A short little erotic thing. Probably two parts.

I wanted to write drunk fan fic the other night, but there was a problem ... I wasn't drunk. The fabulous Rose on my facebook page (please join! Laurielove) suggested that I instead write drunk Hermione sending a howler.

So I did.

It's pretty full on, but then, just like Hermione, we've all thought it.

Enjoy. x

You may not be aware, but there are different kinds of howlers. They're not all for the purpose of a public rebuke. Howlers simply convey a verbal message which demands the reader, or rather listener, to open and hear it before it explodes. More interesting is the reason for sending a howler rather than a normal hand written letter. Howlers are usually sent when there is an urgency to the message, a certain insistence that it be conveyed with a particular tone of voice, the same voice that it was recorded in.

Due to the often incendiary and somewhat unpredictable nature of howlers, they are infrequently used. The can neither be retracted nor altered. No one can blame the absence of tone of voice that occurs in print for explaining away misunderstandings. What you hear is what you get.

Therefore, most howlers are sent on the spur of the moment, and are often regretted.

But it wasn't until late the next morning, when Hermione Granger at last awoke with a throbbing head, that she regretted sending the howler she had created the previous night. By then, of course, it was too late.

-xxoOoxx-

Lucius Malfoy sat at breakfast.

He was enjoying a particularly fine cup of Darjeeling as he surveyed the Daily Prophet. His house elf had just cleared away his breakfast plate, but he would sit and savour the tea for a while longer while he studied the state of his investments. Gringotts' shares were down due to trouble in the Eastern European financial markets. He tutted. Perhaps he should split his savings elsewhere?

He put down the paper with a ruffle of annoyance and took another sip of tea. He was due at the Ministry later for a meeting with the Artefacts Committee. Some bother relating to his gargoyles, he understood. Would they never leave him in peace? He had only been in Diagon Alley the other day; he would rather stay at home today. The weather was worsening, and he could open that single malt Draco had given him for his birthday. But then again, he could do with the company. It was somewhat lacking these days.

He put the cup down, enjoying the chink of china on saucer. The clock chimed the quarter hour. He should be readying himself.

Just then his owl swooped in and dropped an envelope directly in front of him. He recognized what it was immediately, but not the handwriting on the front. It was a howler and it immediately started to glow. It would explode if he didn't open it immediately.

Bugger. Had the Ministry discovered that little deal with the Romanian ambassador? Surely not. They had more important matters to concern themselves with.

With a mild amount of trepidation, he picked up the already warm envelope and opened it.

Immediately, the paper formed into full, dark lips and a remarkably alluring female voice spoke to him.

Dear Mr Malfoy … Lucius … Malfoy?

I don't know what to call you. Just to say, this'll be a little incoherent. It's late, I'm back home, I'm alone, I've been out and, y'know, as happens – or perhaps you don't – sometimes when people go out they consume alcohol. So I did. I have. Consumed alcohol, that is. Quite a lot. And now I'm back on my own and my mind is wandering. Or wondering. Both.

He recognized the voice. He'd recognize it anywhere. It was that voice. That voice which had frustrated yet intrigued him for longer than he cared to admit. It was the voice of Miss Hermione Granger.

A drunk Miss Granger, at that. Well, well. Lucius listened on, his anxiety dissipating and his curiosity raised.

I saw you the other day. In Diagon Alley. You didn't see me. You were ahead of me, making your way in your usual cocksure way through the crowds. Tall, almost gliding with effortless bloody-minded superiority, same as ever. Some things never change, do they, Malfoy? But it was at that point that I realized something for the first time – well, sort of and sort of not for the first time – but it was the first time I've actually admitted it. And because I'm totally rat-arsed, emotional and horny as hell, I'm going to tell you.

So, here goes. Here goes me telling you. Right here. Right now. I'm telling you.

Ready?

Lucius Malfoy, you are fucking hot.

So fucking hot.

And I want you.

There. Said it.

Don't worry, I still hate you. You hate me. I hate you. Nothing's changed there. But the fact remains that you are fucking hot. I guess opposites attract and all that. And passion can be driven by hate as much as the other, I'm guessing. Well, I'm knowing, cos I'm lying here on my bed totally naked (just thought I'd throw that in there) and thinking about all the things I'd really, really, really like you to do to me (oh yes).

Lucius stared ahead of him at the envelope, the dark lips still moving hypnotically. He could not move; he was totally and utterly riveted by what he was hearing. What had prompted this? What had given her cause to do this? But he found he neither cared nor wanted to know. He simply wanted to hear it all. His breathing came faster and his trousers grew snugger.

Do you want me to tell me what those things are? I'm going to. I guess I need to get it off my chest or something or it'll eat away at me. I'm touching myself now, Malfoy, thinking about you. Touching myself, and can I just say that the mere thought of you has got me oh so fucking wet and oh so fucking hot.

Going back to that little scene in Diagon Alley the other day. Let's just imagine I hadn't gone into Flourish and Blotts and you into Twilfitt and Tattings and I hadn't let you go on your merry way. Let's just imagine I followed you. Just picture it, me watching you, observing your every move. When you pause to look in a window, I pause. When you go into a shop, I do too. Call it stalking if you want. You can cope. It's only in my head, after all.

As you look over the shelves, you turn your head and see me. I look right back at you. At first your eyes flare with hostility – old habits die hard – but I carry on staring right at you and you stare back.

You do it first. You smirk. That infuriating but fucking sexy little condescending smile of yours. Just a little. A little tick at the corner of your mouth. I'm so wet, both in my fantasy and now. Just sayin'. My fingers are all over my naked wetness right now, just so you're fully up to speed with my need to tell all.

So, what do I do? I smile back, slight, barely noticeable, but you notice. Now the tables are turned. I walk out slowly and go elsewhere. Wherever I go, you follow, keeping a so far respectable distance behind. But I know you're there. Every so often I glance to make sure of it. We lock eyes each time. God, you have the most fucking beautiful eyes. Can someone come just by being stared at? If anyone can do it, you can, Malfoy.

I need it so badly. In my imagination I can get it, but here and now, Malfoy, I'm touching myself. I'm touching myself and thinking about you. God, I want you. In the absence of you, I've only got my fingers and a dildo. Back to the fantasy.

Good God, woman!

I go down an alleyway, turn a corner then another. My breath is dragging cos I want you so much. My belly hurts, my cunt throbs, my chest hurts from dragging in breaths because I need you and your cock. It's big, isn't it, your cock? I have to say, I've stolen real life glances at it, even in times of danger. Like in your house that time. I can't help myself. Call it curiosity. One great big hard cock. It has to be, because I have to feel it. I have to feel it stretching me, filling me. I wait in that alley. You take your time because you're a total fucking bastard.

He would allow her the insult, all things considered, and his cock was so hard he could not care less.

But then you appear, slowly, paced. You walk over to me and stand a foot or so away. Your eyes take me in and I let you. I just wait, barely able to focus.

You lean into me, focusing on my lips. I whine, like a cat or something, desperate for more. You smirk and pause, letting my lust rise to such a pinnacle I'm either going to pull you in or hit you so hard you'll fall.

You move in again, but instead of kissing me, you take hold of my wrists and pull them roughly over my head, pinning them to the wall. I grunt in surprise but love it. I shouldn't but I do. And then, at last, at fucking last, you're kissing me. Oh fuck, you're kissing me. You devour me. I let you. I open and you invade me with your tongue and I love it. I give you mine, I give you me. Still you pin my arms above me, but you press into me and I can feel you hard and urgent against me, that glorious, wonderful cock of yours I'm dreaming and dreaming of right now. I rub along you and you groan into me. It's such a fucking hot sound that I take your bottom lip and suck on it, biting down on it at the end and causing you to pull back in shock. It's my turn to smirk. Your eyes flash but then you're back at me. One hand still holds my wrists, the other curls around my neck and pulls me harder into you.

For a time I think I'll drown in you or you in me. We attack each other's mouths, needing lips and tongues and teeth. There's blood, I can taste it but it makes my desire for you so uncontainable that I cry out and dig my heel hard into the back of your thigh. With that, you draw away, your breath fast and uncontainable. Your eyes are blurred but you fix your gaze as best you can into mine while your right hand reaches down, pulling up my skirt. You're still pinning me with the other. I give a token little struggle of resistance and you push me harder against the wall with a grunt of possession. Fuck, that turns me on so fucking much. I'm so fucking wet, Malfoy, so fucking wet.

I'm only wearing knickers and you pull them off. You rip them and let them fall shredded to the ground. Your fingers are there and I coat you in my juices immediately. I'm so slick you can barely gain purchase on me, but you find the middle and glide through before instantly curling two fingers up into me.

You've penetrated me at last and I adore it, grinding down on your fingers like a wild thing. I reach for your mouth again and you gift it to me for a moment, as violent as before, wide open, tongue robbing, lip bruising possession. Your fingers fuck me, not gently, hard, thrusting, piercing, stabbing. Fuck, I'm almost coming now. I have to slow this down, Malfoy, I haven't even put the dildo in yet.

You remove your hands urgently only to undo your belt. I love that sound, that unseen noise of metal clanking, of leather sliding. I grin deliriously and start to whine out what I want you to do.

'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Put your cock in me, hard in me, deep. I want to be fucked by your cock now, now, Malfoy. Fuck me, fuck me, please give me your cock and fuck me.'

I glance down to see it. Big, yes, hard, full, dripping your need. I grin like a feral cat. Still I'm pinned in one hand, but I move my leg to the side to grant you the easiest access.

'Take it, you Mudblood bitch,' you snarl, and then – OH HOLY FUCK!

Fuck! You're in me. And you have the most glorious cock ever. Oh God, Malfoy, my dildo's hard up in me but it's not enough, it's not you. I have to work it so hard but it's not you, it's not you.

In my mind you're filling me, you're right up in me and I can feel you stretching me. Oh God, that's big, that's what I need, I need it so badly, so badly. Filling me, filling that emptiness, making me feel again, making me live again. At last your hand releases my wrists and it hurts, hurts where your fingers have been digging in and hurts not to have you holding me any more, but you bring that hand to my neck and pull me in to kiss again, still possessive, still tongue deep, in time with your thrusting. You fuck hard, in and out, pulling out your cock so that I weep to lose you then driving back in to the hilt, jolting me against the wall. Every time you force your cock into me, you grunt, a low, deep sonorous groan that hits me like your cock is hitting my g-spot. You can't manage to keep your mouth on mine. Your eyes are blurred and your pleasure building. In the position you're in, you hit my clit too, rubbing along it with each thrust. Oh fuck, I'm nearly there, nearly there. I'm burning with pleasure, freezing with anticipation. I'm there and here, held and flying.

Malfoy, Malfoy, fuck me, fuck me.

Your hand on my neck curls round and your fingers encircle it. It gives me a frisson of danger that I crave. You tighten that grip the merest amount as your cock continues to inhabit me, deep, hard, driving, driving, filling and fucking.

'Come for me, bitch, come for me, Mudblood,' you say. Fingers tighten again, cock pistons yet deeper, hurting almost, hurting and enthralling and filling.

Christ, coming! I'm coming, Malfoy, coming, coming, coming, coming!

You come too, deep, hot inside me. I can almost feel it, that explosion of rich, white cream pouring into me. I want it, I want it, I want it coating me and pooling in me. Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me.

Fuck.

Oh fucking, fucking hell.

I'm coming down, Malfoy. Slowly. Fuck, oh fuck, that was … oh fuck.

I'm still here, Malfoy. You did that to me. You've done that. I want it. I want it. I want it so much I'll die.

Please.

Please.

Please.

With total undeniable lust,

Hermione Granger (Miss)

Lucius Malfoy sat quite still, too shocked to do anything, despite the fact that his cock was so enormously hard it would probably split the seam of his now damp trousers. Hermione Granger had just masturbated out a howler and sent it to him. She had masturbated while thinking about him, thinking about him fucking her, fucking her hard and furiously against a wall in an alley way.

Well, well. Had he anyone to speak to, for once, even he admitted, he would have been speechless.

The clock struck the half hour. He was due at the Ministry in an hour's time.

He picked up his cup of Darjeeling and drained it, then, with a smirk, contemplated what to do next.

Miss Granger worked at the Ministry.

Apparently, it was going to be rather a good day after all.

Cold shower time. And that was all in her head. Wait for the next chapter! Oh, Hermione. #awks

If you've time to write something about this, I will send Lucius your way. (At least in your head. Just don't send a howler.) LL x