Chapter 11: Like A PrayerNotes:
Little advice: listen to Like A Prayer by Madonna and Seven Minutes In Heaven by Mindless Self Indulgence.
trust. me.
(I am very very proud of this chapter and I want you to have the best experience reading it <3)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Give me your wand."
"Sure! What else do you want?! My sanity?! Yes, right, you won't get it because you destroyed it!" exclaimed Hermione, raising her hands to the sky, infuriated.
"Come on, Hermione! I'm just helping you there! I thought you wanted to torture Parkinson this year!" whispered Daphne.
Hermione glared at her and gave Daphne her wand. Behind the blonde, Pansy looked awfully smug, already handing hers to Blaise. Hermione knew it was just a game, but still. She had seen the panic in Pansy's eyes after Daphne decided to seal her fate, before she immediately masked it. And Hermione wanted to exploit this fact as much as possible. Gathering what was left of her dignity, she walked straight to the cupboard, her heart racing in her chest.
What approach would she use? Should she directly provoke Pansy as much as possible and see stars? Or should she use a more insinuating approach, spreading venom until Pansy was forced to yell at her?
She didn't have time to reflect on it too much. Pansy strutted to the cupboard. Hermione was already annoyed just by looking at the sway of her hips. When Pansy entered, Daphne, Blaise, Theo, Tracey, Millicent and all the other Seventh Year students rushed in front of them.
"Do you think they're going to fight?"
"Yes, that's probably what will happen!"
"I bet you one Galleon that Granger wins!" murmured Baddock.
"Shut up Malcolm," hissed Pansy.
"We'll be back in seven minutes," said Daphne, smiling. She leaned to Hermione's ear. "I put a silencing spell on the cupboard. Have fun!"
"Fun?!" repeated Hermione, offended.
Daphne blew her a kiss and closed the door, leaving thin rays of green light filtering through the aeration holes of the door. Hermione felt the cupboard shrink by half when Pansy rested her back against the opposite wall. She had known the cupboard would be small, but not like this. In the dimness, Hermione could see only lines and shadows, the faint glimmer of dark hair and the pale oval of Pansy's face. They were pressed close enough that Hermione could feel the shift of Pansy's breath. When Pansy fully settled opposite her, their knees collided. Hermione tried shifting to the left, then the right, but the cupboard walls offered no mercy. No matter where she moved, her knee remained locked against Pansy's.
The silence stretched, thick and stifling, as Hermione tried to slow her breathing. The only things they could hear were the faint conversations of the students in the common room, the music still pulsing. Hermione recognised with surprise "Like A Prayer" by Madonna. She knew this was Daphne's antics. The blonde must have had used her Walkman. Pansy was far too quiet, and Hermione could feel her attention on her, like a predator waiting for its prey to jump.
Hermione's jaw clenched. She would not be Pansy's prey. Never.
Finally Pansy exhaled a short, mocking little laugh. "What is it, Granger? Scared your precious goody-two-shoes values will be tainted if your knee touches mine?"
Hermione let out a slow, irritated breath, grateful for the familiar spark of annoyance. "Please. If anything is in danger here, it is my patience. Do you ever stop talking?"
"Only when I am bored," Pansy replied, leaning back against a shelf as if she owned the cupboard. "And right now I am extremely entertained."
Hermione rolled her eyes, though Pansy probably could not see it clearly. "You have a very strange sense of entertainment."
"I could say the same," Pansy murmured. "Considering you actually walked in here with me. I'm starting to think the most twisted part of you actually enjoys my presence."
Hermione felt heat crawl up her neck. Of course Pansy would twist this into some taunt. It was predictable. The brunette smiled. If Pansy kept walking on known lands, Hermione would definitely win this.
She straightened her back, but the motion only pressed her knee more firmly against Pansy's. Her breath slightly hitched against her will. Pansy did not move away.
Hermione swallowed, the air feeling warmer now. She could feel the shape of Pansy's knee through the thin fabric of her tights, warm and steady. Pansy's posture had stiffened just slightly, barely noticeable except at this distance. Hermione felt the shift and understood it as clearly as if Pansy had spoken it.
So she was uncomfortable. It was perfect.
Hermione lifted her chin just a little and let her knee press more deliberately against Pansy's, not enough to be obvious, just enough to make a point. Pansy drew in a breath, sharp and soft at the same time. Hermione's smile grew.
"You know," she said lightly, pretending to examine the shelf behind Pansy, "I am beginning to think you are the one who should be nervous."
Pansy scoffed, though the sound trembled almost imperceptibly. "You are delusional."
"Am I? Because your knee is not moving."
"It is a tiny cupboard, Granger. We are practically sitting on top of each other. There is nowhere to move. Why do you sound and look like you're enjoying this too much?"
"Oh?" Hermione shifted again, slow and deliberate, letting the contact travel slightly higher along Pansy's leg. Pansy stiffened instantly. "Funny. I managed to find room. And I do enjoy myself, thank you very much."
"Yeah, well your little game could perfectly turn against you," Pansy snapped, her voice too tight.
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep the satisfaction from showing. "I am simply getting comfortable. Is that a problem?"
"Yes," Pansy said, almost too fast. "No. I mean stop being so weird."
Hermione tilted her head, letting her hair brush Pansy's shoulder as if by accident. "You are very easy to annoy."
Pansy sucked in a breath that was almost a hiss. "And so are you. Are you still mad about your cat?"
Hermione grunted. "Yes, I am."
"I made sure the dye wouldn't be bad for his health," replied dryly Pansy.
"How thoughtful of you."
Their knees were fully aligned now, pressed together from joint to mid thigh. Hermione knew she should move, create distance, restore neutrality. Instead she leaned in a fraction more, just enough for Pansy to feel it. Something fluttered in Pansy's breathing, so quick Hermione might have missed it if she had not been paying such close attention.
Her voice had lost its aggressive tone when she spoke. "Are you going to keep making my life hell, Granger?"
"I'm giving you a taste of your own medicine, Parkinson."
"But you're so bad at doing it. You're inherently a softie."
She saw Pansy swallow in the dim green light. For a moment neither of them spoke. The silence was no longer uncomfortable. It was charged. Hermione's skin tingled where their legs touched. She had not expected this level of awareness, not this intensity.
Pansy shifted only enough to brace herself against the shelf behind her, the movement making their knees press even more firmly together. Hermione felt it, a subtle change in the pressure of their knees, then the faint slide of Pansy's fingers along the wooden shelf beside Hermione's hip.
Pansy tilted her head, her dark hair catching the dim green light of the common room. Hermione glanced at her watch. It was 11:43. It hadn't even been three minutes.
Even in the cramped cupboard, even half-shadowed, Pansy managed to look unbearably sure of herself. A smile curved at her mouth, lazy and smug and entirely deliberate.
"So," Pansy murmured, her voice low and velvet-soft in the tiny space, "is this how you imagined it, Granger? Locked in a cupboard with me, pressed against each other, nowhere to run?"
Hermione exhaled slowly through her nose, refusing to let her heartbeat show on her face. She knew exactly what Pansy was doing. She was trying to take control of the moment. To turn the tension into something she could wield like a weapon. Hermione had expected it; Pansy Parkinson did not know how to exist without some kind of upper hand.
But knowing did not make Hermione immune to the sudden blaze in her chest when Pansy leaned in, just slightly, narrowing the space between their faces.
"That is an interesting kink you have," Hermione replied, her tone snide and cold, even as her stomach flipped. "Maybe you should get your head checked."
Pansy's smile grew sharper. "You are awfully quick to assume it is my fantasy." Her knee pressed more firmly into Hermione's. "Maybe it is yours."
Hermione felt heat tightening a very specific point below her stomach. and settle beneath her skin, infuriating, electric, undeniable. She needed to stay calm. She needed to stay focused.
Pansy shifted again, just enough for Hermione to feel her breath skim her cheek. It was smug, teasing, confident in a way that made Hermione want to shove her away and pull her closer at the same time.
"You are blushing," Pansy whispered.
Hermione forced a smirk, lifting her chin to avoid Pansy from getting a height advantage. She was barely five centimetres taller than Hermione, but the latter wouldn't let her take advantage of it. "You wish."
Pansy laughed almost softly. "Oh, I do."
Something in Hermione snapped, annoyance, desire, challenge, she could not tell. She leaned forward boldly until their knees pressed flush together, thigh to thigh, their breasts almost touching. Pansy's breath caught, just for a second. Hermione felt it. She felt the shift, the crack in her composure.
"If you think I am going to be intimidated by you sitting too close," Hermione murmured, her voice steady despite the hammering in her chest, "you clearly overestimate your own charm."
Pansy blinked, thrown for the briefest moment. Hermione pressed the advantage.
"Let me make something perfectly clear," she continued, leaning in just enough that her hair brushed Pansy's shoulder, "if anyone here is getting flustered, it is you. Not me."
Pansy's jaw tightened. "You are lying."
"Am I?" Hermione let her voice drop. "Am I lying when you literally blushed when I used an arm blocking technique on you at Hogsmeade? When I pushed you against the shelves of the library at the beginning of September? Parkinson, you can't stop blushing when I'm near. It's almost pitiful. And your desperate attempt at making me blush too this morning by undressing yourself in front of me on purpose was nothing but shameful."
Pansy opened her mouth, but Hermione did not let her speak. She shifted again, deliberately dragging her knee between, Pansy's with slow, unhurried pressure. Pansy inhaled sharply, her fingers curling against the shelf behind Hermione.
The brunette smiled like she had just won a duel. Her head was spinning, her heart was two seconds away from an attack, but she was winning.
"You see?" she whispered. "I can play this game too."
Pansy moved, and Hermione barely had time to register the shift. Pansy's fingers were on her jaw, firm and sure, tilting her face upward. Hermione's breath stuttered. The politically correct space between them collapsed.
Pansy's thumb brushed the corner of Hermione's mouth, slow, assessing, hungry. Her other hand slid around Hermione's waist, fingers finding the curve of her lower back with a confidence that made Hermione's stomach drop straight through the floor. Heat erupted along her spine, sharp and overwhelming.
Hermione's mind flashed white. She was going to pass out. Actually faint. Her heart thundered against her ribs like it wanted out, her knees felt unsteady, her limbs trembled with nerves she could not control. She tried to breathe, slow and steady, tried to claw back even a scrap of composure, but Pansy's grip on her was too deliberate, too intimate.
Pansy leaned in closer, lips just shy of touching Hermione's cheek. "You can't win this one."
Hermione's heart roared in her ears. Pansy smelled like rum and citrus, something dangerously addictive. Hermione could not let her win. Not now. Not when her whole body was threatening to literally melt into Pansy's hands.
She forced her trembling fingers to move.
Hermione's hands lifted to Pansy's shoulders, gripping them with more force than she meant to. She felt muscle beneath her palms, tense and coiled. Pansy froze for half a breath, surprised, but she did not loosen her hold.
Hermione tilted her face, refusing to look away despite the heat rising in her cheeks. No. Never. Hermione would not be the one to break.
Her fingers tightened on Pansy's shoulders.
"You already lost the second you stepped into that cupboard," Hermione whispered.
Pansy's fingers tightened along Hermione's jaw. Her breath brushed Hermione's cheek, warm and uneven, and she murmured it so quietly Hermione almost wondered if she imagined it.
"I hate you."
Something in Hermione snapped.
Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the tone beneath them, maybe it was the certainty that Pansy was about to overwhelm her again, take control again, tip the balance in her favour as if Hermione's resolve were a toy to bat around. Whatever the cause, Hermione abandoned her brain somewhere and didn't look back.
She kissed her.
Their teeth clashed. It was clumsy at first, too quick, too forceful, as if Hermione were shoving the whole feeling out of her body all at once. Pansy jerked slightly, startled, but she didn't pull back. The cupboard felt suddenly smaller, the air hotter, the world reduced to the wild, chaotic point of contact where everything tangled and crashed together.
Hermione's heart hammered so violently she felt the tremor in her fingertips. Every nerve sparked at once, ringing in her bones. Her mind didn't just go blank, it felt like it burst open, scattered by the shock of what she had done and the indescribable rush that followed.
Pansy kissed her back. It wasn't gentle nor cautious. It was transcendental.
The kiss was sharp and urgent. Pansy's lips were hot, generous, wet. She tasted like alcohol and mint. Hermione could sense the challenge in the press of Pansy's mouth, the push, the pull, the demand to take control of this too.
Heaven help me.
Hermione refused to give up a centimetre of her space. Her hands were still gripping Pansy's shoulders, knuckles tight, body trembling uncontrollably. She tried to steady herself, tried to keep her legs from giving out, but the intensity of it made her feel as if the floor tilted under her. Pansy leaned in harder, trying to steer the moment, to claim it, to overwhelm Hermione the way she always tried to overwhelm her in every argument, every stare, every second of rivalry. There were a lot of seconds in seven years. And they were collapsing during those seven minutes in heaven.
Hermione held her ground.
She tilted her head just enough to counter Pansy's pressure, answering every push with equal insistence, refusing to be swept into Pansy's rhythm. It was heated, angry, messy in its urgency. Hermione could feel the weight of everything unsaid, everything denied, and everything they had spent years hurling at each other under different names.
Hermione stopped holding her ground when she felt Pansy's hot tongue caress her lips. She collapsed. Her lips parted open, and she couldn't refrain the small moan escaping from her throat when she felt her tongue meet hers, her nose pushing against her cheek.
It was dirty. It was beautiful.
Pansy dropped her chin, slipping her hand against Hermione's neck. When the empty space where Hermione's sanity had once stood screamed at her to do something, Hermione didn't listen to it. She swirled her tongue around Pansy's, dragging a high pitched whine from her. She felt Pansy's knee parting her legs wider. Hermione was floating out of her body. This was everything. This was prophetic.
Pansy tasted infuriatingly good. She felt infuriatingly good. It was better than anything Hermione had ever lived. Pansy's lips were the most addictive substance had ever tasted. Theodore's kisses were cold and messy but not in the good way. Viktor had been stiff and awkward. Daphne didn't even count. But Pansy? Pansy was sick and twisted and beautiful and irresistible right now.
Pansy broke the kiss. She pushed her knee higher, until Hermione felt it rub right between her legs. She held Hermione so tight against her that their breasts were pressed. She caught a fistful of Hermione's hair and pulled, but it wasn't painful, it wasn't violent. It was aggressive, but Hermione felt her passion, her anger more than anything else. Pansy forced her to raise her head, opening access to her throat.
This time, Hermione openly, almost brazenly moaned. The pressure was unbearable. It was delicious. Pansy let out a small groan. Her lips pressed right against Hermione's jugular vein. And she sucked so hard Hermione's legs trembled even harder, shaking uncontrollably. It didn't hurt. Hermione felt a rush of pleasure flow from the hair that Pansy was pulling, to the pulsing point of her neck that was being attacked, to the centre of her thighs. She felt Pansy's hips move, her knee pressing harder between her legs. She heard herself breathe hard and fast.
Pansy was panting. She trailed her tongue on the column of her throat, and right before Hermione could catch her lips again, a shrilling voice echoed in the cupboard.
"Time's up!"
Hermione barely recognised Daphne's timbre. Pansy suddenly dropped her, making her collapse against the shelves. Hermione's heart was still pounding hard. The door opened, and Hermione had just two seconds to stand right.
Pansy immediately pushed her and ran out of the cupboard, tearing off her own wand out of Daphne's hand.
The blonde's voice filled the space, sharp with triumph and nosiness, but Hermione couldn't make out a single word of it. She took her wand back from Daphne's hand absentmindedly. Everything sounded muffled, like she had plunged underwater.
Her own breath was too loud in her ears. Her heart was like a wild, unsteady drum. Her lips felt too warm, swollen. She could still taste Pansy's saliva in her own mouth.
She stared forward without really seeing, aware only of the sudden emptiness where Pansy's body had been, the abrupt shock of distance. Daphne was talking directly to her now, waving a hand in front of her face, but Hermione couldn't seem to make her eyes focus on anything. She offered some kind of nod or noise, she wasn't sure what, and stepped past Daphne before she had fully decided to move.
Her legs wobbled under her.
She gripped Daphne's arm as she walked, forcing her knees to lock, forcing her breath to steady, forcing her expression to flatten into something that did not scream I just got snogged my brains out. Her face felt hot. Her hands were shaking. Her knickers were uncomfortably wet.
Pansy was nowhere in sight.
Of course she wasn't. Hermione wasn't sure if that made it better or worse, the absence hitting her with a strange blend of relief and disappointment.
The Slytherin common room swallowed her the moment she stepped inside again. Heat, noise, and the deep bass rumble of old enchanted music pulsed against the stone walls. Students were draped across couches, shouting over one another, laughing too loudly, singing off-key, or slumped with dazed smiles in groups on the floor. Someone had transfigured cauldrons into makeshift punch bowls. Someone else was dancing on a table. The smoky green lanterns cast everything in a shimmering haze.
Hermione stood just inside the doorway, blinking at the chaos, pretending she wasn't still dizzy. If anyone looked at her right now, she hoped they would assume it was only fatigue or the stifling heat of the room. She kept her chin lifted even though her stomach was still flipping over itself, even though her lips still tingled, even though her mind kept replaying the moment she had lost control.
She didn't look for Pansy. She refused to.
Instead, Hermione slipped into the nearest shadowed corner, trying to blend into the swirl of drunken celebration, praying no one would notice how unsteady she still felt. The circle of the Slytherins playing Truth or Dare had completely dissolved. Millicent and Tracey were now singing off key near the gramophone, and Zabini was snogging a Sixth Year girl. Hermione couldn't see Theo.
"Did she drug you or something?"
"What?" blinked Hermione.
"You look so strange."
"No, no... we just... fought," she said, smoothing her skirt, breathing deeply.
"You look like you've been politely fucked, Hermione," murmured Daphne.
"No!" she exclaimed, her voice much too loud. "No, nothing like that! We just spent all our time bickering. I can't stand her."
Hermione wanted to press the nearest cushion against her face and choke to death.
"I'm sorry about that. Everyone kind of forgot about it when Theo kissed me and..."
"Theo kissed you?!" yelled Hermione.
Daphne hissed, pressing her hand against Hermione's mouth.
"Yes, he did. During Truth or Dare," Daphne added, smiling. "I wish you were there."
"I wish I had been there too, but—"
Hermione interrupted herself. It was past 12. Meaning she had spent twenty minutes in the cupboard. She glanced at Daphne.
"Yeah, you totally forgot about us."
"I'm sorry," the blonde wailed.
"But you kissed Theo! How was it?"
"Oh, it was so good! He was so soft and gentle!" exclaimed Daphne, pressing her arm against her eyes.
"Did he look like he wanted it?" asked Hermione, sitting straighter.
"Yes, I think he did!"
"That's amazing, Daph! I..."
A yawn abruptly cut Hermione off. Daphne giggled.
"Already? You're such a granny," she laughed.
"Lots of emotions for me today," groaned Hermione.
"Yes, Parkinson isn't exactly easy to deal with. Let's get you to bed, alright?"
"Yes, okay. But you better tell me about the kiss in details."
Hermione felt slightly strange asking for her friend to describe her kiss with Theodore. But she just couldn't find strength to tell Daphne what had just happened with Pansy. She needed to think about it, to stir.
They started to climb the stairs, but Daphne abruptly stopped in front of the boys' dormitory. A Sixth Year girl got out, her hair mussed, her skirt crumpled, her shirt opened. Behind her, Theodore was buttoning up his pants, no shirt on, his house tie still around his neck. Daphne froze. He glanced at them.
"Good night, girls."
Hermione immediately felt anger roaring inside her chest. She started to run up the stairs to catch his wrist and probably yell at him, but the door of the dormitory closed, leaving them alone. The girl excused herself and got down the stairs. Daphne was still standing there, not moving. Hermione grabbed her hand.
"He's a jerk."
"Yes, he is."
"Do you want to talk about—"
"No," abruptly cut off Daphne. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were colder than Hermione had ever seen. "Go to bed, Hermione. I need to get drunk."
"I can stay there and watch over you," argued Hermione.
"I want to be alone."
Hermione sighed, stroking her hand with her thumb.
"Alright. Stay safe. I love you, Greengrass."
Daphne responded with a groan, disappearing down the stairs. Hermione painfully arrived at her dormitory. She didn't look at any of the bed, seeing the room was empty. Exhausted, she collapsed on her bed, looking at the map Harry and Ron had given her. She needed to find the time to decipher it. But now, she was simply exhausted, and her heart had finally started to calm down.
However, when Hermione heard a ruffle of fabric coming from the opposite side of the room, she raised her head. Pansy was coming back from the bathroom. She got inside her bed, closing its posters.
"Parkinson?"
"What."
Her tone was flat. Hermione twitched on her bed, trying to steady her breathing.
"Are we going to talk about it?"
"Nope. Good night, bitch."
"Good night, bitch."
Hermione sank against her mattress. She had enough sense left to flick her wand in two tired motions, muttering quick cleaning charms over her face and teeth. The magic tingled across her skin, cool and efficient, and then she all but melted into her pillow, taking off her clothes with tired gestures. Once she was in her pyjamas, Crookshanks jumped next to her, purring. He rubbed his green head against her hand.
The sheets felt impossibly soft, the darkness thick behind Hermione's eyelids. She didn't even pull her blankets fully up before sleep caught her like a wave breaking over her head.
The next morning, the memory of the kiss hit her before she was fully awake. Her eyes snapped open, but the dorm was quiet, washed in the pale early light of a Sunday. No urgent class schedule, no voices, nothing except the quiet thrum of the castle breathing around her.
And the echo of Pansy's mouth against hers.
Hermione lay there for a long time, staring at the green canopy above her, unable to piece together any single coherent thought. It had been heated and furious and reckless and very extremely addictive. Hermione hated that she enjoyed it that much.
She told herself she should be horrified. She told herself she should be angry at Pansy, at herself, at the entire situation. But the memory of the kiss kept pulling her in strange, dangerous directions.
When she went to the bathroom, she realised she had a huge hickey where Pansy had kissed her neck. She quickly applied a camouflage spell, horrified. Horrified, yes. But also, she couldn't help but touch the mark every time her mind was drifting to Pansy.
She spent the rest of the day floating in that strange fog. She didn't see Pansy. She crossed her glare a few times during meals, and they exchanged some grunts as a hello, but they didn't talk. It made Hermione crazy. Daphne was extremely hungover and spent the weekend sleeping. Hermione wrote two essays and rewrote one of them, but she barely remembered a word she put on the parchment. She didn't even have strength to try to understand how the map worked.
She sat through meals without tasting anything. Every time her mind wandered, it went right back to that cupboard, to the heat, to Pansy's hand sliding behind her waist, to the shock of their mouths colliding, to the way her entire body had reacted. She could still hear Pansy's small moans, her gasps and breaths, and the wet noises of their mouths ravaging each other. And it drove her insane. It was maddening.
By Monday morning, Hermione was a mess of nerves she tried very hard to hide.
She woke early but moved slowly, distracted by her own thoughts, by the way her stomach tightened every time she imagined seeing Pansy in the corridors again. When she and Daphne walked toward their first class of the week, Transfiguration, she had already lost track of three things Daphne had said to her. Theo had tried going with them, but Hermione had given him the fingers; something she never did. He had registered the message.
She barely even noticed the cold bite of the draft that always ran through the sixth-floor hallway. Her mind was too full and too empty at once.
When they reached the classroom, Hermione hesitated on the threshold. Most students were already settled, their chatter bouncing lightly off the tall stone walls. They shared this class with Hufflepuffs, and most of them were already sitting. She chose a seat in the middle of the row, the one she usually shared with Daphne, and set her books neatly on the desk, though her hands shook slightly.
Daphne nudged her.
"You're white as parchment. Did you sleep at all yesterday?"
"I'm fine," Hermione replied, a little too quickly. She wasn't. She really wasn't. "You look like shit too."
Daphne snorted. "I think it's time for me to stop desperately hoping for something."
Hermione nodded. "When you told me he kissed you, I was finally hoping this could wake something in him. He just gives mixed signals. You can't keep going. It's time to move on."
Daphne sighed.
"I know. I spent some time with Harry today. I told him everything. He was so kind, I... I'm lost, Hermione."
"I know, I know," whispered Hermione, feeling her heart clenching for her friend. "It'll be okay."
"Are we still... friends with Theo?" asked Daphne, almost sheepishly.
"Right now? I really don't like him," answered Hermione. "But I'll just wait and see if he acknowledges he's being a dickhead. And when he does, if he does," she corrected herself. "Don't take him back until he makes a real grand gesture."
Daphne raised her eyebrows and closed her eyes in approbation. McGonagall had not yet arrived, so the room buzzed with the restless energy of students waiting to begin. Daphne dug through her bag for a quill. Hermione tried to focus on her own parchment. She read the title of the chapter three times and still couldn't absorb a word.
Then the door slammed open. Hermione jumped.
Parkinson walked in, late enough to draw attention, her short hair pulled back in half of a small pony tail with more precision than necessary, her robes perfectly arranged, her expression cool and composed, if slightly sharp around the edges. She didn't look hungover. She didn't look flustered. She looked as composed as ever. Hermione knew it wasn't her case, and she wished it could be.
Pansy scanned the room. Her gaze slid over everyone else. Then, it landed on Hermione. Perhaps because it was the only seat left.
Pansy said nothing. She simply rolled her eyes. She walked down the aisle, heels tapping with confidence, and stopped directly beside Hermione's desk. Without looking at her, without acknowledging any tension, she rested her bag on the table.
"Move," she ordered.
"Piss off," replied Hermione.
"Move," repeated Pansy through gritted teeth.
Hermione did, reluctantly. Pansy sat. She was so close Hermione could sense the warmth radiating from her shoulder. Hermione forced her eyes to stay on her book. She swallowed hard.
If Pansy noticed how stiffly Hermione was sitting, how shallow her breathing had become, she didn't show it. She opened her own textbook with calm, precise movements, as if nothing at all had changed between them.
Hermione's left hand gripped the wood of the bench. McGonagall entered and told everyone to calm down. She talked about the NEWTs. Hermione knew already everything she was saying. She couldn't focus anyway. She pulled out her quill and started to write.
Pansy was left handed. Hermione wondered why she had forgotten about this fact. Her free hand fell on the bench, right next to Hermione's.
Hermione forced herself to ignore it, turning her head to Daphne, who murmured something about McGonagall having her own cat hairs all over her robes. Hermione forced herself to laugh, because indeed, there were numerous cat hairs on her dark green cloak. But the sound of it died in her throat.
She turned her head to Pansy, who was glaring at her, as always.
But her pinkie was wrapped around hers.
Notes:
I should have put a trigger warning for sacramental snogging
Chapter 12: "Do Owls Fly?"Notes:
CW: explicit sexual content
Chapter Text
Pansy sat beside Blaise at the Slytherin table during dinner, but she barely registered her surroundings. Plates clattered, voices rose and fell. Someone a few seats down was retelling the moment Nott flipped midair to score during the last Quidditch game, and the table burst into laughter. Blaise nudged her once, then twice, rambling about something she would normally care about. A new rumour about a girl who had slept with Nott. A pair of second years who had accidentally dyed their eyebrows silver. Something about upcoming Hogsmeade and Yule plans. It all sounded like static.
Pansy stared at her untouched shepherd's pie, her fork resting uselessly in her hand. She observed the snow falling and accumulating outside, darkening the windows until the deep black of the night was dulled into a boring and pale grey.
Pansy was spiralling. She had snogged Granger. Hermione Granger.
Worse than that, she had wanted it. She had wanted it so bad, cramped in that cupboard before Granger took the lead that it had felt almost painful.
She could still feel it. The press of Hermione's mouth, sudden and fierce, as if the brunette had snapped and poured every anger she had accumulated against her straight into that kiss. Pansy had been stunned for less than a heartbeat before instinct took over, pulling her in, deepening the contact, letting her own fury and confusion and desire ignite. Her body had responded before her mind had any say in it. Her lips had parted. Her tongue had explored. Her hands had pulled. Her pulse had thundered. She had craved that kiss.
She had yearned for it.
And now, days later, when the first half of December was starting, surrounded by the usual Slytherin noise and comfort, she felt as if she were sitting at the bottom of a lake, everything muffled and too heavy for her shoulders.
Blaise nudged her again. "You are not listening to a word I am saying."
She blinked and looked at him, trying to assemble her face into something neutral.
"I am listening," she lied. It came out weak, barely convincing even to her.
Blaise rolled his eyes.
"Did something happen? Did you meet that unknown girl from the masquerade again?" he whispered.
He looked a bit awkward asking her that, surprisingly.
"No," Pansy shook her head. "I'm fine. Don't worry."
He didn't press. Pansy was grateful. She would have shattered if he asked the right question.
Because her thoughts would not stop.
First, that kiss she had shared with that girl during the masquerade. As if it hadn't been enough of a life changing event, Granger had to put her nose where it didn't belong and add fuel to the fire. Pansy didn't know who was that girl, and now, she spent much less time wondering who she was, and much more time asking herself why Granger's lips tasted so good, why her moans sounded so nice in her ears.
If anyone found out… if anyone had seen them in that cupboard…
Her stomach twisted painfully. Girls did not kiss girls. Certainly not girls from Pureblood families. Not girls raised on strict propriety and reputation. Not Pansy Parkinson, whose parents had spent her entire childhood drilling into her spine the image she was meant to uphold.
Be nice to your husband. Do the house chores until you get a House Elf. Prepare his dinners, his organisation. He must be at least as rich as you, masculine and puritan. He needs to protect you and you need to give him a son back. That's what you ought to do, since you're a woman, Pansy.
She imagined her mother's face if she ever learned the truth. Cold disappointment. Disgust. A clipped announcement of disinheritance. A letter to the Parkinson relatives explaining Pansy's sudden removal from the family records. She imagined the Pureblood social circles whispering behind fans. The revulsion. The exile.
Her breath stuttered, and she pressed her fingers to her temples. She should be terrified. She was terrified.
But something else was hiding beneath that fear, too profound and relentless to be ignored.
Pansy had adored that kiss.
The memory of it lit a fire low in her stomach, something hot and shameful. It was impossible to deny. The way Hermione's lips had felt, impossibly soft but fierce and bruising. The way Hermione had tried to refuse her dominance, pushing back with equal intensity, their kiss becoming more like a fight. Pansy had never felt anything like it, not with boys, not with anyone. It was electrifying.
It had felt exactly like reaching heaven, like winning the most important fist fight of her life.
She had kissed boys before. With Draco, it was polite, mechanical. She had a few sloppy snogs at the back of the Slytherin common room. She had had sex with men, for Merlin's sake. Yet nothing had ever made her feel like that kiss in the cupboard had. Nothing had ever made her feel so alive.
And that terrified her too.
What sort of person wanted to kiss someone she constantly fought with? Someone who pushed every single one of her buttons? Someone who made her furious every time she opened her mouth?
Every time she thought about Hermione, annoyance rose immediately, like it was instinctive. Granger drove her mad. Granger lectured. Granger argued. Granger looked at Pansy like she was a walking a pebble in her shoe. Or Murlap blood in her shampoo.
Yet the image of Hermione's face, flushed, stubborn, with her eyelids almost closed and the thread of spit that had linked their mouths for a second hovered at the front of her mind. Pansy could still feel the tremble in Hermione's body when she had grabbed her jaw. She could still remember the way Hermione's breath had hitched right before she kissed her, or the small noises she had made when Pansy had sucked on her neck.
Merlin, Pansy had sucked on her neck.
She crossed her arms on the table and plunge her head against them, feeling heat take on her cheeks.
A twisting need unfurled inside her at the memory, something she refused to name. She wanted to kiss Hermione again. She desperately wanted to. It wasn't like craving water after two hours of flying on a broom under the sun. It wasn't a luxury. It was like swimming faster and faster before reaching the surface, and finally filling her lungs with oxygen. Right now, Pansy was drowning.
She wanted to do it without the cupboard, without the seven minutes, without the noise and drunken shouting downstairs. She wanted to grab Hermione by the collar and kiss her until she stopped pretending she did not want it as well.
Because Granger had kissed her back. Why? Pansy hadn't even thought about that. To Hermione, it was probably just a way to shut her up. A strange way to do so, sure, but still, it worked.
Had Granger won that one?
How could Pansy want to win again and still want to shove Hermione away half the time?
How could both feelings exist at once?
Blaise was watching her now with subtle suspicion. Pansy forced a bite of food into her mouth, hoping it would steady her. It didn't. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate until a a big plate of pie popped in front of her. She grabbed the plate, looking up.
Granger was staring at her, reaching for it at the same time. For the smallest fraction of a second their eyes locked, and Pansy felt a sharp jolt run through her chest, like someone had tugged an invisible thread tied too tightly around her ribs.
"Stop being so selfish Parkinson. Give the pie to other people, Christ," said Hermione coldly, rolling her eyes.
But her expression flickered. Pansy could not read it, so she reacted the only way she knew how.
Her chin tilted sharply upward. Her eyes narrowed. She put every ounce of venom she could muster into that look, even though her pulse was hammering. Hermione blinked once, lowering her eyes. Pansy squinted her eyes harder. Granger's cheeks were pink.
Maybe Pansy had actually won their last... fight.
If it meant Granger had been reacting like that when she was near for the last days, it definitely meant Pansy had won. Granger was probably seething. It wasn't that bad.
"Pansy." Blaise's voice cut through her spiralling thoughts. He sounded surprisingly gentle but firm. "Would you listen for one moment?"
She turned to him, forcing her shoulders to loosen. "I am listening."
"You are lying again," he said with a sigh, but his tone held no judgment. "And you look like you are about to hex someone or faint. Possibly both."
Pansy scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. "What is it, Blaise?"
He hesitated only a second before saying, casually but with underlying intention, "I want to take you to Hogsmeade next weekend. Just the two of us. A proper day out."
Pansy blinked. A day in Hogsmeade would mean distraction. Space. Something normal. Something she desperately needed before her mind combusted.
She straightened, smoothing her expression. "Fine," she said, too quickly, but she did not correct herself. "Yes. Of course."
Blaise studied her with that quiet perceptiveness she sometimes hated him for. Then he nodded. "Good."
Pansy returned her gaze to her dessert, pretending she cared about it. Pretending everything was perfectly under control.
A few seats away from her, Hermione laughed at something Daphne said, the sound faint but unmistakable. Pansy's fork dug into the tart a little too hard.
She left the Great Hall the instant dessert ended, not wanting to risk another accidental glance in Granger's direction. Blaise didn't try to go after her, and it was for the best. The corridors were cold and empty, but she cut through them quickly, refusing to let her thoughts catch up with her.
She needed silence. Structure. Something that did not involve lips or Granger or brown hair or the unbearable memory of someone kissing her like they were trying to win a duel.
The library was nearly empty when she slipped inside. Tall windows held the last slivers of evening light, fading into indigo. Rows of shelves towered over narrow corridors, and the familiar scent of old parchment embraced her as she walked deeper, past tables and sofa to work on shared projects, all the way to the quietest corner hidden behind Arithmancy references.
Here, no one ever looked for her.
She slid into a seat at the small round table tucked between two shelves, the wood scratched by decades of students seeking refuge. She reached for the poetry section behind her and pulled out a worn green volume of Byron. She grew to like this copy. Its pages had softened, the spine gently cracked, as if her own hands had shaped it over the years.
She opened it and let the words drown her.
Her pulse slowed for the first time all day. Lord Byron's melancholy, his sharp longing, the way he weaved desire and bitterness into each stanza, felt like a presence she could settle against. A mirror she did not have to acknowledge but could rest beside.
Her eyes traced lines she had memorised years ago, yet they still stirred something unsteady inside her.
"Away with your fictions of flimsy romance;
Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove!
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love."
She paused. Her throat tightened.
How ridiculous, to imagine anything in her life resembled this love. She should have chosen a different poem. Something about war, or death, or anything else, truly. Something safer.
But she kept reading.
Minutes dissolved. Snow was falling even more. The longer she stayed tucked in that hidden corner, the more she slipped into the soothing cadence of poetry, letting it form a wall between her and the chaos still churning inside her chest.
She lost track of how long she sat there. Her muscles unwound, her breath matched the rhythm of the verses, and the knot of panic she had been dragging since she woke up loosened inch by inch.
The library dimmed around her as the candles burned lower. A distant clock chimed softly, but she barely heard it. She turned another page, hungry for just one more poem, then another.
If she stayed here long enough, maybe the world outside would disappear. Maybe she'd be free.
Pansy shut the book with a soft thud and let out a long sigh, stretching her spine until she felt the knots between her shoulder blades loosen. The quiet corner had grown cold, the candles nearly burned down to stubs. She rubbed her eyes, expecting to see the familiar warm glow of the library still lingering.
Instead, she blinked into near-total darkness. Every lamp had been extinguished. The windows were black, reflecting nothing but her own startled silhouette. Somewhere near the front desk, a chair creaked as the building settled for the night, and only then did Pansy fully register the stillness.
Madam Pince had definitely locked up without checking the alcoves.
Pansy scoffed under her breath, snapping the book shut and sliding it back into its place on the shelf. Of course she would get forgotten. She chose the quietest corner on purpose. Still, irritation buzzed beneath her skin as she made her way between the tall shelves.
"Lumos."
The tip of her wand lit up. Her heels clicked sharply on the stone floor, the only sound in the vast dark room, and she muttered curses at the librarian under her breath. When she reached the front doors and tugged one open, a cold draft slipped in, ruffling the hair at her temples.
The corridor outside was dimly lit by torches, the air cooler than she expected. She stepped out, tugging her cloak over her shoulders.
She took three steps before the beam of a wand lit the closest corridor angle. Pansy froze.
Granger was standing there, hair pulled into a loose bun, Slytherin Head Girl badge gleaming faintly in the low light, her wand raised. Her winter cloak swept around her ankles, giving her a weirdly heroic silhouette.
The moment Hermione recognised her, her eyes widened. Pansy felt her stomach swoop unpleasantly, as if she had walked straight into the one person she wasn't remotely ready to face. Of all the corridors in the castle. Of all the hours of the night.
"What the hell are you doing here? It's almost 11!" Hermione whispered vehemently.
"I didn't check my watch. Pince didn't check and she forgot about me," groaned Pansy. "Can I go now? Or are you going to take points from me?" she added in a high-pitched voice, faking sadness.
"No, no, you can't go," replied Hermione, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're as slippery as an eel these days. I've been wanting to talk to you."
Before Pansy could roll her eyes properly, Hermione's hand closed around her sleeve with a firmness that left no room for argument. Pansy let out a very undignified squeak as Hermione yanked her down the corridor, pushing open the nearest classroom door and pulling her inside.
The door slammed shut behind them.
The classroom was dark except for the faint glow of moonlight through tall windows, dust motes spinning lazily through the beams. Desks were shadows. This classroom was used as a study place for students, though none of them except a few Ravenclaws actually used it. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and stale chalk. Hermione dropped her hold on Pansy's robe but stayed between her and the door.
Pansy brushed the sleeve indignantly. "Merlin, Granger, a little warning? Or are you kidnapping people now?"
"We need to talk," Hermione said, voice taut.
"No, you need to talk," Pansy retorted, folding her arms. "I need to sleep. Preferably away from your interrogation fantasies."
Hermione inhaled sharply, holding on to what looked like rapidly fraying patience. "Parkinson, stop it. Stop pretending nothing happened. You've been running away from responsibilities all your life. If you want to make a change, you can do it now."
Pansy's jaw clenched. She glanced at the far wall as if it had suddenly become fascinating. "Nothing did happen."
"That is a lie and a pathetic one," Hermione snapped.
Pansy's heart lurched violently against her ribs. She kept her arms crossed, nails digging into her sleeves so hard the fabric strained. "Whatever you think you felt, Granger, it was the alcohol or the fact that you cannot resist competing with me in literally everything. Even snogging."
Hermione stepped closer. Too close.
Pansy's back tightened automatically, as though bracing for impact.
"Then why are you always looking for a way to touch me since? You think I don't notice your little finger against mine during the few classes we sit through together?"
Pansy's heart fell low in her chest. She stared determinedly at a desk leg in the moonlight. Her ears felt hot. Her breath unsteady. She hated this. She hated feeling cornered like some ridiculous animal. "I really do not have time for your delusions," she murmured.
"You're being stupid. I shouldn't be surprised."
"I am being careful."
Hermione blinked. "Careful about what?"
Pansy's lips pressed to a thin line. There were a thousand answers, all of them choking her throat: careful about being seen, careful about being wrong, careful about wanting something she should not want, careful about wanting her. But she said none of them.
Hermione let out an exasperated breath and took another step forward. Their shadows merged on the floor.
"If you're not going to talk to me," she said slowly, "if you are going to keep dodging this like a coward, then fine. I'll go speak to someone who actually wants me."
That got Pansy's attention.
Hermione lifted her chin a fraction. "Maybe I will go find Ron. He's waiting for me anyway."
Pansy's head snapped toward her so fast it almost hurt. Her stomach plunged cold and sharp.
"You're bluffing."
Hermione arched a brow, pretending to think it over. "He did say he wanted to spend more time together. And if you have nothing else to say to me, I suppose I can go see my boyfriend."
"He is not your boyfriend," Pansy hissed, before she could stop herself.
Hermione's gaze narrowed, satisfaction flickering beneath her controlled expression. "He could be."
Pansy stepped forward. Hermione held her ground, backlit by moonlight, unflinching.
"Do you think I care?" Pansy asked, but her voice trembled almost imperceptibly on the last word. She swallowed, hard. "Merlin, Granger, go snog Weasley in a broom cupboard. Go braid each other's hair. Go have wholesome redhead babies for all I care."
Hermione crossed her arms, mirroring Pansy, but her eyes sharpened in a way that made Pansy feel absolutely skinned. "You do care," she said simply. "Because you lost."
Pansy's breath caught, her chest constricting painfully. "I care about nothing involving you. And I didn't lose."
Hermione stepped closer. So close their shoes nearly touched. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"That kiss says otherwise."
Pansy's throat closed. A pulse beat desperately at the base of her neck. She forced her gaze to the window, to the chalkboard, anywhere except the girl in front of her.
"That way you gripped my back says otherwise," Hermione whispered.
Pansy stayed silent.
"Those little sounds you made when you had your tongue down my throat say otherwise."
Pansy still said nothing. Her tongue felt numb. Her lungs leaden.
Hermione nodded once, as if talking herself into leaving. "I am going, then."
Pansy couldn't let her have the impression she won, right? Because Hermione didn't. She absolutely didn't. Pansy caught her arm.
"Tell if I'm wrong, but the only way you found to shut me up that night was kissing me. That shows a lot about your... assertiveness."
"Like you wouldn't have kissed me too anyway," scoffed Hermione. "Your obsession for me would have pushed you to beg for me in any case."
"You moaned, Granger," cut off Pansy with a smug smirk.
"Yeah, and you ran! Again!"
Hermione's eyes suddenly widened.
"What do you mean, again?" asked Pansy.
"Nothing. But you ran."
"What else was I supposed to do, huh?! Fuck you in front of your friend?!"
"No! But at least acknowledge you have a problem with me!" exclaimed Hermione.
Her confidence was breaking, and Pansy wanted to see more. She escaped from Pansy's grip but didn't turn her back and leave the classroom.
"Well I'm not running right now. What are you going to do? Kiss me again?"
"Perhaps I should!" yelled Hermione, furious.
"Perhaps you should, yes!" shrieked Pansy.
"What?"
"What?"
Pansy stayed frozen for a moment, stunned. Hermione's lips parted, her eyes still wide open.
"Nothing," Pansy abruptly.
"No, no, you said something."
"I didn't mean it. You said something too."
"Shut up. You said I should kiss you again."
"No I didn't," interrupted quickly Pansy. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her neck.
Hermione took a slow step further, until Pansy was backed up against a desk.
"You want to kiss me again," she said, her voice trembling.
Her eyes didn't show anything else but curiosity. Pansy was losing again, and so quick it was almost ridiculous.
"And what if I do?" she murmured, before she could stop herself.
Hermione stopped approaching her. She stayed on her spot, suddenly looking almost timid.
"Right, umm... I mean, I… That's nice. I'm just... I'm going to... you know. Bed. See you around," the brunette stuttered.
She looked so positively confused that Pansy was ready to jubilate again. Hermione turned and started to walk back to the door.
Pansy couldn't let that opportunity go. She couldn't. It was out of the question. As Hermione's hand reached for the handle, Pansy almost jumped on her, pushing her shoulders hard against the door.
For a heartbeat, Hermione froze beneath her hands, petrified, eyes wide in the dim, dusty classroom light. Pansy felt something electric crackle between them, a dangerous current that had been simmering for weeks now.
Hermione's breath hitched, warm and quick. Pansy could feel it against her cheek. She hadn't even expected to move, not consciously. Her body had simply lunged, pulled by some deep instinct. Her hands stayed pressed to Hermione's shoulders, fingers tight enough to feel the muscle beneath her robes, tight enough to betray that she was shaking.
Hermione looked at her like she was something wild, unpredictable, something that ought to terrify her. But she didn't look away. Pansy hated that. And loved it. And couldn't stand one more second of not touching her properly.
"Pansy..."
The sound of it hit Pansy like a fist to the ribs. It was too raw, too real, too close to the truth she wasn't ready to face. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, lit from within by something she had tried to deny all week. She felt reckless. She felt alive. She felt cornered by her own desire and charged head to toe with the need to win whatever this was.
Her thumb brushed Hermione's collarbone without meaning to, and Hermione shivered.
That was it. She snapped.
Pansy grabbed Hermione's jaw, fingers sliding along the line of her cheek until her palm cupped the hinge of her throat. She felt Hermione gasp against her hand, and her own breath came out shaky. She hated how badly she needed this. She hated how her body trembled with anticipation. She hated how right it felt.
Hermione's hands shot up, gripping Pansy's waist like she needed something to hold on to. Her touch was sure, hot through the fabric, steadying Pansy even as it set fire to every nerve ending she had. Hermione's fingers dug into her hips, dragging her closer, refusing to yield. Pansy felt a laugh catch in her throat, breathless and disbelieving.
Hermione Granger. Touching her like that. Merlin help her.
Their foreheads nearly brushed. Hermione's eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted, breath warm against Pansy's mouth. The room tilted. The world narrowed to the two of them, pressed together in the dusty dark, breathing each other in.
Pansy's voice was barely more than a tremor. "You're such a bitch."
Hermione's eyes flashed. "I hate you."
So Pansy kissed her.
Again, it wasn't gentle, it wasn't careful, it wasn't anything sane. But it felt exactly like the drug Pansy had been craving for days.
Hermione crashed into her like she had been holding herself back for far too long, and Pansy's entire body lit up in an instant. Their mouths collided with a force that felt like fury and relief and something Pansy never dared name. Hermione's lips were hot and demanding, every movement a challenge, every breath a provocation.
Pansy didn't yield. She refused. She met Hermione head-on, matching her ferocity, biting at her bottom lip until Hermione gasped, then chasing that sound with her tongue, deepening the kiss until she tasted her, until she felt Hermione melt and tense all at once.
Hermione trembled. Pansy felt it everywhere they touched. It shot straight through her, made her dizzy with triumph and desire. Hermione pushed her back with a grip on her waist, but Pansy only slid her hand lower along Hermione's spine, pulling her even closer, forcing Hermione's body flush against hers.
Hermione's breath hitched. Pansy felt her knees weaken.
It was a fight, a kiss made of teeth and heat and fury, of two people who despised conceding anything. Hermione kissed like she was trying to win. Pansy kissed like she couldn't afford to lose.
Their tongues clashed, hungry, messy, desperate. Hermione pushed forward. Pansy pushed back. Hermione refused to let her dominate. Pansy refused to let Hermione breathe without her.
She kissed her harder. She needed more. Much more.
Hermione pushed her against a desk, until Pansy had to sit on it. She kept pushing her, using the strength of all her body, until her hair fell out of her bun to stroke Pansy's face. She smelled so good. She smelled like tea. Pansy panted, sliding her hands under Hermione's shirt, feeling the boiling skin, soft and smooth. She needed to regain an ounce of power—
"Fuck, Parkinson…"
Granger bit her lip, breaking the kiss. Pansy's hands flew to her hair. She needed something to hold onto because she knew she was losing this one.
Or maybe... maybe she could scare Granger. Hermione didn't have any experience, from Pansy knew. Pansy just had to show her bra and Hermione would freak out. Yes, this was the best way to win.
Pansy wrapped her hair around her hand, forcing her to look at her, pulling away. She loved pulling Granger's hair. It was soft. Curling. A bit crazy.
It surprised Pansy, but Hermione sat on her thighs, on the desk. She had probably lost her mind too. The Hermione Granger she knew wouldn't snog a girl during her Head Girl patrol.
Pansy unbuttoned her shirt. She needed to be fast. After a few seconds, the shirt fell to the ground. Hermione's eyes dropped directly to her breasts. And she reached. Her hand flew to the side of Pansy's ribs. Pansy attracted her in another kiss. She grabbed Hermione's hand, guiding her to her breast, hidden under a thin layer of lace. Hermione gasped in her mouth when she felt her nipple.
Pansy was shamefully wet. She took her time kissing her, savouring her lips. Hermione wasn't backing away. She was responding. Pansy closed her eyes when the brunette started to kiss her neck, then her chest, before her lips grazed her nipple.
When Pansy opened her eyes, Granger had no shirt on. She didn't have a bra on either. The moonlight was making her skin almost glowy. She had round, perky breasts, with larger nipples than Pansy's.
And it was the most beautiful thing Pansy had ever seen. Her heart was fighting to get out of her chest. Her head was spinning, her throat tightening, her hands gripping Granger's waist for dear life. Pansy knew she would never forget this vision the moment she had laid eyes on Hermione's naked chest. It was too much to bear, too much to see, and not enough at the same time.
"Merlin—you're so... uh, you're..."
Hermione stifled a small laugh. Pansy's eyes were open as wide as she could to never forget this image. Her hand was trembling when she pressed it against Hermione's breast. She felt the weight of it, feeling the pink nipple stiffen under her fingers. Hermione was breathing so hard. It felt like music to her ears.
"Do something to me," Pansy suddenly said, not even thinking about the words that were leaving her mouth.
"What? I've never done—"
"I don't care. Do something to me."
Hermione nodded. Pansy's hands were shaking when she hooked her fingers on her tights and knickers, as she slid them along her legs. Hermione's breath caught, and Pansy knew they were sharing the same expression.
It didn't make any sense. But if it stopped now, Pansy wouldn't survive. Hermione kissed her, and it was softer this time, more cautious, more exploratory. Her hand was on Pansy's thigh, stroking, searching. Pansy was a puddle on the floor. She was about to burst. There was a bomb waiting to explode in her chest and she needed Hermione's fingers inside her to action it, because she wanted it to explode.
Hesitantly, Hermione put both her hands on Pansy's thighs, parting them. She leaned forward, kissing her knee, the interior of her thighs.
"Ouch!" hissed Pansy.
This bitch had just bitten her.
"I'm not sorry."
"I know you're not."
"I don't know how to do it," whispered Hermione.
"But you want to?"
"Yes," she answered quickly.
"It doesn't make sense right?"
"Nope."
"You still want to do it."
"Shut up and tell me how to do it."
Pansy's heartbeats were the only sound coming to her ears. More softly, than she intended, she caught Hermione's hand. She guided it slowly, letting her the time to map, to trace, to remember. Hermione's brown eyes weren't leaving hers. She looked hypnotised. When Pansy put her hand right between her legs, Hermione's fingers immediately found her the warmest point of her flesh.
And the bomb exploded. Pansy pressed her forearm against her mouth, squinting her eyes so hard she saw white sparks.
Slowly, Hermione dragged her fingers, touching every fold, every patch of skin and flesh she could find. She hovered against her entrance, rubbing it in delicate circles. Pansy had to push her hand to make her understand that not only did she want her inside, but that she would die if Hermione didn't go inside.
"Granger. Please."
"What did I just hear?" cooed Hermione.
"I hate you so—ah!"
Granger pulled one finger in. And Pansy didn't know why, but it felt better than any other times. She knew she was drenched, and she knew Hermione felt proud of it. She could feel her smiling against her lips.
She started careful, attentive in and outs. Pansy knew she was listening to her breathing, to her noises. Fuck, Granger was a quick learner.
"Add another one," Pansy asked, breathless.
Hermione did. She kissed her cheek, and two fingers went inside of Pansy, stretching her walls. Pansy couldn't stifle the moan of pleasure it dragged out of her. It was too much. But still not enough.
"Don't change your pace," she groaned. "Merlin, yes…"
Hermione was taking her time, and she was good. She fingered her steadily, never changing her rhythm. Pansy was already starting to feel a coil forming below her stomach, heat pooling on all her body, nipples straining against her bra.
"Fuck, Granger, don't stop!" Pansy cried, gripping Hermione's back as the pleasure kept building, wave after wave.
"I don't plan to," murmured Hermione against her lips.
The curly hair that was in Pansy's nose pulled away. She felt Hermione kiss her belly. It tickled Pansy, and she giggled a bit, before biting her lip when the friction of Hermione's fingers started to become unbearable. She knew she would be coming soon.
At this point, Pansy didn't even care about winning or losing. She had Hermione between her legs, kissing her skin and fucking her oh-so-well for someone that inexperienced.
"Granger, if you keep going, I'm going to—oh, FUCK!"
Something wet and warm found Pansy's clit. She felt teeth grazing it, before a hot mouth wrapped around it, sucking softly.
This bitch!
Pansy's mind was obliterated. Her reason was a distant memory. Her sanity was thrown into oblivion when she felt Hermione's tongue circling her clit, licking every centimetre of flesh she could find. It was too good, too much, too wet, too hot.
Pansy's head hit the desk. Her back arched. She was drenched in sweat. Her nails scraped Hermione's head. The brunette flicked her tongue three more times on her clit, before Pansy crumbled on the desk.
Her orgasm hit her so hard her vision fully whitened. Her legs started to shake, her hips jerking erratically, her hands gripped Hermione's hair even harder, pushing her face against her core, riding it until she couldn't stand it anymore.
After a good minute, Hermione raised her head from below Pansy's skirt. She was smiling. She wiped her mouth on her arm, climbing up to kiss Pansy's lips.
"Loser," Hermione murmured against her mouth.
"Piss off," grunted Pansy, reaching for her shirt.
"Did I do well?"
"Do owls fly?"
Granger was smirking. Pansy wanted to slap her.
"Should I do this every time I want to shut you up?"
"Definitely."
Hermione put on her bra and pulled her sweater back over her head. Pansy stayed on the desk, unable to stand up. She was shaking too much. Hermione gripped her chin, pecking her lips. Pansy crossed her arms. Granger looked far too pleased with herself.
"You definitely lost that one."
"Fuck you."