Pacifying the Sphinx
fem_exchange gift for Bewarethesmirk
Title: Pacifying the Sphinx
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 3,842
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy
Summary: Hermione’s expedition in Egypt doesn’t go quite as she planned…
Warnings: Adult content, femslash, dirty talk
Note: (I don’t own any of JKR’s stuff, we all know that by now, isn’t it sad?) I know this isn’t set in Hogwarts but it was a bit of a speedy pinch hit so I let the muse run wherever it sped off to. Hopefully I achieved all of your other requests; dirty talk, smut, jealousy, smut, well-written smut but not horribly fluffy smut! Thank you, thank you, thank you to confiteor_3 for the beta! You’re the best, love!
Pansy Parkinson had changed, but not much. Her dark hair was longer now, bangs swept more to the side and easing the angular planes of her face. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the nose though, the pert, slightly rounded, continually upturned nose. The nose that had earned Pansy the well-deserved nickname of Princess Pug when they were still in Hogwarts made Hermione smile. No matter how different their lives all were now that the war had ended, Hermione would forever think of Pansy Parkinson as Princess Pug.
They had met by the most unlikely of coincidences. Hermione, who at 23 was the youngest Foreign Ambassador to Egypt the Ministry of Magic had ever seen, had been working with a team doing some research on the hieroglyphs inside the freshly discovered interior chambers of the Sphinx. It was a bit more dangerous than Hermione was used to, as her trips to Egypt so far had consisted of meeting other Ambassadors, officials from the Egyptian Ministry, and touring with fascination all of the pyramids whose secrets had already been unearthed. But the Sphinx was special.
They had heard word of it in London, how a team of curse breakers (including Bill) had managed to break through the suspected entrance and uncover the antechambers within. But ever since the Sphinx had been breached other rumors had spread, ones of the ghost of the original Sphinx herself having escaped, running rampant and wreaking havoc on all of Egypt once the sun went down. Naturally, it was with trepidation that Hermione agreed to assist the crew exploring the new artifacts and artworks, but she had come and gone, just as the crew suggested, after sunrise and before sunset. And it was on this first day, as she was being whisked away astride a Ministry broom, that Hermione saw Princess Pug.
“A guard?” she whispered, astonished, as hooded figures in dark robes took their places around the entrance to the underground chambers.
“Yes, miss,” her guide answered. “Now we guard the Sphinx, her ghost cannot roam with our wizards and witches standing by.”
“Oh,” was all Hermione could say, meeting the shrewd dark eyes only for a moment before zooming away into the dusk.
The next day she was back underground, making rubbings from the walls, taking magical photographs, comparing and contrasting with her research on the existing hieroglyphs and their meanings but having no luck. And the next night was the same, being ushered from the tombs a few minutes before sunset to find the dark guard descending upon them. This time she was looking for her, and as they passed each other silently Hermione could sense Pansy’s eyes on her as well; each of them sizing the other up, making careful and wordless observations and assumptions.
“Snotty as ever,” Hermione muttered under her breath, her escort looking confused as they mounted the broom and dashed upwards to where stars would soon be twinkling.
Back at the secluded hotel suite the Ministry had provided for her, Hermione tossed a handful of gritty powder into her fireplace and stuck her head through, shouting “Number Seven, Menlow Avenue!”
Ron yelped loudly as Hermione’s head burst into flame in the grate. “Blimey Hermione, don’t DO that!” he crowed, kneeling closer to the emerald blaze.
“Hermione?” Harry called, and soon he was there by the fire as well. “Is everything alright? Are you okay out there? When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Hermione, “and yes, I’m fine, everyone’s fine, Bill says hello to everyone and Ron, tell your mum he’s doing well and so is Fleur.”
“That’s great!” Ron grinned, albeit with the same stupefied air that clouded around him whenever his sister-in-law was mentioned.
“But listen, I’ve got to tell you something! At night, when we all leave, there’s a guard who comes to watch over the Sphinx. It’s about fifteen of them, I think, and you aren’t going to believe who’s a part of it.”
“Who?” the boys chorused.
“Princess Parkinson.”
Ron’s mouth fell slack in amazement but Harry sprang to life. “Hermione, you’ve got to be careful! She’s a Death -”
“No she’s not,” argued Ron. “She was acquitted at her hearing; you were there. We all were!”
“I don’t care!” Harry shouted. “She can’t have been that closely involved with Malfoy for so long and not have been a part of what he was up to.”
“No offence, but sometimes, mate, you just get paranoid about these sort of -”
“Paranoid?! Says the man who now refuses to do any of his laundry through magical means?”
“That’s not Death Eaters’ doing, that’s the twins!”
“Boys!” Hermione shouted, her voice booming from the firebox, causing them both to jump. “I just wanted to let you know. I haven’t spoken to her yet or anything, I’ve barely even seen her, but just in case I thought it best to tell you both.”
“Hermione,” Harry said seriously. “Promise me that you will be careful though, won’t you? Even if she isn’t a Death Eater she’s still a dangerous woman.”
Hermione thought of the dark eyes roving over her, appraising her, and felt a tug in her stomach. “I will,” she promised, her fingers crossed behind her back in Egypt. “Goodnight!”
“Come home soon!” shouted Ron, his voice fading as Hermione pulled her head from the fire and shook it vigorously. Standing up and glimpsing her reflection in the mirror hanging over the fireplace, she sighed. Her hair was wilder than ever, the heat from the Floo causing it to frizz to three times its normal size.
“Right,” she said to herself. “A bath and then bed, you have work in the morning!”
Hermione’s dreams were uneasy. She was inside the Sphinx, taking inventory of the walls, making notes for translations that made no sense to her still. But somewhere behind her, she could sense a movement, something pacing around the edges of the earthen rooms. She knew it was dangerous, but Hermione was no stranger to having her life swinging in the balance so she drew her wand and whispered ‘Lumos,’ holding it aloft in front of her. She walked outside of the circle her lamplight had been providing her, towards a doorway leading further into the heart of the Sphinx.
“Who’s there?” she whispered, for she was almost certain now that the soft, animalistic footsteps were guiding her forward. But there was no reply. Deeper and deeper she walked, shimmying after the mysterious creature through narrow hallways and down flights of steps until finally, as she rounded a sharp corner she was faced with a glowing golden light coming from a table in the center of a small room.
It was a book, Hermione realized with a start as she got closer, a book with a golden cover that was shining in a beam of what looked like the brightest, clearest sunlight. She reached her hand forward slowly, hesitantly. It was as though something was compelling her to open the mystifying tomb, a voice in her head urging her onward.
“Don’t,” another voice, a clearer one, called from behind her. Hermione snapped around and found herself face to face with Pansy Parkinson’s frank stare. The woman’s eyes were boring through Hermione, a mix of anger and something Hermione could not decipher mingling in their nearly violet-coloured depths.
“Parkinson,” Hermione gasped, her heart quickening its pace instantly. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s your dream, Granger,” Pansy purred, her lips curling into a soft sneer that had Hermione licking her own lips. “You tell me.”
“I’m dreaming?” asked Hermione, puzzled.
“Wake up,” Pansy commanded in a clear, ringing tone.
Hermione sat up in her bed, the bells of her old fashioned alarm clock ringing loudly on her side table. She clapped one hand over the top to mute it and fumbled along the back for the switch. “I was dreaming,” she mumbled to herself sleepily. She dressed in a hurry, tying a khaki kerchief loosely around the crisp collar of her white blouse and tucking the tails into her knee length brown skirt. Seven years at Hogwarts had gifted Hermione with a fashion sense that could only be called unique, but she felt most comfortable in a deviation of the standard Hogwarts fare and comfort was a priority far higher on Hermione’s list than cutting edge style. Hastily weaving her unruly chestnut curls into a braid down her back, she grabbed her wand and dashed into the lobby.
Her morning had been frustrating for more reasons than she cared to consider, but as Hermione stared at the walls for the third consecutive day she found herself drawing fewer conclusions and allowing her mind to wander.
What had her dream meant? She was itching to find her way through the maze of the Sphinx, to search out the golden book, and perhaps even more so to see if Pansy would find her. There was something in the stare the Slytherin had given her, something besides just anger and now Hermione was suspicious that it may have been lust. But this seductive Pansy had been in her dream, not in real life, Hermione thought, shaking her head and trying to focus. The real Pansy surely didn’t feel this way. At school they had both only ever fancied boys, and just because she was beginning to broaden her ideas on sexuality Hermione refused to assume that Pansy had as well. She tried to focus on the real stare Pansy had given her last night, tried to focus on reading her reaction from memory, but it was impossible. Every time she saw Pansy’s eyes roving over her she saw lust, and Hermione was positive that she was wrong.
“Miss Granger?” one of the team members said, drawing Hermione back to the moment at hand.
“Yes?” she asked.
“It’s nearly sundown.” The wizard smiled, motioning towards the door, and Hermione bit her lip. With a flip in her stomach she made a decision.
“You go ahead,” she smiled in return. “I think I’ve almost got something here, I just need a few more minutes.”
“But Miss -”
“Really, I’ll just be a moment,” Hermione assured him in a confident tone. “There are still fifteen minutes, right?”
“Yes of course, but I think it would be best if -”
“I won’t even be another five. Go on ahead and if I’m more than five minutes,” she heard herself saying the words before even thinking them through, “send someone in to find me.” Hermione nearly giggled, her head feeling light as the wizard finally acquiesced and hurried outside. Without a moment’s hesitation she stood and bolted to the other door, lighting her wand though her path had already been illuminated for her by the dream. It seemed important to keep everything the same.
She paused before rounding the corner, taking one moment to linger in the idea of turning back, running out to the safe light of sunset. But the moment was fleeting and Hermione flung herself around the last corner, eager even if Pansy did not join her to find out the secrets the book would have for her.
But there was no book. There was no shaft of brilliant sunlight; only a fading one that told Hermione more than five minutes had surely gone by. She stared around this real room, so different from the one in her dream, and saw a final archway. It did not lead anywhere, but as Hermione cast her wandlight over it she could see that the pillars on either side were actually idols; one the body of a woman and the head of a lion, the other the body of a lion and head of a woman. Between them were more hieroglyphics, more of the same from the first chamber but set in a different order. There were cobwebs and dust, centuries of it covering the wall, and Hermione reached out her hand to brush them away for a better view at the pictures underneath.
“Don’t,” the sharp voice called, and Hermione screamed. She had forgotten about Pansy entirely now, but as she jumped she saw the raven-haired witch in the doorway, doubled over and panting. “Don’t touch that,” she continued her voice ragged. “Come on, we have to get out of here right now. I don’t know what you think you’re doing but as soon as the sun sets,” Hermione heard a great rumbling, like the sound of a mountain moving, and Pansy collapsed to the floor. “We’re locked in.”
“What?” Hermione gasped, suddenly overwhelmed with all of the fear that had been suppressed by her hope of making her dream a reality.
Pansy glared up at her from her knees. “You idiot,” she muttered viciously, her violet eyes sparking. “We can’t get out.”
“We’re trapped in here?” Hermione’s voice sounded small, weak to her own ears. “No,” she insisted. “No, I’m only - this is just a dream!” She spun around to face the wall again, pinching her arm hard and slapping herself across the face. “Wake up!” she hissed, and behind her she could hear Pansy’s mirthless laughter.
“You daft fucking cow,” she cried. “You’re not dreaming; this is real!”
But Hermione was staring at the wall. “Say that again,” she breathed.
“What?”
“Say something!” Hermione shouted, spinning on her heel and finding Pansy inches from her face. She swallowed hard and took a step back.
Pansy smirked, her nose upturned as she stared down at Hermione. “What, you get off on me calling you names or something, is that it?”
Hermione flinched. The passion in Pansy’s voice, even if it had been laced with anger, had made Hermione’s heartbeat quicken but that wasn’t what she had meant. “No,” she replied, her voice low and seemingly calm. “When you were shouting I was looking at the wall, I thought I saw something. Just,” here her voice faltered slightly, “just keep talking.” And deliberately, Hermione turned her back on the taller witch, turning again to face the mysterious hieroglyphs between the idols.
“Keep talking,” Pansy muttered angrily, and Hermione could feel her move closer but stood her ground. “I’m just supposed to keep talking and then what?” Hermione let her mind relax as one by one the symbols in front of her began to glow. “You’re going to stare at some scribblings on a wall and find us a way out of here before an angry sphinx comes and eats us all up.” Hermione closed her eyes now, her lips parting as the images emblazed on the inside of her eyelids began to transform themselves. “That sounds like a really brilliant plan to me, Granger. It’s good to see that you haven’t lost your smarts, whatever meager amount you started with anyway.”
“Woman and nature must be one,” Hermione breathed in a gravelly voice. “While they are separated there shall be terror. When unified as the Divine; peace.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Pansy barked, and Hermione spun around to sneer at her in return.
“What does it sound like?” she snapped. “You’re calling me dumb, Parkinson? And you can’t even understand what that means?” But now Pansy was staring wide-eyed over Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione didn’t have to turn around to know what she was seeing, for she had just seen it herself. “Or maybe now you do and you’re going to pretend that you don’t, the same way you always pretended to be pitifully stupid in school so that Draco Malfoy could feel superior when he shagged you rotten.”
Pansy’s eyes flashed again, and she lurched forward, knocking Hermione to the ground. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about him,” she whispered dangerously before bringing her lips down to meet Hermione’s in a rough, aggressive kiss. Immediately Hermione arched up, pressing her body against Pansy’s. She could sense the creature again, hear the soft padding of its paws but she was not afraid. She pulled at Pansy’s cloak, fingers fumbling blindly with the clasp around her neck. Pansy pulled away and wrenched the hood free, tossing it to the ground beside them. She stared at Hermione, who had sat up, and smirked again.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “You’re a grown woman and you dress like a school girl.” Hermione opened her mouth in protest but Pansy’s hand covered it quickly. “Is that it? Is that some perverse fantasy you have? No one ever shagged you in your itchy wool school skirt, pushing it up to your waist and making you cream, so now you wear one in hopes that someone else will have the same ideas?” Hermione whimpered softly under Pansy’s fingers. “Have you been a naughty girl, Granger? Have you thought about it and touched yourself in this very skirt, wishing that - oh!” she gasped.
Hermione had opened her mouth, sucking one of Pansy’s fingers inside and laving her tongue around it. Their eyes met before Pansy’s flickered shut, and Hermione reached out to the buttons of Pansy’s dark forest green sweater. She sucked harder, grazing her teeth over a knuckle before releasing the finger. “And would it matter if I have?” she asked, pulling the soft material open and down Pansy’s arms, baring her black satin bra. “I think it’s just as likely that you’ve already thought about it, Parkinson, that you’ve already imagined me wearing nothing but a Hogwarts skirt, felt yourself get wet at the idea of it. You’re wet now, aren’t you?” and with a boldness she felt from the nearby presence, Hermione unzipped the side of Pansy’s skirt.
Pushing her hand away, Pansy spun Hermione so that she was lying on top of the discarded cloak, pinning her shoulders to the earthen floor. “I don’t fantasize about the sex lives of Mudbloods,” she growled, tugging the shirttails from Hermione’s skirt and ripping the shirt open, not bothering with the buttons. Hermione smiled up at her.
“But you’re awfully eager to play with our tits.” And this time Pansy did not deny it, clawing at the straps of Hermione’s white lace bra and pushing it all down, dipping her head to a nipple and sucking it into her mouth with the same force Hermione had used on her finger. Hermione gasped, the sensation shooting straight down between her legs. She squirmed, her thighs rubbing together as she heard claws scraping the floor on the other side of the chamber.
“Who knew Mudbloods were so wanton,” Pansy continued, tugging the hem of Hermione’s skirt up and ignoring the zipper. “One quick suck on a nipple and you’re begging to be fucked.”
In an instant, Hermione had sat up again, her legs tangling with Pansy’s as she buried her head in the curve of the girl’s neck, leaving a mark as her hands worked around to unclasp the bra and free Pansy’s ample breasts.
“Now who wants to play with tits?” she retorted, but as Hermione’s little fingers twisted her nipples and her mouth silenced her with another animalistic kiss, Pansy too felt herself growing slick.
“Up,” Hermione commanded, and Pansy did her best to raise herself well enough to slide her skirt and underwear over her backside. Hermione shifted her legs clear of Pansy’s and yanked the clothing free. Here was one of the most dangerous women to pass through Slytherin in the past fifty years, and Hermione had her naked and primed to shag. Pansy reached out in turn, tugging at the panties but leaving the skirt in place, deliberately scratching the wool over Hermione’s thighs as she did so.
“Gonna fuck you so hard, Granger,” Pansy panted, entwining their legs again until finally both of their cunts met and Hermione was grinding back against her. Hermione moaned, the combination of the slippery wetness and the friction Pansy provided was amazing, beyond any of her previous hopes. She reached out a hand, steadying herself on the other, and grabbed Pansy from behind, gaining leverage to push against her harder, wanting more. Pansy returned the gesture, grasping Hermione’s arse so tightly that she imagined there would be a mark the next day. The idea only aroused Hermione more and she could feel her muscles start to tighten as she heard a gentle purring.
“Who knew Slytherins were such whores?” she gasped, anticipating ahead of time the moan that Pansy made. “What would Malfoy say if he knew you were grinding yourself against a Mudblood, your tits swaying as you try to get off?” The sound of wetness ceased as Pansy pulled away, soliciting an even louder moan from Hermione before she pushed her hands between them, fingers quickly finding Hermione’s entrance and pressing three inside without any warning.
Hermione cried out, rushing to find Pansy’s clit as she felt her own being twisted, coating her own fingers with Pansy’s juices and sliding them into the other woman. “You never got it this good with the Weasel,” Pansy’s voice rumbled. “Was he gentle with you when he should have been rough? Didn’t realize his girl had such naughty fantasies, that she’d be better satisfied with another woman filling her up and getting her off, making her come.” Pansy pushed her fingers forward, making them almost vibrate at just the right spot and pressing hard little circles on Hermione’s clit.
“Oh fuck!” Hermione screamed, the tension snapping. Pansy moaned too as Hermione’s fingers tensed inside of her, thrusting up and curling forward. “Fuck,” Hermione panted, falling back against Pansy’s cloak.
“Mmm,” Pansy agreed. Both of them lay there for a moment, their chests rising and falling until finally their breathing stilled. “Is it gone?” Pansy whispered.
Hermione rolled over. The pillars of the Sphinx’s final archway stared down at them; a woman and a lion, each of them whole, their bodies unified as Woman and Nature. “Its gone,” she sighed, falling back to the cloak with a satisfied smile. “But I think we’re still locked in.”
“That’s your fault though, isn’t it,” Pansy grinned at the ceiling.
“You didn’t have to follow me, you know. You didn’t have to come down here.”
“What, and leave you to the Sphinx? Let you get eaten alive?”
“I happen to enjoy being eaten alive, thank you.” Hermione smiled devilishly up at the small chink of sky overhead, watching as a star twinkled back at her.
“So depraved,” Pansy muttered with hidden laughter. “But,” she sighed, “I mean this probably is one of those offerings that has to be made often; it isn’t just a one time sacrifice of a dove or something, I don’t think.”
“Mmm, me either,” Hermione agreed. “Any time that the balance of Woman and Nature is off someone will have to restore it again. And it’s probably best if we make it a regular offering; we want to keep the Sphinx pacified, for the safety of everyone.”
“Mmm.” Pansy concluded, drawing the extra fabric of the cloak around her to cover them both. “We don’t want to anger the Sphinx,” she said in a low voice before ducking her head below the cloak. “Not everyone enjoys being eaten alive.”
Title: Pacifying the Sphinx
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 3,842
Pairing: Hermione/Pansy
Summary: Hermione’s expedition in Egypt doesn’t go quite as she planned…
Warnings: Adult content, femslash, dirty talk
Note: (I don’t own any of JKR’s stuff, we all know that by now, isn’t it sad?) I know this isn’t set in Hogwarts but it was a bit of a speedy pinch hit so I let the muse run wherever it sped off to. Hopefully I achieved all of your other requests; dirty talk, smut, jealousy, smut, well-written smut but not horribly fluffy smut! Thank you, thank you, thank you to confiteor_3 for the beta! You’re the best, love!
Pansy Parkinson had changed, but not much. Her dark hair was longer now, bangs swept more to the side and easing the angular planes of her face. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the nose though, the pert, slightly rounded, continually upturned nose. The nose that had earned Pansy the well-deserved nickname of Princess Pug when they were still in Hogwarts made Hermione smile. No matter how different their lives all were now that the war had ended, Hermione would forever think of Pansy Parkinson as Princess Pug.
They had met by the most unlikely of coincidences. Hermione, who at 23 was the youngest Foreign Ambassador to Egypt the Ministry of Magic had ever seen, had been working with a team doing some research on the hieroglyphs inside the freshly discovered interior chambers of the Sphinx. It was a bit more dangerous than Hermione was used to, as her trips to Egypt so far had consisted of meeting other Ambassadors, officials from the Egyptian Ministry, and touring with fascination all of the pyramids whose secrets had already been unearthed. But the Sphinx was special.
They had heard word of it in London, how a team of curse breakers (including Bill) had managed to break through the suspected entrance and uncover the antechambers within. But ever since the Sphinx had been breached other rumors had spread, ones of the ghost of the original Sphinx herself having escaped, running rampant and wreaking havoc on all of Egypt once the sun went down. Naturally, it was with trepidation that Hermione agreed to assist the crew exploring the new artifacts and artworks, but she had come and gone, just as the crew suggested, after sunrise and before sunset. And it was on this first day, as she was being whisked away astride a Ministry broom, that Hermione saw Princess Pug.
“A guard?” she whispered, astonished, as hooded figures in dark robes took their places around the entrance to the underground chambers.
“Yes, miss,” her guide answered. “Now we guard the Sphinx, her ghost cannot roam with our wizards and witches standing by.”
“Oh,” was all Hermione could say, meeting the shrewd dark eyes only for a moment before zooming away into the dusk.
The next day she was back underground, making rubbings from the walls, taking magical photographs, comparing and contrasting with her research on the existing hieroglyphs and their meanings but having no luck. And the next night was the same, being ushered from the tombs a few minutes before sunset to find the dark guard descending upon them. This time she was looking for her, and as they passed each other silently Hermione could sense Pansy’s eyes on her as well; each of them sizing the other up, making careful and wordless observations and assumptions.
“Snotty as ever,” Hermione muttered under her breath, her escort looking confused as they mounted the broom and dashed upwards to where stars would soon be twinkling.
Back at the secluded hotel suite the Ministry had provided for her, Hermione tossed a handful of gritty powder into her fireplace and stuck her head through, shouting “Number Seven, Menlow Avenue!”
Ron yelped loudly as Hermione’s head burst into flame in the grate. “Blimey Hermione, don’t DO that!” he crowed, kneeling closer to the emerald blaze.
“Hermione?” Harry called, and soon he was there by the fire as well. “Is everything alright? Are you okay out there? When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Hermione, “and yes, I’m fine, everyone’s fine, Bill says hello to everyone and Ron, tell your mum he’s doing well and so is Fleur.”
“That’s great!” Ron grinned, albeit with the same stupefied air that clouded around him whenever his sister-in-law was mentioned.
“But listen, I’ve got to tell you something! At night, when we all leave, there’s a guard who comes to watch over the Sphinx. It’s about fifteen of them, I think, and you aren’t going to believe who’s a part of it.”
“Who?” the boys chorused.
“Princess Parkinson.”
Ron’s mouth fell slack in amazement but Harry sprang to life. “Hermione, you’ve got to be careful! She’s a Death -”
“No she’s not,” argued Ron. “She was acquitted at her hearing; you were there. We all were!”
“I don’t care!” Harry shouted. “She can’t have been that closely involved with Malfoy for so long and not have been a part of what he was up to.”
“No offence, but sometimes, mate, you just get paranoid about these sort of -”
“Paranoid?! Says the man who now refuses to do any of his laundry through magical means?”
“That’s not Death Eaters’ doing, that’s the twins!”
“Boys!” Hermione shouted, her voice booming from the firebox, causing them both to jump. “I just wanted to let you know. I haven’t spoken to her yet or anything, I’ve barely even seen her, but just in case I thought it best to tell you both.”
“Hermione,” Harry said seriously. “Promise me that you will be careful though, won’t you? Even if she isn’t a Death Eater she’s still a dangerous woman.”
Hermione thought of the dark eyes roving over her, appraising her, and felt a tug in her stomach. “I will,” she promised, her fingers crossed behind her back in Egypt. “Goodnight!”
“Come home soon!” shouted Ron, his voice fading as Hermione pulled her head from the fire and shook it vigorously. Standing up and glimpsing her reflection in the mirror hanging over the fireplace, she sighed. Her hair was wilder than ever, the heat from the Floo causing it to frizz to three times its normal size.
“Right,” she said to herself. “A bath and then bed, you have work in the morning!”
Hermione’s dreams were uneasy. She was inside the Sphinx, taking inventory of the walls, making notes for translations that made no sense to her still. But somewhere behind her, she could sense a movement, something pacing around the edges of the earthen rooms. She knew it was dangerous, but Hermione was no stranger to having her life swinging in the balance so she drew her wand and whispered ‘Lumos,’ holding it aloft in front of her. She walked outside of the circle her lamplight had been providing her, towards a doorway leading further into the heart of the Sphinx.
“Who’s there?” she whispered, for she was almost certain now that the soft, animalistic footsteps were guiding her forward. But there was no reply. Deeper and deeper she walked, shimmying after the mysterious creature through narrow hallways and down flights of steps until finally, as she rounded a sharp corner she was faced with a glowing golden light coming from a table in the center of a small room.
It was a book, Hermione realized with a start as she got closer, a book with a golden cover that was shining in a beam of what looked like the brightest, clearest sunlight. She reached her hand forward slowly, hesitantly. It was as though something was compelling her to open the mystifying tomb, a voice in her head urging her onward.
“Don’t,” another voice, a clearer one, called from behind her. Hermione snapped around and found herself face to face with Pansy Parkinson’s frank stare. The woman’s eyes were boring through Hermione, a mix of anger and something Hermione could not decipher mingling in their nearly violet-coloured depths.
“Parkinson,” Hermione gasped, her heart quickening its pace instantly. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s your dream, Granger,” Pansy purred, her lips curling into a soft sneer that had Hermione licking her own lips. “You tell me.”
“I’m dreaming?” asked Hermione, puzzled.
“Wake up,” Pansy commanded in a clear, ringing tone.
Hermione sat up in her bed, the bells of her old fashioned alarm clock ringing loudly on her side table. She clapped one hand over the top to mute it and fumbled along the back for the switch. “I was dreaming,” she mumbled to herself sleepily. She dressed in a hurry, tying a khaki kerchief loosely around the crisp collar of her white blouse and tucking the tails into her knee length brown skirt. Seven years at Hogwarts had gifted Hermione with a fashion sense that could only be called unique, but she felt most comfortable in a deviation of the standard Hogwarts fare and comfort was a priority far higher on Hermione’s list than cutting edge style. Hastily weaving her unruly chestnut curls into a braid down her back, she grabbed her wand and dashed into the lobby.
Her morning had been frustrating for more reasons than she cared to consider, but as Hermione stared at the walls for the third consecutive day she found herself drawing fewer conclusions and allowing her mind to wander.
What had her dream meant? She was itching to find her way through the maze of the Sphinx, to search out the golden book, and perhaps even more so to see if Pansy would find her. There was something in the stare the Slytherin had given her, something besides just anger and now Hermione was suspicious that it may have been lust. But this seductive Pansy had been in her dream, not in real life, Hermione thought, shaking her head and trying to focus. The real Pansy surely didn’t feel this way. At school they had both only ever fancied boys, and just because she was beginning to broaden her ideas on sexuality Hermione refused to assume that Pansy had as well. She tried to focus on the real stare Pansy had given her last night, tried to focus on reading her reaction from memory, but it was impossible. Every time she saw Pansy’s eyes roving over her she saw lust, and Hermione was positive that she was wrong.
“Miss Granger?” one of the team members said, drawing Hermione back to the moment at hand.
“Yes?” she asked.
“It’s nearly sundown.” The wizard smiled, motioning towards the door, and Hermione bit her lip. With a flip in her stomach she made a decision.
“You go ahead,” she smiled in return. “I think I’ve almost got something here, I just need a few more minutes.”
“But Miss -”
“Really, I’ll just be a moment,” Hermione assured him in a confident tone. “There are still fifteen minutes, right?”
“Yes of course, but I think it would be best if -”
“I won’t even be another five. Go on ahead and if I’m more than five minutes,” she heard herself saying the words before even thinking them through, “send someone in to find me.” Hermione nearly giggled, her head feeling light as the wizard finally acquiesced and hurried outside. Without a moment’s hesitation she stood and bolted to the other door, lighting her wand though her path had already been illuminated for her by the dream. It seemed important to keep everything the same.
She paused before rounding the corner, taking one moment to linger in the idea of turning back, running out to the safe light of sunset. But the moment was fleeting and Hermione flung herself around the last corner, eager even if Pansy did not join her to find out the secrets the book would have for her.
But there was no book. There was no shaft of brilliant sunlight; only a fading one that told Hermione more than five minutes had surely gone by. She stared around this real room, so different from the one in her dream, and saw a final archway. It did not lead anywhere, but as Hermione cast her wandlight over it she could see that the pillars on either side were actually idols; one the body of a woman and the head of a lion, the other the body of a lion and head of a woman. Between them were more hieroglyphics, more of the same from the first chamber but set in a different order. There were cobwebs and dust, centuries of it covering the wall, and Hermione reached out her hand to brush them away for a better view at the pictures underneath.
“Don’t,” the sharp voice called, and Hermione screamed. She had forgotten about Pansy entirely now, but as she jumped she saw the raven-haired witch in the doorway, doubled over and panting. “Don’t touch that,” she continued her voice ragged. “Come on, we have to get out of here right now. I don’t know what you think you’re doing but as soon as the sun sets,” Hermione heard a great rumbling, like the sound of a mountain moving, and Pansy collapsed to the floor. “We’re locked in.”
“What?” Hermione gasped, suddenly overwhelmed with all of the fear that had been suppressed by her hope of making her dream a reality.
Pansy glared up at her from her knees. “You idiot,” she muttered viciously, her violet eyes sparking. “We can’t get out.”
“We’re trapped in here?” Hermione’s voice sounded small, weak to her own ears. “No,” she insisted. “No, I’m only - this is just a dream!” She spun around to face the wall again, pinching her arm hard and slapping herself across the face. “Wake up!” she hissed, and behind her she could hear Pansy’s mirthless laughter.
“You daft fucking cow,” she cried. “You’re not dreaming; this is real!”
But Hermione was staring at the wall. “Say that again,” she breathed.
“What?”
“Say something!” Hermione shouted, spinning on her heel and finding Pansy inches from her face. She swallowed hard and took a step back.
Pansy smirked, her nose upturned as she stared down at Hermione. “What, you get off on me calling you names or something, is that it?”
Hermione flinched. The passion in Pansy’s voice, even if it had been laced with anger, had made Hermione’s heartbeat quicken but that wasn’t what she had meant. “No,” she replied, her voice low and seemingly calm. “When you were shouting I was looking at the wall, I thought I saw something. Just,” here her voice faltered slightly, “just keep talking.” And deliberately, Hermione turned her back on the taller witch, turning again to face the mysterious hieroglyphs between the idols.
“Keep talking,” Pansy muttered angrily, and Hermione could feel her move closer but stood her ground. “I’m just supposed to keep talking and then what?” Hermione let her mind relax as one by one the symbols in front of her began to glow. “You’re going to stare at some scribblings on a wall and find us a way out of here before an angry sphinx comes and eats us all up.” Hermione closed her eyes now, her lips parting as the images emblazed on the inside of her eyelids began to transform themselves. “That sounds like a really brilliant plan to me, Granger. It’s good to see that you haven’t lost your smarts, whatever meager amount you started with anyway.”
“Woman and nature must be one,” Hermione breathed in a gravelly voice. “While they are separated there shall be terror. When unified as the Divine; peace.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Pansy barked, and Hermione spun around to sneer at her in return.
“What does it sound like?” she snapped. “You’re calling me dumb, Parkinson? And you can’t even understand what that means?” But now Pansy was staring wide-eyed over Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione didn’t have to turn around to know what she was seeing, for she had just seen it herself. “Or maybe now you do and you’re going to pretend that you don’t, the same way you always pretended to be pitifully stupid in school so that Draco Malfoy could feel superior when he shagged you rotten.”
Pansy’s eyes flashed again, and she lurched forward, knocking Hermione to the ground. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about him,” she whispered dangerously before bringing her lips down to meet Hermione’s in a rough, aggressive kiss. Immediately Hermione arched up, pressing her body against Pansy’s. She could sense the creature again, hear the soft padding of its paws but she was not afraid. She pulled at Pansy’s cloak, fingers fumbling blindly with the clasp around her neck. Pansy pulled away and wrenched the hood free, tossing it to the ground beside them. She stared at Hermione, who had sat up, and smirked again.
“Look at you,” she murmured. “You’re a grown woman and you dress like a school girl.” Hermione opened her mouth in protest but Pansy’s hand covered it quickly. “Is that it? Is that some perverse fantasy you have? No one ever shagged you in your itchy wool school skirt, pushing it up to your waist and making you cream, so now you wear one in hopes that someone else will have the same ideas?” Hermione whimpered softly under Pansy’s fingers. “Have you been a naughty girl, Granger? Have you thought about it and touched yourself in this very skirt, wishing that - oh!” she gasped.
Hermione had opened her mouth, sucking one of Pansy’s fingers inside and laving her tongue around it. Their eyes met before Pansy’s flickered shut, and Hermione reached out to the buttons of Pansy’s dark forest green sweater. She sucked harder, grazing her teeth over a knuckle before releasing the finger. “And would it matter if I have?” she asked, pulling the soft material open and down Pansy’s arms, baring her black satin bra. “I think it’s just as likely that you’ve already thought about it, Parkinson, that you’ve already imagined me wearing nothing but a Hogwarts skirt, felt yourself get wet at the idea of it. You’re wet now, aren’t you?” and with a boldness she felt from the nearby presence, Hermione unzipped the side of Pansy’s skirt.
Pushing her hand away, Pansy spun Hermione so that she was lying on top of the discarded cloak, pinning her shoulders to the earthen floor. “I don’t fantasize about the sex lives of Mudbloods,” she growled, tugging the shirttails from Hermione’s skirt and ripping the shirt open, not bothering with the buttons. Hermione smiled up at her.
“But you’re awfully eager to play with our tits.” And this time Pansy did not deny it, clawing at the straps of Hermione’s white lace bra and pushing it all down, dipping her head to a nipple and sucking it into her mouth with the same force Hermione had used on her finger. Hermione gasped, the sensation shooting straight down between her legs. She squirmed, her thighs rubbing together as she heard claws scraping the floor on the other side of the chamber.
“Who knew Mudbloods were so wanton,” Pansy continued, tugging the hem of Hermione’s skirt up and ignoring the zipper. “One quick suck on a nipple and you’re begging to be fucked.”
In an instant, Hermione had sat up again, her legs tangling with Pansy’s as she buried her head in the curve of the girl’s neck, leaving a mark as her hands worked around to unclasp the bra and free Pansy’s ample breasts.
“Now who wants to play with tits?” she retorted, but as Hermione’s little fingers twisted her nipples and her mouth silenced her with another animalistic kiss, Pansy too felt herself growing slick.
“Up,” Hermione commanded, and Pansy did her best to raise herself well enough to slide her skirt and underwear over her backside. Hermione shifted her legs clear of Pansy’s and yanked the clothing free. Here was one of the most dangerous women to pass through Slytherin in the past fifty years, and Hermione had her naked and primed to shag. Pansy reached out in turn, tugging at the panties but leaving the skirt in place, deliberately scratching the wool over Hermione’s thighs as she did so.
“Gonna fuck you so hard, Granger,” Pansy panted, entwining their legs again until finally both of their cunts met and Hermione was grinding back against her. Hermione moaned, the combination of the slippery wetness and the friction Pansy provided was amazing, beyond any of her previous hopes. She reached out a hand, steadying herself on the other, and grabbed Pansy from behind, gaining leverage to push against her harder, wanting more. Pansy returned the gesture, grasping Hermione’s arse so tightly that she imagined there would be a mark the next day. The idea only aroused Hermione more and she could feel her muscles start to tighten as she heard a gentle purring.
“Who knew Slytherins were such whores?” she gasped, anticipating ahead of time the moan that Pansy made. “What would Malfoy say if he knew you were grinding yourself against a Mudblood, your tits swaying as you try to get off?” The sound of wetness ceased as Pansy pulled away, soliciting an even louder moan from Hermione before she pushed her hands between them, fingers quickly finding Hermione’s entrance and pressing three inside without any warning.
Hermione cried out, rushing to find Pansy’s clit as she felt her own being twisted, coating her own fingers with Pansy’s juices and sliding them into the other woman. “You never got it this good with the Weasel,” Pansy’s voice rumbled. “Was he gentle with you when he should have been rough? Didn’t realize his girl had such naughty fantasies, that she’d be better satisfied with another woman filling her up and getting her off, making her come.” Pansy pushed her fingers forward, making them almost vibrate at just the right spot and pressing hard little circles on Hermione’s clit.
“Oh fuck!” Hermione screamed, the tension snapping. Pansy moaned too as Hermione’s fingers tensed inside of her, thrusting up and curling forward. “Fuck,” Hermione panted, falling back against Pansy’s cloak.
“Mmm,” Pansy agreed. Both of them lay there for a moment, their chests rising and falling until finally their breathing stilled. “Is it gone?” Pansy whispered.
Hermione rolled over. The pillars of the Sphinx’s final archway stared down at them; a woman and a lion, each of them whole, their bodies unified as Woman and Nature. “Its gone,” she sighed, falling back to the cloak with a satisfied smile. “But I think we’re still locked in.”
“That’s your fault though, isn’t it,” Pansy grinned at the ceiling.
“You didn’t have to follow me, you know. You didn’t have to come down here.”
“What, and leave you to the Sphinx? Let you get eaten alive?”
“I happen to enjoy being eaten alive, thank you.” Hermione smiled devilishly up at the small chink of sky overhead, watching as a star twinkled back at her.
“So depraved,” Pansy muttered with hidden laughter. “But,” she sighed, “I mean this probably is one of those offerings that has to be made often; it isn’t just a one time sacrifice of a dove or something, I don’t think.”
“Mmm, me either,” Hermione agreed. “Any time that the balance of Woman and Nature is off someone will have to restore it again. And it’s probably best if we make it a regular offering; we want to keep the Sphinx pacified, for the safety of everyone.”
“Mmm.” Pansy concluded, drawing the extra fabric of the cloak around her to cover them both. “We don’t want to anger the Sphinx,” she said in a low voice before ducking her head below the cloak. “Not everyone enjoys being eaten alive.”