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Hermione owned plenty of stockings. She had stockings made of nylon and rayon and wool. They were all nice enough, but they were nothing like Pansy Parkinson's stockings. Pansy's stockings were different. They were smooth and shimmery and always perfect. Pansy never scratched at her stockings like the material made her itch and there were never any ladders in Pansy's stockings. There was something about them that she couldn't quite put her finger on, so she watched those slim legs. She watched them as they walked or crossed, delicately, ankle over ankle. Sometimes she wished that Pansy wasn't so ladylike. She wanted to see her sprawl in her chair like Ron and cross her legs ankle over knee. She wanted a glimpse under Pansy's perfectly pleated skirt. She wasn't a pervert. She wasn't like the boys in her year who were all thinking about sex, sex, sex. She just wanted to solve the mystery of Pansy's stockings.

She didn't realize that she'd been staring at Pansy's legs across the library until the girl got up and stalked over to her table. She expected the Slytherin girl to call her out on her staring, maybe make a nasty comment and stalk away. She hadn't expected her to push Hermione's pile of books over and settle delicately on the table. Hermione looked up at her, startled. The predatory expression on Pansy's face sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.

"See something you like Granger?" Pansy's hand went to her knee and fiddled with the edge of her skirt, lifting it higher.

Hermione's eyes were glued to Pansy's pale hand and she licked her lips.

Pansy gave a delighted little laugh. "Do you want to touch?"

Hermione's eyes widened, but before she had the chance to respond, Pansy was up and striding deep into the stacks, glancing back with a come hither stare that had Hermione out of her chair in seconds. Pansy grabbed Hermione's tie and pressed her back against the stacks near the Restricted Section. She took Hermione's hand and pulled it up under her skirt to slide over the garter belt holding up her stockings.

Hermione gasped. "Your stockings..."

"Silk," Pansy whispered softly as she buried a hand in Hermione's thick hair and pressed their lips together.

Then Hermione was lost in the delicate feel of silk stockings and silkier lips that stung like venom and tasted of sweet cinnamon oil.