lamerezouille: (April)
[personal profile] lamerezouille
Title: The Muggleborns
Pairing: Hermione/Dean
Rating: PG
Word count: ~700
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Note: Part 1 of the Weird Pairing Experience


‘Hm…Mr Thomas?’

Dean didn’t even turn towards his assistant and kept his concentration firmly on the sketches he was comparing. ‘God, Dennis! When are you going to learn to call me Dean? If this goes on one more month, I’ll have to take drastic measures.’

Instead of a stammered apology though, all he heard in response was the clearing of a throat that definitely didn’t sound like Dennis’s, but rather like—

He turned on his stool towards the sound and saw Hermione looking at him from the doorway with an arched eyebrow. ‘I certainly hope none of these “drastic measures” would be against the latest work regulations.’

She was dressed in her usual work robes, but they were open in the front, revealing a smart pearl-grey woman’s suit. It wasn’t a work-related visit, then. What kind of visit it could be though, he had no idea. He usually never saw her outside their group of friends and when they bumped into each other in the street they rarely had much to say to each other except asking what Seamus or Ron or Luna were up to.

Well, there had been that one time where they were alone together, but they hadn’t really talked much, had they? It’d been after a very well-wined dinner party between Gryffindor alumni and Dean had never expected more of it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, per se, but she’d always been out of his league, and by far. He knew he was attractive enough—women’s eyes on him didn’t lie, but Hermione was different. She was part of the Heroes, the Warriors, the Golden Trio. He was just a Muggle-born who’d managed to get rescued during the war.

And now the gap between them felt even larger. He may be an almost no-longer-starving artist, with his own studio and assistant, but she, she was more or less managing the whole Ministry of Magic. The fact that she even found time to drop by was quite telling.

‘What do I owe the honour?’ he asked, getting up and gesturing for Dennis to leave them alone. He invited her to take a seat on the worn-out couch he’d salvaged from Seamus’s mum’s yard sale and took a seat on the opposite armchair. With one of her legs slipping out of her robe and so much tantalising skin for him to see, he didn’t trust himself to seat too close to her.

‘Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?’ she said in a no-nonsense manner. Dean wondered briefly if he should worry. ‘I guess you remember having sex with me a little more than three months ago.’

Dean nodded and in another context might have thought she wanted a repeat-performance, but her gaze was very stern on him and she looked more like she wanted to practice illegal Legilimency on him than the Kama sutra position they’d aced that night.

‘Yeah…’ he answered, not really knowing what to expect.

‘Well, I’ll have you know that you were the first Muggle-born I’d had sex with, and that I discovered recently that the reason my other former lovers never used the Muggle ways of contraception is simply because they don’t actually work on wizards.’

She said all this very matter-of-factly and Dean wished for one moment he could actually read her. But the only other time he ever really looked into her eyes was in the throes of passion and under the influence of serious amounts of alcohol and there was no way he could guess what she was thinking right now.

‘Are you saying…that you’re…’ he hesitated—if he was wrong, he’d look the right fool.

‘Yes, Dean, I am,’ she said regally, standing up and brushing invisible dust from her skirt. ‘If you want to be a father, be in the pre-natal ward of St Mungo’s, next Monday at two p.m. I won’t wait for you.’

And she left the room. Dean heard Dennis tripping over himself to show her to the door in the hall and felt like he needed to sit down. Except he was already sitting down.

He let out a deep, deep breath and threw his head back, realising belatedly that he was laughing like a madman. He just didn’t know yet if it was from joy or merely hysterics.
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