"Blast it all, Fred Weasley, you give me back my key!" Hermione Granger growled in a slurred complaint, leveling a glare at Fred. Or was it George? She'd had a little too much fire-whiskey to tell the twins apart anymore.

"I don't have your bloody key, woman!" Fred protested, attempting to act innocent and as though he hadn't taken it. Hermione knew he had. He'd claimed he needed to borrow it a few hours ago whilst complaining that he didn't want to walk all the way down to the flat he shared with George down the Alley from the Leaky Cauldron where the Halloween celebration was in full swing. Hermione had been drinking pretty heavily alongside Harry, Ginny, Luna, Ron, and Neville in addition to the twins, and – knowing she'd be too inebriated for Apparting or for Floo travel - she'd booked a room at the pub for the night.

She told herself it had nothing to do with wanting to prove to Ron that she wasn't still hung up on him – something she planned to do by seducing some unsuspecting wizard into tumbling her between the sheets. Of course, that had been before she'd had nine fire-whiskeys by herself in the course of a three-hour pub visit. Right now all she wanted to do was escape the gyrating, sweating, costume-clad crowd of the bar, shower the evening away, and sink into a big soft – preferably empty - bed.

"You do have it! You took it so you could pee and you didn't give it back!"

"I did so," Fred, or maybe George, argued with her, his words slurring and his eyes unfocused. "I put it on the bar while you were ordering your last drink. Oi, Angelina!"

Hermione growled under her breath as the Weasley twin she'd been conversing with bounded away upon spotting the girl that both twins were dating. She did vaguely recall putting her hand on a key upon the bar while she'd been getting her last drink. Well, she had a wand, and she doubted that Tom would be pleased if she told him she'd lost her key. So Hermione would just have to break into her own room.

She didn't bother excusing herself or telling her friends where she was going. They would try to talk her into another drink. And she didn't think she'd stay conscious if she had anymore. Melting into the crowd, Hermione made for the stairs to her room without looking back, even when she vaguely heard someone call her name.


"Levicorpus!" a voice hissed just as he exited the bathroom and Thorfinn Rowle gave an inarticulate growl as he was jerked into the air by his ankles, his towel unwinding from his hips and revealing his stark naked body to the intruder.

"Fuck!" he snapped, twisting to try and see who was responsible for this mess as all the blood began to rush to his head – which was already spinning from the copious amount of fire-whiskey he'd ingested.

"What are you doing in my room?" a female voice asked and Thorfinn watched a woman in a pair of spiked black heels and a kitten costume stalk towards him.

Or attempt to, anyway.

She stumbled slightly in those shoes of hers. She was wearing a mask over her face, but the leather cat-suit she wore made him want to run his hands all over her body.

"Let me down, beautiful," he practically purred at the woman, suddenly feeling less inconvenienced about her seeing him naked, whoever she was behind that mask.

"How did you get into my room?" she demanded, stomping closer even as she kicked her heels from her feet, muttering a curse about irresponsible footwear and something about red-headed vixens who would pay for their crimes.

"I have no idea," Thorfinn admitted. "Woke up in here half an hour ago, still drunk, so I imagine someone stuck me in here to sleep off the whiskey."

He'd bet he knew who too. Fucking Dolohov and his sticky fucking fingers.

"You're naked," the witch informed him, stopping suddenly when she was looking his rapidly hardening cock right in the face.

Thorfinn snorted at her words.

"I am," he agreed. "Care to join me?"

You're upside-down," she pointed out as though that were her only objection to his suggestion.

"Not if you let me down," he replied, suspecting she was far drunker than she looked.

"Oh. Um… right. Liberacorpus," she said, flicking her wand at him.

Thorfinn knew there was no graceful way to land when the spell released his ankles and he crumpled to the ground in a heap, growling slightly at the sudden ache in his head.

"Do you greet every naked male this way, Kitten, or am I just special?" he asked her, getting to his feet to stare down at the little witch he had every intention of seducing.

"You broke into my room," she pointed out. "What did you expect me to do? Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"

She tilted her head to one side, unsettling the cat mask and kitten ears she wore.

"Dunno, love," he smirked. "I can't see your face. Mind if I help you out of your costume?"

"Oh," she said, and she reached for her mask while Thorfinn reached for the zipper that currently held her breasts in their leather prison.

She squeaked as the zip rasped on the way down and Thorfinn smirked to find she'd forgone lingerie beneath the suffocating leather. He was a little too distracted by her full breasts with their rosy pink nipples, already pebbling in the cool air of the room, to notice her now-mask-free face for several long moments.

"Erm… you're still naked," she said quietly. "I'm sure I know you from somewhere."

"Thorfinn," he offered her a grin even as he reached out with both hands to cup her breasts.

She hissed between her teeth at the touch but didn't pull away.

"Thorfinn… I know that name from somewhere," she muttered, and Thorfinn lifted his gaze to her face.

His eyes widened and he wondered if he'd just been stupefied when he looked into none other than the face of Hermione Granger. Bloody hell, but the witch had grown into a stunner. Fuck. He was so screwed. The minute she put together that he was a Death Eater who'd tortured her friend and burned down the hut of her favourite teacher, she was going to skin him alive for touching her.

"Well, if it isn't Hermione Granger," he drawled at her, unable to help himself. He found himself stepping closer to her, kind of liking the way she stepped back as he invaded her personal space.

"You know me, then?" she muttered. "I know your name from somewhere… wait… Thorfinn… as in Rowle?"

Her eyes jerked up to his face when the low and predatory laugh slipped between his lips while he walked her back until she collided with the bedroom door.

"Hello, Kitten," he smirked at her as the alcohol-induced fog seemed to clear in her eyes.

Her gaze darted between his blue eyes, his damp blonde hair where it hung around his shoulders, the faded and scarred Dark Mark on his forearm, and his rock-hard cock before dancing back again. She gulped as she stared up at him while he pressed his hands to the door on either side of her head, effectively trapping her in the cage of his arms. He'd know this little witch anywhere. In her first year, she'd made his final year at Hogwarts a pain in the arse. She'd ratted him out after catching him mid-blowjob in the library and he'd hounded her all bloody year in retaliation.

"Rowle," she whispered, her eyes narrowing slightly before her gaze darted down the length of his body to his cock once more when he stepped close enough that he could prod her with it through the leather she wore.

"Miss me, Baby-girl?" he asked, unable to keep the predatory tone from his voice or the lustful glow from his gaze.

"No," she retorted. "What are you doing in my hotel room?"

"Told you. Woke up in here. Probably Toshka's doing. Does he know you're staying here?" Thorfinn raised an eyebrow at the witch, his eyes sliding down to drink in the wanton sight of her, breasts exposed, back pressed to the wall, eyes wide and her expression torn between angry and lustful.

"Probably," she admitted. "Considering he's been stalking me since the end of the war."

"Before then," he corrected her. "Since you survived his curse at the Department of Mysteries. Though I see he left you a souvenir."

Thorfinn eyed the purple flame marks that adorned her rib-cage below her breasts, looking more like an intriguing tattoo more than the result of a wretched curse meant to kill her.

"He's thoughtful that way," she replied coolly. "Is there a reason you're naked in my hotel room now that you know who I am?"

He was certain his grin was pure wickedness.

"Because I'm going to get you naked too, Kitten," he promised her in a low, husky voice, pressing even closer so that she'd be able to feel the heat coming off his cock through the leather of her outfit.

"I'm all sweaty and sticky," she told him, as though that might deter him.

Thorfinn smirked when that seemed to be the only excuse she could come up with as to why he shouldn't strip her naked and hard-fuck her into the door, the floor, the bed, and every other surface in the room.

"Not yet, Baby-girl," he chuckled. "But real soon, you will be."

He tangled a hand into her loose curls and tipped her head to receive his kiss before he swooped down to kiss the lips of the witch he would admit to having daydreamed about more than once in the past. Thorfinn half expected her to pull away and slap him right across the face. He didn't expect the low moan of delight that tore from her, but he swallowed it greedily as he slipped his tongue in to smooth along the length of hers.


He tasted as fire felt. Hot and cold and sinful and heady all at once and Hermione knew she was lost. She didn't have the strength to fight him off or push him away. Not when he looked like he'd been carved from pure gold, a perfect creation of the gods. Not when his tongue tasted of whiskey, and need, and a desire so profound it rocked through her and heated her body as though she'd just stepped into a line of dragon-flame. If it weren't for the hand he'd tangled into her hair, Hermione suspected her knees would've given out, the feel of his tongue against hers was so sinfully good.

Her core throbbed and Hermione knew three things at that moment. The first was that it had been entirely too long since she'd been laid. The second was that she'd had entirely too much to drink. The third was that the first two things meant she was going to shag Thorfinn Rowle; Death Eater, school tormenter, and all-around pervert.

Whimpering in the back of her throat, Hermione gripped his chiseled torso tightly, pulling him closer to her, wanting more. He laughed against her lips even as he began peeling her out of the cat-suit Ginny had forced her into in an attempt to make Ron see what a fool he was for ending their relationship several months earlier. She'd been sour about it for months, but one kiss from Thorfinn Rowle was all it took for her to forget all about Ronald Weasley and his too-small cock.

No, right then all she could think about was getting out of her costume and getting Rowle so deep inside her, she might never dislodge him. Especially given the size of the tool he was prodding her with so insistently. Smoothing her hands over his tight washboard abs, heading south, Hermione whined in protest when he broke the kiss to force the leather from her body until it cleared her hips before he lifted her right out of the restrictive fabric, one arm scooping around her waist, and the other tugging at the fabric until it left her body.

Interrupted in her quest to wrap her small hand around his large cock, Hermione curled one arm around the back of his neck and her legs around his narrow hips when he leaned into her once more. He kissed her mouth like he wanted to devour her; like he couldn't get enough of her; like he could survive on her taste alone. Still trying to reach his cock, Hermione burrowed her hand between their bodies.

"Having fun, Baby-girl?" Rowle growled against her neck when he broke their kiss to sear a line of nips and licks along the length of her jaw before kissing her neck.

"Not yet," Hermione replied just before she managed to grasp her hand around the thick length of his cock.

"Bloody hell, witch," he groaned, his mouth on her neck as she began working her hand up and down the throbbing length of him. Hermione moaned out loud when he slid his hand between them and burrowed two fingers deep inside her, beginning to pulse them in time with her movements.

"Oh, Gods," Hermione moaned twisting until she could kiss him again.

Her tongue stroked his surely, hungrily, demanding more of the fiery taste of him, more of the passion she knew the hulking Viking of a wizard was capable of. He gave it. He kissed her back with every drop of lust and passion he had in him until Hermione couldn't breathe. She couldn't think straight. All she could do was feel his fingers inside of her; taste his tongue against her own, and learn every inch of the cock in her hand.

He worked his fingers inside her with practiced ease, pushing her towards that hill that she knew he'd delight in shoving her from. When she was on the precipice, Hermione used her grip on his cock to pull him closer, aligning their bodies and silently commanding that he fill her.

"You want it, Baby-girl?" he asked, his voice husky in her ears and filling her with even more need.

"Yes," Hermione told him.

"How bad?" he smirked at her, pulling back far enough to look at her face and to note the way their bodies were aligned, just waiting to be joined.

"Don't be a git, Rowle," Hermione hissed, arching away from the wall until the first glorious inch of him slid inside her.

He didn't seem capable of not being an ass. That much was clear when he thrust shallowly, just that first inch tormenting her dripping, throbbing core and making her crazy.

"Tell me how much you want it, Granger," he commanded her.

Hermione could tell he thought she would back down from the challenge.

"If you don't give it to me, Rowle," she threatened darkly. "I'll cut it off and beat you to death with it. Stop being a Merlin cursed tease and fuck me until this door falls off its hinges, or get the hell out of my hotel room."

She dug her nails into his skin for good measure and arched into him again, drawing him a little deeper.

"Holy fuck, Princess," he groaned. "You're sexy as hell when you're threatening violence and so wet for me."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off if he was just going to torture her but before she could utter a word he drove into her hard and high, hitting parts of her that she was sure had never been touched. His size stretched her deliciously right up to the point of bordering on pain. Hermione might've been mortified at the strangled, pleasure-filled moan that tore from her throat at the feel of being impaled upon his cock, if it weren't for the fact that being so just completely wiped her mind of any and every coherent thought.

Sweet Merlin, nothing had ever felt so good. Hermione hissed when he slowly withdrew, listening to the low groan he emitted when she clamped her pelvic muscles tight, trying to keep him inside of her.

"Fuck, don't do that, or I won't last, love," he muttered into her neck, nuzzling into her and nipping her flesh tantalizingly.

Hermione was beyond words. She couldn't think with him inside her. She couldn't speak. She could only whimper needily and arch into him when he drove in deep again. He built to a rhythm quickly, stroking her, impaling her, changing her life in a way she couldn't even explain. Hermione felt the heat inside of her begin to coil, threatening to snap free.

"Gods," she whimpered, clutching at him desperately, trying to find some anchor to clutch as he shoved her toward the turbulent, swirling sea of bliss she could feel waiting to receive her.

The waves crested and fell, rocking through her as surely as he rocked into her. Hermione nipped at his collarbone, her hands fisting in his tangle of blond hair where it fell, still damp, about his broad shoulders. He hissed between his teeth when she clamped down on him tight, trying desperately to keep from drowning as another wave crested within her, knowing it was going to swallow her whole and pull her under.

"Scream for me, Princess," Thorfinn's Rowle's voice was low and coarse against her ear, his stubble scratching deliciously against her sensitive skin, his teeth scraping her earlobe lightly as he drew it into his mouth.

Hermione did.

"Always such a good girl," Rowle tormented her as her orgasm slammed into her hard, tearing the sound he'd demanded right from her chest and flooding her body with bliss.

His movements grew jerky as her body wrung pleasure from him, clamping and clenching, spasming delightfully.

"Bloody hell, witch," he grunted when he lost the battle not to join her amid her blissful ocean.

Hermione felt a slow smirk crawl across her lips. She hadn't felt so good in months. Everything that had been bothering her seemed distant and forgotten amid the fog of drunkenness and the haze of orgasmic ecstasy. She leaned against him, uncaring about the way the hardwood of the door bit into her back, grating against her spine. Uncaring that he had been a Death Eater. Uncaring that the first time she'd had sex with anyone who wasn't Ronald Weasely, it had been with a man like Thorfinn Rowle.

He pressed lazy kisses to the side of her neck as he caught his breath before pushing away from the door, taking her with him.

"Where are you taking me?" Hermione asked, rather pleased by the feel of their bodies still joined.

"Now you're all sweaty and sticky," he chuckled. "I plan to fuck you again in the shower until you're not. And then I'm going to make you sweaty and sticky all over again in the bed."

"Do you have that kind of virility?" she challenged, leaning back in his hold slightly to smile down into his handsome face.

His smirk was wicked in return.

"Guess we'll find out."