Who: Hannah Abbott, Michael Corner
Where: Smith Manor
When: 30 November 2001, during the Blue Moon Ball
Hannah scowled across the garden at Zacharias as he pratted around the place bossing people about and generally acting like he had an enormous stick up his arse (per usual). Honestly, Hannah had never known a person who could be about to undergo trial for assault and still act so completely and utterly holier-than-thou.
“Ugh, I cannot stand him,” she grumbled to her drink and whoever happened to be standing nearby.
“Who can?” Michael asked, playing with his glass. “Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with yourself. Hope you don’t mind me butting in.” He tugged at his tie, his nose wrinkling up in a frown. Normally he rather liked ties, but this one was making him crazy.
“You look lovely, for the record.”
“Thanks,” Hannah said, shooting him a wry half-smile before returning her scowl to Zach. “It takes a special kind of person to refuse to help his friends in a war because he’s a pacifist and to then call for stringing people up in town square when they do things he doesn’t like.”
In fact, a person that special was enough to drive a girl to drink, so Hannah finished off hers and signaled for another.
“And our Zacharias is certainly a very special boy,” Michael drawled, his tone not remotely complimentary. He nudged Hannah with his elbow. “Here with anyone special? You don’t have to babysit your rock star tonight?”
He set the glass down on a nearby table, feeling like maybe he’d had enough for now.
Hannah snorted rather inelegantly. “If Kirley is here, he’s his wife’s problem, not mine. And I wouldn’t be caught dead at this event with a date.”
Even if the opportunity to have sex on property to cause Zacharias an aneurysm was almost temptation enough to risk the soulmate crap.
She tilted her head at him. “You?”
Michael snorted. “Right, because I’m definitely going to send some poor girl the wrong message by taking her on a date to this kind of gathering. I’m no one’s soulmate.”
“The only soulmates I’m interested in have soles S-O-L-E-S,” Hannah said dryly, lifting her gossamer silver skirts slightly to check on her sparkling shoes. Fucking hell they were beautiful.
It wasn’t entirely true, of course. Hannah had once believed in soulmates. She’d once believed she had one — a person who understood her so completely that it was like they were the same being. But now he was gone, Blue Moon or not.
She paused, pushing those thoughts away, and sipped at her glass of wine. “And I suppose alcohol and I also have a special relationship.”
“Shoes and booze, what more could a girl possibly want?” he asked. “And those are rather nice ones.” And if he was looking at her legs, and not her shoes, well, no one had to know.
“Sex,” Hannah responded automatically. Because, come on. She was fairly certain that anyone who said they didn’t want sex was either delusional or lying.
She knocked back the rest of what had to be her third or fourth glass of wine (or was it her fifth, she’d lost track). “Except no sex for anybody at this party since Zacharias Smith, Morality Police, won’t allow it.”
Michael frowned. “Does Smith actually think he can tell me when or where I am allowed to have sex?”
“Didn’t you see his journal entry?” Hannah asked, rolling her eyes so hard that she almost saw her brain. “Apparently he’s set up boobytraps for couples who try to sneak upstairs or something.”
Her next drink had conveniently arrived in her hand. Lovely waiters. “Of course, there is plenty of house here that doesn’t require the use of stairs.”
He snorted. “Right, because upstairs is the only location in this place that people could possibly have sex.”
When Hannah voiced nearly the exact same sentiment, he glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye. Hmm.
Huh. Great minds did think a like. Hannah snagged a bottle of champagne off the bar and wiggled it at him. “I’m going to get wasted and explore the inner sanctum of the Smith residence. Like to join me?”
Maybe Hufflepuffs were more creative and cunning than he’d given them credit for, Michael thought, grinning at Hannah.
“Why yes, actually. I believe I would.”
Hannah led the way. Soon enough they were ensconced in the Mayor’s home office, passing the bottle back and forth as Hannah sat perched on Zacharias’ father’s heavy mahogany desk. It didn’t take long before she moved from pleasantly tipsy to completely fucking sloshed. And from the look of things, Michael wasn’t far behind.
Grabbing him by the tie, she pulled him in the fork of her legs so the her gorgeous dressrobes crumpled in a very unladylike manner (not that she gave a fuck). She kissed him. It was warm and happy and she could feel the bubbles from the champagne in her head. She was really turned on. Kissing Michael was hot to begin with and the local certainly didn’t hurt matters.
She pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. “You promise you’re not looking for a soulmate, right, Mick?”
Michael grinned down at her and winked, his hands gripping her hips firmly. “Not even a little.”
“Good,” Hannah said before kissing him again.
It was, frankly, about time someone christened this desk and Merlin knew the Smiths were all too damned stodgy for anything so fun. Hannah was happy to oblige.