This story was written for the GE Hermione Hat Challenge.

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction.

Huge thank you to my betas - lwalters5, Lima Bean and Glorioux.

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Kingsley Shacklebolt

Prompt: Drunk and alone after another wedding playing bridesmaid, Hermione decides that perhaps it's time to take a chance on her own life and winds up with the wizard she least expected.

Bachelorette

Melodrama in Five Parts

I'm a fountain of blood
In the shape of a girl
You're the bird on the brim
Hypnotised by the Whirl
Drink me, make me feel real
Wet your beak in the stream
Game we're playing is life
Love is a two way dream*

Drunk and Alone

"Nicholas, love, could you please make another mimosa for me?" Hermione slurred. "You know," she giggled drunkenly, "after the fourth cocktail, this colour doesn't seem so hideous anymore. What do you think, mm?"

Nicholas, the barman, smiled politely and planted an elegant, crystal flute filled with the fizzy cocktail in front of the tipsy witch, who was slumped askew on a bar stool.

"Thank you, Nicholas, you are a darling. I think this one will do the trick." The witch grabbed the glass and took a generous gulp of the bright yellow liquid. Then she gazed thoughtfully at her reflection in the mirrored bar's wall and groaned, "Nope, still hideous." After that, she drew in a defeated sigh and let her head fall on her hands, covering the table with a sea of heavy, chestnut curls.

"Arghhh, I hate weddings," growled Hermione from somewhere under her mane.

This Saturday had been quite hard on Hermione Granger. Today, she once again had been a bridesmaid – this time for Hannah. Of course, she didn't have anything against Hannah. She actually liked her and was truly happy for Neville. It was just that she didn't like yellow. Well, actually, she could easily and agreeably put up with soft, summery yellow, orangey, sunset yellow, or subtle, sandy yellow. Unfortunately, Hannah had chosen garish neon yellow for her wedding scheme. The moment Hermione saw the colour it elicited only one response in her mind – an apprehensive sense of impending insanity. Nevertheless, the bride is always right and all the bridesmaids ended up in yellow dresses, despite the protests.

The celebration had taken place in a lovely Alpine chalet and would have been tolerable if only the ugly shade of Hermione's dress didn't annoy the hell out of her. Thankfully, it was all over now. The newlyweds had departed for their honeymoon, and Hermione ended up sitting alone in the bar wearing the sheer monstrosity of a dress and steadily getting sloshed.

Even though the dress did contribute to Hermione's sad condition that night, it wasn't the only reason for her uncontrollable alcohol consumption. There were other depressing difficulties in Hermione's life at the moment with a complete lack of a significant other by the witch's side being the main one.

Neville's wedding was the sixth wedding during the last five years that Hermione had attended as a bridesmaid. Ginny, Luna, Parvati, Padma, and Lavender were all happily married now. Hermione, on the other hand, was left with a wardrobe full of brightly coloured, puffy dresses and utterly alone. She was twenty-seven, unmarried, and without a beau for the last ten months.

Her last prolonged romance had ended with heartbreak two years ago. The bloke had turned out to be an absolute loser and an arse. Disappointed, for a while Hermione hadn't even thought about trying someone new. After she had somewhat recovered, there had been a few short, whirlwind romances, but nothing serious or lasting had ensued.

To make things worse, for almost a year, Hermione hadn't had any romantically flavoured encounters at all, not a single fling. Romance just hadn't been part of the equation. Three months ago, she even stopped taking a contraceptive potion. What was the point?

Plus, unlike Hermione, almost all of her friends were married. Some of them already had their first child. A few, like Ginny and Lavender, were so enthusiastic about motherhood that they already were looking forward to their second one. In other words, at that moment in life, Hermione Granger could see all too clearly that she could end up pathetically alone for the rest of her life.

Understandably, the witch's sombre mood, along with the downing of a fifth mimosa, which ironically matched her dress, stemmed from this dreadful situation.

"Besides, I think all this wedding business is hugely overrated. Don't you agree, Nicholas?" Continuing her musings, Hermione gathered herself together and managed to raise her heavy head from the counter. "Really, who needs all this pompous celebration anyway? I know for sure that I don't."

"Whatever you say, Miss," cautiously agreed the barman, watching the witch carefully. Perhaps, myths of Miss Granger's temper had travelled all the way up to the Alps.

"Yup, the main thing is to find the right man, you know. And, God damn it, it's not easy. They are so lucky, all of them – Ginny, Luna, Hannah." Hermione once again drew in a heavy sigh. "Agh, what is wrong with me?" she groaned. "Why can't I land the right wizard? I'll be twenty-eight in September, you know. The clock is ticking. Time is running out–"

Hermione abruptly stopped and covered her mouth, horror evident in her eyes. "Oh shit, I sound exactly like my great aunt Matilda, don't I?"

Poor Nicholas shook his head in bewilderment, not knowing exactly how to respond.

Meanwhile, the witch took her crystal flute and finished the drink. Then, she slammed the glass on the counter and muttered, "Luna is right. I need to be more proactive. You know what, Nicholas, perhaps, I will start right now, right here, in this God forsaken chalet. Why not? I am Gryffindor for Merlin's sake."

With that, the witch jumped off the stool and thoughtfully scanned the bar. It was well after two in the morning and almost all the guests were resting in their suites. Aside from a few rather drunk and uninteresting locals in the corners, the bar was empty. Discouraged, Hermione was nearly ready to give up on her plan, when suddenly, the broad and dark silhouette of the wizard well known to her appeared on the threshold. The witch's face beamed with glee, and she exclaimed, "Kingsley, is that you?"

In the Morning

She was trapped under a deliciously heavy and scorching hot body. Dark, unblinking eyes were locked on her. Two strong hands were holding her legs under the knees. Her skin was slick with sweat. Something utterly fulfilling in its breadth and hardness was moving in and out of her core with extremely satisfying speed and power, threatening to cause the spring coiled tightly inside of her to come undone any minute.

Hermione's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Oh God, how embarrassing, she thought. Am I really so desperately parched? Did I just dream about having sex? Hermione cringed. It sounded pitiful even in her mind. She resolutely closed her eyes and sighed, trying to gather her wits after a sudden awakening. Her head felt as heavy as a Bludger, and it seemed that her heart was pulsing in her temples and beating extremely loudly in her ears. Moreover, something quite weighty was pressing down on her chest, constricting her breathing. After a short but rather poignant contemplation, the name for her condition flashed in Hermione's aching head in neon, canary yellow colour – the worst hangover ever.

I think I have a Hangover Potion somewhere in my purse,remembered Hermione.

With a groan, the witch reopened her eyes again and attempted to turn on her back. To her surprise, she couldn't because something rather heavy was pinning her to the mattress, rendering her immobile. Perplexed, Hermione tilted her head, in order to identify the offensive object. The view that met her eyes startled her into a horrified stupor.

A dark, muscular arm was draped over her chest, and, as if that wasn't enough to drive the witch bonkers, there was an equally dark and robust leg draped over her thighs.

That sight prompted a vague recollection of uncountable mimosas, of her one-sided conversation with Nicholas, and finally, of her exuberant exclamation, "Kingsley, is that you?" at the bar the previous night. The hazy memories made her shiver in apprehension. Thus, already panicking and holding her breath, the terrified witch turned to her left, only to find herself face to face with peacefully sleeping Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister for Magic looked perfectly unperturbed in his slumber, spooning Hermione rather cosily and snoring lightly in her pillow. His entirely nude, dark, and slightly glossy body lay there in the morning sun, creating a stark contrast with the sheets' whiteness.

During the first two minutes, Hermione simply couldn't draw a breath. However, the moment she managed to suck some air in her lungs, she screamed. Her bloodcurdling scream effectively woke the sleeping wizard, and sure enough, his Auror's instinct kicked in instantly. Kingsley rolled off the bed in one fluid, feline movement and a mere millisecond later Hermione had a legendary Auror poised in a defensive stance and with his wand at the ready in front of her in all his glory, and he was truly magnificent. Only his slightly disoriented gaze and his utter nakedness made the whole scene a bit off, if not comic.

"What is it, Hermione?" rumbled the wizard in a low, urgent whisper.

Hermione, still shocked by her discovery and half-blinded by all his bare and quite intimidating masculinity, only managed to mumble something incoherent and cover her flaming face with her hands. With him looming over her rather overwhelmingly, a few more pieces of yesterday's folly came back to her. In horror, she recalled how suggestively she had enticed Kingsley have a drink with her, how unceremoniously she had yanked him by his opened collar and kissed him, how wantonly she had grated her leg against his hard thighs.

Oh God, groaned Hermione inwardly. She was so tremendously ashamed of herself. She couldn't remember anything after they had left the bar. Even worse, she couldn't recall what exactly had transpired between them once they had come to her room. The telltale throbbing and stickiness between her legs, however, confirmed her worst suspicions.

"Oh God," groaned Hermione again, wishing to disappear, to vanish altogether from the earth's surface.

As the realisation of what exactly had happened, and why Hermione awakened him with a scream dawned on the wizard, he sat on the edge of the bed and asked in a soft, comforting bass, "Are you alright, Hermione?"

Hermione muttered through her hands, "No, Kingsley, I am not alright." Then she finally lowered her hands and upon seeing that the wizard was still as naked as before, she muttered pleadingly, "Oh Merlin! Kingsley, please, why are you still naked? Please, don't be naked. It is bad enough already." Feeling that she could not possibly handle his current state of undress for a second longer, Hermione, with maniacal determination on her bright-red face, jumped off the bed. Holding the sheet firmly wrapped around herself, she hastened through the breadth of the room, feverishly picking up his clothes and mumbling half-coherent apologies.

"I am sorry, Kingsley, I have no idea what came over me yesterday. I probably attacked you and dragged you here."

The wizard sat on the bed and watched her solemnly. In vain, he tried to stop her stream of words with his softly spoken, "Hermione, stop. Hermione, please, look at me". The witch stubbornly refused to look at him and continued her darting through the room.

"We both were too drunk to think straight. Let's just forget this ever happened, please." At this, she stopped and looked at him with watery eyes. "We just need to forget the whole bloody thing, please." By this time, she finally gathered all his clothes and shoved them onto his lap.

Kingsley grunted and put his trousers on. Then, he walked closer to her, and gently cupped her face, allowing his thumb to gently caress her cheek. His dark eyes gazed searchingly into hers and he murmured, "Hermione, please, listen to me. Let's talk calmly about what happened between us here in this room." He tilted his face closer to her, shifting his gaze to her lips. Bright, fiery sparks came alive in his coffee-coloured eyes.

Hermione's breath hitched as a number of various and utterly wrong, in this situation, desires flooded her mind. She hurriedly stepped out of his reach, shaking her head, "There's no us, Kingsley. I don't want you to feel obligated. I know exactly what happened. I had too many drinks, and you, as well, had quite a lot. I was drunk enough to offer and you were too far gone to refuse. It's as simple as that."

Kingsley eyes darkened even more, and he again stepped closer to her, "Don't jump to a conclusion, Hermione. I wasn't that drunk."

Hermione glanced at him quizzically, slightly baffled by his cryptic words. However, his broad and still bare chest caught her attention once again. Sidetracked and embarrassed, she muttered, "Sorry," and fled to the loo.

Still sitting on the edge of the bathtub a short while later, Hermione heard the door closing. At last, she was alone. All sorts of thoughts bolted through her head. Each was confirming her initial assessment that this episode of drunken sex should never have happened. She had broken so many of her personal taboos that she didn't even know where to start. She had known Kingsley forever. They were friends, and she had never had any romantic notions about him. Moreover, they worked together, and technically Kingsley Shacklebolt was her supervisor.

"I am doomed," concluded the extremely sad witch and went to the shower; her self-esteem shattered.

You Can Run but You Can't Hide

Ever since Hermione Apparated to her London flat, the solemn mood became her faithful companion. Her intention of forgetting the Kingsley incident didn't work well. In vain, she tried to ignore the pleasant feeling of sated mellowness, which had treacherously settled in the pit of her stomach. Random recollections of their night together were mischievously popping up in her mind during the most inconvenient moments, such as in the middle of her grocery shopping. The existence of the two marks with which Kingsley had thoughtlessly and selfishly decorated her body did not help either.

Those two little bite marks reminded her about the wizard every time she was in the shower or dressing. Hermione could easily vanish them of course, but somehow, she truly didn't want to do that. Thus, the marks stayed. The first, the crescent-shaped one, was located under her left breast and was highly visible during her morning toilette. The location of the second one was making her breath hitch every time she looked at it. It was situated rather high on her right inner thigh. The fact that she had no recollection whatsoever of Kingsley's mouth being down there tortured Hermione mercilessly. It was such rare occurrence nowadays, and she didn't remember a thing – extremely tragic indeed.

Plus, the image of Kingsley making love to her had an enormous impact on her consciousness. Ever since that damned Saturday night, gloriously nude and highly persuasive Kingsley relentlessly haunted her dreams.

The situation at work wasn't much better. Right on Monday morning, Hermione found a note from the Minister on her desk. Apparently, he urgently needed some documents from her. She didn't give in of course, and sent the papers to him with his secretary. A few hours later, however, she received a note with a lunch request, which she politely declined, as she wasn't ready to face him just yet. She, Hermione Granger, was still overwhelmingly ashamed of herself. Never before had she done something so reckless. As a responsible girl, Hermione wasn't about to let the wizard take ownership for something that was her own doing. Thus, it was decided that there would be no lunch dates, not in the foreseeable future at least.

She didn't manage to escape Kingsley entirely though. They did work together after all. Sure enough, after three days of careful manoeuvring, Thursday morning came with its customary all-department meeting. Quite predictably, when the meeting ended, and Hermione tried to flee, the Minster's authoritative voice pinned her to the floor with his, "Hermione, please stay. We need to discuss a few urgent issues."

Fighting the flock of butterflies whose wings fluttered uncontrollably in her stomach since she heard his low voice caressing each syllables of her name, Hermione sat back on her chair and braced herself. The moment they were left alone, Kingsley stood up and in two brisk strides closed the distance between them. He sat down on the chair nearest to her.

"You've been avoiding me, Hermione. Why?" His dark, accusing eyes focused on her face.

Hermione sighed and answered, "You know why, Kingsley. Do you really want me to repeat everything again?"

"No, no, Hermione, that's exactly what I don't want you to do – to start apologizing and blaming yourself. Listen to me, witch. You weren't the only one who caused the whole thing. It takes two to tango as you are well aware." With each spoken word, the wizard was moving his body and his face closer and closer to her. By the end of the sentence, one of his manly palms captured her hand, and the other cupped her face.

Hermione's heart did a somersault the moment his warm hands touched her, and she felt the blush creeping over her neck and face.Damn, she thought. Sternly, she willed her breath to calm and schooled her features. "Kingsley, please."

"No, Hermione, stop. I have heard your theory. Now you need to hear mine." He squeezed her hand just a little bit while his thumb on her cheek began to draw circles. "I am as much to blame as you, maybe even more. Let me tell you again – I wasn't that drunk."

Here we go, thought Hermione with chagrin, the blame game.Suddenly feeling angry, Hermione abruptly stood up, effectively robbing her hand and face of the warmth of Kinsgley's palms.

"No, Kingsley, you should stop right there. Why do you feel so inclined to pursue me? I have asked you to forget the whole thing. Why can't you? You never showed any interest in me before that Saturday. I never saw you in that light either. The fact that we had sex does not change anything. So, please, stop being an overbearing and overly responsible hero. For God's sake, can you just simply forget about the whole bloody thing?" With her curls wild and nostrils flaring, fuming Hermione turned on her heel and stomped determinedly to the door.

There, the equally angry wizard caught up with her and in the next second, she was slammed into the door's wooden surface by his hard chest. Simultaneously, two strong arms came to rest on the each side of her head. Hermione squeaked in surprise. Yet, she wasn't willing to give up that easily.

"Kingsley, let me go! Now!"

"No," rasped the wizard. "You are such a stubborn witch, Hermione. Why can't you hold your tongue at least for a minute and let me explain?" Being quite animalistic in his fury, the Minister growled dangerously into her ear. Then, he buried his face in her curls and inhaled deeply, grating his lips over her wild mane. "What if I don't want to forget the whole, bloody thing? What if I happened to like that night way too much? What if I want more, witch, much, much more?" His lips finally found her neck and with a low moan, he firmly attached himself to her pulse point.

Hermione's knees weakened, her vision blurred, and feeling pathetically breathless, she whispered, "Do you? You do. But–"

Kingsley lips left her neck and he snapped, "No buts, witch. You are coming with me now. We are going to have lunch together." He took a half-step back, making it possible for her to face him. "I want to court you properly, Hermione. We can start with lunches, dinners." The wizard paused and pinched his nose, obviously looking for other courting rituals and failing miserably. "Hmm, and everything else that proper courtship requires," he finished lamely.

Kingsley's dark, intense eyes watched Hermione carefully. Frowning, he searched her face for any signs of distress.

Hermione, on the other hand, still feeling confused about the turn the situation had taken, once again decided to express her concern, "But you'd never–"

The wizard growled with exasperation, "Merlin help me. Gods, Hermione, stop. 'Had, hadn't', it doesn't matter, because I am most certainly extremely interested in you now. If you only knew how ridiculously gorgeous you looked in that silly yellow dress. And how incredible you were that night we spent together." The wizard groaned, "You were pure fire – untamed, passionate." He stepped closer, hovering over her, huffing passionately in his frustration. "I desire you, Hermione. I barely survived these four days."

At this point, Hermione had heard quite enough. Her fingers caught the wizard's white shirt, and balancing on her toes she kissed him. The wizard reciprocated instantly, locking his massive lips around her delicate ones possessively. Minutes later Hermione managed to whisper, "Let's start with lunches tomorrow. I think, right now, I really prefer an encore of Saturday's performance."

Silently, she was pressed tightly into the broad, spicy scented chest and whirled away from the Minister's office.

Encore

He spelled them naked the moment they landed in his bedroom, immediately covering her body with his. With a groan, he greeted his mark under her left breast as an old friend, renewing it prominently.

By the time he made it to his second mark, Hermione was ready to explode. However, she was sober now, and thus, determined to remember and savour the wizard's every move. She tried to emboss in her memory his every lick, every nibble, every caress, and every stroke of his long fingers. Yet, when his teeth closed over the mark he had left on her inner thigh last time, all her resolve to stay aloof crumbled and she helplessly let go.

When she came down from her high, his dark unblinking eyes were locked on her. "Look at me, Hermione," he said. With this, his strong hands came under her bum, and he lifted her to meet his first powerful thrust. In one urgent movement, he pushed his hips forward, forcing her to cry out. Pausing just for a second, he groaned hoarsely, and then began to move.

Their skin shimmered with sweat. His glossy dark-brown mingled with her soft rosy-peach. With his hands under her bottom, he was lifting her to meet each of his almost brutal thrusts, quickly gaining a mutually satisfying speed.

"Yes!" breathed out Hermione, arching into him and clawing at his sweaty shoulders.

"Yes!" echoed her Kingsley, accelerating his motions more and more.

When at last the friction became too much, the tightly coiled spring inside Hermione came undone, and she moaned her release into his neck. Forced to respond, Kingsley met Hermione's climax with a low shout and spent himself deep inside her.

Once able to breathe, Hermione drew in a contented sigh and murmured, "You know, I think all this proper courtship issue is seriously overrated. This was much better than any lunch," she said confidently. She thought for a minute and added, "And perhaps even dinner."

Kingsley chortled in his deep, mellow bass into her curls, "Indeed."

The Nuptials or Here Goes One Very Pregnant Witch

Eight months later...

"Do we really need to do that," groaned Hermione, lowering her swollen feet on the floor with difficulty.

"Yes, Hermione, we do," softly murmured the wizard by her side.

"Arghhh, but I hate weddings," pouted the pregnant witch, while she scoured the floor with her toes, searching for the shoes.

"I know, love, I know. That is why we shall have the private ceremony at home," grunted Kingsley lowly, kneeling on the floor before his witch. "Let me help you with this," and he took her feet in his hands.

Hermione let out a sigh on the border between contentment and defeat and asked, "Are the girls here already?"

"Yes, Ginny, Luna, Parvati, Padma, Lavender, and Hannah, all six of them," hummed the wizard from the floor.

"Good. Is Hannah wearing the, ahem, yellow dress?"

"Yes, yes, my little, vindictive creature, she is," chuckled the wizard, who by that time was already nuzzling against her inner thighs, teasing the sensitive skin with nibbles and licks.

"Alright, let's go then," and Hermione attempted to stand, but a dark, strong hand gently pushed her back onto the bed.

"Kingsley, what are you doing?"

A low 'hmm' was the only answer she received, because at that moment the wizard's hot and eager mouth closed over her knickers.

"Oh!"

Fin

*Bachelorette/Bjork

My dear readers, I made a banner for this little story. Check it out, the link is on my profile. Kingsley is really nice in there, ahem, yeah...