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Hermione’s hand shot in the air. At Professor Binns’ ghostly nod, she declared, “It was The Great Centaur-Elven Filibuster of 1579, sir.”
Although Binns gave no indication that she’d answered correctly, Hermione knew she was right. She had studied that very fact just the night before, cramming in some quick revision before official exam season started.
“And this Filibuster was exactly what started the events that led to the Bloody Protest of the Manticore Brethen of 1580,” Binns wheezed, drifting to the rafters before descending back down slowly.
Hermione looked around the classroom to see if anyone had noticed her cleverness, her knowledge of something no one else knew. But to her dismay, nearly the entire class was sleeping. Both Harry and Malfoy were nowhere to be seen, Ron was snoring gently a few rows down, and the few students who were conscious appeared to be studying for other things. Pansy Parkinson was awake, but just barely it seemed, across the classroom.
Hermione found that she could hardly blame everyone for being so tired, so lazy. She herself was even having a bit of trouble concentrating in this heat. It was mid May, and Scotland was already having unseasonably hot weather, sunshine filtering lazily into the classroom through the open glass windows, warming the stone from the inside out. The classroom felt like a Muggle oven, Hermione thought.
It was shocking, really, how quickly Eighth Year had flown by, exams already around the corner. After a downright hostile start to the year, lingering tensions between Slytherins and all other Houses at a post-wartime-high, the Eighth Years had reached a cease-fire somewhere around the time Harry and Malfoy started sneaking around together.
No one else but Hermione knew, of course. Not even Harry knew that she knew this. But she understood his obsessive actions, lingering glances.
When she had noticed Malfoy reciprocating, Hermione had realized what was happening, (and really - there wasn’t much Harry could hide from her - she knew him too well and he wasn’t exactly known for being subtle, and neither was Malfoy to be frank) and she had known it would be imperative for Harry’s happiness if they could find a way to… mend fences between the Houses.
And so Hermione had anonymously assigned team-building activities at random between Slytherin students and students from the other Houses. Harry and Malfoy had been paired together, of course, to clean out Greenhouse Three for Professor Sprout after classes one evening. Ron and Theo Nott had been forced to play a game together of any sort, which had turned into a seven hour chess tournament. Daphne Greengrass and Parvati Patil had been assigned to tutor the younger students in Charms, and ended up leading a beauty charms tutorial for nearly half of Hogwarts.
Hermione, in the spirit of bringing people together who historically hadn’t gotten along, hadn’t allowed herself to be an exception. She’d paired herself up with Pansy Parkinson, and their task was to be locked in the Prefect’s headquarters. The only way out for them was to work together to solve a riddle, which would grant them the password to leave the chamber.
However, the first clue had led them through the door to the Prefect’s bathroom in the chamber, the luxurious bathtub stretching the expanse of the room. To Hermione’s annoyance, Pansy had quickly grown bored of the puzzle, had sat down on the edge of the tub, feet dangling in, looking up at Hermione.
“So. Granger. How soon until you and Weasley start popping out ginger headed spawn?”
Hermione hadn’t known what to say. She was embarrassed and hasn’t realized she and Ron had been quite so obvious.
“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business,” she’d said coldly, gripping the parchment of clues tightly in her grasp, standing stock still several feet back from the tub’s edge.
Pansy had shrugged and looked away, bringing a hand up to play with her sleek black hair. “Relax. My god. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other, aren’t we?” she drawled, sounding disinterested. “It’s not as if I asked how many times a day you’re shagging.”
Hermione had blushed red, nearly crumpling the paper now in her fist. “I beg your pardon?”
“Everyone knows you and Weasley have been at it like rabbits,” Pansy continued, grinning now, her posh little voice growing meaner. “Not sure ginger cock would do it for me, personally, but to each her own.”
Hermione had stood rigid, unable to move, growing more and furious, humiliated. The worst part was, Pansy was right. Hermione and Ron had been shagging quite regularly and quite enthusiastically, if she was being honest. And though she refused to talk about such things, Hermione privately admitted in her own mind that she was very much enjoying herself.
She opened her mouth after a few moments, not sure what to say, but indignant nonetheless. “I don’t -“
But Pansy interrupted her. “Alright, relax,” she said again, rolling her brown eyes, giving her hair a flip over her shoulder. “I was just having a bit of fun.” And with that, she turned her back on Hermione. After a few moment’s hesitation, Pansy grasped her wand and flicked it, the hot bath taps squeakily turning to the right and beginning to flood the bath with fragrant water.
Pansy glanced back at Hermione, expression suddenly wicked. “Fancy a dip?” She’d asked in a sing-song voice, a mischievous lilt in her tone.
“Absolutely not,” Hermione had scoffed. “We’re meant to be solving the puzzle together. Aren’t you going to help?”
Pansy had shrugged, ignoring Hermione’s frustration, now smiling. “Suit yourself,” she’d said.
Hermione clamped her lips shut. As she watched the other girl, Pansy had reached down and slipped her loafers, expensive ones with the Knut detail on the top, off her feet. She’d lined them up neatly next to her, then slipped off her socks, laying those next to her shoes. Her bare feet had high arches, her toenails painted a dark red.
The water rushed from the tap, slowly filling the room with steam, the throbbing pulse of the rushing water filling Hermione’s ears. Pansy slowly stood up and slipped her skirt down over her hips, revealing a black thong underneath.
Hermione stood motionless, frozen to the spot, the list of clues forgotten in her hand, dangling to the ground now. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening, how rapidly they’d gone from not friends, not speaking, to this.
She watched as Pansy finally looked back at her for a moment, before turning slightly, so Hermione had a side view of Pansy unbuttoning her school blouse, excruciatingly slowly, button by button, down to her navel, before it fell open and she slipped it off her shoulders.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. Hermione stared at the swell of her breasts, her mouth going dry, the parchment slipping from her fingers unnoticed. Pansy’s nipples were a dark pink, and very puffy; her breasts full and soft-looking, jiggling as she shifted her weight and stepped closer to the tub’s edge.
The water had nearly filled the pool by then. Hermione was distantly aware that she was just standing there, several feet from Pansy, just watching her disrobe. She swallowed, suddenly hot, overheated in her robes and uniform, feeling prickly all over. Pansy waded into the pool slowly, sinking in, an ahhhhh escaping her mouth. Her soft moan jolted Hermione out of her daze.
Hermione crouched to the floor, picked up the sheet of parchment, had turned on her heel and fled towards the door. Pansy’s voice floated back to her: “Sure you’re not interested?”
“No!” Hermione had snapped back shrilly, making the mistake of pausing and looking back at Pansy as she reached the doorway. Pansy just laughed and drifted slowly away towards the multicolored shower taps, which leaked steaming hot jewel-colored water over Pansy’s bare breasts, dripping from her nipples, her gaze on Hermione.
Hermione tore her eyes away and stalked through the door without another word. Doing her best to ignore her pounding heart, she shakily smoothed out the crumpled parchment, solved the puzzle on her own, and left the room without another word, trying not to think about what was happening in the other room as soft splashing noises drifted through the open doorway.
Afterwards, when she’d seen Ron and he had asked her about it, she didn’t know why, but she hadn’t said anything about Pansy taking a bath, or stripping down, or her own reaction. She had merely said Pansy had been uncooperative, and she’d solved the puzzle on her own.
Feeling daring, and also a desperate need to end the conversation about Pansy, Hermione had lain down in Ron’s bed and opened her legs, finding she was already quite wet. She and Ron had had sex. She’d gone to sleep later that night with a clear head, but she’d woken up breathless in the early dark hours, heart pounding, limbs liquid and loose, wetness between her legs, the image of Pansy in the bath branded into her mind.
The exercise had left Hermione feeling significantly confused, which was her least favorite feeling. She didn’t know what to make of it - any of it.
So she had thrown herself into her schoolwork, and her relationship with Ron, and her friendship with Harry, as they enjoyed their final year at Hogwarts. Hermione’s plan had worked after all - over the next several months, the tension between Houses had continued to thaw, and the atmosphere by the end of spring was quite collegial.
While Hermione hadn’t escaped unscathed personally - she still felt her heart speed up whenever she walked behind Pansy Parkinson, her skirt rolled up at the waist to show off her long legs; or when she ran into Pansy coming out of the shower in the girls’ lavatory, wrapped in a short white towel, black hair dripping water onto the tops of her breasts, smirking at Hermione -Hermione knew that she had accomplished what she’d set out to do, so she considered her efforts a net positive.
There was a party that night by the Black Lake. Seamus had promised them a bonfire and there would be skinny dipping. Hermione was looking forward to it, but first she wanted to focus on her classes, soak in every last bit of material and learning during her final days in school. She would miss learning terribly and wanted to savor every minute of it. However, she was having a bit of trouble paying attention in History of Magic that very moment. She tried to redouble her efforts, jotting another note down about the Manticores.
As Professor Binns droned on, Hermione reread her notes, trying to concentrate. She knew these were the types of classes that could set her apart, the ones where she was the only one listening. She smiled to herself, eyes drifting around the room.
Her gaze came to rest on Pansy Parkinson. Hermione usually didn’t let herself look at Pansy for more than a moment at a time, but since Pansy’s eyes were closed, she let herself stare just a second longer.
Pansy had scored what everyone (besides Hermione, of course) widely considered the best seat in the classroom. It was the seat furthest in the back, next to a small alcove. After Binns took attendance, whoever sat in that desk slid their chair backwards into the alcove, unseen by the teacher and most of the class save for a few other seats, free to do whatever they wanted in privacy. Binns never noticed a thing.
Hermione had been late getting to class. She’d been held up speaking with Professor Sprout at the greenhouses about a grade she’d gotten on the last practical. Due to her tardiness, she’d been forced to take a seat in the back of the classroom, facing across the room where Pansy sat hidden in her alcove.
As she sat staring at Pansy’s long, dark eyelashes, kissing the tops of her cheeks, Hermione struggled to remember what had happened after the Protest of the Manticore Brethren. Had the Ministry of Magic exiled the elder Manticore leaders? Or merely detained them in an effort to contain the tensions?
As her thoughts drifted, Hermione became aware of Pansy’s slightly heaving chest. Was she breathing harder than normal? Was she dreaming, sitting up in her chair? Her eyes opened suddenly and locked on Hermione, and Hermione startled, looking away quickly, embarrassed by having been caught looking.
Hermione focused her sights back on Professor Binns, determined to absorb the lesson in full, but her thoughts kept slipping back to the Slytherin girl across from her. A few moments later, she couldn’t help but sneak another quick glance back over to the alcove.
Pansy’s eyes had closed again. She had one hand loosely wrapped around a quill, but her parchment was shoved close to the edge of her desk, unused. Her other arm was reaching beneath the desktop. From her vantage point, Hermione could see under Pansy’s desk; in fact, she had a perfect view.
Pansy’s legs were slightly open and her hand was snaked down between her thighs. She was slowly rubbing her hand over her skirt, slowly, up and down, in a circular motion. Her face had become slightly flushed. Hermione’s mind went perfectly blank. She couldnt even process what was happening. She snuck a glance around the rest of the classroom, but the stupor remained blanketed over the students. No one had seen but her.
Hermione returned her gaze to her notes, trying to ignore the way her breathing was speeding up, the zings running through her body, trying not to think about what was happening 10 feet away from her. She read through the notes she had written: The Manticore-Elven Treaty of 1548 had been nullified by the Ministry, citing transgressions by the Manticore-Elven treaty, which had been nullified by the Ministry,…
She stared at her notes in horror, wondering what had gone on in her mind when she’d written them down. She could barely think. A bead of sweat trailed down her neck, the heat from the classroom becoming oppressive. Another drop of sweat slid down, down, between her breasts. She could barely hear the monotonous murmur of Binns’ voice.
Refocusing on the lesson was impossible. Hermione could now barely remember what a Manticore was, let alone what they were protesting. She swallowed hard. Unbidden, she glanced towards Pansy again. This time, Pansy’s hand was underneath her skirt’s waistband, reaching down. Hermione could see her hand moving under the fabric in a rhythmic, circular motion.
Hermione watched, completely frozen, as Pansy’s hand continued to circle. Her eyes popped back up to Pansy’s face; her eyes were still closed. The white of her teeth dug into her plump, pink bottom lip. Hermione thought of her nipples in the Prefect’s bath, puffy, perfectly pink. Hermione lost track of time as she watched Pansy, quill on her desk now. She didn’t remember putting it down.
After a few excruciating, electrifying minutes of watching Pansy stroke and tease herself, Hermione realized, quite abruptly, that she was wet between her legs, startlingly so. So wet that she could feel it dripping down her slit, slipping down her arse, between her cheeks, soaking into her cotton knickers.
The wet sensation, so hot between her legs, felt sinfully delicious. She couldn’t believe herself in this moment; Hermione tried to refocus on the Manticore rebellion. But wait - it wasn’t a rebellion. It was a peaceful protest. No - it was a demonstration. Wasn’t it?
As Hermione watched Pansy, trying to remember what she was supposed to be focusing on, Pansy opened her eyes again. Hermione forgot to look away, yet she blushed up to the roots of her hair, humiliated to be caught looking again, but powerless to do anything about it. Pansy smiled a bit, her mouth falling open a touch, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips. Hermione stared at the pinkness, the slickness left on her mouth, a powerful ache thrumming deep in her core.
She watched, hypnotized, as Pansy slowly withdrew her hand from under her skirt. She held Hermione’s gaze as she took hold of the bottom of her skirt where it was covering her thighs. She waggled the tips of her fingers a bit under the desk, making sure Hermione’s focus was where she wanted it, before she slowly dragged the skirt up her thighs until it was resting in her lap, giving Hermione a full view between her legs.
Her legs widened a bit more. Hermione’s mouth fell open a bit, and she swallowed hard. Pansy’s knickers were a light blue color. There was a dark wet patch where she had soaked her knickers with her arousal, and Hermione stared at the wet spot, how it started at the apex of her legs and trailed down, towards the chair. Hermione distantly wondered if the chair was wet, too, under Pansy.
Suddenly Hermione could smell her own juices, a musky scent just faintly reaching her nose. She squeezed her thighs together to stop the scent from drifting any further, and had to quickly stifle a gasp of surprise as a shot of sensation from squeezing her thighs grazed her clit, a jolt running through her body. She froze, trying to catch her breath. She glared as Pansy appeared to stifle a snicker behind her hand.
As Pansy slowly opened her legs more, still hidden from the class by the alcove, Hermione’s breath began to come faster. Pansy slowly reached down and began massaging her hand again on the outside of her knickers, the soaked spot on them slowly spreading, becoming slick with it.
Hermione imagined she could nearly hear the soft, wet sounds coming from Pansy’s ministrations. After a few moments of this, Pansy took a breath and slowly, slowly slipped her hand under the waistband of her knickers. The quill fell from her other hand, fingers going slack. She closed her eyes briefly, face crumpling slightly as she began to rub slowly, hips beginning to twitch in her chair. Hermione’s heart was racing. She felt lightheaded, and she needed to move.
Hermione crossed her legs now, and began squeezing her thighs together rhythmically, in time with the circular motion of Pansy’s hand, hidden behind her soaked knickers, scarcely able to believe what she was doing, what they were doing.
It went on forever, the squeezing of her thighs doing less and less to relieve the pressure as she grew more aroused. They abruptly locked eyes again. Hermione held her breath, waiting for what would happen next, feeling sweat drip down her back.
All of a sudden, a few desks away, Ron gave a loud, honking snore, and Hermione froze in place, as did Pansy although she was hidden, both of them anxiously staring towards Ron. There was no way Ron could know what she was doing, but Hermione abruptly felt anxious and guilty.
She stopped squeezing her thighs together and let her legs fall open a bit, and quickly grabbed her quill, doing her best to recall where they were in the lesson on the Great British Goblin Migration of 1609. Or was it the Bloody Wizard-Centaur Struggle of 1610? She couldn’t remember.
She gulped, her armpits damp. She could smell her own sweat in the stifling heat of the classroom, sharp and clean. A stab of embarrassment bled through her as she sniffed again surreptitiously, realizing the scent of her own sweat was making her more aroused, more needy for it. She fought to focus on Professor Binns, but he must have been whispering, because she couldn’t even hear him anymore.
Sneaking another glance at Ron, Hermione confirmed that he was still asleep, now with a slight frown between his eyes. Relief flooded through her; the frown in his forehead meant he was sleeping deeply. He’d be none the wiser. She felt a brief irritation towards his utter disregard for Wizarding history, before the ache between her legs demanded her immediate attention once more.
Hermione took a steadying breath and chanced a glance towards Pansy across the room. Pansy was already staring back at her, two bright pink spots on her cheeks, her mouth a determined line across her face. She was holding her wand in her hand, and after she confirmed she had Hermione’s attention, she slowly snuck her quill underneath the desk, resting it between her spread legs. The blue of her knickers was almost completely dark by now. Hermione swallowed, hard, watching.
Pansy took the tip of the quill and cheekily dragged the feathered end across her wet knickers, tantalizingly slow, soft, tickling herself. Her mouth fell open a bit as she appeared to be concentrating hard to contain herself. Hermione could nearly feel the feather-light drag of the quill across her own clit, and almost whimpered aloud in desperation.
Just when Hermione could barely stand it anymore, when she thought she might have to finally touch herself, actually do that in a classroom, Pansy stopped teasing. She rested the quill back between her legs and concentrated for a moment, then tapped her wand silently on the quill. Hermione stared as the quill was Transfigured into a part of the chair Pansy was sitting on. She strained to see what it was.
The quill was gone; Pansy now appeared to be sitting atop a cylindrical addition to the wooden chair, roughly 4 or 5 inches across width-wise, and about a foot long. It boosted her slightly in the air, her arse now resting on it, spread legs straddling it on either side, elevating her the slightest bit. There was a slight depression in the structure where she sat, suggesting it had some give to it and wasn’t quite as hard as the wooden seat.
Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering what was going on. Pansy caught her eye and looked away quickly, flushing even further. Hermione’s heart squeezed and began to pick up speed as a tingle of sensation spread through her body from her core.
Pansy leant forward slightly, now grasping the front of the desk with both hands, rising on her toes a bit for leverage. She was wearing the Knut loafers again. She began to rock back and forth on the elevated structure, and Hermione could see it was hitting her clit at the right spot with each drag of her body forwards. Hermione felt herself begin to leak in earnest, wetness sliding slickly out of her body, her heart pounding, as she watched Pansy ride the structure, her look of concentration, of ecstasy, as she ground down against the chair.
The dark blue wet spot grew larger and larger on Pansy’s knickers. Hermione could see her slickness had escaped the cotton. There was a shine to the outside of the cotton now on the wet part, and her wetness had spread across the structure, easing the path of Pansy’s grinding, as she continued to drag her clit back and forth. A leg, Hermione thought, unbidden, staring at the structure. Hermione could feel the tension rising in her body. Her quill rolled off her desk. She stared at Pansy’s gently writhing body, and wondered how that warm wetness, Pansy’s weight, would feel, gliding back and forth on Hermione’s thigh, the way it would feel on her skin.
As she watched, Pansy grew more undone as she continued grinding back and forth. The entire portion Hermione could see of her knickers was now dark, wet blue. Her face had screwed up, and her normally sleek bob had become mussed. A few strands of her black hair had gotten stuck to her shiny lip gloss. Hermione stared at her lips, wanting to bite them, suck on them.
Her own legs had started to spread again. She knew she had soaked the chair. She needed to touch herself, could hardly remember she was in a classroom. She would need to go back and study this entire chapter again, she thought angrily. She tilted her pelvis down as she spread her legs, and her clit abruptly made contact with the chair under her, the pressure nearly making her cry out. She bit her lip, Hard.
Pansy had opened her eyes again and had slowed down her grinding on the structure, now watching Hermione closely. Pansy’s brown eyed gaze slowly slid down Hermione’s body, past her breasts. A bead of sweat had appeared on Pansy’s upper lip. Hermione wanted to lick it off. Under Pansy’s heated gaze, Hermione felt her nipples perk up, knew they’d be visible through her white blouse. She saw Pansy stare down under Hermione’s desk, at her core.
Hermione knew she didn’t have the luxury of privacy that Pansy’s seat had. But she was still fairly protected in the back of the classroom. She carefully positioned her leg closest to the front of the room to come straight out, obscuring the rest of what was happening under her skirt. She felt as though she were someone else, watching this all from outside of herself. Unable to believe she was really doing this, Hermione spread her other leg as wide as she dared, slowly hiking her skirt up, so Pansy could see.
Pansy’s gaze drank Hermione in greedily as she stared at Hermione’s soaked knickers covering her pussy. Hermione chanced a quick look downwards, her suspicions confirmed: she had left a shiny slick on the chair, her arousal had spread so intensely.
Pansy began to rock back and forth again. It wasn’t enough. Hermione needed to touch herself, needed Pansy to see, wanted to be watched, desired. Without even realizing what she was doing, Hermione slowly reached down with her right hand, slid her fingers up to the apex of her thighs, and hooked one finger around the inside of her warm, wet knickers. She took hold of the soaking wet fabric and slowly, slowly, dragged the fabric to the side, exposing as much of her pussy as she dared to Pansy without alerting anyone else to what she was doing.
Too late, she remembered she hadn’t removed her pubic hair for a few weeks, though she kept it relatively neatly trimmed. It made her feel dirtier, more aroused, hungrier. She wanted to grind, circle her hips and feel a delicious pressure, Pansy’s movements making her feel desperate for it. She felt her pussy drool, no longer held by the fabric of her knickers, wetness slipping down her hole to pool onto the chair under her, a trail of wetness connecting her to the chair.
Pansy’s mouth fell open slightly as she took in Hermione’s naked, swollen, wet pussy. She began to grind on her Transfigured structure in earnest, the tiniest sound escaping her lips, breathless, as she rode the chair chasing her pleasure.
Hermione’s fingers were tantalizingly close to her clit; she couldn’t wait any longer, and touched herself for the first time all class. Her hips nearly bucked off the chair at the electricity that shot through her core. Letting go of her knickers, she let them fall back into place and slipped her fingers underneath, her stomach clenching with need, feeling her impossibly soft pussy, her prickly hair, as she rubbed her clit, already perilously close to orgasm.
Pansy suddenly stopped humping her chair and grabbed her wand. Hermione barely had time to register what she was doing before Pansy had tapped her own body with the wand and Vanished her knickers. Hermione jumped in her chair as she took in Pansy’s now bare pussy, swollen lips the color of her puffy nipples, slick with wetness, spread open as wide as she could.
Pansy resumed her desperate grinding on the structure, eyes locked on Hermione’s hand working underneath her knickers, the wet sound now squelching in her ears. She felt sure everyone could hear it, could smell her.
She watched as Pansy’s movements became more frantic, less graceful, as she chased the friction back and forth, back and forth, and Hermione’s fingers circled her clit desperately. She was so close. As Pansy rocked backwards, exposing her pussy to Hermione, she frantically thought, I wonder how she would feel, grinding on me, our pussies touching.
With that image branded onto her mind, Hermione’s orgasmed slammed into her and she came harder than she ever had, fingers working furiously, mouth falling open in a silent O, fighting to contain herself, hips grinding on air, searching, every muscle tensed. She froze in place, pleasure searing through her blood, wetness gushing out of her, flooding her knickers.
Pansy followed immediately after, watching the whole show, body tensing up and nearly seizing in short, quick jumps as she ground down on the structure in delicious ecstasy. Hermione watched the whole thing, aftershocks radiating through her body, her pussy sensitive to the touch, fingers unable to stop swirling around her clit, no matter how overstimulated she felt. She wanted to crawl on the floor over to Pansy and stick her face between her thighs, suck on her knickers, lick up the slick between her legs, smell her scent.
Hermione had scarcely controlled her breathing before the bell rang, signaling the end of class. She neatly leapt out of her skin in shock, ripping her skirt back down over her thighs. She hadn’t noticed how long that had gone on. She felt confused, wrong-footed. She glanced toward Ron, who was just waking up, looking blearily around. She felt guilt bloom from her chest as she shakily stood up and turned to grab her book bag from behind her chair.
Pansy pushed past her to get to the door. The only indication that she was in any way undone was that she still had two pink spots of color high on her cheeks. As she bumped her shoulder into Hermione’s, they locked eyes. It went straight to Hermione’s core, and her heart nearly stopped.
“‘Mione?” She jumped violently, spinning around to see Ron coming up to her. He yawned and sleepily rubbed his eyes. “You all right? You look…” He peered at her more closely. “Out of breath.”
Hermione flushed harder than she had all day, the heat of the classroom causing her to feel overcome all of a sudden. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead, and she found herself at a loss for words staring at his sleepy blue eyes.
“Just - just overheating,” she said, her voice strained. “I need the loo. I’ll meet you later,” she said to Ron’s confused face. She hurried towards the door, desperately needing to be alone, to process what had just happened. She barely heard Ron’s confused “What?” As she fled the classroom.
She nearly ran to the nearest girls lavatory. Mercifully, it was empty, and she burst into the last stall, slamming the door shut behind her, chest heaving, now uncomfortably slick and over-sensitive between her legs. She leaned her forehead on the cool tile wall, trying to calm her breathing, trying to understand what had just taken place.
After a few steadying breaths, Hermione turned around and leant back against the wall, feeling a bit more collected. She could do this. It would be fine. She would never think of it again.
Yes, everything would be alright. She and Ron would have sex later that night at the bonfire down at the lake, and she would feel like herself again. She wouldn’t think of Pansy while Ron had his face buried between her thighs. She wouldn’t grip her pubic hair and tug, remembering the way Pansy had stared at her so hungrily, licking her lips, spreading her legs wider, dragging her clit even more slowly, more roughly, against the false leg she’d fashioned for herself, pleasuring herself for Hermione. My leg, Hermione thought. She pinched herself, hard, shuddering.
Some time later, once she had gathered herself, she reached over in her bag for her wand, ready to dry herself off and Scourgify her knickers. As she felt around for it, brushing past her ruined notes, her hand came into contact with something soft, and wet. She froze, suddenly terrified of what she had found.
She steeled herself and, when she was ready, grasped the object, pulling it out of her book bag, her suspicions confirmed. It was Pansy’s blue knickers, soaked through, still inexplicably warm from her body.
Hermione stared at the knickers in her hands for a long time. She distantly thought that she must be missing Potions class by now.
The knickers must have been hastily charmed; they didn’t lose any warmth at all. Eventually, she slowly turned and put the seat down behind her, sitting down on the toilet cover. After a long moment’s hesitation, she gave into her deepest impulse… bringing the knickers up to her nose, she took a deep breath in, as her fingers slowly slipped under her skirt once more.