Trussed

Weeks passed, and Hermione grew more and more restless. When she started to feel stir crazy she decided she needed to face the world. But she wasn't ready for wizarding Britain. So she ventured out into muggle London.

The bustling evening streets were a shock to her system, but in an almost soothing way. She watched all the nameless people going about their night, chattering on cell phones, making plans. It was comforting to see the world still operating around her, life still moving forward.

She wandered for hours, until the night life had really ramped up downtown. She found herself standing outside of a semi-filled pub, and pushed open the door slowly. The bartender had a kind face and he smiled warmly at her as she sat down.

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” He asked, and she hesitated.

“Scotch,” she finally said, and when he slid the glass to her she stared at it. She felt and uncomfortable flutter in her belly and then took a sip, the liquid burning her throat in a delicious way.

“Didn't have you pegged for a Scotch girl.” The bartender smirked and she raised an eyebrow.

“I would imagine you’re usually good at reading people,” she said, and her voice sounded almost foreign to her. She only used it during Harry’s weekly visits, as everyone else had figured they should just leave her alone.

“That I am,” he replied smugly. “For example, you look like you're here nursing a broken heart.”

She laughed bitterly. “Hardly.” She took another sip. “I'm not sure what is broken that I'm nursing, but it's not my heart.”

***

Hermione stayed in the pub until after closing, continuing to chat with the bartender. They talked about random things, food, pets, and the like.

“I should go,” Hermione said, checking her watch. “You probably want to get home.”

“Yes, I’d much rather be at home watching TV with only my cat for company.” He rolled his eyes and she giggled. She marveled at the sound; she'd had more to drink than she’d thought.

“What's your name?” She asked, realizing after all they'd talked about they hadn't revealed that about themselves.

“Ben.” He extended his hand to her and she took it, giving it a shake. She had expected to feel something, as she hadn't been touched by another human in a long time, but there was nothing. No revulsion, no fear, but also no warmth or happiness either. It just was.

“Hermione,” she replied.

“Like Shakespeare?” He grinned. “Badass.” They were still holding hands and Hermione felt a burst of that Gryffindor courage surge through her.

“Ben, look-”

He let go of her and put his hands up. “I'm totally not trying to take advantage of you, here.” His words were rushed. “I hope it didn't come off like that, I just really am enjoying talking to you.”

“That wasn't what I was going to say.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I, ah…” She bit her lip, not sure how to express herself. She glanced to her left and saw the pool table, bright green under a row of lights.

Now or never. “I want you to fuck me on that pool table.”