Black and White

Hermione enjoyed a late breakfast in the dining room with the mother of all headaches.

It was her fourth day in the city, Friday. She had ventured into the aforementioned festival - which was in fact an out-of-season carnival - with a couple of Canadians, students who were also staying in the inn. The inn was a part of a worldwide organisation that had special discounts for enrolled students, hence the Canadians. There were also several other young people from all parts of the country.

Hermione, or rather, Sarah, had been exceedingly grateful to discover she would be able to talk while staying there. Mathew and Andrew were planning to stay in Recife for a fortnight, and she expected to be quite comfortable with the city and some people by the time they left. Matt and Andrew were absolutely adorable, sweet and caring, and both had been more than willing to help her settle in, and the Gryffindor suspected at least one of them might have second intentions about her. Maybe both.

I really hope they're not planning on a menage à trois.

So, when the duo talked her into going to the festival with them, she did not think twice. After all, she was there to have some fun, as well as reacquaint herself with the stranger that the real Hermione Granger - underneath all those layers of confidence, books and cleverness - was.

She had not yet decided if it had been the best or the worst time of her life. The noise level had been incredible, the amount of people on the streets simply physically impossible. For a moment Hermione had to struggle with the impulse of running away from there as fast as her legs could carry her. With the exception of the Quidditch World Cup, she'd never been in so crowded a place (and the stadium was starting to seem very spacious indeed). How could people move, let alone dance, with so little space between their bodies?

Also, she was certain she had her ass groped at least twice.

But the weirdness did not stop there. The drinks, if tasty, were a bit more than weird. She had had several doses of the regional drinks, a couple of caipirinhas - vodka, lemon and sugar, a famous national drink - and others cocktails that were so unusual that only the barpeople and almighty God seemed to know what exactly those drinks were. They had danced all night and been introduced to what they called the kissing game. People there had no reservations against getting close to the person they were attracted to and asking for a kiss. They had been kissed several times during the night, and by the third glass of caipirinha Hermione was thinking the whole thing hilarious.

Until she woke up at ten o'clock and found the sun was way too bright for her liking.

Mrs. Oliveira, the inn manager, wisely expecting some over-indulgence during the Recifolia, had prolonged the breakfast time. Thus the girl found herself forcing a large quantity of black coffee down her throat along with a slice of white bread -which was all her stomach would accept, really.

"Morning, love," Matt said cheerfully, descending the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Hermione suddenly missed Ron's grumpiness and Harry's concerned silence in the mornings, and thought no one should have the right to be so idiotically happy in the morning when her head felt like splitting, but let the matter drop. It would not do to ruin her newfound friendships over such a petty matter (even if she did think he should have more respect for her hangover).

"Morning, Matt," she replied as kindly as she could, remembering all too well the time he tried to give her a peck the night before, and how gracefully he took her denial, even when she allowed others to kiss her later. She just did not yet wish to let anyone with whom she was living that close before making sure she would not be embarrassed later. "How's Andrew?"

"Sleeping like the dead. Did you rest well?"

"I could do with more sleep, I think."

"We're going to visit the Museum do Homem do Nordeste this afternoon. If you feel up to some exploring, come along," Matt said, before gulping down some coffee himself and grabbing some croissants.

Hermione brought her own cup to her lips to have an excuse of not replying immediately so she could think about it. I'm already here, might as well explore a bit. She found herself deeply intrigued by the culture and folklore, which had much more shades and flavours than that of her own homeland.

"When?" she asked, playing with her cup.

"At about two, I guess. We'll have lunch first, and wander a bit in the Recife Antigo. Will you go to Recifolia tonight as well?"

Hermione stared into those blue eyes and thought of the possibilities. She could sleep until the middle of the afternoon and shop a few things at downtown before going to the party, or just go to the beach - but that was no fun.

"Sounds like a plan."

"Great." His face broke into a big boyish grin, and she felt her heart tearing because she missed Harry and Ron so badly it hurt.

Keeping pace with those large, energetic young men was something of a task. Andrew was a good six feet tall, neither muscular nor thin build, blond with dark eyes - an unusual combination -and Mathew was five feet ten, brown curly hair, more on the rugby player type side. Next to them, the five foot four witch felt like a pygmy. The museum was rather nice and she had to be dragged out of it when the time was approaching when she'd have to get dressed for the night.

Hermione was enchanted by the orixá outfits, clothes the priests of Candomblé used to invoke and impersonate the gods, the said orixás. Their correlation with the Catholic saints was interesting indeed, and the relation behind that was even curiouser - the African slaves found that to be the only way to preserve their religion, under the very nose of their Catholic lords and ladies. They had created an intricate system to preserve their culture and ways of life, assuring that some of it would live to this day. And indeed it had, as that religion was alive still.

Her feet were killing her when she returned to the inn at Rua da Amizade. Next time Matt came up with a brilliant idea, she'd pick rest in her rooms. Even though the trip had been interesting, there was no way in hell she'd endure a whole night standing on her feet, dancing and walking down that large avenue after the trio - trio meaning not a triumvirate, but the huge automobile upon which the bands played to the crowd on the ground.

She threw her bag on the table and removed her shoes, moaning loudly.

Andrew popped into her bedroom so fast she momentarily thought she had unknowingly performed a summoning spell.

"What's wrong, Sarah?"

"My feet are killing me."

He entered the room and kneeled before her - a rather nice thing from him, since after walking up and down all day long her feet were rather stinky - and proceeded to rub her feet. She relaxed more and more as he quietly kneaded her tense muscles.

"Marry me," she jested.

He grinned at her, "It's enough that you accompany us tonight. You're coming, aren't you?"

Gosh, they were so sweet. She only wished Ron could take lessons from those two.

"Sure, just let me take a shower and get dressed."

The Recifolia was a party that had several bands performing atop huge automobiles - turned into trios, meaning it had several tons of sound equipment installed within. The trios moved along a large avenue by the beach, and stopped by what they called Polo Pina, a throng of bars; but in the festival, after they got tired of following the trios, the mass gathered by the huge stage constructed on the beach where a band performed till dawn.

Hermione felt her ears throbbing. The background noises of talking, yelling, music playing, and horns blowing had long passed the status of white noise and evolved into white thundering. Or whatever something was called when it hovered between the threshold of pain and the level where a human being would have their ear-drums shred to pieces. The day before, the Boa Viagem Avenue hadn't been nearly this crowded - in spite of what Hermione thought then - as the absence of an obligation to wake up early for work the day before greatly encouraged the populace to go partying. It started earlier, also, at eight p.m., and soon Hermione found herself dancing unabashedly with the rhythm of the strange music. The beat was fast but odd, not something one would find in a rock concert (not that she had been to many) and it ought to be danced with more hip swaying than seemed natural to Hermione.

Though she certainly had more than a handful of willing teachers eager to show her how to dance it. There was no one single rhythm, but a compilation of them - forró (which one should always dance with a partner, and seemed like a crazy version of tango), axé, caboclinho and other things that she couldn't recognise. And she had only recognised them because the bands gave her a hint before the songs. Variety seemed the key word for everything there.

Hermione glanced to her right and saw that Mathew had started his game with a stunning brunette. The people were the other thing that struck her as odd. In Recife, the race mixture was even more intense than at Curitiba; thought Mrs. Oliveira had told her it was because the south regions had received a larger amount of European immigrants, while Pernambuco had Portuguese, Indian and African people mixing together and very few of the immigrants who fled Europe in the early twentieth century. Therefore the traits were greatly different, but eerily that brought to the mass some sort of unity.

I'm really abusing this caipirinha stuff.

Shrugging her shoulders, Hermione continued dancing and jumping behind the trio, swaying in the rhythm and focusing on having a nice time for a change. A hand on her shoulders made her turn around and see some rather drunk bloke trying to kiss her - he was even kind of cute, but she wasn't into alcohol-induced attraction. It was weird enough to have so much liberation when the other was sober. The last thing she needed after the humiliation she had suffered from Snape was to sink to the level of grabbing drunk people.

No way dude.

Hermione dodged and escaped his grip, walking a little closer to Andrew, who had just released a blonde teenager. In the back of her fogged mind, she wondered what were the ethics of that, what she should think about it. She had grown up in a rather repressive environment, although her country, in a general way, was more liberal. They were decades after the Pill Revolution, after all.

Hermione was torn between thinking it was all very superficial, and that it was a way of being free of the unconscious restraints she had placed upon herself so she could be the little perfect girl. So what if she wanted to kiss a dozen guys that night? It was carnival, she was sick of being (or pretending to be) perfect, and she was overage anyway.

Maybe if she had been a bit more experienced, Snape wouldn't be able to fool her so.

If only she had known.

Merlin, it still hurt.

They were following one of the several trios, and they would go back and forth in the avenue to enjoy all of it, before heading to the huge concert platform the government had built where another band should play till morning. The festival went only from Thursday to Sunday, and Hermione enjoyed every single minute of it. Then the band started a rapid sensual dance, the said forró, and Hermione, having drank her fair share of drink, thought it was time she ventured a few steps without the locals leading her. After all, the few basic steps were very simple. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

She couldn't care less.

Hermione grabbed Andrew before another blonde, or brunette, or mulata, did it, and began to dance with him. Neither was familiar with it and needless to say, it was rather ridiculous. But they were having fun, and that's all that mattered.

Hey, it's fun! It really is!

I suppose I deserve the break, too.

I wonder how it was that I allowed others to take control of my life so simply. I mean, I'm Hermione Granger, damn it! I'm a hell of a witch, and theoretically, not entirely dumb either - though in the private life department, I'm really close to it. I have led stubborn prefects and hysterical students, why is it that I just sit and wait for men to decide what they do or don't want to do with me?

Why did I never take the initiative with Ron, for starters? Why did I keep to myself, waiting for them to do something about my feelings? Ron, Terri, Brad, Richard.

Snape.

Time for a little revolution.

I can't spend the rest of my life depending on other people to do what I need, can I? I never did it with the training, with the planning, with the whole resistance. Why should I do it when it's my heart that's at stake?

Wooo hooo! I love that song!

Heh. Ahem.

Hermione, you can't go on like that. The girls always told you that you had to love yourself before loving anyone else - one of the few times we agreed, but then the disagreement came when we had to decide what exactly loving yourself meant.

God, he smells good. Love the cologne, dearest.

I wonder ... ?

We are all a bit wild but...would he?

Would they?

The triumvirate danced all night long and watched the sun rising from the Atlantic Ocean when the band's performance was over. They were not the only ones resting from the exhaustions of the night on the beach, as a bunch of other people were lying on the sand or bathing in the sea.

"What a night," Hermione sighed contentedly. Though her feet were still killing her. Her head was resting upon Matt's lap, and Andrew's head upon her stomach. They were quite the group.

"I think the buses are already on the streets," Andrew said wearily. They should be able to go back to the inn in half an hour or so. At this early hour, the traffic was quite calm.

They were starting to sober up now, and Hermione decided to put her plan into practice. It shouldn't hurt to try, much less if she was careful.

Time to reclaim control of her life.

"I think I'm going to swim a bit. Anyone care to join?"

Her voice had been cautiously light-hearted, as to not to reveal her true intentions.

"A swim should be nice," Matt answered, as she had foreseen he would. The shorter man was also the more adventurous and playful of the duo. Andrew was a bit shyer, but only until he trusted the other person; then it was almost impossible to get him to shut up.

Hermione slowly moved Andrew's head from her and stood up. Removing her shoes and shirt with natural ease, revealing the bikini top Mrs. Oliveira had advised her to use beneath her shirt because of all the movement Hermione'd get in the party, she walked to the water slowly, knowing that Matt would be right after her. Andrew would take his time, if showing up at all - depending on whether he thought the risk of leaving their clothes unwatched was worth the bath. Hermione's wand was quite carefully tucked into her khaki pants' trousers, which were folded neatly on the sand.
She won.

So far, so good.

But it would be really nice to be able to do this when we all were not dead tired. I hardly see any point to it if I cannot develop the situation to my heart's contentment.

Hmmm. Who would guess Andy had such a fine body?

Hermione woke up with the telephone ringing - she had asked the clerk to wake her at ten.

I'm being so decadent... imagine what Ron would say if he ever found out I'm waking this late everyday...

Today was Tuesday, and she had been in Recife for over a week. The guys had become rather fond of her, as they had been always together, but she only had another ten days before they left. Andy and Matt were extremely chivalrous, and downright open as she carefully opened her guard and threw a few hints here and there. A little provocation, a bit of innuendo, an arm carelessly put around a shoulder... all very natural.

All very calculated.

Today was the very first day she wouldn't be with them at all times - there were a few things she needed to do alone. Girl things. After a long shower Hermione went down to the hall, and confirmed the directions with Mrs. Oliveira.

The mall was very large - two floors, four wings - and she found loads of different things she might need, from the drugstore to the hair salon. As she was avoiding using magic till her life was threatened, Hermione, being a clever Muggleborn witch who could find her way in whichever world she pleased, went for the Muggle version. Charms and potions would require a whole amount of acrobatic sneaking that she did not feel like doing. Especially when the Muggle counterpart was so efficient and simple. But everything was so damned expensive she ended up walking three hours comparing prices - after all, she did not have an endless amount of money.

Hermione picked a pair of trousers, three mini skirts and a handful of blouses - low neck, transparent, absolutely not her usual style. A quick stop in the underwear shop had her buying some red lingerie. She was ready.

Her friends were so in for a big surprise.

As they found out when they knocked on her door at seven p.m.

They looked good enough to eat, and the good part was that she did not need to feel ashamed about thinking so.

"Good night," she said with practised ease.

Andy needed a few moments to gather his thoughts, and Matt blushed impossibly.

"Looking great, darling."

Hermione smiled to herself. She had never been the girlie type - too smart, too strong, too inside the circle to be considered a potential match. However, Hermione Granger found out that appearances do matter and men won't look at you twice if you act as if you don't want them to. So she dressed in a mini skirt and a revealing transparent red blouse.

"Thank you, dearest. Can we leave now? What do you want to do?"

"Why don't we change the games, Hermione? Why don't you tell us what you have in mind?" Matt asked, as Andy was still regaining his ability to speak.

Males.

One would think he had never seen a girl dressed like this before.

Hermione bit her lip in concentration... if she was misreading the signs, she'd ruin everything. The stakes were quite high.

Matt seemed to be staring at her lips rather intently. That gave her courage.

"Why don't we just order some food and talk a bit? We've been running around all over the place since we got here."

They nodded and Andrew dialled the telephone, asking Mrs. Oliveira to order some Chinese food.

Hermione clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking visibly. Andy sat on the chair, while Matt and Hermione sat on the bed. Later Hermione would not be able to say what they talked about, remembering only that they laughed a lot, and she wasn't the only one throwing hints.

"What did you do to get like this, Matt?" Hermione asked lazily, bending onto the pillows and throwing her legs onto said Matt.

"Get like what?"

"Your body is all muscular. I, in the other hand, cannot wear a bikini without a T-shirt covering it."

Every female in the world knows that's a cue for the male to say, 'No, darling, you look fantastic.'

"You have a great body, Sarah," Andy protested.

"Yeah. I was wondering what you did to keep in that great shape just the other day," Matt completed.

The telephone rang, warning the food had arrived. Matt and Andy fought over who'd get it. Matt won.

Andy and Hermione were left alone in her room.

"I really like the outfit," he said, looking her from head to toe. And from the look he gave her, they just might agree with her proposition.

"Thanks. I wanted to make a little change ... and this seemed a good place to start."

"Change?"

"I used to wear very uncomplimentary clothes..."

"What a shame," he said with a little smile. Right then, Matt came back with the boxes of Chinese food and a bottle of wine he got from the inn's kitchen.

"What's a shame?" the dark haired man said, putting his load on the little table.

"That I didn't wear clothes like this before," Hermione answered with a little grin.

Matt, being more brazen than his friend, did a thorough once-over her that made Hermione wish to throw him onto the bed right then.

"Our luck, I say."

Hermione walked to the door and closed it. "Time for dinner, gentlemen." She opened the boxes and the bottle of wine. The Canadians took their places on the table, and quite happily began eating and drinking as she nibbled on the food and compared notes on the attractions of the city. When the second bottle of wine was half-finished, Hermione was asking Matt about other interesting places they've been at. Andy gave her a very thorough description on how amazing the Rocky Mountains were, but was interrupted when she caressed his calves with her bare foot.

Andy seized her from the chair, and stood up, forcing her to follow the motion.

"What is your game, Sarah?"

That got even Matt's attention, as he stopped throwing the boxes in the trash.

Hermione bit her lip - but this time it really was nervousness. "I had something to ask..."

"Say it."

Courage, Hermione. You're a Gryffindor, for pity's sake!

And you know he's interested!

"I was wondering if..." she started, and stopped to take a deep breath.

"If one of us would like to make love with you?" Matt asked, with a grin. He was thinking everything to be a great joke.

"If both of you would?" Hermione tried, feeling much more on the pathetic side than on the femme fatale one.

Matt froze. Andrew gasped.

"We are... not that kind of friends, Sarah," Andrew said, still shocked but starting to enjoy the silliness of the situation.

"I did not say that you would be together... I said both of you... but with me," she stammered.

"I was under the impression you weren't attracted... we only kissed a couple of times," Matt said, in a very no-nonsense voice.

Hermione only smiled.

They stood in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Okay, no need to make a big deal out of it. We just sit here and talk a bit," the Gryffindor said, trying to dismiss the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"No, it's okay," Andrew said. "You just caught me off guard. I've never done this before."

"It's all right with me, if Andy doesn't mind, " Mathew stated.

"I'm game," Andrew said, taking off his shirt, "but I really think you should lock that door."

Hermione stood flabbergasted as those two handsome men stripped before her. She had seen men naked before, of course (Duh!) but that sight was an eye opener.

The strained air reigned for a moment, before they all started laughing.

"I absolutely do not mind the view.... but perhaps we could eat first?" Hermione joked.

"Okay. But only if you take off those too."

I did take them off, but only after I had dinner.

I had fantasised a sexy, perverted, nasty night with those two, to reassure myself of my power as a female - feminists just don't say a word. I'm serious. - but we ended up laughing all the time while we were at it. It was a bit awkward in the beginning, really, as it was the first time any of us tried it, but it was really nice. The very best night I ever had.

And besides, God knows I had enough of perverted stuff. So I'm not really that bothered about the change.

I wonder, if I did not feel so sisterly with Harry and Ron? I am their best friend, but I'm not blind. They're so cute. But of course that's not going to happen - it's only one of those things you think of for fifteen seconds, and laugh inwardly with the idea, or cultivate it - your call.

But it's a good dream.

She didn't need to bother with buying all those condoms, the guys had their fair share of them. With agonising slowness, Hermione removed her skirt and blouse, thinking it was only fair as they still had their boxers on. Then she sat on the bed where her friends and soon-to-be-lovers were watching her strip-tease, and began to kiss Andy - slowly, tenderly, building up passion as it went. She knew she'd be the most tired of them all by the end of the night, but right then she didn't care - she only felt she needed to let go.

Matt manoeuvred so he was standing on his knees behind her, and began massaging her butt and trailing wet kisses on her shoulders, neck and nape. He was rewarded with a loud moan, and her hand flying down to hold his own neck so he was forced to continue the torture.

Then there were hands, hands everywhere, tearing her pants and yanking her brassiere, while she found herself trying to decide - a bit difficult when your mind was that drugged with lust - which one to get naked first.

She felt herself being pulled back, and Matt attacked her mouth while Andy started to lick his way from nipples to bellybutton.

Which was when she started to laugh uncontrollably - she was ticklish there.

"Sorry." She stuttered between laughs. "Ticklish."

Andrew opened a big wolfish grin. "Let's see where else you're ticklish."

"Sounds like a declaration of war, dude," Matt said, laughing himself.

"It is," the blonde replied, while Hermione laughed harder.

The attacks began again, hands and mouths and kisses and touches and whispers and moans and jests and cries. Hermione felt it was time she did a bit of exploration and proceeded to lick and bit Matt as she felt Andy preparing her for the act of love itself. Agile and nervous fingers tested her before she was invaded, and to his credit, Matt waited quite patiently with what seemed to be a rather painful erection, teasing and kissing her as Andrew moved faster, expecting but not quite asking that she might take pity on him.

She did.