Eternal Mistakes On The Spotless Soul

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews! I feel so excited. It’s so hard to decide which direction this is going to go in. So many speculations from you wonderful readers, decisions, decisions! Hehe. So here’s another chapter for you, let’s hope you guys like it as much as the last. And for those of you who think this is cruel and unusual punishment? Tough cookies. :-p I’ll try harder to get some longer chapters in.

It was black. And muffled sounds floated to her ears. They sounded like garbled words, perhaps underwater. The heat had vanished, replaced with a moving, chilled air. She could still feel strong nudging sensations from inside her stomach. The baby was still alive. But her eyelids were weighted like they were glued together despite her efforts to pull them apart. “Hermione…” She heard her name. Someone was calling her.

“Hermione.” Her eyes opened to see Ginny’s face hovering above hers. “She’s come to,” said the redhead. Hermione attempted to sit up, the room swaying from side to side as she did. “Easy,” Ginny’s hand came to her friend’s shoulder. “You fainted. Just lay back.”

She closed her eyes. “You told me he was in the wedding. Not that he was the wedding.” She muttered.

Ginny sighed. “Well, you never would have come otherwise. And he needed to know.”

The priest moved over to where Hermione laid on the couch. After she had fainted, and the wedding ceremony paused, he had ushered her into his office, which mercifully was ventilated with air conditioning and several temperature regulating charms. His collar was undone and he was no longer dressed in his purple matrimonial robes. “Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, kneeling by her side.

“I think so,” Hermione said, leaning on Ginny as she sat up. “I think it was just the heat.” Her eyes searched the tiny office, focusing on Severus, who stood in profile, holding his bride-to-be close to his chest. The young girl was in tears, though quiet ones, as she rested her head against his collar. The baby began kicking, tapping with force against her bladder. “I need to use the loo,” she said to the priest and he helped her from the office.

With Hermione gone, Severus broke away from the weeping girl and stormed across the office to where Ginny sat perched on the arm of the sofa. The redhead sat there a most curious look on her face, her lips pursed to speak, but he beat her to it. “Are you absolutely—”

“Yes.” Said Ginny.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you said absolutely sure it’s yours, the answer is yes, and if you said absolutely out of my mind, well you’re going to think the answer is yes, so either way, yes.” Severus was silent. In all his years of teaching, casting snide remarks at insolent students to put them into their place, this was the first time anyone had ever hushed him to silence with a spoonful of his own medicine. A fresh round of tears, though somewhat less silent, rose from Nalina. “Better go tend to your wife-to-be,” Ginny smirked.

The door to the priest’s office opened and Hermione walked in, accompanied by the priest. “Now,” he said, closing the door and taking a seat at his desk. “This little matter needs to resolve itself, and quite quickly, there are people sitting out in those pews waiting for this service to continue, namely this girl’s father.” Despite his protests and threats, Lucius had not been allowed to adjourn with the others to the office. “Now, as a high priest of the Catholic church, and a high council member of the Society for Magical Engagements, I am obligated to take the objection of these two women under advisement before continuing this service.”

“That’s nonsense,” Severus spat, returning once more to the weeping Nalina. He wrapped his arms around her and again she buried her head against his chest.

“You know damn well it’s not,” Ginny said, standing up and walking toward Severus. “She’s carrying your child and that’s the end of it.”

“Is this true?” The priest asked, turning his head to Hermione. All eyes in the room turned to her, and at once she felt faint.

Gripping the arm of the sofa rather tightly, Hermione drew in a deep breath. It was not something she was particularly ready to confess to, because she was sure that the father of the baby didn’t even know it was his, despite the awkward crash announcement as he was about to be wed. And how Ginny had managed to find out was beyond her, though she had the sneaking suspicion that The Book at Hogwarts was no longer under the tight lock, charm, and key that it used to be. She closed her eyes. She did not want to look at any of them, especially not the young bride, who was just as pregnant as she was.

“Well?” repeated the priest.

~*~

Thick purple haze filled the club. It was not common for Hermione to frequent such establishments, but she had gone wild, and had imbibed far too much alcohol of the particularly strong variety. For nearly two consecutive years she had been denied grant funding for her research in the field of potions, particularly after her last attempted cure for Lycanthropy had left eight of the twelve test subjects dead, with restless werewolf ghosts wandering the earth. It had been hard enough to watch one of her dearest friends suffer the excruciating pain of the botched experiment, and the state it left him in, she had wished he’d been one of the eight that had died.

No one in the wizarding community would touch her. She was ostracized in every publication imaginable for her cruelty toward half-breeds, for her attempted genocide on the Lycan community. At first the grants dwindled, though there were still a few hopeful prospects that her research would continue, but when no new results turned over, they all but faded away, most not even bothering to send rejection letters anymore.

Ginny and Harry, happily married, were her only real friends left. Of course she had every member of the Weasley clan, but she had never been particularly close to any of the others save for Molly and Ron. And after Ron’s crippling Quidditch accident, it left Molly rather preoccupied taking care of her youngest son and his two twin girls.

She’d been heckled and jeered all the way out of a herb shop in Diagon Ally that afternoon and she’d found herself in front of her fireplace with a bottle of Southern Comfort, taking swig after swig until she could no longer feel the burning in her throat as the whiskey chased its way down into her stomach. It was then that she decided she was going out. With a heavy glamour and clothing far trashier than she would have ever worn sober, Hermione apparated to a dodgey ally in the West End, and found a club that looked suitable for helping her drown her sorrows and forget her troubles.

She’d been thrusting and grinding all over the lowered pit of the dance floor and was making her way up the metallic stairs to the bar when she saw him. He was looking right at her and a wave of nausea washed over her. What on earth was he doing in a muggle night club? But the alcohol that pulsed through her veins did not allow her a quick enough escape as he approached her.

He’d been watching her since she started arching her body against the pole, her little black skirt not long enough to cover her luscious behind, her breasts practically spilling out of the golden halter-neck tie top. And her shoes, easily four inches off the ground, spiked red stilettos that clacked when she walked. Her eyes were blue, almost a gray color, and her bleach blonde hair was twisted up at the top of her head in a knot. He didn’t know who she was, but the way she moved her body, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he wanted her.

Hermione tried to side step the top step up onto the landing to avoid catching his eyes directly, but instead, she tumbled forward and her face collided with his knees. Severus extended a hand to her, pulling the harlot up onto her feet. “Thanks,” she muttered, but did not look him in the eye.

“Can I get you drink?” he offered.

She gazed up, staring into his obsidian orbs. Why had the most surly person in the wizarding world offered to by her a drink? Surely he had read the articles in various journals, if nothing else the slander that hit the front page of the Daily Prophet. Blinking her eyes she stared at him for a moment longer. The glamour! He didn’t recognize her, he couldn’t. And she smiled. “Sure.”

Severus stepped away and returned a moment later with two cocktail glasses. “House special,” he said leaning into her ear. The music had begun thumping loudly, flashing lights off-setting the beat. She was sufficiently drunk and did not need the cocktail to further cloud her brain, but down its contents anyway before taking him roughly by the hand.

“Let’s dance,” she said, voice husky, though she wasn’t entirely sure he could hear her over the raging music. She didn’t care. Hermione led him back down the steps to the center of the throng, bodies all around them grinding and arching, pulsing with the music. The temperature rose a good ten degrees from where they had been standing to where she had guided them to.

At once she pressed her body to his, her backside wriggling up and down his thighs, pressing her head back against his chest, and his stomach. Severus seemed to have no trouble following her rhythm, arching and curving his body to meet hers as they swayed together. He could feel himself getting hard, though that was long coming from the moment he’d laid eyes on her from his standpoint on the top deck. His fingers curled into her hair and he whirled her around, thrusting his hips forward against his.

She gasped, but let her head fall back, exposing her neck to him as she slithered up and down his body, feeling his manhood pressing against her. Hermione moaned, though the sound was drowned in the heavy beat of the club. His strong arms snaked around her back and pulled her up until his lips were on hers. The thick scent of whiskey mixed with various spirits filled her nostrils as he kissed her, and her body shivered. The bass was thumping, the music blaring, the air filled with smoke, and he was kissing her intensely. The blood rushing through her head was pounding harder than the bass, and the alcohol made the room spin. All at once she felt the urge to hurl.

Breaking roughly away from him, Hermione lost her footing but caught herself against a pole before dashing off through the throng. The rusty metal door to the girl’s room crashed open as Hermione fell into it, barely making her head over the loo as she spewed. A dribble of vomit was left at the corner of her lips as she pulled her head away from the toilet and kicked the flush with her heels. She cupped her hands under the cool faucet of the dingy sink, splashing water on her face, letting her makeup run.

Another female, much older than Hermione, stumbled and staggered out of the other stall, not bothering with the sink. The other woman crashed right into the door as it swung open, and Severus walked in.

“This is the girls room— hey!” the other woman cried as Severus grabbed her with one hand and helped her out the door. He pushed it shut, and pinned the deadbolt in place. Hermione’s face was still dripping with water as she gazed at him. Swooping toward her, Severus lifted Hermione up and sat her on the edge of the sink, forcing her head back as he swallowed her lips.

She did not resist, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, her hands tangling in his hair. He stood on shaking legs, struggling from her weight or his attempt at undoing his trousers, she couldn’t tell. They crashed back into the aluminum siding of the stall wall, her head banging against it, but it only made her see stars. The zip came down and her skirt was hiked up. Hermione bit his lip as he pushed himself inside her, it all happened so fast. He growled, and she groaned, her body writhing, pinned between him and the metal wall.

There was a loud banging on the door. “Hurry up! Other girls gotta go!” a crass voice called from the other side, but neither party paid the woman any attention. His lips were rough as they kissed her, steam building between them as he fucked her, rough, quick thrusts up into her, her knickers barely pushed to one side. With one hand Hermione reached up to the top of the stall wall, scraping her hands on its rusty edge, before digging her nails into his hair, tangling and twisting his tresses, too drunk and horny to care that she might have been bleeding, or have given herself tetanus from the rust.

She shifted against him, trying to grind back and his grip on her slipped as she slid down the wall. Severus started to back step, all the while trying to force himself into her, harder and faster, his trousers barely down his thighs. “Take your damn pants down…” she hissed, moaning. “We’re doing this in a bathroom!” she cried as he bit at her neck. They crashed back against the brick wall and he turned around once more, until they’d tumbled through the stall door and he came down to his knees, resting her atop the toilet. “Harder,” she whimpered and he tore at her skirt, ripping it completely off of her body.

Her hands were quick to force his trousers further down his hips, giving him more room to thrust and she shrieked, the sounds thankfully drowned out by the heavy noises of the club. He was grunting and she began to pant, his thrusts hot and hard, her walls clenching at him. Severus gripped her shoulders, growling into her ear. “What’s your name?” he hissed, thrusting harder.

“Jane,” she panted, eyes rolling back in her head.

With another growl and another thrust he released himself in her. The moment he finished, he leaned on her shoulders and stood up, quickly tucking himself into his trousers. Without one glance behind him, he turned from the stall, forced the deadbolt on the door back and exited the girl’s bathroom. A very drunk woman in a blue dress that was far too short came charging into the bathroom, ducked into the stall next to Hermione, and slammed the door. A waterfall of pee filled the room.

Hermione stood on wobbly legs, leaning against the aluminum interior of the stall, his cum dripping down her thigh. She felt dizzy, and another wave of nausea washed over her. This time the vomit sprayed down her top and clumped into her hair that had come loose during the hot bathroom fuck. It took her a moment to wash bits of puke off her, though some still remained, before she emerged into the club. Her eyes gazed round, if very unfocused, but could not find Severus. It didn’t matter. Outside the club she apparated home, fortunately without splinching herself, and once inside her flat, she collapsed on the floor.

~*~

“Well?” the priest repeated himself for a third time.

Hermione opened her eyes. “I’m afraid Ginny is right.” She gazed at Severus who was now looking at her. “Severus, I am carrying your child.”