Through a Pane of Sliver Glass

Through a Pane of Silver Glass

A BoReD Fan Fiction
By Morvana Dú Miruvor

Disclaimer: The characters that coincide with the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling. Thank you.

Note: Hello there. I was bored in my dorm, and for a lack of nothing better to do, wrote some fan fiction. Here ya go!


Every country has its own culture. Some Wizarding cultures are similar to those of their Muggle par—and others are quite different. Customs unacceptable in public may become quite acceptable.

* * *


Lefka Ori, Greece

A little boy stumbled into the throne room of King Nero. Nero was handsome—blonde wavy hair, green eyes of the sea, and sharp features. He was descended of sea nymphs, and he looked like it.

The boy relayed a message that had flown in that morning.

Your Majesty:

I, Rufus Scrimgeour, wish you health and a long life. As the British Minister of Magic, I would like to extend a hand of friendship and coalition. We request to open negotiations of alliance soon, with your permission. We are sending a representative as soon as we can arrange.

Sincerely,

Rufus Scrimgeour

King Nero, upon hearing thus, stroked his day-old beard. Clicking his fingers five times, he cleared his throat. His scribe stepped forward ready to write a reply. Nero said, in perfect English, although his accent was rather strange:

Master Scrimgeour:

I thank you. Your letter found me in excellent condition. I would employ you to send your representative immediately. I would prefer someone who has a good tongue, and ear, for Greek.

His Majesty King Nero, Son of Andreas and Calonice

With that, the scribe was finished, and handed the scroll to the boy. The boy scurried off to the owlery to give the owl it’s reply.

* * *

Ministry of Magic, London, England

The Minister laughed aloud happily. This would surely help in the war. If he could send the right representative, they might even be able to finish it soon. The question was, Who understands Greek that I trust with something of this importance?

His answer was about to slide through the door. Hermione Granger, Head Witch of Magical Relations Dept. stepped crisply into his office, holding a report on the damage done by a Slavic troll set loose in West Essex.

“Sir, I finally finished that report that you requested. The troll seemed to have”—

“Miss Granger, I would like you to go to Greece for me.”

“—been drunk….What sir?”

“I want to go as a representative to the King of Magical Greece. He is crucial to the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“But why me, sir?”

“Your family is from Greece, correct?”

“Yes—er, how did you know that?”

“Looked it up in your records. Now, this is very important. Do not offend him in any shape, manner, or form. He is very powerful, and I would prefer to keep my quota down to one war at a time.” He shook his great lion-like head, and stood.

“I will be sending a large group of gifts with you. I would like you to present them pleasingly. They are valuable and costly. Do you think you can handle this?”

“Yes sir. And will I be bringing any attendants?”

“Yes, three. I want to send a secretary, a guard, and…ah, Miss Weasley will do fine. Bently will be your guard.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything else?” Hermione was, as usual, prompt and effective.

“Yes. You leave on the morrow.”

“Yes sir, very well, sir.”

“Run along now. You may go home for today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Hermione walked to her office. Ginny was there. “Ginny, you’re coming to Greece with me tomorrow.”

Ginny raised a graceful eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yes dear. Go home and pack. We’re…hold on, how are we supposed to be going?”

At that moment, however, her question was answered in the form of a flying airplane.

Hermione read it. “We’re to Apparate from here tomorrow it says.”

Ginny inclined her head. “Very well.”

* * *

Hermione threw her cloak over the couch in the parlor of her flat. Sighing heavily, she threw herself on her bed face up. A thousand thoughts shot through her mind, first and foremost being, How do you act around royalty?

Without having eaten dinner, Hermione drifted into a shallow sleep, slipping in and out of dreams, none of which she remembered when she awoke at ten.

It was perhaps the knock on the door that awoke her. Not accustomed to waking up at such an hour, Hermione shuffled rather dispirited-like into the parlor. Swinging the door open, thinking too late of her disheveled appearance, she smiled when she saw that it was Raoul.

He stepped forward, broad shoulders sweeping gently towards her. In his deep voice he said, “Ginny told me that you two are leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, we are.” She felt sorry.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“And I, you.”

He kissed her hard on the mouth. Hermione responded in her own way—like that of a lamb.

He deftly unzipped her robes. She let him. She was now standing in her lacy, sheer undergarments. He looked her up and down ravenously.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked throatily.

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered honestly.

“Then let’s make up for time we might lose.”

And with that, he shagged her right there on the floor.

* * *

The following morning, Hermione rose from her bed, Raoul beside her, to shower. In the shower, she scrubbed the sweat from her body. She remembered such a situation that she had been in four years prior. On the graduation from Hogwarts, Ron had become a full-time agent for the Order. He fought well, at this point, having the best teacher in the wizarding world. On the night before an enormous battle, he had come to Hermione, much like Lancelot to Guinevere.

“Hermione, you look...beautiful.” Ron ran his fingers softly down Hermione's arm. She shivered. That look in his eyes...so predatory. “I want you Hermione. If we don't—yeah—tonight, we might never get the chance. If I die....”

Hermione, thinking along the same line, slid her leg over Ron's lap and now faced him. She unfastened her shirt as Ron watched lustily.

The following morning, Hermione washed the sweat of passion off. Ron came into the shower with her, and they made love once again. Laughing as lightly as she could in such a situation, Hermione pushed him out of the shower after he climaxed. “Go get ready, my sexy warrior,” she told him.

He died that day. Trying to save a child that had wandered out on the street that they fought on. The child had been present at the funeral. Hermione met her, and realized why Ron had been willing to die for such a girl. She was charming, sweet, and beautiful. She was a little Asian girl with an Irish accent. Her parents had been staying with her aunt and uncle over Christmas. Her name was Lixue. She was now eight. Her parents sent Hermione a picture every year. They all hung on Hermione's fridge. The current had a pretty frame of winter. The girl was missing a few teeth. How adorable she looked now.

Hermione had slowly gotten over Ron. And then she met Raoul. He was a big, somewhat unintelligent boy. But he was sweet, and smitten with Hermione. They had been together for a year now.

Hermione leaned out of the shower and saw Raoul's naked form on her bed, handsome black hair framing his face. Hermione felt something strange, as if she would never again see him like this. She made a decision to step out of the shower. Dripping, she stepped quietly into her bedroom. Then she jumped onto Raoul. He growled, and then laughed as he saw who it was. His beautiful Hermione.

“What do you want?” he groaned tiredly. “You wore me out last night.”

“Am I really that hard to bed?” she asked mischievously.

“Why, Miss Granger, what a pervy thing to say,” he laughed.

Giggling, she walked her fingers up to his nose and then tweaked it. He kissed her gently and then rolled her over beneath him. Both of their faces became serious and once again they made love.

* * *

At ten o' clock, Hermione was dressed in her finest. Her wavy hair was pulled back elegantly, and her makeup was done to perfection. Raoul helped her to pack, even though he was more of a hindrance than a help. Hermione still had that feeling of “never again” that she'd had earlier. It was starting to effectively annoy and scare her.

She was ready to leave by eleven and as she bit into her apple, she kissed Raoul lightly on the cheek. If she became more passionate, they both knew she would never leave. With that, she stepped back, picked up her suitcase, and Apparated to the Ministry.

Ginny was waiting for her. She, also, looked very pretty. Harry was there, as well. He looked at them both wistfully. “I'm going to miss having you both around,” he said mournfully.

“Oh shut up,” Hermione said brusquely. “You're acting as though we died. Buck up and help us get ready to leave.” Turning to Ginny, she asked, “Have the gifts come yet?”

Ginny said in a careful voice, “Oh yes. Would you like to see what we're supposed to be Apparating?”

Hermione wished Ginny would have just shown her what it was, instead of saying such foreboding words. But Ginny led her into the side office and Hermione gasped. There was a large chest, open and shimmering. The chest itself was the size of a Mini Cooper. And inside was the largest amount of valuable minerals that Hermione had ever seen.

“They expect us to...?”

“Yes,” said Ginny, leaning against the door and crossing her arms over her chest, running her tongue over the top of teeth, clearly annoyed. “I have only passed my Apparating in the past four years. And they expect me to be able to even Apparate a portion of that. It's hard enough Apparating small amounts of minerals. They're too concrete and drawn to the earth. But this shitload....”

“It's okay. We'll do it together,” Hermione reassured her, even though internally she was screaming with frustration.

Bently and the secretary, an elderly man named Burby, finally arrived around noon and they were made ready for the trip. The Minister arrived at the same time and looked around to be sure that everything was ready. Ginny threw him deeply disgusted looks every moment, but he simply ignored her. “I have decided, because of the size of your gift, that I would simply set up a Portkey. In ten minutes you are to leave on it. So say your good-byes now.”

Harry good-byed Hermione first, being his oldest friend (alive, that is). He hugged her tight and said, “Make me proud, Hermy.” Hermione stepped back. She smiled at him and was surprised to see tears in his eyes. “What?” she asked him.

“I...I'm just worried, is all. I don't want to lose you.”

“You're not going to,” she said, giggling nervously. Why was all this happening? Why did she feel like something was ahead of her that was going to change her so?

Harry turned to Ginny and hugged her as well, but after he kissed her softly. Ginny and Harry's relationship was barely physical at all. They hadn't had sex yet, because Harry wanted Ginny to wait until she was married. That Harry was so protective of Ginny was something that Hermione admired greatly. She always wondered what would have happened had she and Ron waited. Had she kept her virginity. Ron had taken her technical virginity, but she had messed around before. It wasn't like she hadn't gone down on anyone before, nor the reciprocal. But she had been a virgin before she and Ron had....

They were now ready to go. Scrimgeour held out a rather nice chain watch and Hermione raised an eyebrow. “It's also to be given to His Majesty,” the Minister said. Hermione nodded. The secretary, Ginny, Bently, and Hermione all crowded around the watch, each with one hand on the treasure and another on the watch. It was going to be a helluva lot easier to transport the gift with a Portkey. Just as the second, minute, and hour hands all aligned on the twelve, Hermione felt the familiar tug at the naval as she was pulled directly to Greece.

* * *

They arrived in a small, red-carpeted room with paintings all over the walls. Some were from Greece, others from Ancient Egypt and Rome. Hermione glinted as she saw a rather good painting of Helen and Paris in each others' arms. Hermione felt a twang of sadness. The emotion of the painting was done rather well. But why did Paris look so very much like Ron? And why did Helen look like herself?

“It's magic,” Ginny said, looking at the very same painting. “It has to be. Paris is Harry, and Helen is...well, she's me.”

Hermione then realized that it was magic. Of course it would show such a thing. Anyone you fancy to be in love with will be who is your opposite in the painting. She had no doubt it would show the same image to Harry as it did to Ginny.

An attendant stepped into the room. He bowed low to the secretary. “Sir, if you would like to step into the throne room, your women will be washed and cleaned, as well--”

“Excuse me,” Hermione said to him. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding. I'm the representative to meet His Majesty.”

The attendant looked her up and down, possibly in shock. “That is simply impossible miss. You should be flogged for such speaking.”

“No. I am,” she said angrily. Bently asserted in an angry voice, “Look here, fool, you treat her with the respect she deserves. She is Head of the Dept. of Magical Relations, and you'll treat her like a Duchess.”

“Very well,” the attendant sniffed. “If you insist so readily. But you can not approach His Majestic Highness in such outlandish garb. You will follow me to the baths where you will be immediately washed and clothed in our own garments that are suitable in such situations.”

Hermione nodded her head and followed the man. Ginny walked right after Hermione.

After bathing, some women servants walked out with a towel and perfumes. Even though Hermione insisted that they decline, the women, not understanding any English, continued to lather the perfume over Hermione's body. She, after a time, allowed herself to enjoy, as their hands were soft and the perfume smelled very nice, and of roses.

Soon another group of women approached with bits of purple cloth. They draped them on Hermione, and she, seeing the process in the mirror, instantly shrieked and pushed the women away. The women had wrapped it once around her waist and then pinned it under her breasts, keeping them in the open. Next they pinned two ribbons, both two and one half inches each over her shoulders like straps and modesty pieces. They concealed her nipples only, leaving little for imagination.

Hermione glared angrily at the outfit in the mirror. It was horrible. And it made her look like a whore. One of the women rushed out of the room, and moments later appearing with and angry looking attendant. Hermione screamed and instantly picked up the wet pieces of fabric of clothing on the floor, attempting to save her modesty.

“This is what you must wear,” the attendant said in an angry growl. “His Majesty demands that all noblewomen over thirteen wear it.”

“A pox on your King,” Hermione spat. “He is violating my modesty and my own culture by thus forcing me to wear such an outfit.”

The attendant sneered at her. “Remember that you are in King Nero's home and that you must adhere to his rules. Unless you're afraid to let a man see you. Unless your British Ministry is too weak to send someone who simply won't wear something that isn't entirely comfortable.”

Hermione glared at him and dropped the piece of clothing. “Where is Ginny?” she asked with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Your friend? She has just gotten out of her bath.”

“Take me to her.”

“As you wish.”

Hermione was led to Ginny's bathroom. However, Ginny's reaction was entirely different to her own. “Aren't these outfits sexy?” Ginny asked her.

Hermione glared at her friend as if she was a traitor. “I like them, so what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Come on. We have to go.”

“Not just yet,” the attendant laughed. “Your hair has not been arranged in such a way that the King will find pleasing.”

Hermione growled angrily and then sat in a chair. Two women rushed to where she sat and began to work at her wet hair.

Half an hour later, Hermione was ready to be presented to the King. Ginny was not going in with her. It was to be Hermione, alone, with the foreign king. She walked back, with the attendant, to the waiting room. The chest of precious jewels was all that was there to show that they had even been there. The two men were no longer there.

Hermione bent over her suitcase and pulled her wand out of a compartment. “Wingardium leviosa!” she snapped, flicking her wand at the large chest. It instantly rose and followed the attendant out the door. Hermione turned her head as she walked out the door. She looked at Ron's face rather hard. And then, for a fleeting moment, his head turned to that of another. A handsome man with wavy blonde hair and a three-day beard. His green eyes turned to look at hers. She gasped and then blinked. The face became Ron's once again.

* * *

Outside the door of the throne room, Hermione primped herself, getting ready to meet the man that had, thus far, made her quite miserable.

She did realize how the outfit that she wore accentuated some of her favorite features. Her breasts had become quite voluptuous at this point, and the fabric tightened sensually around her hips, waist, and butt. And since she wore nothing beneath, she did feel quite whorish. But for some reason, she no longer felt quite uncomfortable. She felt like a woman, and proud to be able to show her body of thus.

Hermione set the trunk down and allowed the two large guards to use their wands to levitate it. The doors opened and they walked in.

Hermione took a steadying deep breath and walked through the doors, as well.

Her bare feet padded softly against the stone floor. The throne room itself was enormous, but Hermione did not waste time nor dignity on looking around like some common tourist. She kept her head high and attempted a sexy swagger, allowing her butt to move sensuously in accordance with the rest of her body. She kept her eyes on the man sprawled comfortably on his throne.

He was, unsurprisingly, the same man she had seen in the painting only minutes earlier. He looked quite comfortable, and rightly so. He was home in his own court where all respected and feared him and his judgment.

Hermione, though, acted as unafraid as possible.

When she remembered that she was forced to look a whore for him, her eyes flashed angrily, and they continued to do so when she came to a stop before him.

She extended a foot gracefully and bowed, hand spreading as gracefully. “Your Majesty,” she stated in perfect Greek.

He replied in Greek. “What is your name, Angry One?”

Hermione appraised him coolly. He wore but a loincloth embroidered with emerald leaves and gold apples. “Hermione.” Her last name was not necessary.

“Hermione,” he purred. “That is a lovely name, however tragic. But she was quite beautiful, as my mother said. Daughter of the most beautiful woman in the world, and grandchild of Zeus himself, no? You do live up to your namesake.”

Hermione raised a cold eyebrow. “Your gift, courtesy of Rufus Scrimgeour,” she said. And of the Ministry staff's paycheck.

“Thank you.” His eyes never left her face.

“Hermione, I would love to discuss terms with you privately. Please, come and dine with me in my private quarters.” He stepped from his throne and approached her.

From here, Hermione realized how handsome he was. She then realized that he had come from a lineage of immortal family. No doubt his mother had been a lesser goddess, or his father a lesser god, perhaps even a major god.

He allowed her an arm, and he escorted her forth.

* * *

His apartments, it seemed, took up the entire third floor of the castle. They were lifted quite luxuriously by means of a flying carpet.

“I buy the best from Saudi Arabia,” he stated, bending down to touch the fibers. Hermione almost fell off at the sudden start. The King reached out to catch her, large hands enveloping her waist.

She glared at him, and his hands jumped from her waist. “It is lovely,” she said quietly. She did not want to spout the annoying niceties that required her to sound like a young, easilyimpressed school-girl. Instead, she tried to keep her demeanor refined and aloof. If he continued the charming facade, she would either puke or fail miserably.

When they reached their destination, the king escorted her off the carpet, which shuddered and floated to the floor. The king led Hermione to a chamber no doubt for entertaining guests—or seducing young naïve noblewomen.

He sat her down on a couch, where she stretched luxuriously. Then, catching herself, she pulled her limbs closer to her body. Nero laughed, and she blushed furiously. “Shall we eat, then?” Nero asked her.

Hermione nodded. Servants poured in, serving Greek dishes that Hermione had ofttimes experienced at home from her mother. She ate them with perfect politeness and demurity.

“Please, try the pie. It is one of your English dishes.”

Hermione eyed the chocolate pie. “Actually, I believe it would by an American dish.”

“Why, yes, of course.” The king looked annoyed at being corrected thus.

“But,” Hermione interjected, realizing her mistake, “I've tasted many of the same in England. It is quite possible that that your cooks got it there.”

Nero sniffed. “It's possible.” However distant his voice sounded, he looked pleased. Hermione tasted the cake. At first she thought the flavor was a bit strange. But then the calming effects took over. Hermione sighed. She always felt that chocolate had a stronger effect on her.

Hermione took a drink of the goat's milk in the small silver goblet. It was sweet and thick. Wiping her mouth delicately and then setting down the pretty maroon napkin, Hermione launched straight into negotiations.

“I must open with the statement--”

Nero held up a hand. “Hush.”

Hermione's face turned pink as she flushed angrily. “I will not be told--”

This time Nero hadn't interrupted. As he watched with laughing eyes, Hermione started to blush in embarrassment—and because of the strange feeling she was getting between her legs. It was as if...well, as if she were getting horny. She tried to act as if it was not happening. She continued to eat the pie, but as she did so, she started to feel worse.

Worse still, the area down there had become somewhat moist, and continued to do so. And Nero simply stood there and watched her struggle. That was about when the truth struck her on the forehead quite violently. Nero had put aphrodisiac into the pie.

And she was helpless to stop the transpiration of events. She wanted him so badly at the moment, she was prepared to launch herself across the small table between them and rip off her clothing.

She glared at him angrily. “You don't give a damn about the negotiations, do you?” she snorted angrily.

“My, my, so unattractive,” he said with a condescending tsk. Hermione glared at him. “How long before the full effect takes place?” she said angrily.

“Should be coming along right about”--an ecstatic moan erupted from her lips-- “now.”

Hermione stood and walked slowly back to the doors, pulling a single ribbon from her breast. Her bear breast caught and held Nero's eyes as he stood and followed her numbly through the doors.

As Hermione's primary instinct told her, there was a bedroom on the other side of it. She stood still in front of the doors, waiting for Nero. He pushed through them, eying her hungrily, as a predator would a prey. Hermione noticed the bulge across his loincloth. Somewhat shyly, her hands crept softly to the pin. She unattached the first fold and unwound it. He now stood stark naked before her.

Hermione was amazed at his attributes. Ron had not been particularly large, and Raoul had been rather thick, but Nero...Nero's was perfection. Instantly Hermione's sharp mind picked up on the god-like attribute. He was quite a stallion. Nero had his eyes on hers, now, catching hers with their strange light. In that moment, he felt a pang of guilt, causing him to say something he never had before.

Instantly their lips locked frantically.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eek. Not entirely sure to continue this or the other story. Help!!!