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It all made sense. Hermione had never believed in a God, or Gods. The idea of a benevolent, or malevolent, all-seeing, all-knowing, supreme being who demands subordination and worship just doesn’t sit right with her. Millennia of hearsay and twisted writings, tampered with to fit all sorts of agendas did not present the bookworm with enough evidence, factual or not. Hermione would not believe in something without irrefutable evidence. Something which consistently bothered her Aunt Pauline, who was a big believer that God’s love was all encompassing, and she should ask forgiveness for her sins and try to live her life with his graciousness in mind. It was always her father with a friendly smile and a squeeze to her shoulder to stop her from releasing a tirade of arguments back. A reminder that while Hermione may be deemed a ‘know-it-all', not everyone had to have the same opinion. The truth of the matter is that Hermione didn’t need religion. She didn’t need to devote herself to anything or anyone, especially if logic didn’t lead her there. Until now. Now it all made sense.
Soft lips brushed against her own, hesitant and gentle. The faintest taste of spearmint, the overwhelming scent of desire, which with a clear mind could be identified as a subdued floral scent mixed with a subtle spice.
The lips paused, waiting. Hermione’s sharp inhale, followed by her fingers automatically reaching out to tuck a stray blonde curl behind a pearl laden ear. The sense of adoration, the need to worship the incredible woman in front of her, the utter devotion the younger woman felt was surreal. She wasn’t the type to follow without logic, and there was certainly a lack of that. Hermione couldn’t have cared less; nothing had ever felt so right. It was as though an ocean wave had taken her senses and her thoughts. Leaving her with a building desire, and feelings she wasn’t sure she could ever define with something as basic as words. She had always expected such utter devotion to feel claustrophobic, but in reality, she had never felt more free. Maybe Pauline was onto something after all.
The slightest touch of her lips had unravelled her entire belief system, and Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way. The taste of her lips like her own Holy Water, only instead of washing away her sins it seemed to be encouraging them within her mind. She had always been dubbed a quick learner, and she was learning exceedingly fast that there was very little she would not do for this woman.
Narcissa.
Narcissa’s fingers slipped inside Hermione’s belt loop, tugging the younger woman closer. Her lips finding their destination more firmly. Her warm, wet tongue slipping inside the Gryffindor’s mouth to wrestle with her own. There is no way this is not divine. Hermione’s hands moved to settle on the older woman’s shoulders, their lips reluctantly parting, joined only by a single line of their combined saliva.
“Say something,” the blonde whispered. “Say anything, Hermione.”
“The only heaven I will ever know.” The brunette muttered. “The only heaven I will ever go.” Hazel eyes drifted up to meet cobalt blue.
“Turning the Golden Girl’s brain to Gurdyroot, my talents truly know no bounds.” Narcissa smirked, her fingers tugging harshly at the belt loops until Hermione’s hips met her own.
“And her stomach to knotweed.” Hermione laughed. “I’m not entirely sure I haven’t lost my mind, Cissa.”
“I’m certain people will believe that, yes.” The blonde’s eyes drifted back to the lips she longed to claim again.
“Oh well of course, the evil witch who corrupted me.” Hermione laughed, causing the smirk on the older woman’s face to grow.
“You have no idea how many ways I intend to corrupt you.” Narcissa grinned at the deep crimson flush on the younger woman’s cheeks. Perhaps malevolent. Not that it mattered, Hermione was lost to Narcissa, doomed to adore her.
Doomed to fail, not adore. Or at least that’s how her friends would explain it. She was certain to grow out of it, feelings so intense never last. Especially if they are for a woman like Narcissa. Yes, her adoration would fizzle out. No doubt like the Vicar who devoted his life to Christ only to wake up one Sunday and throw it all away for a lie in. What do they know?
“ It will never last, not with someone like her.”
“You’ll grow out of it all once the excitement wears off.”
“She’s using you ‘Mione, you’ll see that one day.”
As if any of them could ever hope to know the depth of her feelings. Conversations like this had irritated her at first, her sigh becoming common, her eyes rolling so often they’d have undoubtedly won gold at the next Olympic gymnastics event. She’d learned by now that her friends weren’t going to let the topic drop, so she allowed her mind to wander. Not that it ever wandered far, and when it did there was only one direction to follow.
Narcissa.
Narcissa kissing her, all tongue, teeth, and urgency. Narcissa’s head between her legs, tongue working furiously as though she’d been lost in the desert for days and Hermione was her only source of water. Narcissa’s incredibly talented fingers, the way they brought her to a pleasure she had thought to be a myth, damned to only read about in trashy novels and never experience in reality. Fingers which idly traced every inch of her skin with no aim other than to soothe and explore.
“I’m sure it can’t be easy to hear all of that nonsense.” Kind eyes twinkled at the blush that had started to show on young cheeks. Hermione really needed to learn to keep her wits about her when daydreaming of her lover’s fingers.
“Merlin, I don’t like hearing it. And I shared a childhood with Narcissa, so I am fully aware of her more undesirable qualities.”
Undesirable qualities? Hermione grinned. “Thanks, Andy.”
“Not that I think for a second you believe what’s being said, It’s all entirely untrue.” Andromeda smiled kindly. “My sister is many things, and besotted with you is very high on that list. I have seen her lie, scheme, and betray people before. But I also know how deeply she cares, and how fierce her loyalty is.”
“I know she’s no Saint.” Hermione mumbled. She's more than that. “ I just wish they were more open to the idea of second chances.”
“She told me about your scar.” Andy’s voice dropped. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I don’t think she would object to me telling you how much it haunts her.”
Those same talented fingers had paused the first time they brushed against the raised flesh on her arm.
M. Morbid. U. Ugly. D. Disgusting. B. Brutal. L . Loathsome. O. Objectified. O. Oppressed. D. Dead.
Not anymore. Narcissa had cried all night, her tears and touch soothing the pain flaring inside Hermione. Utterances of love, of apologies, of regret. It was the first time Hermione saw the gravity of her situation. Her lover wasn’t just some undesirable woman who might mess her heart around. She was the ex-wife of a Death Eater, sister to the woman who branded her and haunted her. None of that mattered anymore though. Not when Hermione gazed into eyes brimming with sorrow, witnessed the night terrors, saw the distant flicker of fear when Narcissa left their home. Narcissa had done everything she could to try and remove the scar, a year of trying had been unsuccessful. Hermione’s hand automatically covered her sleeve, protective of what was once her shame. Not anymore.
M. Miraculous. U. Unconditional. D. Desire. B. Beautiful. L. Love. O. Otherworldly. O. Omniscient. D. Destiny.
Narcissa. Her entire world focussed on, Narcissa. The things she had once hated about herself were now adored by the older woman, and that kind of love was infectious. The letters of a scar designed to torment had their power removed by the divine intervention of a love like Narcissa’s. Nothing felt ugly, or undesirable when under Narcissa’s gaze. Or hands. Or tongue.
Burning. Her desire didn’t fade. Couldn’t fade. The jibes had slowly filtered out, her friends distancing themselves from the constant droning and criticisms of the blonde witch. Three years was a long time to use someone for personal gain after all. It was also a long time to suffer constant disregard, disrespect, and disdain at the hands of your love’s friendship group. Not that Narcissa would ever show her discomfort. All that mattered was Hermione.
“Narcissa? Is everything okay?” Hermione queried as she sleepily shuffled into their kitchen. Her desire wasn’t the only thing burning, the entire house filled with the odour of something smoldering.
“Of course, darling.” Narcissa grimaced. A streak of white across her cheek, her hair sticking out in random places, a yellow sludge across her blouse, and a steady stream of smoke flowing behind her. Hermione stared at her witch. In three years, she had barely seen Narcissa as anything but flawless. That’s not to say she wasn't currently flawless by Hermione’s standards, but by Narcissa’s own standards, this was a disaster.
“It’s pancakes.” The blonde frowned. “I was trying to make an effort.” 100% flawless. As if there was ever any doubt of that. Hermione grinned, closing the distance between them and gently wiping the flour off Narcissa’s cheekbone. Gently pressing a kiss in its place.
“Cissa, love, there’s no effort needed. All I need is you.”
“I worship you, Hermione.” The blonde whispered. She waved her hand behind her, and the smoke ceased, and her hair corrected itself back into its loose bun, and the blobs of batter removed themselves from her clothing.
“Not that I'm complaining, but what is the occasion?” Hermione smiled softly, pressing her lips to the other woman’s neck and enjoying the gentle growl she received in return.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Narcissa started and Hermione froze. “From the moment I kissed you, I knew everything was going to be perfect. How could it not be?”
I found God. The moment your lips met mine. Hermione gazed into the eyes that she loved, the eyes she sought for happiness, confirmation, and hope. She had tried to explain the idea of a God to Narcissa, from the ancient Greek’s, the Roman’s, the Hindu variations, Christianity, Islam, and beyond. Narcissa had just stared at her and asked why? Perhaps it's just the comfort of not being alone. A purpose to an otherwise random life. Narcissa was her purpose.
“Marry me, Hermione?”
She hadn’t even noticed the ring in her love’s hand. Her mind was swimming with the realisation that this was all she had ever wanted from the moment Narcissa gave her that damned smile all those years ago.
“Do you even need to ask?”
Hermione had wept, her lips clashing with Narcissa’s, their tears mingling as they struggled to separate.
“Are the pancakes essential? Because I think we may need to consummate this marriage before it even begins.” Hermione mumbled, her words muffled between the wet kisses she had started to leave on her love’s, Fiancée's, collarbone.
“You’re insatiable.” Narcissa breathed, as her wandless magic made quick work of undressing the younger woman.
“And you are divine.” Hermione smirked, using her hands to undress Narcissa the muggle way. Enjoying the soft sighs of contentment every time her hands brushed against newly revealed skin.
“We could combine our name’s if you like.” Narcissa’s fingers and reached their prize as she muttered her words against a rapidly beating pulse point. Her favourite thing was the slightly dazed look her Hermione gave as she entered her.
‘What like-” Hermione broke off with a moan as Narcissa added a second finger inside her and firmly thrust. “Like Blanger? Or Grack?” She frowned, unable to focus on much beyond the feeling of Narcissa. The blonde was relentless in her pace, the heel of hand rubbing against the brunette’s clit as she pushed more forcefully.
“No dear...” She whispered hotly into Hermione’s ear. “Like Black-Granger, or Granger-Black. Whichever you would prefer.”
Fucking hyphons. Hermione moaned, her hands grasping at Narcissa’s back, nails digging into pale skin as she felt her climax building. Narcissa kissed every inch of skin she could reach as Hermione came undone in her arms, her adoration for the younger witch showing.
“You’d take the name Granger?” The brunette mumbled once she’d started to get her bearings back.
“Well, it definitely sounds better than Grack.” Narcissa smirked. Hermione blushed. It wasn’t very often her intellect abandoned her, but it was always a guarantee that when it did, it was Narcissa’s fault. Moments like this she wondered how she even got here. Now engaged to the most incredible woman. A sense of freedom she had never anticipated, and a love which surpassed all logic and definition. She stared at the pale body entwined with her own.
Her body is bible, the only heaven that I'll go.