before she knew it Hermione was on her feet, letting him lead her from the pub.
True to his word, it wasn’t a far walk. It was only made longer by a brief detour in which one of them- Hermione honestly wasn’t sure who’s fault it was- leaned a little too close to the other, and then suddenly she was pinned against a cold stone wall, clinging to him like a monkey as he snogged her senseless. Just as she was on the verge of begging him to simply take her right there, a wolf whistle from a passing stranger brought her back to her senses, seeming to reach August too. They managed to make it all the way to the elevator of his hotel before the kissing started again, rough and intense.
Hermione thanked her lucky stars that his suite was close to the elevator; they only had to stagger a short ways before she heard the swiping of a keycard and felt the hardness of a door against her back. And then there was nothing; she was almost falling into the warmth of his room, but August’s hands were there, catching her and pushing her back against the door.
His lips went immediately to her neck as if drawn there by a magnet, and she gasped in surprise and delight when he allowed his teeth to drag down over her throat. The sensation bordered perfectly between pain and pleasure, and he seemed to revel in the way she arched into him.
“Like that?” August murmured near her ear, his voice dropping impossibly lower.
“Yes, please, just like that,” Hermione didn’t give a damn how needy she sounded in that moment; she just needed more. He seemed to get the message, and without hesitation latched back onto her neck, his hands traveling hungrily over her body before suddenly sliding over her arse. He lifted her easily, like she weighed nothing, and began walking them intently towards the bed.
Hermione could hardly think as he manipulated her body exactly as she liked, and she practically tore the buttons off his shirt in her haste to strip him. He mimicked her fervent energy, and she had the momentary thought that she would probably need to repair her zipper in the morning, before it was swept away by his touch.
The world seemed to blur around her as soon as her back hit the mattress, the night coming in and out of focus as he brought her over the edge again and again. Praises both sweet and filthy fell continually from his lips as he handled her roughly, and Hermione knew that in the morning she would be bruised and marked and sore, exactly how she wanted to be; it was the easiest and, in her opinion, most pleasant way to forget everything that plagued her.
When she finally fell back against the pillows, sated and sweaty in the best way, Hermione didn’t bother trying to talk or even think. She simply rolled over, slipped beneath the bedding, and went to sleep.
She was awoken a few hours later by the sun, which was weak with the early hour but still managed to hit her directly in the face. Annoyed, she rolled away from the light only to find herself shivering; the other side of the bed was cold. Sitting up, Hermione pulled the blanket around herself and listened carefully for a moment as she lazily surveyed the room. After a moment her shoulders relaxed when there was no sound coming from the bathroom, and her cursory search found only her own belongings, still scattered on the floor. A delighted grin spread slowly across her face as she realized she was alone, and she quickly lay back down hoping to catch an hour or two more of sleep. But after tossing and turning for a few minutes, Hermione knew that she was now up for the day.
Sliding out of the silky sheets with a groan, she headed quickly for the bathroom and took care of her business, smiling in satisfaction at her reflection in the mirror. As she washed her hands and face and began fidgeting with her curls, which were a fantastic mess after last night, she felt a sudden spike of anxiety. Studying herself in the mirror, it took a few seconds to register what, exactly, had frightened her.
The girl looking back at her in the mirror was Hermione Granger. Not Lila. The rich olive tone of her alter ego’s skin and waist-length black hair were replaced by her own pale face and tight curls, and the eyes meeting hers were no longer a bright hazel but a deep brown. The anxiety began trying to sharpen into panic, her body recognizing before her mind that the odds were high that August had seen a completely different girl in his bed than the one he spent the night with.
Rushing out of the bathroom, she moved first to her bag, dropped carelessly on a chair near the bed, and retrieved her wand. Feeling slightly more at ease with the vinewood in her sight, she began trying- and failing- to calmly figure out what to do next.
First things first, she supposed: she couldn’t leave the hotel naked. It took a few minutes of hunting, but she eventually managed to locate everything and zipped herself into her dress while stepping into her pumps. Now properly clothed, Hermione snatched up her bag and gripped her wand firmly. An echo of Ron asking her if she was a witch or not sounded in her head at the realization that she could’ve simply summoned her belongings instead of searching for them, but she pushed the thought aside. She needed to focus before something serious happened.
Casting her eyes around the room for any last missed belongings, Hermione finally spotted the hastily scrawled message on the hotel stationary, left on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. She bounded across the room at the sight and snatched up the note, her breathing finally slowing properly as she read.
Lila,
You were wonderful last night, and I thank you for that. I swear, I'm normally much more of a gentleman after spending the night with a woman, but something has come up and I'm needed immediately at home. Please enjoy the room, it's yours until 12. Feel free to order room service if you'd like, it'll all be taken care of.
-August
The breath whooshed out of her lungs so quickly she almost felt lightheaded as she read his words over again. He had left a note. Something she certainly wouldn’t do if she woke up in bed next to a stranger. The more she sat and thought about it, the more Hermione realized that he likely would have woken her up with fear and shouting if he had seen her.
She facepalmed at the memory of how she’d acted like a complete dunce just now when there was no need. She tried to justify it with reminders that she was both not a morning person, and incredibly hungover, but the tinge of embarrassment still colored her cheeks as she walked to the mirror.
As Hermione carefully finger-combed her hair, trying to make it at least slightly presentable, she briefly considered staying in the room like he'd offered; the bathroom contained a massive bathtub and at least a dozen luxury products to go with it. The bed had the most comfortable mattress she had ever slept on, and the silky linens beckoned her to slide back into bed and savor the time she had left with them.
Order Headquarters, her current home, couldn't be further from this, with only two large communal bathrooms and barrack-style "bedrooms". Bunk beds with flimsy straw mattresses and rough cotton sheets were where she usually spent her nights, trying not to crawl out of her skin at the sensory nightmare. And Hermione was completely by herself, no one else here to invade her peace.
Having space to be alone was a valuable commodity at Headquarters, which was always stuffed to the brim. Despite taking more than her share of nighttime missions or overnight shifts on various watch assignments, Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to take a nap. Add to that the idea of getting to have more than just a hasty scrub-down in lukewarm water, trying to rush out so the next person could get in... it was almost enough to make her crumble. She had been due back at Headquarters hours ago, but surely she could be gone just a little longer?
Convinced she could steal more time, Hermione was already turning towards the bath and reaching for the zipper on her dress when, without warning, a silver stag burst into the room, nearly sending her arse over teakettle in surprise.
"'Mione, where the hell are you? Kingsley and Moody have been looking everywhere for you! You need to get back here now, Ron and I can't cover for you much longer." Harry’s voice was stern and seemed to linger in the air even after the stag vanished.
Leave it to Harry to crush her fantasies of a hot bath and a long nap.
She didn’t truly blame him- he was just the one who happened to be tasked with finding her. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, and in a moment of spite towards Kingsley and Moody took a short walk around the room, telling herself she was just making sure she hadn't missed any of her belongings, all the while knowing perfectly well that she had everything.
Her "search" completed, Hermione turned and walked out of the room, considered the elevators for a moment, before opting for the exit stairwell at the far end of the hall. Slipping out the side door of the hotel, she paused briefly to get her bearings before walking back towards the pub. The Irish Moon was empty and dark at- she glanced at her watch- six in the morning, but she found herself smiling fondly at the place just the same.
As she stepped into the alley beside the bar, she paused momentarily and thoroughly cleared her mind of last night, leaving behind only the physical marks and a sense of satisfaction to remind her. Casting detection spells to make sure she was outside the anti-apparition wards, Hermione focused then on the Order-procured car waiting for her in London, turned on the spot, and disappeared.