with a violin and a song to sing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
origamiflowers) wrote2009-08-03 01:03 am
origamiflowers) wrote2009-08-03 01:03 am
fic: Harry Potter: "Collapse into Me" (Fleur/Hermione, NC17)
Title: Collapse into Me
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Fleur/Hermione
Rating: NC17
Warnings: infidelity
Length: ~2400 words
Summary: Hermione tries to make herself useful.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femmefest.
Someone was knocking at her door.
Fleur's first instinct was to dismiss the intrusion into her afternoon. It had been a quiet day. One of those slow, sleepy winter days where all you did was lie on the couch and shuffle around, a perpetual yawn always hovering on your lips. The fire was humming steadily in the background.
She had not always liked those days, Fleur mused as she rolled her head from side to side, trying to get comfortable again. In the first days after she and Bill moved to the cottage, she had been disappointed in the slow pace of their days. In the quietude that enveloped their life. But there were benefits to being left alone all the time, yes …
The knocking came again: louder, faster, more urgent. Fleur could imagine someone outside the door, pacing, tapping their foot, unfairly expecting her to come at their demand. Her irritation had begun as a mere kindling, but it was growing.
She wasn't expecting anyone. If there was bad news, there were other ways of contacting her. She snuck a glance at the fireplace grate: no, nothing new, just the same steady pulse and glow.
More knocking. If knocking had a mood, Fleur would have deemed it desperate.
The last thread of her patience snapped. Fleur snatched up her wand from the table and aimed it at the door. With the sound of something exploding, the door blew violently open.
The sound of the it banging into the wall on the other side was strangely satisfying, even as she heard the sound of the hinges ripping away from wood and the door dangle precariously.
"Well, come in!" Fleur shouted, wand held threateningly before her.
"Good lord, you didn't have to blow it open," said an imperious voice, the body of which was stepping over the cottage's threshold. The figure turned to inspect the door, running over the hinges with a wand. Fleur heard a series of soft clinks as the hinges slid back into their proper places and the door straightened up.
The figure turned around. It was Hermione.
Fleur gritted her teeth. "My magic, it has been … not predictable." One hand dropped defensively to her stomach.
That seemed to throw the other girl for a moment. "Ah," she said, clearly uncomfortable, "yes. Yes, that was what I came here about."
"My magic?" Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"No, no." Hermione shook her head. "I mean, yes, but not like that. The – the –" She waved her hand in Fleur's general direction. "– Other thing." Her face was rapidly turning pink.
The other thing. It was an apt metaphor, Fleur thought with some amusement.
She was clutching her bag, the extraordinarily ugly one. Fleur watched with curious fascination as Hermione reached inside, obviously concentrating. Her arm disappeared up to the shoulder, searching for something. Finally, finally, she seemed to find whatever it was and pull it out.
Ah, books. Four of them, no less. Of course. How could she not guess that this had something to do with books? Fleur could not see what the books were about, but likely they were something boring and useless. Fleur covered her yawn.
Hermione seemed reluctant to enter, however, shifting slightly from foot to foot, making no move to venture beyond the foyer. She seemed to be holding her breath.
"Yes?" Fleur prodded.
"Ibroughtyousomebooks," she said finally, all the words spilling out in a rush, still teetering on the edge.
"I see." Dryly. "You may come in," she added as an afterthought, with a wave of her hand.
"I – yes." Letting all her breath out, Hermione sat down on the couch next to Fleur and dropped the books on the table with a thud. Opening the first, Hermioen began to ramble:
"When I found out about the pregnancy I went to do some research for you and found a number of very helpful books. There's even an entire section of the Hogwarts library devoted to magic in altered states of health. Is pregnancy a state of health? That seems odd … Well, did you know that a witch's control of magic can vary wildly during a pregnancy? No one's quite sure why it happens, but there are all kinds of reports on page fifty-seven about witches who accidentally blew up entire houses because they got very upset. See?"
Hermione thrust pages fifty-six and fifty-seven in Fleur's face, huffing slightly. Distastefully, Fleur reached for the book and looked at the cover: What to Expect When You're Expecting a Wee Wizard or Witch of Your Very Own. There was a very tacky picture of an infant in a wizard's hat on the cover. Much like those pictures of infants in shoes or flowers that Molly was always infatuated with. Fleur wrinkled her nose.
She looked up to see Hermione avidly watching her. Hermione promptly looked away.
"Well, this is very interesting," Fleur said stiffly. There was a pause. "Thank you."
Hermione was staring into the fire. "No problem." In her lap, Fleur could see her hands twisting together, belying her anxiety. Fleur wondered what was bothering her.
Fleur turned to page fifty-seven again and pretended not to notice. "Sally Simmons, thirty-two and mother of three young warlocks," she read out loud, a little slowly, "advises that pregnant witches refrain from magic at all times during their pregnancies. While pregnant with her first child, Sally grew frustrated with the bathroom tap and accidentally flooded her small house."
She raised her eyebrows at Hermione over the book. "Are you frightened for my health?"
"I just … I thought it might help," Hermione responded tetchily.
Fleur set the book down on the table. "Are you not busy with your own work?"
"We had a slow day."
"My mother and sister are visiting next week," Fleur said. "I am sure I will not need any books."
"Well, fine," snapped Hermione. "Just … fine! God, you're just like Ron."
"I am like Ronald," Fleur repeated slowly, not quite a question. "What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing! Nothing. Absolutely nothing." There is a long pause. "We split up again, that's all." Another pause. "It's not like we weren't going to do this anyway. I saw it coming. I bet everyone saw it coming. I just … I was hoping it would end differently this time. That's all."
"Is that why you are here?" Despite having never sought out the other girl's company, Fleur felt affronted in some way. "Because …"
"I wanted to make myself useful, that's all." Hermione let out a short breath. "Obviously a mistake, in retrospect."
Fleur threw up her hands. "What are you worried about? You will find someone else. You are young and if you did something with your hair, you would be very pretty. I do not understand. You are slender. You do not have problems like me."
"Like you?" Hermione echoed. "Problems like you? You've got to be joking."
Fleur gestured toward herself. "I am as large as a house! This pregnancy, it makes me fat. Sleep and eat, that is all I do now. All day."
Hermione made a sudden noise – she was laughing, Fleur realized. First a chuckle and then a full-blown belly laugh, her hand covering her mouth.
"Why are you laughing? It is true!"
Hermione gasped through another laugh, her hand on her forehead. "I think that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You, fat. My God."
Without thinking, Fleur yanked on Hermione's hand and placed it against her stomach. "This, you feel it?" she demanded. "I am as round as a ball."
"Fleur, you've barely got a baby bump. What are you, like four months? That's practically nothing." Her hand moved slightly, and Hermione's gaze lifted to hers.
Neither of them had realized it up until this point, but they were sitting very close together. Hermione was almost in Fleur's lap; Fleur could feel the other girl's breath against her neck, could almost hear her pulse speeding up.
"You're not fat at all. You're not ugly," Hermione said quietly. Neither of them moved for a moment.
Fleur sniffed. "I do not believe you. Prove it."
Silence. "Prove it?" echoed Hermione. "What do you mean, prove it?"
Fleur took hold of Hermione's chin sharply and pulled it up so that their faces were level. "Prove it. Kiss me," she said softly. Hermione's eyes widened.
"I – I don't –" The tip of Hermione's tongue ran over her upper lip.
It felt inevitable, like a magnetic force, that Hermione would lean forward, that their lips would brush together in the lightest of kisses.
And then Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat, and Fleur leaned forward, holding her face between both of her hands. This kiss was harder, longer. Fleur's tongue slid between Hermione's lips with practiced ease, probing not too gently, relishing Hermione's intake of breath.
Fleur let one of her hands drift down Hermione's neck, fingertips brushing lightly; and then down farther, finding her breast and squeezing gently.
Hermione broke away with a shocked noise. "I – what about – ?"
Fleur's gaze did not falter. "You said you want to make yourself useful," she whispered. "Be useful to me."
Hermione didn't move further away, though, just sat, breathing heavily and looking flushed. That small hesitation, the unwillingness to stop, was enough for Fleur: she leaned forward to claim Hermione's mouth again.
She slid over into Fleur's lap, their legs tangling together, and Fleur leaned back and sighed as Hermione tentatively kissed her neck, just under her ear. Encouraged, Hermione's mouth moved lower, sucking gently at the sensitive skin.
Fleur tugged at the clasp on Hermione's robes and quickly grew frustrated with it. Hermione, however, just pulled out her wand from one of the pockets and murmured "Diffindo"; the cloth parted smoothly and fell away from Hermione's body easily.
Hermione's tongue traced something onto her collarbone, and Fleur gasped reflexively; her nerves tingled there.
"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, raising her head slightly. Her cheeks were red, eyes half-lidded.
"No," Fleur gasped out, reaching to tug the collar of Hermione's robes over her shoulders. Hermione struggled for a moment to shimmy out of them, and then she was sitting up, straddling one of Fleur's legs. Fleur smiled up at her and pulled the other one up so that her knee rested against Hermione's ribs.
Fleur leaned up to admire Hermione's breasts briefly. They were smaller than her own, but perfectly shaped, like two inverted teacups. She seemed to notice the admiration, and a bright red patch of skin spread down from her neck.
"You should not be embarrassed." But Hermione just shook her head and rocked forward to kiss again. Fleur sucked gently at Hermione's bottom lip and was rewarded by a gasp.
She gently pushed the other girl back until she was upright again and leaned forward, hands sliding under the fabric bunched around her waist to hold her hips, lips placing delicate kisses against the swell of one breast. She could feel her pulse fluttering just beneath the near-transparent skin.
When Fleur's lips traveled over her nipple, sucking it gently into her mouth, Hermione's hand tightened in Fleur's hair. She moaned, eyes slipping closed. Fleur let her teeth graze over the skin and Hermione let out a strangled noise.
"Oh, Merlin," she whispered. "I want …"
Fleur smiled against the other girl's skin. "What do you want?"
Hermione's eyes opened and she looked down at Fleur with intent. "I want to touch you."
Fleur reached for one of her hands and pulled it to her body, slipped it underneath her robes and underneath silk and then, and then, Hermione's fingers were sliding past curls and moving uncertainly against her slippery folds.
"Yes," Fleur whispered encouragingly, "like that. More of that."
She seemed to hesitate before probing gently at her entrance, feeling her fingers slick up - but she bit down on her lip and concentrated, let her fingers rub the other woman's clit in a circle. At this, Fleur gasped and leaned back, her long neck exposed, and that is the moment where Hermione decided not to stop at all.
She pushed Fleur down into the couch and they were both wedged in there too tightly, but Hermione was occupied with the sounds Fleur was making as her fingers stroked around and around and around. She was so warm and slippery, Hermione thought dazedly.
Fleur was biting her bottom lip, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and she was obviously occupied. Almost without thinking, Hermione's other hand stole between her own legs.
A damp spot had already spread across her panties. Hermione pushed past the fabric and, too eagerly and too roughly, pushed two fingers inside herself, gasping at the intermingled pain and pleasure this provoked. She was at a bad angle, leaning over Fleur, but maybe she could work out – yes, there, her thumb pressed against her own clit, hastily rubbing circles and trying to find a working rhythm.
At Hermione's cry, Fleur's eyes opened and she caught sight of what Hermione was doing. She watched, mouth parted moistly, as Hermione worked herself around her fingers, bobbing slightly.
She was almost there, almost, just a little more like this, she thought. But Fleur was already coming now, in a series of breathy cries, legs shaking (Hermione could see one drop of sweat slide down Fleur's calf, leaving a trail behind), lips shaped into a perfect O!
This was too much for Hermione (she could feel something wet and cold against her back now, but all she was concentrating on was the center of heat between her legs). Her thighs clenched and she felt all that pressure build up into one perfect, glorious moment of release; her mouth open against Fleur's skin, Hermione saw white as her orgasm overtook her.
They lay on the couch silently, neither one moving or speaking. Hermione was curled up against Fleur, her head resting just below her breast. The rain had drenched the living room, soaking through the fabric of the couch and their robes. Fleur's hand was moving slowly through Hermione's wet hair, parting locks and curling them around her fingers, one at a time.
"You made it rain," Hermione whispered finally against Fleur's ribs, enchanted. There had been a steady downpour for more than five minutes, and neither was inclined to charm it away.
"No," Fleur corrected gently, still stroking, "we made it rain."
Hermione smiled.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Fleur/Hermione
Rating: NC17
Warnings: infidelity
Length: ~2400 words
Summary: Hermione tries to make herself useful.
Notes: Written for
femmefest.Someone was knocking at her door.
Fleur's first instinct was to dismiss the intrusion into her afternoon. It had been a quiet day. One of those slow, sleepy winter days where all you did was lie on the couch and shuffle around, a perpetual yawn always hovering on your lips. The fire was humming steadily in the background.
She had not always liked those days, Fleur mused as she rolled her head from side to side, trying to get comfortable again. In the first days after she and Bill moved to the cottage, she had been disappointed in the slow pace of their days. In the quietude that enveloped their life. But there were benefits to being left alone all the time, yes …
The knocking came again: louder, faster, more urgent. Fleur could imagine someone outside the door, pacing, tapping their foot, unfairly expecting her to come at their demand. Her irritation had begun as a mere kindling, but it was growing.
She wasn't expecting anyone. If there was bad news, there were other ways of contacting her. She snuck a glance at the fireplace grate: no, nothing new, just the same steady pulse and glow.
More knocking. If knocking had a mood, Fleur would have deemed it desperate.
The last thread of her patience snapped. Fleur snatched up her wand from the table and aimed it at the door. With the sound of something exploding, the door blew violently open.
The sound of the it banging into the wall on the other side was strangely satisfying, even as she heard the sound of the hinges ripping away from wood and the door dangle precariously.
"Well, come in!" Fleur shouted, wand held threateningly before her.
"Good lord, you didn't have to blow it open," said an imperious voice, the body of which was stepping over the cottage's threshold. The figure turned to inspect the door, running over the hinges with a wand. Fleur heard a series of soft clinks as the hinges slid back into their proper places and the door straightened up.
The figure turned around. It was Hermione.
Fleur gritted her teeth. "My magic, it has been … not predictable." One hand dropped defensively to her stomach.
That seemed to throw the other girl for a moment. "Ah," she said, clearly uncomfortable, "yes. Yes, that was what I came here about."
"My magic?" Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"No, no." Hermione shook her head. "I mean, yes, but not like that. The – the –" She waved her hand in Fleur's general direction. "– Other thing." Her face was rapidly turning pink.
The other thing. It was an apt metaphor, Fleur thought with some amusement.
She was clutching her bag, the extraordinarily ugly one. Fleur watched with curious fascination as Hermione reached inside, obviously concentrating. Her arm disappeared up to the shoulder, searching for something. Finally, finally, she seemed to find whatever it was and pull it out.
Ah, books. Four of them, no less. Of course. How could she not guess that this had something to do with books? Fleur could not see what the books were about, but likely they were something boring and useless. Fleur covered her yawn.
Hermione seemed reluctant to enter, however, shifting slightly from foot to foot, making no move to venture beyond the foyer. She seemed to be holding her breath.
"Yes?" Fleur prodded.
"Ibroughtyousomebooks," she said finally, all the words spilling out in a rush, still teetering on the edge.
"I see." Dryly. "You may come in," she added as an afterthought, with a wave of her hand.
"I – yes." Letting all her breath out, Hermione sat down on the couch next to Fleur and dropped the books on the table with a thud. Opening the first, Hermioen began to ramble:
"When I found out about the pregnancy I went to do some research for you and found a number of very helpful books. There's even an entire section of the Hogwarts library devoted to magic in altered states of health. Is pregnancy a state of health? That seems odd … Well, did you know that a witch's control of magic can vary wildly during a pregnancy? No one's quite sure why it happens, but there are all kinds of reports on page fifty-seven about witches who accidentally blew up entire houses because they got very upset. See?"
Hermione thrust pages fifty-six and fifty-seven in Fleur's face, huffing slightly. Distastefully, Fleur reached for the book and looked at the cover: What to Expect When You're Expecting a Wee Wizard or Witch of Your Very Own. There was a very tacky picture of an infant in a wizard's hat on the cover. Much like those pictures of infants in shoes or flowers that Molly was always infatuated with. Fleur wrinkled her nose.
She looked up to see Hermione avidly watching her. Hermione promptly looked away.
"Well, this is very interesting," Fleur said stiffly. There was a pause. "Thank you."
Hermione was staring into the fire. "No problem." In her lap, Fleur could see her hands twisting together, belying her anxiety. Fleur wondered what was bothering her.
Fleur turned to page fifty-seven again and pretended not to notice. "Sally Simmons, thirty-two and mother of three young warlocks," she read out loud, a little slowly, "advises that pregnant witches refrain from magic at all times during their pregnancies. While pregnant with her first child, Sally grew frustrated with the bathroom tap and accidentally flooded her small house."
She raised her eyebrows at Hermione over the book. "Are you frightened for my health?"
"I just … I thought it might help," Hermione responded tetchily.
Fleur set the book down on the table. "Are you not busy with your own work?"
"We had a slow day."
"My mother and sister are visiting next week," Fleur said. "I am sure I will not need any books."
"Well, fine," snapped Hermione. "Just … fine! God, you're just like Ron."
"I am like Ronald," Fleur repeated slowly, not quite a question. "What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing! Nothing. Absolutely nothing." There is a long pause. "We split up again, that's all." Another pause. "It's not like we weren't going to do this anyway. I saw it coming. I bet everyone saw it coming. I just … I was hoping it would end differently this time. That's all."
"Is that why you are here?" Despite having never sought out the other girl's company, Fleur felt affronted in some way. "Because …"
"I wanted to make myself useful, that's all." Hermione let out a short breath. "Obviously a mistake, in retrospect."
Fleur threw up her hands. "What are you worried about? You will find someone else. You are young and if you did something with your hair, you would be very pretty. I do not understand. You are slender. You do not have problems like me."
"Like you?" Hermione echoed. "Problems like you? You've got to be joking."
Fleur gestured toward herself. "I am as large as a house! This pregnancy, it makes me fat. Sleep and eat, that is all I do now. All day."
Hermione made a sudden noise – she was laughing, Fleur realized. First a chuckle and then a full-blown belly laugh, her hand covering her mouth.
"Why are you laughing? It is true!"
Hermione gasped through another laugh, her hand on her forehead. "I think that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You, fat. My God."
Without thinking, Fleur yanked on Hermione's hand and placed it against her stomach. "This, you feel it?" she demanded. "I am as round as a ball."
"Fleur, you've barely got a baby bump. What are you, like four months? That's practically nothing." Her hand moved slightly, and Hermione's gaze lifted to hers.
Neither of them had realized it up until this point, but they were sitting very close together. Hermione was almost in Fleur's lap; Fleur could feel the other girl's breath against her neck, could almost hear her pulse speeding up.
"You're not fat at all. You're not ugly," Hermione said quietly. Neither of them moved for a moment.
Fleur sniffed. "I do not believe you. Prove it."
Silence. "Prove it?" echoed Hermione. "What do you mean, prove it?"
Fleur took hold of Hermione's chin sharply and pulled it up so that their faces were level. "Prove it. Kiss me," she said softly. Hermione's eyes widened.
"I – I don't –" The tip of Hermione's tongue ran over her upper lip.
It felt inevitable, like a magnetic force, that Hermione would lean forward, that their lips would brush together in the lightest of kisses.
And then Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat, and Fleur leaned forward, holding her face between both of her hands. This kiss was harder, longer. Fleur's tongue slid between Hermione's lips with practiced ease, probing not too gently, relishing Hermione's intake of breath.
Fleur let one of her hands drift down Hermione's neck, fingertips brushing lightly; and then down farther, finding her breast and squeezing gently.
Hermione broke away with a shocked noise. "I – what about – ?"
Fleur's gaze did not falter. "You said you want to make yourself useful," she whispered. "Be useful to me."
Hermione didn't move further away, though, just sat, breathing heavily and looking flushed. That small hesitation, the unwillingness to stop, was enough for Fleur: she leaned forward to claim Hermione's mouth again.
She slid over into Fleur's lap, their legs tangling together, and Fleur leaned back and sighed as Hermione tentatively kissed her neck, just under her ear. Encouraged, Hermione's mouth moved lower, sucking gently at the sensitive skin.
Fleur tugged at the clasp on Hermione's robes and quickly grew frustrated with it. Hermione, however, just pulled out her wand from one of the pockets and murmured "Diffindo"; the cloth parted smoothly and fell away from Hermione's body easily.
Hermione's tongue traced something onto her collarbone, and Fleur gasped reflexively; her nerves tingled there.
"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, raising her head slightly. Her cheeks were red, eyes half-lidded.
"No," Fleur gasped out, reaching to tug the collar of Hermione's robes over her shoulders. Hermione struggled for a moment to shimmy out of them, and then she was sitting up, straddling one of Fleur's legs. Fleur smiled up at her and pulled the other one up so that her knee rested against Hermione's ribs.
Fleur leaned up to admire Hermione's breasts briefly. They were smaller than her own, but perfectly shaped, like two inverted teacups. She seemed to notice the admiration, and a bright red patch of skin spread down from her neck.
"You should not be embarrassed." But Hermione just shook her head and rocked forward to kiss again. Fleur sucked gently at Hermione's bottom lip and was rewarded by a gasp.
She gently pushed the other girl back until she was upright again and leaned forward, hands sliding under the fabric bunched around her waist to hold her hips, lips placing delicate kisses against the swell of one breast. She could feel her pulse fluttering just beneath the near-transparent skin.
When Fleur's lips traveled over her nipple, sucking it gently into her mouth, Hermione's hand tightened in Fleur's hair. She moaned, eyes slipping closed. Fleur let her teeth graze over the skin and Hermione let out a strangled noise.
"Oh, Merlin," she whispered. "I want …"
Fleur smiled against the other girl's skin. "What do you want?"
Hermione's eyes opened and she looked down at Fleur with intent. "I want to touch you."
Fleur reached for one of her hands and pulled it to her body, slipped it underneath her robes and underneath silk and then, and then, Hermione's fingers were sliding past curls and moving uncertainly against her slippery folds.
"Yes," Fleur whispered encouragingly, "like that. More of that."
She seemed to hesitate before probing gently at her entrance, feeling her fingers slick up - but she bit down on her lip and concentrated, let her fingers rub the other woman's clit in a circle. At this, Fleur gasped and leaned back, her long neck exposed, and that is the moment where Hermione decided not to stop at all.
She pushed Fleur down into the couch and they were both wedged in there too tightly, but Hermione was occupied with the sounds Fleur was making as her fingers stroked around and around and around. She was so warm and slippery, Hermione thought dazedly.
Fleur was biting her bottom lip, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and she was obviously occupied. Almost without thinking, Hermione's other hand stole between her own legs.
A damp spot had already spread across her panties. Hermione pushed past the fabric and, too eagerly and too roughly, pushed two fingers inside herself, gasping at the intermingled pain and pleasure this provoked. She was at a bad angle, leaning over Fleur, but maybe she could work out – yes, there, her thumb pressed against her own clit, hastily rubbing circles and trying to find a working rhythm.
At Hermione's cry, Fleur's eyes opened and she caught sight of what Hermione was doing. She watched, mouth parted moistly, as Hermione worked herself around her fingers, bobbing slightly.
She was almost there, almost, just a little more like this, she thought. But Fleur was already coming now, in a series of breathy cries, legs shaking (Hermione could see one drop of sweat slide down Fleur's calf, leaving a trail behind), lips shaped into a perfect O!
This was too much for Hermione (she could feel something wet and cold against her back now, but all she was concentrating on was the center of heat between her legs). Her thighs clenched and she felt all that pressure build up into one perfect, glorious moment of release; her mouth open against Fleur's skin, Hermione saw white as her orgasm overtook her.
They lay on the couch silently, neither one moving or speaking. Hermione was curled up against Fleur, her head resting just below her breast. The rain had drenched the living room, soaking through the fabric of the couch and their robes. Fleur's hand was moving slowly through Hermione's wet hair, parting locks and curling them around her fingers, one at a time.
"You made it rain," Hermione whispered finally against Fleur's ribs, enchanted. There had been a steady downpour for more than five minutes, and neither was inclined to charm it away.
"No," Fleur corrected gently, still stroking, "we made it rain."
Hermione smiled.