The war was over. The Dark Lord had fallen. The Boy-Who-Lived and his two trusty sidekicks had destroyed the last of the Horcruxes, and all hope for Voldemort’s return had been thwarted. The students of Hogwarts had been given a year off so that wounds could heal, families could mourn, and the school could be rebuilt and charmed back into its past grandeur. They had all returned in the fall to finish out the remainder of their education, the year was already almost half over. Time had flown by.
Hermione Granger turned into the last hallway on her nightly Head Girl’s route. Her eyes watered in a yawn as she rounded the corner. It had been a long day. All she wanted to do was soak for an hour in a nice, hot bath. She paused at the Fat Lady, muttering Flos Periculosus and stepping through into the common room when the portrait opened.
She lugged her tired body up the stairwell and into her room. Grabbing a fresh towel and her “bath bag,” she headed to the prefects’ washroom, where she knew she would be undisturbed at this hour. Good thing too, Hermione thought, I need a little time to myself. Unwind after a day like today. She recalled the day’s events as she made her way to the washroom.
She had finished a three-foot long scroll for Advanced Transfiguration. It wasn’t due until a couple of weeks from now of course, but she was, after all, Hermione Granger. She had just barely kept Ronald from making their Essence of Aphrodite potion explode in Advance Potions. What a mess that would have been.
She shook her head as she set down her bag and hung her towel on the hook next to the giant bath. Perhaps she had just been imagining it, but there was something in the way her Advanced Charms Professor had looked straight into her eyes while addressing the class with the same tired line of “if anyone needs ‘elp with any’zing do not ‘esitate to stop by my quarters.” Nothing had really changed in the situation; Professor Delacour had always glanced at Hermione when she said this, ever since the first day of class. There was just something about the way she had said it today, it had stirred something in Hermione, and it was something that the Head Girl had only just begun to realize.
When Professor Delacour had shown up on the first day of Hermione’s seventh year, the Head Girl had scowled at her, along with every other girl in the class. Headmistress McGonagall had to be losing her mind.
Fleur Delacour was only three years older than her students, and in no place to be teaching Advanced Charms. Hermione had understood being a little short-staffed after the war, but hiring Professor Delacour had to have been an act of desperation.
On the first day however, Ms. Delacour had proven all of her skeptical students wrong, and had delightfully put them in their places. She had a skill in Charms beyond her years; perhaps it was a Veela thing.
Hermione had noticed in the first few days of class that Ms. Delacour no longer wore the gaudy wedding ring that Bill Weasley had put on her finger a few years ago. She remembered having heard they had split up. Apparently Bill couldn’t handle all the attention Ms. Delacour’s Veela thrall had drawn.
Hermione chuckled. Had she have told herself then, how she would be regarding Ms. Delacour now, she would’ve never believed it. Hermione now regarded Professor Delacour as one of the most gifted Professors at Hogwarts. She had an unbelievable level of skill and power when it came to Charms. What caught Hermione’s attention though was Ms. Delacour’s uncanny way of being able to relate to her students, thus making her explanations that much easier to understand.
What was it about this woman? Hermione shook her head as if to clear her thoughts.
Turning the right knobs was second nature by now. It was always the same, jasmine and orange blossom, which incidentally had her roaming the halls during the day smelling very similar to a push-pop.
Hermione took off her robes, folded them neatly and set them on the counter. She then slipped into the water, which was just hot enough to be on the verge of uncomfortable, but still tolerable, just how she liked it. She felt some of the tension of the day leave her instantly, fading away in the warm mixture of aromas.
She closed her eyes and just sat there for a moment before opening them, smiling and casting a spell that made the water beneath her form into a sort of hammock so that she could lay her tired body down.
She pulled her bath pillow out of her bag. Bath time was a time Hermione couldn’t help but love being Muggle-born. These kids don’t know what they’re missing sometimes, she thought as she pulled out her ipod, setting it on the lip of the bath and clicking her relaxation playlist.
Her body was melting with the combination of heat, the mixing of scents, and the relaxing music. Her mind started to wander.
Fleur Delacour. Could she really have meant what Hermione thought she had meant. That suggestive lilt, those penetrating, blue eyes boring into Hermione as Ms. Delacour had told her students to have no qualms about stopping by her quarters regardless of the time. She was always available to help a student in need.
Hermione rested her hands on her stomach, her eyes fluttering closed again. She thought about her Charms teacher, the silvery-blonde hair that fell down her back, never a strand out of place. Those piercing blue eyes that caught and held her even though she tried to look away. That flawless, white-marble skin, she was the only one Hermione thought would ever be able to pull off looking that great without a tan.
The more she thought about Ms. Delacour, the lower her hand seemed to drift until with an almost inaudible whimper, she passed over the bend of her hip. She started to stroke the soft skin at the crook of her leg, gasping as her fingers teased the tiny hairs lying just off the intended path. Her brow furrowed and a frown played across her face. What the hell am I doing, she thought.
She questioned herself again before she realized she had only one answer, the obvious one. Eh well, she pondered, might as well go with it. See where it leads.
An amused expression graced her features as she thought about what she was doing. Most of the students at Hogwarts were aware that Know-it-All Granger was a virgin; that much was obvious. She suspected that most of them probably regarded her as a walking, sexless brain. Ronald Weasley was most likely the only exception to this, and he just saw her as a walking brain with tits. Ugh! I’d rather be alone than end up with that git.
She had attempted to date Ronald during their search for the Horcruxes, but had later decided that it had just been the threat of imminent death that made her seek comfort in his clumsy arms.
Her mind slowly drifted back to her Charms Professor. She began to tentatively trace the delicate folds of the sex that only she was aware she had. Highly aware at this point.
She started stroking herself more vigorously as she wondered if it would ever be someone else’s hands that brought her to her shivering climax. She alternated between circling her clit and making long, broad strokes down her sex, teasing the entrance, but never once being adventurous enough to penetrate. As she reached her climax she released the only thought on her mind. “Fleur,” she moaned as her muscles tensed and her body shook with the force of her orgasm.
She was coming down from her high just as the song on her playlist was ending. Hermione’s eyes shot open at the sound of applause. She frantically twisted toward the direction the noise was coming from stopping abruptly when her eyes came into a direct line with piercing dark blue eyes. Hermione’s blood curdled in her veins. “Parkinson,” she growled, taking notice of the camera that dangled from the Slytherin’s neck.
“Had a call about some noise,” Pansy smirked. “Apparently it wasn’t Myrtle moaning this time.” Hermione scowled at the dark-haired girl. “Tsk tsk tsk,” Pansy clucked her tongue.
“Quiet the predicament you’re in Granger.” Her face was alight with amusement; she was enjoying the young Gryffindor’s humiliation whole-heartedly.
“Now…” Pansy drawled, “…before this gets…out of hand – no pun intended of course – let me just state that I’m sure some kind of arrangement can be made as to keep this…” Pansy indicated the camera in her hand, “…from filtering through to the general public, don’t you think? Or, heaven forbid, it find its way into the hands of one extremely shocked Charms Professor.”
Hermione jumped out of the bath and in one fluid movement lunged at Pansy. Pansy darted back and drew her wand.
“Uh uh Granger,” Pansy warned. “You’re a little under-equipped for this match. I’d have you stunned before you were half-way to your wand.”
Hermione, still dripping, by some miraculous feat, held onto her dignity. “I’m sure Professor Delacour would react the same way any other professor would react,” Hermione hissed. “With mild embarrassment at having been shone a photograph of a student in such a compromising position. Not that her seeing that photograph wouldn’t humiliate me, but since it would be your word against mine at whose name was on my lips, I don’t think I have anything to worry about. Even Snape is aware of whose word holds more stock.”
Pansy’s smirk widened into a full fledged grin as she raised a jet black brow. “What you have failed to realize, Granger, is that I’m a Slytherin, ambition, remember? What’s more ambitious than blackmail? This camera is enchanted.”
Pansy sneered as realization spread across the Gryffindor’s face. “That’s right Granger, it doesn’t just take pictures, it captures your movements, your noises, if she held it close enough I bet your little Fleur would be able to smell your cum, you dirty slut.”
Hermione winced at being called such a vulgar name and blood rushed to her face at the thought of Professor Delacour seeing, and more so hearing, what she had just been doing.
The Slytherin took a step towards her. “Like I said Granger, I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement,” Pansy raked her eyes up and down the Gryffindor in a manner that made Hermione highly aware of the fact that she was still very naked.
“Professor Delacour need never see the contents of this camera if you just cooperate.”
Hermione felt outmaneuvered. She grabbed at her towel and wrapped it around her body. The way Pansy was looking at her made her almost certain what kind of cooperation she was looking for, but the brunette felt obligated to at least try to sway her in a different direction.
“And what kind of cooperation are you after Parkinson? I already do Harry and Ronald’s homework. You want me to add yours to the list? Or perhaps you’re looking to get out of prefect’s duties, shall I take up your routes along with my own?”
Pansy simply smiled, a smile that was entirely too sweet to ever be anything but deadly. “I think you know what I want, Granger. Starting now,” Pansy huffed, “because, to put it bluntly, after that display, a girl could use a little release.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “What?” she murmured in disbelief.
“You won’t be needing that Granger,” Pansy nodded her head indicating the towel Hermione was now clutching fervently to her body.
Hermione shook her head in hesitation. “You can’t be serious.”
Pansy’s eyes narrowed with impatience. “As a fucking heart attack, Granger. Now, if you don’t want Professor Delacour to see this,” Pansy said waving the camera in the air, “I suggest you lose the towel and get back into that bath.”
Hermione had no other choice; there was no way she could risk having Professor Delacour see what that camera held. She dropped her towel and slid back into the bath, suddenly becoming highly self-conscious.
She turned her head to glance at the Slytherin, who was in the process of disrobing. Her head snapped back forward just barely taking in the lacy, emerald boy-cut panties and very sheer spaghetti-strapped top that the dark-haired girl was wearing.
Only Pansy Parkinson would wear that to sleep in, she thought. All thoughts were lost however, when she felt an almost unnaturally soft, smooth leg on either side of her. Pansy was sitting on the edge of the bath directly behind her, straddling her. Hermione’s body stiffened.
“Turn around Granger,” Pansy almost growled.
You can find me here:
Pansy has Hermione RIGHT where she wants the girl.
Hermione swallowed hard. She was sure that Pansy had probably heard her and was most likely thrilled at having made her nervous. She slowly turned around, coming face to – well, not exactly – face, with a very bare, very drenched Pansy Parkinson.
“Do it,” Pansy snarled through clenched teeth.
Hermione, keeping her head angled toward Pansy’s dripping center, lifted only her eyes in question. “Do what, exactly Parkinson?”
Pansy laughed. It was a sound that shouldn’t have belonged to her. It sounded like a thousand tiny bells all ringing to different rhythms. It caught Hermione slightly off guard. Pansy Parkinson actually sounded innocent when she laughed.
“I guess I should have expected that, eh?” Pansy mused. “Granger,” Pansy’s tone was as if she were trying to teach a small child. “I want you to put your mouth on my cunt, and eat my pussy until your tongue goes numb. Or is that asking too much?”
The color drained from Hermione’s face. “You want me to what?”
Pansy was starting to get irritated. “Granger, if you weren’t so nauseatingly naïve this would go a lot more smoothly. You’ve honestly never heard of oral sex?”
Hermione’s look of confusion was all Pansy needed in answer. “Oh my gods!” Pansy groaned, “no wonder you spend all your free time in the bloody library!” With that Pansy had locked her hands under Hermione’s arms and pulled her into an upright position. She alternated their bodies until she was kneeling in front of the brunette.
Pansy put her hands on Hermione’s knees, tugging her legs apart. She inched towards the shivering Gryffindor, lips slightly parted, wetting them with the very tip of her tongue. She exhaled making certain the stream of hot air was directed at the dripping folds in front of her. Hermione may have not known what she was in for, but boy did she look ready for it. Slowly, very slowly, Pansy placed only the tip of her tongue against Hermione’s aching clit, and flicked.
As soon as Pansy’s tongue touched her it stopped being blackmail. Pansy could’ve given her the camera right then and there and she still would have lay there begging with her eyes for the dark-haired girl to never take her mouth away.
Hermione’s hips thrust forward to meet the girl’s retreating lips and she felt Pansy smile against her. Again her hips thrust and she couldn’t tell if she was making them move or if they were moving of their own volition.
Pansy flicked her tongue over the brunette’s clit again eliciting a moan from Hermione. At that, Pansy closed the distance between the two of them, putting her lips around Hermione’s throbbing clit and sucking as if she were a starving child.
Hermione screamed, or at least, she thought she screamed. She couldn’t actually be sure if the sound had gotten past her lips, but it had been so loud inside her head. She grabbed at the back of Pansy’s head trying to hold the girl against her. She felt Pansy’s fingers close around her hands, untangling them from her hair. Pansy pulled away, leaving Hermione’s sex aching.
“I’ve never done this before,” Pansy whispered with the most innocent look on her face. The tone of her voice however, told Hermione that Pansy had in fact done this before, countless times, most likely.
Still Pansy hesitated, angling her head downward and looking up at Hermione through long, dark lashes. “Why don’t you tell me what to do, Granger? You were the one in here moaning your Charms Professor’s name like a little bitch in heat earlier.”
Hermione’s thoughts were chaotic. She was trying to form complete sentences in her mind and was coming up short every time. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “I…” Hermione stuttered. “I don’t know w-what to…to do. P-Please just…just don’t s-stop.”
Pansy leaned forward and flicked her tongue across one of Hermione’s nipples. “You want me to suck on your tits, Granger?” she asked smiling and wiggling her eyebrows at the girl in front of her.
Hermione looked down at Pansy, eyes lust-glazed and frantic at the same time. All she could manage was a quick shake of her head. She wasn’t about to let Pansy know how desperate she was for her touch.
Pansy leaned forward and flicked the other nipple. “You don’t seem very sure about that, Granger. That’s fine though, if you don’t want me touching you, this will be over a lot more quickly.”
At that, Pansy stood, hot water rolling down her body as she emerged from the bubbles. Hermione couldn’t help but stare at the beads of water clinging to Pansy’s skin, trailing over her every curve. It was hard to tell if those drops were trying desperately to cling to that porcelain skin, or to find their way back into the sea of bubbles beneath.
Pansy pulled Hermione off the lip of the bath to where they were both kneeling face to face. She pulled the brunette closer and Hermione gasped as their breasts grazed. Pansy could feel her nipples harden even more if that was possible.
“Kiss me Granger.” Pansy tilted her head and leaned in closer.
Hermione pulled away. “I will do no such thing!” she scoffed. “This is beyond ridiculous! This is illegal, what you’re doing. You could be charged for this, or worse, expelled.”
Pansy glanced over at the camera. “Yeah, but before I left, those photographs would be all over the school, probably spreading to outside the school as well. No doubt Professor Delacour would see them.”
Hermione’s resolved wavered. She sucked in her bottom lip and began chewing on it lightly. “Fine!” she blurted before smashing her lips against Pansy’s.
It wasn’t soft. It was anything but. Pansy’s lips however, were soft, and it caught Hermione completely off guard. Both girls were fighting for dominance. Hermione soon found herself backed against the edge of the bath, the concrete digging into her shoulder blades as Pansy’s oh so soft tongue slid against her bottom lip demanding entrance. The young Gryffindor held her ground however, she would not give in that easily.
Pansy slid her knee in between Hermione’s legs and pushed a well-toned thigh straight into the girl’s sex. Hermione gasped. Pansy saw her chance and lunged for it, thrusting her tongue into the other girl’s mouth with force. It was all Hermione could do to breath.
Somewhere in the middle of battling for dominance, the kiss had softened. Neither girl realized the exact moment they had started to enjoy the sensation of the other’s mouth. Their tongues had ceased battle and had taken up more of a slow, sensual dance.
Pansy took Hermione’s hand and brought it to her chest, laying it over her right breast and encouraging the brunette to squeeze.
Hermione, very tentatively at first, began to knead the flesh under her fingers. She brought her other hand to Pansy’s chest and began to explore the opposite breast.
It was Pansy who gasped this time. She felt a white-hot ache in between her thighs and she hadn’t even realized when Hermione had switched their positions. Her back was now against the wall.
Pansy was not someone to be submissive. She reached out and cupped her hand around Hermione’s sex. A deep moan tore from the Gryffindor’s throat.
“Tell me what you want Granger. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
Hermione shook her head, but her hips thrust forward into Pansy’s hand.
“Say it you fucking slut. Say, I want you to fuck me.”
Hermione turned her face away but her hips continued to buck against Pansy’s hand. When Pansy removed her hand, Hermione was overcome with an almost unbearable ache between her thighs. “Oh gods, Pansy, fuck me. Please. Please just touch me again,” the words flew out of her before she could stop them.
Pansy smirked and pulled away. “You dirty slut. I knew you wanted it, but we’re not on a first name basis Granger.”
She dragged herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bath and pulled Hermione’s face towards her. “Do it, Granger. You know what I fucking want. Put your dirty little mouth on my cunt. If you get me off perhaps I’ll take pity on you and return the favor. Besides, you definitely need to practice if you’re ever going to impress your little Fleur."
Hermione started to turn her head away, but Pansy tangled her fingers into the brunette’s hair and drug her face forward until soft lips collided with even softer lips.
Hermione gasped at the force, and Pansy moaned as warm, moist air made contact with her throbbing clit.
Pansy noticed the Gryffindor’s lips were still slightly parted from the gasp, and she thrust her hips forward, forcing the other girl’s mouth open wider.
Hermione tried to pull away from the invasion, and, before she thought better attempted to push out the uninvited flesh from her mouth with her tongue. At first contact Pansy’s grasp became a death-grip on the back of Hermione’s head, pulling her closer still. Hermione was momentarily stunned. She definitely hadn’t expected Pansy to taste like…pineapple? Did Pansy Parkinson really taste like pineapples? It was intoxicating.
She closed her lips around Pansy’s clit and began sucking violently only pausing to take in gulps of air. Pansy was moaning now, and her hips were undulating in rhythm with Hermione’s tongue.
Pansy released the brunette’s hair with one hand, dragging it through the water until she found what she was looking for. She grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled it up to her dripping center. “I want you to shove your nasty little fingers inside of me Granger. Do it, now you filthy whore.”
Hermione didn’t need prompting twice. She pushed her fingers inside of Pansy with enough force to make the Slytherin give a slight whimper. That was all Pansy needed to send her tumbling into a shuddering climax. Her muscles clenched around Hermione’s fingers, and her hands tangled in wavy, brown hair. She arched her back and pushed her hips into Hermione’s face.
Hermione took this as her cue and began to flick her tongue over Pansy’s clit as she rode out the last of her orgasm.
Hermione pulled her fingers from Pansy’s sex and backed away. What the HELL, did I just do? she thought. Her brain was racing even as her own pulsing clit made it hard to form thoughts.
She needed release.
She looked up at Pansy with pleading eyes and was met by an icy stare.
“You can leave now Granger. Be expecting me tomorrow.” At that, Pansy got out of the bath and began drying herself off, leaving a stunned and very frustrated Hermione Granger to finish herself off.
You can find me here:
Pansy leaves Hermione high and dry. Just as well, because the Gryffindor had forgotten about an assignment a certain Charms Professor had given her.
After Pansy left, Hermione had simply sat in the prefects’ washroom for what seemed like hours. She was trying so hard to make the pang between her legs go away by thinking about how horrible Pansy Parkinson actually was. Failing miserably, but learning from her mistakes, Hermione dried herself and set off in the direction of her room, where she would not be imposed upon.
As soon as she was safely tucked away in her room, Hermione leaned back against the locked door and slid her hand between the flaps of her bathrobe. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. It had not slowed since she had watched Pansy’s retreating form almost an hour earlier.
The throbbing between her thighs was almost painful at this point. She thought about Pansy as she brought her hand to the ache, but all she managed to get was an overwhelming sense of anger, violation.
Her eyes darted around the room before landing on her Advanced Charms book and she barely whispered her Professor’s name, “Fleur…SHIT!”
She had all but forgotten the homework Ms. Delacour had assigned right before class had ended. Hermione knew the Aguamenti Charm, but nowhere she read had told her how to harness it into the water-ball Ms. Delacour was wanting.
She’d been meaning to stop by and ask her about the task after her bath. It was late now. She squeezed her thighs together; this would have to wait, if it got any later Professor Delacour was likely to be in bed.
Hermione pulled on her undergarments and her school robe. She didn’t feel like she needed her full uniform. She was just going to ask a couple of questions and then return to her dorm for the night. She took off down the hall in the direction of Ms. Delacour’s quarters.
Fleur Delacour almost completely missed the soft tap tap tap on her door. Minerva, checking up on her again. The concern of the older woman was flattering, if not slightly irritating. She just had a little headache, it’s not as if she were suffering from a brain tumor. It was probably just the stress of standing up flicking her wand all day. Built up tension in her neck and shoulders, that was all.
She made her way over to the door, pulling her silk night robes tightly around her body. She started talking before even opening the door. “I swear headmistress, it is just a little tension build up,” she explained pulling the door open.
“I just need to get a massage and everything wi…” She cut herself off. She had been expecting Headmistress McGonagall. She had most definitely not been expecting the brightest witch of her age to be standing in her doorway. “Ms. Granger, it is quite late, non? Is everything ok?”
A blush crept onto Hermione’s cheeks. “Professor Delacour, I…I’m sorry about the hour, I got caught up with my Head Girl’s routes.” Hermione chewed on her lip, a nervous habit she’d been trying to break for years. “I’m just here because I needed to ask about the homework you assigned today. I’ve looked through every Charms text we have in the library and I just can’t find anything about coaxing the water into a sphere” a rather breathless Hermione finished.
“Oui, you are quite right Ms. Granger. I don’t suspect it would be in any Charms book in the library. It is, shall we say, quite advanced magic,” Fleur explain while motioning for the younger girl to come inside. “Have a seat Ms. Granger. I shall try to explain. Would you care for something to drink? Water? Pumpkin juice?”
Hermione glanced at the Veela, blushing slightly as her eyes took in the pale, extremely thin silk that covered her Charms Professor’s body.
It was almost as if…nonsense! Hermione thought, of course she’s wearing something under that, she attempted to convince herself. However, as her eyes roamed over the delicious swell of what had to be a delightfully soft breast, Hermione was almost positive that there was nothing but thin silk between her eyes and the flesh they sought to feast upon.
“Ahem.” Fleur cleared her throat with a rather amused expression on her face before raising a pale brow and asking, “Or perhaps you are thirsty for something else, Ms. Granger?” The advance was completely missed by the flustered brunette.
Oh Gods! Did I just? Did she just? Was I just…did she just catch me staring at her chest? Omigod Omigod Omigod Omigod! Calm down! Get a hold of yourself Granger. “Oh, um. I…pumpkin, u-uh, pumpkin juice w-would be great, Ms. Delacour. Thanks.”
Hermione blushed fiercely. She turned away pretending to be admiring the contents of her Professor’s bookshelves, trying desperately to cool her heated cheeks. After taking a few deep breaths, she actually did start to sift through the books in earnest.
“Wow, you have an extensive collection on Veela and Slavic Faery magic. I’ve always wanted to learn more about the molecular bonding in magical creatures, there’s just not a big enough audience for it to have any books of value in the library.” Hermione was rambling. She cut herself off quick. “But, obviously that’s not why I’m here,” she said taking the pumpkin juice that was offered to her.
Hermione sat down in the chair she was led to, while the older girl rummaged through the shelves in search of the book she needed for the explanation.
“Ah! Here we go.” She handed the book to Hermione.
“The Art of Elemental Control. This should have everything you need to help you with the assignment. It is however, a very difficult process. I have merely assigned it to assess the capacity of each student. You will not actually be graded on it.”
Hermione’s brows knitted together. “Oh.” She looked as if she were about to say something more, but quickly changed her mind.
“Let me guess Ms. Granger, you would still like to complete the assignment, non?”
Hermione looked at her Professor with an innocent face and shrugged her slender shoulders. “Well, I’m sure it would come in handy some day, and I’m not one to just give up on a task, you see.”
Fleur’s laugh was musical, like wind chimes in a steady breeze. Hermione found herself comparing it to Pansy’s laugh and wondered what on Earth she was thinking when she realized what she was doing. Ms. Delacour could never be compared to Parkinson, she thought.
Fleur walked over to the sink and took a glass bowl out of the cabinet. She filled it with water, brought it back and set it on the table in front of Hermione.
“Ok,” she began in her musical voice, “I assume you know the wand movements for Aguamenti, non?” Hermione nodded. “Good then. All I need to teach you is how to bond the elements. Once you have established a bond between the elements within yourself and the elements in the bowl, you will be able to use what is inside of you to communicate your will to their elemental counterparts. In this case, the water in the bowl. Are you following me?”
Hermione had never delved this far into magical physics before; she struggled hard to remember anything she could about kinetic and inertial energy transposition. All she could remember was the name Professor Mendelov and something about the Neutral Center Domain. She shook her head in frustration, making a mental note to read more about it later.
“It is okay Ms. Granger, you do not have to completely understand the concept behind it to make it work. Come stand here.” She indicated a spot about two feet away from the table.
Hermione stood and faced the bowl.
The blonde witch was standing so close behind her now she could feel hot breath on her ear. “You want to breathe from the diaphragm,” the Veela instructed reaching around Hermione and placing her hand on the girl’s abdomen. “Right here, oui?”
The young Gryffindor’s body stiffened, however the Veela’s sly smile was lost on Hermione, who was, at this point simply trying to continue to breathe.
“To harness the elements outside, you must call upon the elementals within your own body, oui? You must make them connect with the elements on the outside through a magical bond. In this case you simply need to communicate with the water inside of you. Just close your eyes, breathe deeply from the diaphragm and concentrate on your body in liquid form. Once you can clearly visualize yourself as liquid, you will be able to communicate your will to the water in the bowl. Shall we try?”
Hermione swallowed, hard, taking note that the Veela’s hand was making contact with the soft skin of her stomach through her slightly parted robes. She nodded.
Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on turning her body into liquid, figuratively of course. When she saw her skin start to lose color and ripple, she tried to communicate with the water in front of her, asking it to form into a sphere and slowly rise from the bowl. Much to both the young witches’ surprise, it did.
Fleur excitedly stepped closer to Hermione to admire her elemental control on the small sphere.
Hermione felt Fleur press against her back. She could very distinctly make out the feeling of hardened nipples pressing into her shoulder blades. Hermione lost all concentration and the sphere crashed down into the bowl sending water everywhere.
Both girls were soaked. Hermione turned to apologize to her Professor only to be rendered utterly speechless as she took in the sight before her eyes. Fleur Delacour, wet silk clinging to her every curve, her silvery-blonde hair dripping water onto the floor, and a look on her face of complete shock.
“You did it, Hermio-uh Ms. Granger! On the first try! That was miraculous!” Fleur didn’t even take notice of her soaking clothes as she grabbed the young girl’s shoulders. “You really are the brightest witch of your age.”
The pressure on Hermione’s shoulders snapped her out of her daze. “Professor! I’ve soaked you! I’m so sorry!” She was blushing fiercely.
“No worries Ms. Granger, it will dry, non? Here, get out of that robe and I shall get you a towel to dry yourself."
Hermione’s blush darkened. “Um, I think I’ll just go to my dorm and dry off, Professor. It’s getting late, I’ve taken too much of your time as it is.” Hermione turned to head toward the door.
“Nonsense! It is freezing out there. You will catch cold,” Fleur stated followed by a murmured spell to unbutton Hermione’s robes. Both girls froze.
“Oh my.” A blush slowly crawled into Fleur’s cheeks and neck.
“I- I apologize Ms. Granger. I expected you to be clothed.”
Hermione was thirteen different shades of red by this point. She pulled her robes closed and stuttered, “no it’s my fault…I-I had j-just sought to ask a couple of q-questions and then be…on my way. I-I d-didn’t think.” She stumbled toward the door. “Um, I…uh…thanks for your help Ms. Delacour. G-goodnight.” At that she was out the door, breaking into an outright sprint toward her dorm. How utterly embarrassing.
Fleur Delacour stood frozen in place. Her face reddened as she thought about what she had just witnessed. She had never expected the young Gryffindor to be so…toned. She slowly brought her hand up to calm the fires that had started at the apex of her thighs. Her eyes widened when she realized what she was doing. “Fleur Isabelle Delacour! She is your student!” she whispered to herself as her blush deepened and a slight aching in the pit of her stomach started to form.
You can find me here:
Hermione grasps at the release she so desperately needs. Meanwhile, Pansy struggles with a release of her own...
Hermione sprinted to her dorm. She slammed the door closed and leaned back against it. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself before shrugging out of her soaked robes and flinging herself onto her bed.
The aching, no, it was no longer an ache, the burning between her thighs was making her head spin. It outweighed her need for rest, her embarrassment. It outweighed everything. So this is what the bloody Veela thrall is like full-force, she thought. She ripped at her bra in a vicious attempt to free herself from its constraints. Losing her grip, twice, and feeling the elastic snap back against her skin only seemed to make things worse, only heightened the sensations she was feeling. Finally she grabbed the lacy material and just pulled it over her head like a shirt.
Silencing charm she thought as she searched for her wand, finding it sticking out of her robe’s pocket across the room. “Ugh!” she groaned, rolling out of bed and stumbling toward her discarded robes. She grabbed her wand and staggered back to her bed.
She slammed her hand in between her legs, plunging her fingers beneath her panties until they finally made contact with her pounding clit. A moan tore its way from her lips. She tightened her grip on her wand.
What did I get my wand for again? she racked her brain, the palm of her hand grinding against her swollen clit. Then an idea slithered its way into her head. A slow smile played across her face as she struggled to remember the spell. Vibro…Vibra…Pulsaro?
“Ah! Vibrante!” she cried and the wand in her hand began to pulse.
Her right hand continued to pound away as visions of her Charms Professor danced across her mind. Fleur Delacour had the body of a goddess. It was simple as that. She had heard about the Veela thrall before, how even if the Veela in question weren’t quite a knock-out the thrall would still allow her to have anyone she desired. All Veela were supposed to be relatively attractive of course. The same deep blue eyes, the same silvery-blonde hair, the same pale skin.
In Professor Delacour’s case, all of this seemed to have come together in the best way possible, with high cheekbones, pouting lips and enough curves to warrant a speed limit of 15 kph. Hermione wondered if she would even need the thrall to attract any man she wanted. She was gorgeous.
The sight of her; her thin silk robe barely coming to mid-thigh, clinging tightly to her in places, and falling off in other places. That hair that Hermione loved to think about; how it might feel between her fingers; how it would smell if she were to bury her face in it. That cool, marble skin. Oh I bet its beyond soft. It must be divine.
Then, almost as if it were normal, Hermione found herself thinking about how soft Pansy’s skin had been. It had been a shock. A good shock. The Gryffindor had just expected Pansy’s skin to be as abrasive as her personality. But…Pansy’s legs dangling around her shoulders had felt almost like cashmere.
The feel of those porcelain thighs rubbing up against her cheeks, it made Hermione shiver. She concentrated hard on remembering how she had felt when Pansy had flicked her tongue over her clit.
She took her now steadily pulsing wand and touched the tip of it to her nipple. Already hardened by the cold air and her current endeavors, the sensation was almost painful at first. But then…a low groan started deep within her chest. In no time it had ripped its way through her lips in a growl that made her sound like a feral cat. Her fingers were almost clawing at her clit by this point. She was so close…
Pansy Parkinson’s fingers ghosted over the ivory keys in front of her. The Room of Requirement never failed at supplying her with the deep emerald lacquered grand piano.
Every time she needed to unwind she’d find herself on the seventh floor, pacing back and forth in front of the wall thinking about how much she needed to relax. The first time she’d come in to find that the only thing in the room was a piano she thought it must be a glitch.
She’d always hated that her mom had made her take lessons ever since she was old enough to reach the keys. It was the only thing she hated about coming from such a wealthy, proper family. They always expected more from her. It was expected for her to be astoundingly intelligent. It was expected for her to be poised and well versed. It was expected for her to know all the rules of etiquette and well-to-do. It was expected for her to play piano or paint or sing. It was expected for her to marry Draco Malfoy or some other rich, pure-blood git that didn’t have a clue how to treat a girl of Pansy’s status. They always expected too much.
Pansy’s clear blue eyes fluttered shut as she released all of her pain and tension onto the keys. The melody that drifted up seemed to envelope her. It wrapped around her tightly, but in a comfortable way. It was almost as if it were embracing her, soothing away all of her problems.
When the music stopped she opened her eyes. They were sad and distant and the scowl that seemed to permanently grace her face was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was hiding from the pain that distorted her features at the moment.
She would never let anyone see her like this. She would never give anyone a reason to even realize that she had feelings. People in the wizarding world were only out to hurt you. She figured it was like this in all parts of the world. People only wanted to use you as a rung on their ladder to the top. She would not be used. She was a Parkinson. She was the top.
She couldn’t hold on to the anger, the arrogance. She needed it, but it slipped between her fingers like sand. She grasped desperately to get it back.
Her eyes were glistening. A single tear escaped her thick lashes and rolled down her cheek before dripping onto the ivory keys beneath her. She closed her eyes and thought about the one thing that would always bring her anger back.
With pale fingers, she wiped the remains of the tear away and then carefully, she once again donned the stone mask that would hide all of her emotions from the world. With her famous Parkinson smirk, raised eyebrows and one side of her mouth cocked higher than the other, she left the Room of Requirement and headed back to the Slytherin common room. Eyes colder than artic oceans.
Hermione arched her back and bucked her hips wildly. Her eyes were tightly shut and her lips were slightly parted. Soft sighs and moans escaped every few seconds. Her body was drenched with sweat. Her hair was clinging to her face and neck.
She had removed the lacy panties and her legs were bent at the knees and spread wide. Her hand was a blur of movement between her thighs. She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth until she was chewing on it lightly.
She felt the first signs of her approaching orgasm. Her moans and sighs were coming unrestrained now. “Mmmmm Pansy,” she choked out.
A knock at the door flung her from her fantasies. The room was silent, save the light buzzing sound coming from her wand. Fuck!! Did I remember that silencing charm?
She stared at the door waiting for a second knock. It never came, neither did the release she so desperately fought for… Frustrated, but more tired than ever, she rolled over and turned off her light. She would not sleep well that night.
Pansy has Hermione meet her in the Room of Requirements for a little lunch-time excursion.
Fleur is just damn confused...
Fleur Delacour walked briskly up the hall towards the Gryffindor dormitories. Book in hand, she told herself that she was just going to apologize once more and thought the small offering of penance may sway the girl in the direction needed. She knew the Head Girl wouldn’t be asleep; Hermione had only left the Professors’ wing about fifteen minutes previous. She paused at the Fat Lady murmuring Flos Periculosus.
She knew her appearance in the common room would not rouse any suspicions; she had taken over as Head of Gryffindor house when Minerva was officially appointed to Headmistress. Pausing in front of yet another painting, this one leading to the Head Girl’s quarters she quietly murmured another password. She walked up the narrow stairwell and, before she could lose her nerve, knocked on the door.
One knock in, her hand barreling toward the door for the second knock, she heard it. Hermione Granger, moaning. Not just moaning, but moaning the name Pansy. By the time the thought registered her hand had already come in contact with the door a second time.
Fleur stood frozen outside the Head Girl’s door. The moaning stopped abruptly. There was nothing but silence. Fleur quickly turned on heel and made her way down the stairwell and out of the common room. Why does that name sound so familiar? she thought. It had to be one of her students, but she couldn’t put a face to the name.
She made her way back to her quarters trying hard not to think about the fact that she had just interrupted two of her students in the throes of what had sounded like a very intimate moment. She closed her eyes to try for much needed sleep, but all she could see was Hermione Granger writhing and moaning beneath some faceless girl.
A girl? She hadn’t thought about it at first, but with a name like Pansy, it had to be another girl Hermione was up there with. She allowed a hopeful smile to touch her face for a few seconds before it was pushed away by a frown. She’s sleeping with someone, Fleur thought, her brows knitting together. She would not sleep well tonight.
The Next Day…
Hermione screwed her eyes shut tighter, desperately trying to clutch at the last fringes of sleep, of her dream. Oh what a dream! She gave up and pried her eyelids apart. She had thought sleep would kill the burn, but with dreams like that... She dragged her hand over her sex. She was wet. Of course she rolled her eyes.
She looked at her clock and almost choked. She had ten minutes to get to class. How could she have forgotten to set her alarm clock? Oh well, there was time. She threw on her robes, still very aware of her dampness, and set off for Potions, at least Professor Slughorn wouldn’t mind if she were a bit late.
Time seemed to drag. She was only in her third class of the day and already she was feeling agitated.
“Are you alright Hermione?” The question startled her.
“Huh?” She looked over to find a rather concerned Luna Lovegood, which, was saying a lot. Hermione thought she must look terrible to get that kind of expression from Luna. Luna never showed any kind of emotion, her face always had the same dreamy, blank stare. It had annoyed the heck out of Hermione at first, but she had grown used to it over time. Luna was now her best girl friend.
“Oh, yeah, sorry Luna. I’m fine. Really. I just, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She gave her best attempt at a smile and hoped it would be good enough.
Luna didn’t seem to accept the excuse. She continued to stare at Hermione with a concerned look on her face as if just waiting for the girl to give in and spill her guts. When Hermione didn’t, she pressed on.
“You just seem rather…frustrated, is all,” Luna stated, obviously dancing around what she was really trying to say.
“Frustrated?” Hermione shot her a look of confusion. “Well you did just turn me into a coat rack Luna.”
The blonde’s features wavered slightly, and then the dreamy look appeared back on her face. “It was the assignment Hermione, and now it’s your turn, but here I am…still Luna, and most definitely not a coat rack.”
Hermione had to laugh at this. “Are you sure?” she asked, taking her scarf off and throwing it on her friend. “Looks like you make a pretty good coat rack to me,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.
Luna smiled her dreamy smile before throwing Hermione’s scarf back at her. “Just know that you can always talk to me Hermione, about anything at all” she said, so casually, as if she were commenting about the homework instead of extending a heartfelt shoulder to cry on to a friend.
“Thanks Luna,” Hermione smiled at the blonde witch. She didn’t get Luna at all sometimes.
Fleur waited anxiously for her next class to start. She couldn’t make up her mind if she was dreading the class because of the pure awkwardness it was bound to bring at least for the next couple of days, or if she was excited to see the young Gryffindor and gauge her response to what had happened. Either way, the time had come. She straightened her desk and opened her lesson plan. Ah yes, she thought, this should be great, I’ll just use Hermione as an example for harnessing Aguamenti. She smiled to herself. It was definitely excitement she was feeling.
Hermione was the first to enter her classroom. This was no surprise. Hermione was always the first to enter her classroom. Hermione was probably the first to enter every classroom she went into. What did surprise the Veela however, was that Hermione passed her normal seat on the front row, and made her way to the back of the classroom, even though the chairs were all still empty.
The rest of the students started filing into the classroom, talking and carrying on, some shot Hermione startled glances.
Fleur hated that her class was directly before lunch; the students were always so hungry and irritable.
Fleur was carefully analyzing the students today, remembering names, putting them to faces. Ms. Patil, Mrs. Brown, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Thomas. Then the first of the Slytherin students began to arrive. She loathed them, always stumbling in right as class was starting, being noisy.
The boys didn’t even attempt to hide the way they leered at her. The girls shot her icy stares and hardly ever paid attention. Fleur continued to recite names as the room filled. Mr. Zabini, Ms. Bulstrode, Mr. Goyle, Ms. Greengrass, Ms. Parkinson…Parkinson… Pansy Parkinson. Fleur’s mouth dropped open. Hermione was writhing and moaning under a Slytherin girl?
Fleur had never paid much attention to Pansy Parkinson. She was a bright girl, Fleur could tell from her work, but she didn’t flaunt it in class. In fact, Fleur couldn’t remember her ever raising her hand. She was a pretty girl, but the way her nose was slightly upturned reminded Fleur of the little dog her parents had gotten for Gabrielle on her sister’s last birthday.
Fleur watched as Pansy Parkinson made her way to the back of the classroom and sat down on the opposite side of the aisle from Hermione. Hermione, who hadn’t even given a glance in Fleur’s direction, turned her head slightly in the direction of the Slytherin girl before burying herself in her book once more.
When everyone had settled, Fleur began. “Okay class, how many of you were able to perfect their water spheres?” No one raised their hands, as she was expecting. “Oh dear,” Fleur mused. “Well, how many of you were able to make the water sphere at all?” Two people raised their hands, one of course, was Hermione, the other… “Ms. Parkinson, you were able to make the sphere?” Fleur asked her voice laced with obvious doubt.
“It wasn’t that hard Professor Delacour,” Pansy stated rather sarcastically, “Granger isn’t the only one with a brain here.” She looked around the classroom at the other students before adding, “Close though.”
This took Fleur by surprise. She loathed this girl. Maybe it wasn’t very Professor-like of her, but she sought to embarrass the girl in front of Hermione. Maybe if she could take her down a peg or two, Hermione wouldn’t see her in such good standings.
“Ms. Parkinson, would you care to come to the front and demonstrate then?” Fleur stated rather flatly.
“Oh sure, why not.” Pansy made her way to the front of the class. She pulled her wand even before Fleur could tell her how to begin. “Aguamenti!” Water flew from the tip of her wand. It looked, at first, like it was going to hit Fleur straight in the face and she dodged, before realizing that the water had begun to curl into itself forming a sphere.
Pansy smirked at her Professor’s attempt to dodge and held the sphere right in front of the Veela’s face.
It wasn’t even dripping. Pansy Parkinson was being modest when she didn’t raise her hand in answer to Fleur’s first question. This was the prime example of perfecting the water sphere. Fleur loathed the girl even more.
Pansy, seeing that her demonstration was complete, concentrated on keeping the water in a sphere with her wand, while holding out her left hand toward Fleur’s desk and muttering “Accio.”
The bowl that Fleur had set aside for Hermione’s demonstration flew into Pansy’s hand. She walked slowly up to her water sphere and placed the bowl directly under. The ball cascaded into the bowl not spilling a single drop.
Pansy handed Fleur the bowl and walked back to her seat, leaving a very stunned Professor Delacour.
Fleur glanced to the back of the classroom before continuing her lecture. Hermione was glaring at the young Slytherin. Or perhaps…undressing Pansy with her eyes. Fleur was so confused.
Halfway through the class Pansy raised her hand again.
“Oui, Ms. Parkinson?” Fleur asked.
“Ms. Delacour, I’ve completed my twelve inches, do you mind if I go to the washroom?” Pansy asked innocently.
“Oui, Ms. Parkinson, that would be fine.” Fleur considered telling the girl no, but her Professor side had kicked in and stamped out her jealousy.
Pansy got up from her seat and, instead of taking the center aisle walked around the back of the class and came up from the other direction. Fleur did not miss when she dropped the folded piece of parchment onto Hermione’s desk. If she had any doubts before, this had just crushed them.
Only three words were on the note. Hermione stared at it in disbelief.
RoR? she tried to make sense of it. Ah! Room of Requirement. Of course. Pansy had a need, and the room would provide. She shuddered to think what the room would provide exactly. So Pansy was really going to go through with this blackmail. She rolled her eyes and put the note in between the pages of her book. Good thing she had eaten a big breakfast.
Class ended and as Hermione was packing her things she heard her name. “Ms. Granger, a moment if you please.”
Great…All I need is to be late for Parkinson. Hermione thought as she made her way toward the front of the class. She was still embarrassed about the night before and her cheeks reddened as she approached Fleur’s desk.
Fleur said nothing. Instead she pushed a book on her desk until it rested in front of the confused Gryffindor. Hermione picked up the book.
“Basic Elements of Molecular Bonding among Magical Creatures,” Hermione stared at the book in shock. “Professor Delacour! This is exactly what I’ve been looking for!” Hermione stated excitedly. Her face was beaming at the blonde witch in front of her.
“Oui, I thought so.” Fleur smiled. “this is the book I used to complete my thesis at Beauxbatons University.”
“Beauxbatons University?” Hermione asked with a confused look. She had never heard of it.
“Oui. One year, if you choose, of specialized studies. The student picks the topic and is taught perceivably everything there is to know about that topic. My specialty was of course Charms,” Fleur continued, “with an emphasis on the molecular bonds that make Charms and Transfiguration spells possible.”
Fleur could see the excitement and wonder in Hermione’s eyes, so she continued. “For instance, did you know that there are certain species of merpeople that are completely immune to Charms and Transfiguration spells altogether?” she asked.
Hermione shook her head in a daze.
“Oui. I did several papers on them. Miraculous creatures. Anyway,” Fleur finished nonchalantly, “I figured it would fuel your hunger for knowledge at least, non?”
Hermione smiled. “Thank you so much Professor. I’ll be sure to treat it with care. Good day.”
“Oui, I meant to give it to you last night, but you left in such a hurry. Then, when I came to leave it at your dorm, you sounded, rather…busy.” Fleur stated with an amused look on her face.
Hermione’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She swallowed hard. “Oh, um. I-I…” she had nothing. Her face was rapidly turning the color of her scarf. She nodded and quickly turned on heel, heading toward the door.
“Au revoir, Ms. Granger,” Fleur smiled as she watch the embarrassed Gryffindor exit the classroom.
Hermione made her way to the seventh floor. She paced in front of the wall, thinking about Pansy. The door appeared and she stepped inside. Pansy definitely had to be there. The room was white and there wasn’t much in it. What caught Hermione’s attention straight off the bat was the giant bed in the middle. Green silk sheets covered the bed, and soft green tulle hung down from the canopy. In the corner there was a green piano, which struck Hermione as slightly odd. Well, at least I don’t see any whips or chains, Hermione mused, though with relief.
Hermione walked up to the bed and ran her fingers over the sheets. She’d been wrong, they weren’t silk. They were so soft, something that Hermione had never felt before. She wondered what type of material it was when she heard a soft chuckle behind her.
“They’re Egyptian Cotton, 2000 thread-count,” Pansy stated with a hint of pride. “Except for the pillow cases, those are silk. Keeps my hair from getting tangled.”
What hair? Hermione thought while smirking. Her smirk disappeared as she felt two arms slide around her waist and a pair of warm lips press against the back of her neck.
“You should really wear you hair up more often Granger,” Pansy remarked. “I like you accessible.”
At that Hermione pulled away and faced the dark-haired girl. Pansy was easily three or four inches shorter than she was, causing Hermione to look down at the girl while standing this close. She took a couple of steps back before running into one of the bedposts.
“Lot of green you have here, Parkinson,” Hermione stated with a smug look on her face. Her fingers trailing over the sheets once more.
“It’s not a Slytherin pride thing, I assure you,” said Pansy. “I just like the color green.”
“Hmpf. Yeah, green, like money.”
“Yeah Granger…like money,” Pansy stated snobbishly, but her eyes softened for a brief moment before she turned away.
When she turned back, her eyes were not soft. They were filled with lust and something else Hermione couldn’t quiet put her finger on. Within seconds Hermione found herself being pushed back onto the bed. Pansy was on top of her pawing at her robes.
The dark-haired girl unbuttoned Hermione’s robes with quick, skilled fingers. They were pooling on the bed around the two girls in no time. When Pansy’s lips met hers it was like hot air mixing with cold air. Hermione could sense the storm building inside of her, and she couldn’t help but feel as if she had forgotten to board up the windows.
Pansy, still fully clothed, was pulling Hermione’s shirt over her head now. She tossed it onto the floor beside the bed and moved to pull the straps of the brunette’s bra off her shoulders.
The straps dangled against Hermione’s arms, and it loosened the bra just enough so that Pansy could see the tops of the Gryffindor’s breasts. Hermione blushed at the look on Pansy’s face. Cobalt eyes were locked on her breasts with raw lust.
She wanted to cross her arms across her chest, but didn’t want the Slytherin girl to sense her modesty. So instead, she pushed up on her elbows causing the soft mounds to come together slightly.
Hermione raised a brow at the look on Pansy’s face. At least I have a little power in this situation, she thought.
Pansy’s hands were trailing up her thighs. She had yet to come into contact with skin. “Granger, you’re the only girl who still wears these ridiculous tights! Get them off! Now!” Pansy demanded.
Hermione pushed her shoes off and pulled off her tights. Pansy grabbed them at once, seeing a use for them and began to tie them around the brunette’s wrists.
Hermione’s eyes widened. All hope she had of having any power dissolved as Pansy tied her wrists to the bedposts. Pansy’s hands danced across the waistband of Hermione’s skirt before unzipping it and sliding it off.
Pale blue eyes devoured the flesh in front of them. She ran her hands up Hermione’s thighs and both girls shivered. Pansy then pulled the robe out from under Hermione until the softest material the brunette had ever felt was embracing most of her skin.
Hermione felt as if someone were fanning coals underneath her skin. Her blood boiled at the contact. Pansy’s hands were so soft.
The dark-haired girl kissed Hermione’s lips, before trailing a line of kisses down her neck and over her chest. She sat up and straddling the brunette’s hips, pulling off her own robe and tossing it onto the floor.
She crawled up Hermione’s body and reached for something at the head of the bed. Her skirt was tickling the edge of Hermione’s jaw and the Gryffindor could smell the heady scent of the other girl's arousal.
Before she could even realize what she was doing, Hermione was pushing Pansy’s skirt up with the side of her face and closing her mouth around lace covered dampness.
Pansy gasped, pulling away. She looked down at Hermione with curious eyes.
“Granger, I know you think I’m a selfish whore and all,” Pansy began, “but some days I like to be giving. You’ve lucked out, today is one of those days.”
Finally pulling out what she had been reaching for, Pansy began to trail the end of her feathered quill over Hermione’s ribs. The brunette’s breath hitched when the feather made a trail across her damp cotton panties and down between her thighs.
This sweet torture continue for what felt like hours to Hermione. Finally Pansy leaned forward and slid her tongue over the already damp cloth of the brunette’s panties.
“I can be very giving at times,” Pansy breathed, hot breath pounding against Hermione’s sex. “Plus,” Pansy continued, “it gives me power over you. I want to see you shiver and twist underneath me while you try to stifle the moans your dirty, whorish mouth can’t seem to contain.” Pansy flicked her tongue again.
Hermione tried so hard to keep the moan from escaping. She swallowed hard, managing to cut most of it off. By the smirk on Pansy’s face though, she had heard enough.
Pansy reached up and unsnapped Hermione’s bra, letting it fall open, to display her perfect breasts. She reached up and grabbed one, feeling the weight in her hand before squeezing and running her thumb over the nipple. It hardened instantly at her touch. She loved the way Hermione’s body reacted so quickly.
Hermione pushed her hips slightly forward and chewed her lip. The look on her face was one of desperation. She needed release so badly. It had been building up inside of her since yesterday. She had almost reached climax twice, which had only served to make it worse. She was nearing her limit. Even if it was some cruel joke Pansy was playing on her. She needed it.
Pansy took the hint, and Hermione was grateful that the Slytherin didn’t attempt to tease her further. Hermione figured it was the least that Pansy could do since she was forcing Hermione into being her own personal sex doll.
Pansy pulled Hermione’s panties off and shoved them in the girl’s mouth. She buried her face in between the brunette’s legs. Hermione gasped, then moaned, clamping down on the material in her mouth. She could vaguely taste the hint of her own arousal.
Pansy tucked her arms under Hermione’s legs and brought them up so that they were resting softly against her shoulders. Well, softly may not have been the right term. Hermione’s heels were digging into the Slytherin’s back as she struggled to push herself closer to Pansy’s mouth. Pansy could feel Hermione’s soft thighs on either side of her face.
Pansy’s hands trailed up Hermione’s stomach, over her ribs and chest until she was firmly grasping the soft mounds of flesh. Her fingers pinched at the rosy nipples, hard enough to bruise them and Hermione’s hips bucked against Pansy’s mouth. The brunette’s moans were constant now and her wrists were steadily straining against the tights.
Pansy was circling the Gryffindor’s pulsing clit with her tongue, pausing every few seconds to pull the nub into her mouth and suck on it. Hermione was writhing underneath her.
Pansy brought her right hand down and placed a finger at Hermione’s entrance.
“No!” Hermione gasped, pushing the damp material from her mouth. “Don’t! I’m still…I mean I’ve never…” she trailed off looking embarrassed.
Pansy looked up from between her legs. Her eyes were tinged with shock and regret for a split second before a smile covered her face and she muttered, “even better.”
She didn’t enter Hermione, something the Gryffindor was quite relieved about. Instead she buried her face in Hermione’s sex once more closing her lips around the hot little nub and sucking fiercely.
Hermione felt heat explode from her center. It tore its way through her limbs to the top of her head and the tips of her fingers and toes. Her body shivered, it quaked. The heat melted her muscles. It set her nerves on fire. Before her eyes danced colors she never knew existed. In the distance she heard someone screaming. This alarmed her and she struggled to regain her grasp on consciousness when she realized that the screaming was coming from her. She tried to silence herself, but the assault on her senses continued to wreak havoc on even the most basic of functions.
Slowly she started to come down from her high. Her body continued to quiver. Her toes were still tightly curling into her feet, heels still digging into Pansy’s back. She relaxed her muscles. She felt as though if she weren’t lying down already, she would have collapsed.
Pansy smiled, but it wasn’t her normal Parkinson smirk. There was almost sadness in the dark-haired girl’s smile, and something else. Longing, but not in a sexual way.
Pansy turned away from the Gryffindor’s curious eyes.
She crawled off the bed and began to untie Hermione. She picked up her robes and threw them over her shoulder while walking towards the door.
“Wait, Pans-uh-Parkinson!” Hermione called. “You play the piano?” she asked nodding in the direction of the emerald piano in the corner of the room.
Pansy paused at the doorway. Looking at the piano and then back over her shoulder, she very nonchalantly stated, “No,” before walking out the door.
You can find me here:
Pansy punishes Hermione for the Fleur incident...
Hermione had finished the rest of her classes in a daze. The sadness in Pansy’s eyes had haunted her since she had watched the girl leave the Room of Requirement. Ugh! Am I really feeling sorry for someone who’s blackmailing me into being their sex slave? she chided herself, shaking her head.
Hermione had to give it to the girl; she did know how to use her tongue. Pansy had made every orgasm the brunette had ever had seem like trickle of satisfaction compared to the roaring ocean of pleasure the Slytherin had unleashed. Hermione raised an eyebrow and chewed lightly on her lip as she thought about it.
She was almost finished with her Head Girl’s routes when she felt a small hand close around her wrist tugging her toward an empty room. It was dark in the room, and Hermione couldn’t see anything, but by this time, she’d know those soft hands anywhere.
“You made me so fucking hot today Granger. All your wriggling underneath me and moaning like a little trollop.” Pansy’s hands were under the brunette’s skirt in no time. She pushed aside Hermione’s underwear to pet the soft folds beneath.
“Oh my!” Hermione could almost hear Pansy’s face light up. “You must’ve been thinking about it too eh Granger?” the dark-haired girl murmured as she continued to rub her fingers over Hermione’s sex.
“Actually, I was thinking about Fleur,” Hermione lied, not wanting to give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing that the Gryffindor was wet for her.
Pansy stopped moving. She muttered a silencing charm before pulling her hand out from under Hermione’s skirt, placing both hands on the brunette’s shoulders, and pushing Hermione to her knees.
Hermione hit the stone floor hard enough to bruise, but when she was even with Pansy’s sex a wave of raw lust washed over her and she darted forward grabbing the dark-haired girl by the hips and pulling her forward. She pawed at Pansy’s skirt trying to get it off before the Slytherin managed to twist out of her grasp.
“Hungry little slut, aren’t you.”
It was a statement, not a question, Hermione knew. She looked up at Pansy through dark lashes, before swallowing her pride. “What do you want me to do Parkinson?”
Pansy stared down, almost in disbelief before an evil grin spread across her face. “Do you want to fuck me Granger?” Pansy’s grin widened. “Do you want to leave your muddy little paw prints all over my pure, snow-white skin?”
Hermione nodded, and Pansy continued triumphantly. “Do you want to put your dirty, whorish tongue up to my cunt and lap away, knowing my cum is worth more than your blood will ever be?”
Hermione nodded again and Pansy shuddered at the power. Having the Gryffindor at her mercy was intoxicating. “If you want me so badly, why don’t you prove it?” Pansy hissed.
“Tell me all the nasty things you want to do to me Granger.” Pansy’s voice was a low growl. “Tell me all those dirty things your body wants that your perfect, little, proper, Know-It-All brain won’t let you admit to.”
Hermione shook her head, chewing her lip. She would not surrender her darkest secrets to Pansy no matter how desperately aroused she was.
“Do it Granger!” Pansy growled. “Or those photographs will be all over the place. By tomorrow morning you’ll be known only as Sticky Fingers, or Moaning ‘Mione.”
Hermione winced at the names, but reached out and grabbed Pansy’s bum bringing the Slytherin’s pelvis crashing into her face. “I want to rip that fucking skirt off of you and burn it so you can’t hide anything from me” Hermione growled.
Pansy’s eyes widened with surprise, and delight, and lust. Hermione was indeed ripping her skirt off along with her panties. She was still wearing her robe and it billowed around both girls almost concealing the young Gryffindor from sight.
Hermione brought her lips, once again, to Pansy’s sex and savored the taste of pineapples and salt and a taste Hermione could only describe as woman. “I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you until you pass out in my arms, weak and vulnerable.”
Pansy laughed, she’d never be weak and vulnerable for a Mudblood. She was a Parkinson.
“I want to fuck you until your pretty little eyes roll back in your pretty little head and you moan my name and push your cunt into my face begging for more.” Hermione was devouring Pansy’s sex in between confessions.
Pansy’s hands were tangled in the brunette’s hair holding her face as close to her sex as possible, while giving the girl enough space to keep talking.
“I want to fuck you until you can’t walk, until you pass out. And I want to keep fucking you while you’re unconscious, so that you wake up exhausted, with sore muscles and an aching cunt.” Hermione thrust her fingers inside of Pansy, deep. She twisted them and curled them and dragged them back out before plunging them in yet again.
Pansy moaned and hissed and bucked her hips against Hermione’s mouth, splitting the girl’s lips to where the brunette could taste her own blood mixing with the Slytherin’s cum. Pansy pulled on Hermione’s hair until her knuckles were white.
Hermione didn’t seem to notice. She kept plunging her fingers in and dragging them out. Her tongue continued to make circles around Pansy’s swollen clit. She pulled the nub into her mouth and gave it a light bite while thrusting her fingers in as deep as they would go.
Pansy shrieked. Her body convulsed and she had to lean over Hermione and stable herself on the wall in front of her. Her legs threatened to give out.
Hermione must have sensed this because she pulled out her fingers and wrapped her arms tightly around the dark-haired girl, holding her up as she closed her lips over Pansy’s sex and began to drink all of the juices until she had drained the girl dry.
Coming down from her orgasm, Pansy pulled herself from the Gryffindor’s grasp.
Hermione couldn’t get enough. It was as if Pansy was a drug and she was now an addict. She was helpless. She crawled toward the Slytherin’s retreating form. “Pansy,” Hermione whined, reaching out. Wanting more. Needing more.
Pansy turned and slapped the Gryffindor right across the face. “How dare you use my given name, you filthy Mudblood!” But there was fire in her eyes that had nothing to do with anger.
Hermione barely had time to register the pain from either the slap or Pansy’s harsh words, before the Slytherin’s hands were in her hair and her face was yet again crashing against the warm, succulence of all that was Pansy Parkinson.
After her second orgasm, Pansy pulled Hermione to her feet and into a kiss. She could taste herself on the Gryffindor’s tongue, mixed with the strong taste of rust. Hermione’s lips were bleeding. Pansy felt a twinge of guilt, but even more desire. Desire to hurt this girl who had tried to hurt her. How dare she bring up that French slut’s name! Pansy thought. I’ll make her pay.
Pansy turned Hermione and pushed her hard, face first into the wall, knocking the breath out of the Gryffindor. Pansy dropped to her knees until she was even with the brunette’s round bum. She pulled Hermione’s skirt up and her panties down to her knees and sank her teeth into the left cheek in front of her. She bit hard enough to break skin.
Hermione cried out in pain as she felt warm blood running down the back of her leg. Soon the pain was the last thing on her mind as she felt Pansy’s tongue lick the blood from her thigh, and begin to lap and suck at the wound.
“My” gasp, “little” moan “vampire” Hermione finally managed. She felt Pansy smile into her skin. The Slytherin suckled Hermione’s wound for a few more minutes until she had drained all the blood the small puncture would allow.
Pansy pushed on Hermione’s thighs until the brunette spread her legs further apart. She ran her hands up the backs of the Gryffindor’s thighs, over her tight bum, and up her back, before dragging her nails back down the same path.
Hermione whimpered. She knew Pansy was punishing her for her earlier comment about Fleur, but the mixture of pain and pleasure was turning her on more than ever. Her skin was hot and damp, and she could feel cum dripping down her thighs.
Pansy grabbed the brunette’s bum, a hand on each cheek. Digging her nails in, she spread Hermione open as she slid her tongue over the puckered skin.
Hermione’s moan this time was feral. A low, guttural sound that caught in her throat before tearing its way through her parted lips. All of her muscles tightened. “Oh gods! Pansy! Fuck me! Please! Fuck me! I want you inside of me! I need…OHHHHH! SSSSSSSSSS” The brunette’s needs were cut off by another moan as Pansy’s fingers danced around her gaping sex.
Pansy decided to allow her given name just this once, since it was attached to such a beautiful request. A request to which she should have been more than happy to comply with, and she almost did.
As her fingers danced around Hermione’s entrance however, look of uncertainty and something that seemed almost like regret ghosted over the dark-haired girl’s features for a brief second before fading away.
Pansy grabbed at Hermione’s hips pulling her down until she was on her hand and knees. She grasped the brunette’s bum firmly. Covering Hermione's sex with her lips, she began to devour the girl.
Hermione moaned and pushed back against the Slytherin in her best attempt to keep friction on her aching clit. Pansy’s chin was rubbing up against the sensitive nub every time she opened her mouth, which was quite frequently as she circled her tongue around Hermione’s dripping center.
When she felt the first signs of the brunette’s orgasm approaching, she pushed her thumb in between Hermione’s cheeks until she found the puckered skin she was searching for. Pansy pushed in the tip of her thumb while plunging her tongue as far as it would go inside of the girl, twisting and wriggling it all the way.
The sound coming from Hermione could only be classified a screech. It could have shattered glass had there been any windows in the room. Pansy silently thanked whoever may have been listening that she had remembered to put up the silencing charm. She pulled her tongue and thumb from the girl and began to lap softly at Hermione’s clit.
A few minutes later, Hermione was still a shuddering heap on the floor. Pansy pulled the shivering Gryffindor into her arms and kissed the top of her head, holding Hermione until she had stopped shaking enough to stand.
What the bloody hell am I doing? Pansy thought. The girl was starting to grow on her.
You can find me here:
Hermione overhears Pansy mocking her with the girl's Slytherin friends, so she runs to the one person who can make her feel better. But reality isn't everything it's cracked up to be...
Hermione had slept very well. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she had slept better.
She lay in bed thinking about the events of the night before. The sex had been amazing, of course, that was a Parkinson standard. What she couldn’t get out of her head was the way they had ended the night.
Pansy had walked her all the way to the Fat Lady.
They had taken one of the secret passages Harry had shown Hermione on his Marauders’ map so that they wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. They paused in a dark alcove behind a suit of armor, and just stared into each other’s eyes.
Hermione didn’t know what to say. Apparently neither did Pansy because the girls simply continued to stare. Pansy’s cobalt eyes were anything but cold in that moment. They were like warm waves gently licking at the storm weathered chocolate shores of the girl in front of her.
Finally the girls tore themselves away from each other with a soft kiss. Pansy headed back through the passageway and Hermione watched as the portrait closed behind her, before murmuring Flos Periculosus and stepping through into the common room.
Hermione rolled out of bed. Saturday. Today would be a good day.
She brushed her hair and teeth and headed down to the common room, beaming.
“Little behind this morning eh,” came a deep voice from one of the couches. Hermione looked up to find Harry smiling at her.
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I guess I must have been dreaming wonderful things.” Hermione smiled as if to prove a point before plopping down on the couch beside Harry.
“Yeah well, don’t get too comfortable, I just came back from Ginny’s and she said Professor Delacour was looking for you last night, but no one could find you,” said Harry with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile.
“Gods, I swear!” huffed Hermione. “You and Luna, if the two of you ever put your brilliance together the world would be sadly doomed” she finished before getting off the couch and walking back towards her room. “I suppose I’ll give her back her book when I find her.”
Hermione ran to her room, grabbed the book and set off toward the Professor’s wing.
Hermione was passing through an empty corridor when she heard voices coming from one of the classrooms. Generally, she would’ve just ignored it, most likely two kids trying to have a little tryst. She started to walk past when she heard it…
“Pansy come on! At least let me see, Blaise Zabini was whining.
“Blaise, you don’t get to play with all of my toys you know,” Pansy said with a smirk. “Besides, she’s my doll. You’d get her dirty.”
Blaise got a hurt expression on his face, but the dark-haired girl could tell he was faking. “Like you haven’t gotten her dirty a couple of times already,” Blaise laughed.
“That’s different,” stated Pansy flatly, “she’s mine.”
Blaise laughed again; his laugh was grating, like someone rubbing rusted metal against rusted metal. “Have you at least named her yet? Or does she still go by her pathetic given name?”
Pansy laughed this time, the sound was like cashmere compared to the boy’s. “I may have named her Slave,” she giggled.
The dark-skinned boy narrowed his eyes at Pansy. Having never heard her laugh before, it was quite a treat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were in love with her, Pansy” he tried to coax another laugh from the girl.
He was rewarded. Pansy giggled before assuring him, “she’s just a sex doll Blaise, she doesn’t warrant love from a Parkinson.”
They both immediately broke into fits of giggles.
Hermione stood outside the partly cracked door with tears in her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but Pansy’s name had caught her attention.
Sex doll eh? she fought back her tears, I’ll show her a fucking sex doll. Doesn’t warrant love from a Parkinson. Hmpf! Like I want her to love me anyway! She quickly walked away, silently thanking the fact that she had not seen Pansy’s face when the girl had been so nonchalantly disgracing her lover.
She ran to Fleur’s quarters. Winded, she knocked on the door.
Fleur Delacour answered the door in her creamy silk robe. It was the first time Hermione had ever seen her hair even slightly tousled. It just served to make her even more beautiful. With sleepy, yet concerned-filled eyes, she opened the door to the frantic looking Gryffindor.
“Is everything alright Miss Granger?” Fleur asked, her accent thick and her voice raspy from sleep.
“I’m sorry I woke you Professor, Harry told me that you were looking for me last night,” she said handing the book she was holding to Fleur.
Fleur looked at the book in amazement. “You cannot be finished with this already, it is almost nine hundred pages!”
Hermione shrugged and gave a weak smile before dragging her eyes over the Veela’s body. Not in a subtle kind of way.
Fleur shuddered. The way Hermione was staring at her was making her remember the dream she had just been roused from. She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide her response to Hermione’s wondering eyes.
Fleur looked at the young Gryffindor. It looked as if she had been crying. Her eyes were red, as were her ears, and the tip of her nose. “Miss Gran…” Fleur couldn’t take it. “Hermione, what is wrong ma chere?” the blonde witch asked, clearing the sleep from her throat.
Hermione looked into Fleur’s eyes. “I-I’m…I’m such a complete fool!” she said shaking her head, tears spilling over her cheeks.
Fleur pulled the brunette into her arms. “Shhhh,” she cooed, “you are not a fool Hermione. You are a bright young witch wiz a fantastic future ahead of you. No one can break you to the point that you cannot be fixed.”
Hermione buried her face in Fleur’s neck. This close she could smell the Veela. She could feel the blonde’s hard nipples through the thin silk that covered them. She could taste her if she just slightly parted her lips.
All at once Hermione’s hands were on Fleur. All over her. Her lips attached themselves to Veela’s pulse point, sucking furiously. She pushed the blonde back until they both tumbled onto the bed.
Hermione was chaotic, her hands were everywhere, trying to touch every part of the Veela they could. Clothes were thrown off in an outburst of passion.
Fleur grabbed her wrists. “Shhhh, ma chere, I am not going anywhere.” She kissed the tip of Hermione’s nose, before leaving a trail of soft kisses down her face and neck.
It was tender, calm. It was something Hermione had never experienced. Her hands stilled and her breathing slowed almost immediately. She looked into Fleur’s eyes and they were filled with affection.
Hermione slowly brought her lips to the Veela’s. Their mouths came together perfectly. Hermione’s closed over Fleur’s bottom lip, gently tugging before pulling away. It was intense. It was perfect. It was everything Hermione could ever hope for in a kiss. Where were the butterflies?
Her face saddened for a moment before hardening once more. She kissed Fleur again with more passion.
Fleur’s fingers were making lazy circles on Hermione’s back as her lips trailed down the brunette’s neck. Hermione couldn’t help but shiver when she felt the Veela’s delicate hands cup over her breasts.
Fleur gently rubbed her thumbs over Hermione’s nipples as she sucked on her collarbone. Her fantasies were finally coming true. She finally had Hermione in her arms, in her bed. She was going to worship the girl. Bow before her and treat her like the goddess that she should be treated like.
The blonde witch pulled Hermione up until the brunette was straddling her hips. Then, Fleur slowly wiggled her way down until she could feel the Gryffindor’s thighs on either side of her face.
Oh gods, Hermione thought. I’m straddling my Professor’s face. She put her hands to her head, which was shaking slightly from shock. I’m straddling Fleur Delacour’s face.
She lost all train of thought when the Veela’s lips started to kiss up and down her thighs. It was so soft that if Hermione hadn’t have been looking down at Fleur, she would have thought she was imagining it.
Fleur kissed her way up Hermione’s thighs until her lips came into contact with the soft, moist flesh of the brunette’s sex. She softly, slowly dragged her tongue up the length of the slick, pink lips in front of her. She was rewarded with a small moan.
Fleur began to kiss Hermione’s core, just as if she were kissing her on the mouth. Her tongue peeked out every few seconds to flutter against the tiny bundle of nerves. Her fingers were still drawing lazy circles over Hermione’s back, calming the girl and keeping herself grounded.
Hermione tasted absolutely divine. Like oranges and crème. Like sherbet.
The Veela pulled the little nub into her mouth and began to gently suck on it. She fluttered her tongue across it again and again, faster and faster. She felt Hermione start to shudder.
She brought her hands to Hermione’s breasts and grabbed them firmly, sucking hard on the girl’s clit and flicking her tongue against it with more pressure.
Hermione moaned her climax. Her thighs gripping Fleur’s face tightly, her head thrown back, her hands in her own hair.
Fleur pulled the emotionally exhausted girl down into her arms and kissed the back of her neck softly. “Sleep ma chere, it will all be ok,” she purred.
Hermione fell into a deep sleep.
Tears were in Hermione’s eyes as she lay, her back facing Fleur. The sheet wrapped around her was the wrong color, and the hand lazily dragging along her back was too delicate. She got up and began to dress. She felt a bit empty inside, but she had a job to do.
She plastered on a winning smile and turned to tell Fleur she had a study session she couldn’t miss.
“Oui,” Fleur said while smiling lovingly at the Gryffindor. “I suppose your Professor shouldn’t keep you from your education hm?”
Hermione searched everywhere for Pansy. Daphne Greengrass, after giving her a look that said she could go fuck herself, had told her Pansy was not in her room or the Slytherin common room. Hermione had looked by the lake. She’d searched the empty classrooms, the bathrooms, the Great Hall. She had even looked in the library. Pansy was nowhere to be found.
Finally she made her way up to the seventh floor. She paced in front of the wall thinking hard about Pansy.
The door formed and she took a step toward it. She could hear the faint sound of music just beyond the door. Piano music. The song was beautiful. Whoever was playing had to have been playing for years. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The music had stopped, but Pansy was sitting on the bench in front of the piano, her back to Hermione.
“I thought you didn’t play,” Hermione said flatly. She was staring daggers at the dark-haired girl’s back.
Pansy continued to stare at the keys, keeping her back turned toward Hermione. “I don’t,” she simply stated, making no move to get up or turn around.
Hermione gathered all of her anger and nerve. “I just came to tell you that I refuse to be the subject of your blackmail any longer. You can give the photographs to Professor Delacour. Hell, you can publish them for all I care. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”
Hermione saw the Slytherin’s back straighten, before her shoulders hunched back over once more. Pansy said nothing.
Hermione reached for the door. Her fingers were on the handle before the other girl turned.
Tears on her cheeks, Pansy reached out and grabbed the brunette’s wrist. “Wait. Hermione. Don’t…don’t go…”
You can find me here:
Hermione forgives Pansy. They exchange Christmas gifts.
Hermione’s anger instantly faded when she saw the tears in Pansy’s eyes. She had the dark-haired girl in her arms in seconds. All of the frustration she was feeling toward the girl earlier vanished.
Pansy locked her arms around Hermione, crying silently. The brunette knew at that moment Pansy couldn’t have meant the things she had said to Blaise Zabini.
She wrapped her arms tightly around the dark-haired girl’s tiny body and held her there, rocking her gently. Pansy’s face was resting softly against the crook of Hermione’s neck. “Hermione,” she pleaded, “I’ll destroy the pictures. I’ll destroy the whole camera. Please…please just don’t leave.”
Pansy’s voice was hoarse and Hermione realized she must have been crying for quite some time. “Pansy, a-are you okay?” she whispered against Pansy’s dark hair.
There was no reply, but Hermione could feel the girl lightly shaking her head no. The brunette rested her hand on the back of Pansy’s head holding the Slytherin firmly against her.
Hermione’s face was twisted with concern. She didn’t know what to do.
Pansy wouldn’t stop crying. The brunette could feel her shoulder becoming damp with tears and did the only thing she knew to do. Hermione rested her chin on the top of Pansy’s head started to softly hum. It was a tune that her mother had hummed to her every time she had been upset. When she was growing up, it was a tune she had heard quite often.
It was a slow melody, most likely something that her mum had just come up with off the top of her head and put into a rhythm. It was almost a sad tune, but it was one that was soothing, and full of loving memories. Not that Pansy would know that of course, but the girl’s tears did seem to be subsiding.
“Pansy,” Hermione began. “If I’d known. I mean, I-I wouldn’t have…” she trailed off. How could she possibly tell the girl in her arms that she had just slept with their Professor? She decided not to. “I…well I wouldn’t have left.”
Hermione kissed Pansy’s forehead and pulled the girl down on the piano bench. “Pansy,” she started, “what’s wrong?”
The dark-haired girl shook her head, her eyes filled with pain. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she sighed. “Just hold me, it all goes away when you hold me.”
So Hermione did just that.
The brunette didn’t know what she was feeling. It was strange and intense, almost uncomfortable. Getting close to Pansy Parkinson was like standing on a ledge. But instead of careful, guarded steps, Hermione felt like she was closing her eyes, spinning around in circles, and taking off dead-sprint.
“I won’t take your pictures away Pansy.” Hermione smiled. “Besides, I bet you masturbate to them at night anyway,” she said, elbowing the dark-haired girl in the ribs gently. “Wouldn’t want to deprive you of much needed orgasmic pleasure.”
Pansy laughed at that. She looked up at Hermione with wet eyelashes and a sad smile.
It was the most beautiful thing Hermione had ever seen.
The next few weeks were a blur. The girls were closer than ever. They spent every second of free time they had in the Room of Requirement.
Sometimes, when they weren’t having sex of course, they would just lay on the huge bed talking to one another, getting to know each other. Sometimes Hermione would watch Pansy sleep; sometimes they would nap together. Most times, Pansy would simply watch Hermione study.
As the holidays neared, Hermione could tell Pansy was getting anxious, though she couldn’t figure out why. She knew it wasn’t because Pansy liked being at school. Pansy hated classes; in fact, the girl skipped most of them. Hermione didn’t know how the Slytherin managed to keep her grades up, but Pansy always received top marks on everything.
In truth, the Gryffindor was a bit jealous. She constantly had her nose in a book to keep the impeccable academic record she had.
The night before the break began, the two girls were in the Room of Requirement. Pansy was stretched out on the soft green bed and Hermione was playing Heart and Soul on the piano by the door.
“Come on Pansy, you have to know Heart and Soul, everyone knows Heart and Soul,” Hermione teased, her fingers clumsily hitting the wrong keys every few seconds.
Pansy just smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
Hermione got up from the piano bench and reached into her bag beside the door.
She walked over to the bed holding two Christmas tree shaped cupcakes with green frosting and sprinkles. She had a wrapped box sticking out of her back pocket just where Pansy couldn’t see.
Pansy glared at her. Well, really, she glared at the top of the brunette’s head until a blushing Hermione got a guilty look on her face. “Oh, Pansy, sorry…I forgot,” she stated, reaching up and pulling off the reindeer antlers.
The Gryffindor tossed the antlers aside and handed Pansy a cupcake. Pansy took notice that her cupcake had green sprinkles while Hermione’s had red. She smiled to herself, knowing that it probably wasn’t just an accident, that Hermione had most likely taken the time to actually think it through and give Pansy green.
When Pansy had finished her cupcake, Hermione pulled the box from her pocket and handed it to the dark-haired girl. Pansy unwrapped the small box carefully. She pulled off the lid to find a thin silver chain and pendant. The pendant was beautiful, two silvery people locked in a tight embrace.
Pansy smiled at Hermione, her eyes lighting up. “This is beautiful Hermione. I love it! Do you mind?” Pansy asked, indicating the clasp.
Hermione took the necklace and draped it around Pansy’s neck fastening it in the back. “It’s not just a necklace. It’s enchanted. It took me a while to work through the proper spells, but I think I got it right,” Hermione said with a hint of pride.
Pansy gave the brunette a confused look. “What does it do?” she asked.
“Well,” Hermione started, “just close your hand around it and find out for yourself.”
Pansy took the small pendant in her hand and closed her fingers around it. She instantly had the feeling of strong arms wrapping around her and holding her tight. She closed her eyes. A single tear managed to escape and roll down her porcelain cheek.
Hermione caught the drop in between her lips as she leaned in to kiss the dark-haired girl’s cheek. The Gryffindor pressed her lips against Pansy’s before whispering in her ear, “it’s so you’ll never have to feel alone again.”
Pansy’s eyes remained closed, her hand clamped around the pendant, clutched firmly to her chest.
Hermione could do nothing but stare. The girl looked so peaceful. The brunette found herself wondering if Pansy looked that peaceful while tucked away in her arms.
Finally, Pansy opened her eyes and let the pendant fall to the valley between her creamy breasts. Hermione’s eyes followed the pendant and she couldn’t help envy it momentarily. A few seconds later, her eyes found Pansy’s and both girls smiled.
Pansy reached under the bed and pulled out a slightly larger box, wrapped in red and tied with a gold ribbon. She handed it to Hermione and watched as the girl pulled off the bow and began to unwrap the box.
When Hermione had finished unwrapping the gift, she held the book in her lap. She could feel the magic radiating from it.
“Pansy! This is Eros Sinkanpro’s Spell! How did you? I-I mean, no one’s ever…I thought it had been lost.” Hermione was dumb-founded.
“It is, for all intents and purposes.” Pansy stated carefully. She grabbed a piece of the torn wrapping paper and began to write:
E-R-O-S / S-I-N-K-A-N-P-R-O
R-O-S-E / P-A-R-K-I-N-S-O-N
“She was my mother…my real mother. Before she died and my dad remarried,” Pansy stated sadly. "She created this spell to keep my dad and his business partners from getting their hands on her research. But, she told me how to do it right before she left to go to the Americas. She never came back…”
“Oh Pansy,” Hermione shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Pansy I don’t know what to say. This is the best present anyone has ever gotten me.”
Pansy smiled, “Well, it’s not just Eros Sinkanpro, I kind of tweaked it myself, let me explain it. It works basically just like the normal Sinkanpro charm, meaning, once the pages are filled out, the ink disappears. However, unlike the normal Sinkanpro, there is no password. Plus, you don’t use a quill to write. All you have to do is place you hand on the page, and instantly what you want written down will appear in ink. Once you remove your hand, the words will disappear.”
“The oils from your hand impregnate the parchment,” Pansy continued. “So, the only way to read the pages, is for you to be the one holding the book. The book will remember you, it won’t open for anyone else.”
Hermione’s eyes were wide. What Pansy was explaining was far beyond a seventh-year student’s magical knowledge. She shook her head, speechless.
“Well," Pansy started. "I just…I-I know you’re going to do great things. I figured it might come in handy, so no one can steal your research. Or even if you just want to write your thoughts down…” she trailed off.
Hermione stared at the girl in front of her. She was still shocked and her face displayed it wonderfully. She lifted a brow and shook her head once again. “You realize you’re brilliant, right?” she asked the dark-haired girl.
Pansy blushed. Pansy Parkinson blushed.
Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips against Pansy’s. “I love it Pansy, really. Happy Christmas!" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It’s our last night together,” she smiled suggestively. “Can you think of anything you might want to do to take up these unbearably dull nighttime hours?” she finished, winking at the Slytherin.
Pansy smiled. “Oh, I think I can think of a thing or two. Too bad we don’t actually have any Fire-Breathing Snarklespurts,” she giggled as she dodged the pillow that was tossed at her head. Pansy laughed, "Happy Christmas Hermione."
Pansy pulled Hermione into a kiss and both girls tumbled back onto the bed. Tomorrow would be here all too soon, but, at least they had tonight…
You can find me here:
The guilt from her night with her professor is eating Hermione alive. She is desperate to confess to Pansy, but the words won't come. When the Slytherin leaves her in tears once again, whose familiar arms does she end up in? And at what cost?
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here with you?” Pansy asked. “I mean, it’s Christmas holidays, you shouldn’t have to be alone. And it’s not like I would miss seeing my family.”
Hermione propped herself up on her elbow. “Pansy, how sweet,” she teased the other girl, pinching her cheek, “but no one should have to be stuck here over Christmas. Too bad my parents had to leave last week, or I could’ve been in New York.”
Pansy swatted away Hermione’s hand and rolled her eyes. “You just want to go because it’s got like, the biggest library ever. Can’t you just apparate there?”
Hermione cringed. “Um, yeah, about that. Apparating over oceans kind of terrifies me. Besides,” Hermione continued, choosing to ignore the dark-haired girl’s teasing, “Harry will be here, so it’s not like I will be alone. I feel bad, I’ve been kind of ignoring him since I’ve been spending every waking minute with you.” She winked at Pansy.
Pansy rolled her eyes, yet again. “I’m sure the Boy-Who-Lived-Vicariously-Through-His-Friends has been just fine.”
Hermione brushed her lips against Pansy’s, running her tongue along the other girl’s bottom lip, begging entrance.
Pansy’s lips parted and her tongue anxiously met the brunette’s. The inside of Hermione’s mouth tasted like chocolate with the hint of dark, rich coffee. Pansy savored the taste.
“Ugh!” Pansy groaned, breaking the kiss. “I can’t even imagine being away from you for three whole weeks. What am I going to do?” Pansy crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her bottom lip out.
“Not spoiled, are you?” Hermione teased. “I’m sure you’ll manage to find something to occupy your mind.” Hermione hesitated before continuing. “Pansy?”
Pansy raised a dark brow. “What is it?”
“Well,” Hermione went on, “it’s just that…I mean…I don’t want to lie to you. I-I, I kind of s-sle…” the words wouldn’t come. She knew the longer she waited to tell Pansy, the harder it would be, but she just couldn’t make herself form the sentences that would explain to the girl in front of her that she had slept with someone else.
“I've kind of been sleeping with your scarf at night.” It wasn’t a lie; she had slept with the girl’s scarf. It just, wasn’t what she had intended on divulging. “I mean, you left it on the piano bench when you went to Potions. If you want it back…I have it. But…I’d like to keep it…while you’re gone I mean. I-if you don’t mind that is.”
Pansy got a playful look on her face. “But what ever will I use to keep my neck warm?” she asked with a huge grin.
Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her scarf. “I realize red isn’t really your color, but, it looks good on you,” she stated, wrapping the red and gold scarf around the Slytherin.
Pansy looked down at the scarf, and her face grew sad. “I don’t think I’m brave enough to wear this Hermione,” she stated with no hint of sarcasm in her voice. She turned away from the Gryffindor’s curious eyes. “Hermione…” she began, “I could never have done what you did. You were on the run, living off the land, starving at times!” she cut herself off.
Hermione reached out and took both of the dark-haired girl’s hands in her own.
Pansy continued. “You subjected yourself to torture! From Bellatrix LeStrange no less!” Pansy shook her head. “Thinking about it now makes me sick to my stomach.”
Hermione just stared at the girl for a moment, not sure of how to react to such a confession. “Pansy,” she said finally. “Life is just a series of choices. You’d be amazed at what you would do for the people you love.” She looked deep into Pansy’s cobalt eyes. “Maybe you just haven’t had the chance to prove it yet. Maybe you didn’t have someone to love when it came time to make that choice.” She turned to look at the floor before stating, “there will be other chances…other choices.”
Pansy stared at the girl in front of her like it was the first time she was laying eyes upon her and last time she was ever going to see her. She stared at Hermione like she was a work of art, and yet, at the same time, something unknown and provocative. She had such a mixture of emotions on her face that when Hermione turned toward her again, the Gryffindor was taken aback.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, her voice laced with concern.
Pansy’s face was alight with some unnamable emotion. She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “I just thought you should know…that you’re beautiful.”
The Slytherin leaned forward and captured other girl’s lips. The two girls had stayed in the Room of Requirement all night lost is the throes of passion, but Pansy couldn’t get enough. Her mouth was starting to lose the taste of Hermione’s lust. The brunette’s moans were no longer loud and clear and fresh in her ears. Her back was raw with marks from Hermione’s nails, but Pansy wanted those wounds to be reopened. She needed to feel the Gryffindor’s loss of control once more.
Just once more, to hold her over the weeks she would spend away from her.
Hermione pushed Pansy away. “Pansy,” she started, her eyes drilling holes in the floor, “I have to tell you something.
Pansy leaned in to kiss her, “tell me in between moans.”
Hermione gave up. She couldn’t possibly tell Pansy in between kisses, but she was helpless to the dark-haired girl’s advances. She wanted Pansy as much as the Slytherin wanted her.
Pansy laid a row of kisses along Hermione’s slender neck and the brunette’s moan was low and unrestrained. Hermione could feel that familiar warmth start to spread throughout her body.
The dark-haired girl placed a single finger at the hollow of Hermione’s neck and slowly trailed it down between the valley of the brunette’s breasts and over her stomach. She tugged at the hem of Hermione’s shirt and gently slid her fingers underneath. She pulled at the fabric until Hermione raised her arms surrendering her barrier to the lust-driven hands of the girl in front of her.
“You’re going to be late,” Hermione said softly, looking at the dark-haired girl through hooded lids. “Your parents will look for you if you’re not on the train.”
“Let them look,” Pansy stated simply before running her fingers over the lacy material of Hermione’s bra.
The dark-haired girl leaned down to kiss Hermione’s collarbone, and then the opposite. Her hand trailed down to the brunette’s hip and rested gently, thumb playing against the seam of Hermione’s satin green panties.
Pansy’s other hand carefully unlatched Hermione’s bra and let the beautiful, rose-capped mounds free, nipples hardening to peaks as soon as the cool air touched them.
“Beautiful,” Pansy whispered before leaning down and taking one of the hardened buds into her mouth, sucking it lightly. She slid her thumb under the seam of Hermione’s panties and brushed it gently over the brunette’s clit.
Hermione moaned softly and her eyes fluttered closed. She sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth and started chewing it lightly. Her body was tense with desire, the desire of a woman who knew she would be without her lover in a few short hours.
“It’s time,” said Pansy looking over at the glowing journal she had presented Hermione the night before.
Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “It’s a port key?” she asked obviously stunned. “But, we’re inside the walls of Hogwarts. I didn’t think it would work.”
Pansy smiled softly. “There are a few who can seem to find the loopholes. If you remember correctly, Barty Crouch Jr. was able to use a port key on the quidditch patch to take Harry to Voldemort fourth year.”
Hermione cringed and Pansy quickly changed the subject, that wound was still too fresh to reopen. “Besides,” Pansy continued, “this is the Room of Requirement, and I require taking you away from here for an hour at least. Even the wards of the famous Dumbledore are no match for the magic of these walls.”
Pansy went on, “it’s a one time only port key, it’ll take us there, and bring us back, and then it will be, just the Sinkanpro charmed journal. Are you ready?”
Hermione hesitated, “where are we going?”
Pansy smiled, wide, before stating, “you’ll see.” Grabbing Hermione’s hand, her bag, and then the port key, Pansy smiled and both girls were thrown into oblivion.
They landed in an open meadow. Hermione had no clue where they were, but it had to be somewhere far because the air around them was warm and slightly moist, but not uncomfortable at all.
The brunette looked around. The meadow was surrounded by trees, tall evergreens that blocked out most of the sun around the edges of the field. "Good thing we didn't land in the middle of Hogsmeade," Hermione mused, looking down at her bare breasts.
Pansy smiled and reached into her bag and pulled out her robes. She spread them on the ground and pulled Hermione down as she sat. The girls just stared into each other’s eyes for a while, then Pansy leaned over and brushed her lips softly against Hermione’s.
Hermione’s arms locked around the Slytherin’s shoulders tugging at the neck of Pansy’s shirt, trying to get it over her head without having to break the contact of their kiss.
She wanted Pansy closer. She wanted every inch of the dark-haired girl’s soft skin to be touching every inch of her own, like she was pressing herself against a mirror. Lips on lips, chest brushing against chest, hips grinding against hips. She wanted their legs tangled and their bodies intertwined, engulfed in the innocence surrounding them. She wanted this moment to be perfect.
They pulled at each other’s clothes until they were all in a scattered mess around the robes they were lying on. Their bodies were so similar, yet so different. Altered reflections of the same person, from two very different worlds. Pansy was soft skin stretched over toned muscle and hard bone where Hermione was a maze of gentle slopes and curves.
The girls lay like that for a while, lost in each other’s eyes, attached at the lips, at the hips. Hermione had never kissed anyone with her eyes open before, she was scared of what she might see. The dark-haired girl’s eyes were nothing but raw emotion. Pansy’s hand trailed up Hermione’s thigh, and into the warm, damp folds of her sex.
The brunette’s breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed. “Pansy,” Hermione breathed, “make love to me.”
It was barely the ghost of the word that fell upon the Slytherin’s ears. Barely a whisper of audible sound.
It screamed inside Pansy’s head until she wanted to cover her ears.
Make love? How do I do that? Is that different from what we normally do? Am I going to get this wrong? Am I going to screw everything up? The dark-haired girl’s thoughts were a mess of jumbled questions.
Hermione could see the turmoil in her lover’s eyes. “Shhhhhh,” she cooed. “Don’t think too much about words. Everything you do with me is right.” She grabbed Pansy’s face in between her hands and forced the dark-haired girl to look at her. “With you I like it rough. I like it soft. I’ve seen into the depths of your lust Pansy Parkinson. Nothing you can do will scare or disgust me.” She gave an encouraging smile to the Slytherin.
Pansy’s face visibly eased. Hermione’s words had soothed her emotions, if only a little, but they did nothing to quiet the whirlwind of questions inside of her. The Gryffindor had no idea the depth of Pansy’s lust. She had only danced along the edges, wading in the shallows.
“Pansy,” Hermione finished, “Make love to me. I want you inside of me. I want to feel you inside of me.”
Pansy wasn’t sure she even truly knew what love was. How was she supposed to just make it, out of thin air? All she knew was lust, and hatred, and lies. It’s all she was ever good at.
The dark-haired girl pulled back. Her face was sad. Her eyes danced around the ground until they landed on the red and gold scarf. She picked it up, and carefully wrapped it around Hermione covering her nakedness. “I’m not good enough for you,” she stated simply.
She began to put her clothes back on. “I don’t deserve to have you lying here with me so willingly asking me to defile your body. You deserve…you deserve so much better.”
Tears leaked out of Pansy’s eyes, they rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the soft skin of Hermione’s thighs. “You deserve someone as beautiful and courageous as you. You...” she hesitated, “you deserve someone like Fleur Delacour.” She covered her face and turned away. “I can’t make love to you Hermione,” she finished dejectedly, “I don’t even know what love is.”
With that she got up and walked a few yards away. “The port key is scheduled to leave in ten minutes, it will take you back. I think…I think I’m just going to apparate home from here.”
Before a shocked Hermione could say or do anything, Pansy turned on spot and apparated away, leaving the Gryffindor with tears in her eyes and a very real sense of shame. She had put herself on the line, she had willingly bared her all to another, she had been rejected, the pain was almost too much to bear.
The journal glowed and Hermione, mainly on reflex, grabbed Pansy’s robes, her own clothes, and then the journal. She was back in the Room of Requirement before she knew it.
She got dressed slowly. She was in a daze. Pansy had just tossed her aside. She didn’t know what to think. She slung the girl’s robes over her shoulder and headed toward the door. The pain had barely started to kick in and she grabbed at her chest like she was trying, frantically to make sure that her heart was still beating.
She stepped out onto the seventh floor carrying Pansy’s robes and the journal. She rounded the first corner and came face to face with a livid, blonde Veela.
“So it is true then?” Fleur said harshly, indicating the Slytherin robes draped over Hermione’s shoulder. "You have been avoiding me all this time because of her, the Slithery Queen!” The tears in Fleur’s eyes were threatening to spill out. “I-I, I did not want to believe it. I thought perhaps I had moved to quickly and scared you. I thought perhaps if I talked to you and apologized for being so forward, maybe…” she noticed the tears in Hermione’s eyes and abruptly stopped talking.
“She has done it again, non?” Fleur asked, a mixture of triumph and anger on her face. She looked as though she could either say I told you so, next, or just simply turn and go find, and hurt Pansy Parkinson.
The brunette’s mind was still a jumbled maze of confusion. The Veela’s words weren’t really registering. Hermione felt as if there were something in her chest, eating its way out from the inside. She wanted to grab something sharp and try to carve it out before it devoured her.
Pansy had taken something from her. The dark-haired girl had left a hole inside of her and her chest felt as if it were about to cave into itself, simply implode.
“Hermione, she does not deserve you. You deserve so much better. You deserve someone like…someone…”
“Like you Fleur?” Hermione cut the blonde witch off. “Do I deserve someone like you?” she was almost yelling at this point. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“You deserve someone who will treat you with respect! You do not deserve someone who makes you cry every other day! I am most certainly not saying that it should be me, obviously I was just some desperate ploy for revenge against your…”
"Shut up!" Hermione pushed Fleur back against the wall. "Just shut up, Fleur,” she cried. Then, in a whirlwind of anger and confusion and dejection, she leaned forward and kissed the Veela furiously.
You can find me here:
Hermione tore her lips away from Fleur’s. “Why must you make me want you so bad when all I want to do is die!?” She turned away clutching at her chest. She could still feel whatever it was inside of her gnawing away at the edges of an already gaping hole.
“I beg your pardon,” Fleur exclaimed with shock. “I am not making you do anything! I did not make you come into my room and toss me on my bed the other week! I did not make you avoid me for the past month! And I certainly did not make you just fling yourself upon me!”
In a desperate attempt to shut the Veela up, Hermione leaned forward and kissed Fleur again, more passionately, before pulling away. “I can’t think straight when you’re yelling at me like that!”
Fleur narrowed her eyes. “If you kiss me one more time like that, you better damn well plan on doing something about it.”
Hermione’s eyes filled with lust…bloodlust. She wanted to hurt someone. She wanted to make someone feel what she was feeling. She wanted to find release in brutality. She stepped forward and grabbed Fleur. One hand on the small of her back pulling the blonde toward her, the other hand on the back of Fleur’s head causing their lips to crash together with force.
Fleur winced in pain as Hermione bit her lip hard. The blonde could taste her own blood in her mouth as she was dragged down the hall toward a bare wall.
Hermione paced in front of the wall, frantically thinking about what she wanted to do. The door appeared and she shoved Fleur inside.
The room was filled with tall armoires and there was a bed in the middle made in black satin sheets. From the canopy of the bed hung heavy chains with shackles at the ends. The walls around the armoires were mirrors, as was the ceiling. There was a great fireplace in every mirrored wall. The room was stifling and the Veela already had a thin sheen of sweat on her skin.
Fleur’s eyes widened upon seeing the chains. “There is no way you are going to…”
Hermione held up a wandless hand. No words were spoken. Fleur flew across the room as if she were attached to a zip line. She landed unceremoniously on the bed. Hermione was glaring at her, eyes almost black with rage.
The brunette closed her fist and the thick chains lowered attaching themselves around the thin wrists of the blonde witch. Fleur’s eyes widened. “there is no way! This is mad! there are laws against this kind of behavior!”
Hermione smirked at the Veela. “There are only laws if the other person doesn’t want it.” She waltzed over to the bed and shoved her hand under Fleur’s skirt and into her panties. Her smile widened. “Looks to me like you want it to me,” she stated triumphantly pulling her hand out and licking her finger.
“Of course I want it,” spat the blonde witch. “I can’t ‘thnk of anything I want more, but I cannot touch you with these chains on.”
Hermione smiled. “Maybe you should just leave the touching to me then.” Hermione grabbed the front of Fleur’s shirt and ripped it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. She roughly spread Fleur’s thighs with her knee and pushed a strong thigh against the blonde’s sex.
Fleur’s response was a mixture between a gasp and a moan. Her eyes drilled into Hermione’s and she was constantly trying to get out of the chains.
Hermione walked around the head of the bed and over to one of the tall armoires. Fleur strained to see what the brunette was doing, but the chains were keeping her from turning around. She heard Hermione open one of the cabinets and start to rummage through the items inside. All sorts of things were racing through the blond witch’s mind. She heard the Gryffindor’s footsteps behind her. The Veela’s wrists were already chaffed to the point where they were starting to bleed.
Hermione walked back into Fleur’s view and set something down on the bed. Fleur wasn’t paying attention however, because when Hermione came back, the blonde had noticed dark storm clouds forming inside of the room. “Hermione,” the Veela said carefully. “I think you should calm down.
Before Hermione could retort, the sky opened up and it began to rain on the two girls. The brunette started to peel her clothes off. When she had nothing on but soaking wet green satin panties she climbed on the bed. Seeing Fleur, hair wet and clinging to her face, reminded Hermione of the first time they had had any sort of contact. The way the Veela was helpless beneath her made the brunette think about the first time they had shared a bed. Remembering how gentle Fleur had been only made Hermione want to be even more brutal.
The brunette leaned over and kissed Fleur roughly. When Hermione looked up, Fleur’s cerulean eyes for the briefest of moments looked like Pansy’s, deep cobalt. The Gryffindor hesitated.
“Fleur…I can’t do this.”
She was staring into the Veela’s eyes, but Fleur could tell she was looking straight through her. The rain was still falling, but it wasn’t hard to see the tears in the brunette’s eyes.
Hermione unchained Fleur. “I’m so sorry Fleur. I-I, I just can’t.”
“Shhh,” the blonde witch whispered. “You cannot be so strong all of the time. Sometime you must be weak, and just accept the fact that there are people in your life to pick you up when you feel as if you cannot go any further.” Fleur pushed the wet hair back from the brunette’s face. “Just sleep ma chere. Perhaps you will sort it out in your unconscious, hm?”
Fleur pulled the Gryffindor into her aching arms. Much to her surprise, Hermione didn’t resist, she fell asleep within a few minutes.
Fleur reached over and shook Hermione’s shoulder. The brunette stirred slightly and murmured something into her pillow.
“Hermione, I think I am going to go back to my room.” Fleur whispered, her eyes never leaving the ceiling.
“What’s wrong Fleur?” Hermione asked with concern. What have I done this time? Gods! I screw everything up! Hermione couldn’t control her thoughts.
“There is only so many times I can ‘ear you moan the name Pansy in your sleep before I must do something about it,” Fleur stately softly.
Hermione closed her eyes. “Fleur,” she began, “I’m sorry…” She could feel tears forming behind her closed lids. She knew that if she opened her eyes she would not be able to control the flow of emotion. Neither girl spoke for a long time.
“Hermione,” Fleur said, finally breaking the deafening silence that had formed. “Just talk to me. If I am not the one for you, then I am not the one for you, but this does not make my feelings for you any less significant.” The blonde witch shook her head before continuing. “I want you to be happy ma chérie, just tell me what is wrong.”
Hermione opened her eyes and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “She left, Fleur!” the brunette sobbed. “She just left! I put everything on the line. I gave myself to her, all of me, every part of me.” Hermione’s sobs were coming more quickly. “It just wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough.” The brunette’s face grew hard. “I’m not good enough. She didn’t even have the guts to tell me that. She gave me some stupid it’s not you, it’s me line.”
The Gryffindor sat up on the bed. “Bloody hell! Like I’m supposed to believe that rubbish. I should have known. I’m such a fool!”
“Again I say, you are not a fool Hermione. You just need to open your eyes more. You say you put yourself on the line. Physically I presume? Perhaps this is not what she wants. Or perhaps she wants more. Perhaps she is looking for something emotional.”
Hermione frowned. “I asked her to make love to me Fleur, and she left. Excuse me if I don’t think it’s emotion she is looking for.”
Fleur got a thoughtful look on her face. “’Hermione, as much as I do not want to become your rebound,” Fleur began, “just know that I cannot say no to you. Remember this when your impulses tell you to bed me the next time…and save us both the pain.”
Hermione looked at the Veela with confusion printed all over her face.
Fleur stared into Hermione’s deep, chocolate eyes. “You are in love with her. If you cannot see this, then you are blind. I most definitely can see it.”
Hermione closed her eyes and turned away. “So what if I am. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“Hermione,” Fleur cooed. “No’zing is ever lost until you give up. You should sleep on it, ‘zink it ‘zrough. You can always owl ‘er.” The blonde witch smiled and pulled Hermione into her arms, stroking her hair softly. “In the end, if she does not realize ‘ow special you are, I will ‘ave no ‘ard feelings about being the second best.” Fleur winked at the brunette.
Hermione gave a weak laugh and started to pull on her wet clothes. “Fleur, I’m so sorry. For…for all of this pain I’ve caused you. I-I wish…well I wish sometimes that things had turned out differently.” She stared deep into the Veela’s cerulean eyes. She shook her head. “Well, I’m sorry about last night. Can I at least help you heal some of these bruises?” Hermione cringed when she looked at the aftermath of her anger-filled lust. Even if in the end nothing had happened, the blonde was still bruised around her wrists from the chains, and both lips were busted.
“Nonsense,” Fleur stated firmly. “Do not apologize for last night. I assume you took out some much needed aggression, oui? Besides, I would like to leave these for a little while. Only one of us will regret that it ‘appened…or…almost ‘appened anyway.”
Hermione shook her head and gave Fleur a guilty look. “I better go. Fleur, try to have a good night. I’m sorry…again.” She closed the door behind her.
Fleur got up from the bed and began to dress herself. While she was pulling on her clothes she noticed the object Hermione had pulled from one of the armoires. The blonde’s eyes grew wide as she held up the neon green strap-on. What a shame she had to have a moral conviction, she thought, tucking the toy into the pocket of her robes. “Au revoir, Hermione…” she whispered with a sad smile.
Hermione walked back to her room slowly, thinking about everything the day had brought. Opening the door, she looked at the vase on her desk, it was empty. She used to fill it every day with wild flowers. She hadn't put flowers in it for so long. She felt the pang of loneliness as she stared at the vase. She pulled out her drawer and sat down at her desk pulling out a roll of parchment and her quill.
I need to see you. Please. We need to talk. I want to tell you this face to face. I need to tell you. I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m begging you…
She rolled up the parchment and tied it to her owl’s leg. “Pansy” she whispered, opening the window.
The great bird flew off into the night sky.