Hermione/Pansy fic: Fridays at the Purple Unicorn (NC-17)- Part 1/2
Title: Fridays at the Purple Unicorn (1/2)
Author: icicle33
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Pansy/Hermione, past Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Lavender, Hermione/Ron
Summary: Hermione and Ginny have a girl’s night out at the Purple Unicorn. Hermione is surprised when she runs into a much changed Pansy Parkinson. "That girl can do more with one finger than most men can do with their dicks."
Warnings: Post-War, infidelity, mentions of unfulfilling het sex, explicit sex and use of sex toys, some slight Ron bashing that wasn’t intentional because I love Ron but was necessary for the story. I just don’t think he makes a good match with Hermione.
Word Count: ~10K
Author’s Notes: This story was written for the lovely thusspakekate for femmefest several years ago. I never got around to posting it here and am in the process of updating my masterlist. Originally, this fic was supposed to be a short PWP between Hermione and Pansy, but it morphed into a Hermione character study that pushes her to explore her sexuality instead. I hope you enjoy it.
“No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor.”
-Betty Friedan
♥ ♥ ♥
Hermione stood at the entrance of the Purple Unicorn, a new bar that Ginny had raved about for the past month. She clutched her silver purse to her chest and frowned, shifting her balance to her left foot in an attempt to relieve the pressure her 4-inch heels were already causing her toes.
The queue moved at the pace of a lazy Flobberworm-and being ogled by sweaty men at some sleazy bar was not her idea of a pleasurable evening. Ginny had pushed her into coming tonight, promising a fun time, but Ginny didn’t understand that Hermione preferred to spend her Friday nights at home, where her feet weren’t mutilated by strappy shoes from hell (no matter how cute they were) and she didn’t have to wait half an hour for one bloody drink at the bar. Or wait in an endless queue.
She played with the thin strap of her red dress - technically, Ginny’s red dress - rubbing it absently between her fingertips and then surveyed the building and people around her. She couldn’t believe that people waited in queue for this. At least from the outside, the Purple Unicorn didn’t seem like anything special. The grey stone exterior was cracked and unkempt; the pavement in front of the building was filthy - covered in broken glass and crushed cigarette butts - even the windows were an eyesore, blacked-out with purple velvet curtains.
Who would ever think that purple velvet was an acceptable decor? The only attractive detail was the welcome sign, Purple Unicorn written in flashing rainbow cursive above the door.
When Hermione lost interest in the lettering, she turned to Ginny, who was hovering beside her. “If we’re not inside in the next five minutes...I’m leaving.”
“Stop sulking, Hermione. You promised to come out tonight and at least try to relax and have a good time.” She prodded Hermione in the back with her purse and snorted. “I know that it’s a difficult concept for you...but think about my stupid brothers and all the trouble they’re getting into tonight. You shouldn’t sit home waiting for Ron.”
Hermione tightened the grip on her purse and huffed, raising her chin and turning away from Ginny. “That’s a rather crude thing to say, Ginevra. I’m perfectly capable of a having a good time. And Ron’s on a business trip.” She narrowed her eyes, exasperated. “You know that. He’s not out having fun. Even if he is out socialising tonight, it’s only for business. He has a lot on his plate with George-”
“If you really believe that...then you’re not the brilliant witch that everyone-”
Ginny didn’t finish her thought because one of the scantily clad girls behind them slammed into her shoulder, almost knocking her over.
“Hey, watch it!” Ginny’s voice was menacing and her fingers were already clutched around her wand. Even in a skimpy black dress and boots Ginny was a force to be reckoned with.
The scantily clad blonde girl turned around and sneered. “Why don’t you watch-” When she made eye contact with Ginny, she let out a high-pitched squeal, her expression changing to delight and admiration. “Oh my god, you’re Ginny Weasley! You play for the Harpies.”
Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest, a smug look on her face. “That’s right. And I don’t appreciate-”
The blonde girl squealed again. “I’m incredibly sorry. I didn’t mean to almost trample you.” Her pale cheeks darkened. “This is so embarrassing. I was only trying to get to my friend. I know the bouncer and he just came outside.”
Both Ginny and Hermione snapped their heads towards the door. A burly sour-faced bloke, dressed in black from head to toe except for his grey combat boots, leant against the glass door, holding it open.
“So you’re a big Quidditch fan?” Ginny asked.
The blonde girl nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! Who doesn’t like Quidditch? And the Harpies they’re-”
Ginny smiled and swatted the blonde girl’s arm. “Isn’t that nice? How about you get me and my friend inside and I’ll hook you up with an autograph?”
“Anything for Ginny Weasley from the Harpies!”
♥ ♥ ♥
Hermione and Ginny sat at the bar, nursing their third round of drinks. The bar stools swivelled and Hermione had to admit that it might have been worth it to come out tonight just for these chairs, even if she were afraid that people could see up her dress. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol getting to her or if she was actually having a good time, but the Purple Unicorn’s unique charm appeared to grow on her. Or at least its strong cocktails did.
Whirling around on her chair - for what was probably the hundredth time in the last hour - she laughed and elbowed Ginny in her side. “I can’t believe you brought me to a gay bar. Of all places.”
Ginny took another sip of her Purple Pixie cocktail. She’d already tried the Green Ghoul and Frisky Fiend. So far, she liked the Purple Pixie best. “I like gay bars,” she said, shrugging. “It’s the perfect bar. Where else can you ogle gorgeous blokes and not worry about them chatting you up?”
Hermione nodded. “You have a point. And the women are quite beautiful too.” She turned her gaze to the crowded dance floor and smiled, studying all the bouncing figures. “They seem so free, positively chuffed, without having to worry about sleazy bastards groping your arse as you walk by like the last time I went...”
“If you only knew-”
Ginny muttered into her drink and was perhaps even ordering another round, but Hermione missed whatever else she said. Her attention was drawn elsewhere. Twirling in the centre of the dance floor were the last two people she ever imagined seeing: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.
She hadn’t seen the pair in years, not since Malfoy’s trial, which was seven years prior. The only knowledge she had about their whereabouts was through overheard office gossip. Supposedly, Malfoy dropped his bachelor lifestyle of partying through Europe and had recently become engaged to Astoria Greengrass. And Parkinson -Hermione couldn’t recall hearing anything about Parkinson - but if the size of the rock on her finger were any indication, she was married to some wealthy, pureblood wizard.
Some wealthy, pureblood wizard who was not Draco Malfoy and she assumed he’d be quite livid to see his wife draped over another man. Oh, well. It wasn’t her problem that Parkinson and Malfoy were a couple of slags. They deserved each other, but even so, she couldn’t look away from their dancing, as if mesmerized by their lithe forms.
Watching Malfoy grind against Parkinson, Hermione wondered if the rumours were true. Apparently, the former childhood sweethearts were once again enamoured with each other. How disgusting. She knew that both Greengrass sisters had been part of Parkinson’s clique at school, and here Parkinson was betraying one of her oldest friends. Some people had no qualms about the sanctity of marriage.
“Can you believe them?”
“What are you talking about?”
Hermione scrunched her nose and motioned to the dance floor, nudging her hand towards the dancing Slytherins. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Oh, them. They come here all the time.” Ginny tilted her head to the side, trying to get a better view.
“Some nerve they have. It’s one thing to have an affair, but quite another to rub it in-”
Ginny gave her a blank look. “Affair?”
“Yes, Parkinson and Malfoy. I don’t know the details, but Parkinson is clearly married. Just look at the rock!” Hermione narrowed her eyes and hoped she sounded appalled rather than envious. In truth, she was a bit of both. She’d been married for seven years and was still waiting for her engagement ring from Ron. “And I know for a fact she’s not Mrs Malfoy.”
Ginny furrowed her brow. “Malfoy is bent. Queerer than Finch-Fletchley’s scarring Celestina Warbeck impersonations. They are certainly not having an affair with each other.” Ginny rolled her eyes and chuckled as if the idea of Malfoy and Parkinson having an affair was the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard.
“Actually, Pansy prefers women. Kind of funny how that worked out.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“I didn’t-”
“Pansy, I can understand. It’s a well-kept secret. For the most part. I think she likes blokes too...but prefers the challenge that women give her. The chance to be the hunter instead of the prey.” Ginny shook her head, her wild curls whipping around her face. “But...Malfoy...straight? Look at those trousers. What straight bloke would be caught dead in those trousers?”
Hermione turned her attention to Malfoy’s trousers. So far, she’d been too focused on Parkinson and how absurdly long her legs looked in those turquoise sequin hot pants to notice anything else. But Merlin’s Beard silver trousers!
Malfoy sported silver trousers that were so tight they left nothing to the imagination and the sleeves of his black shirt were sheer. Ginny was right. No straight bloke would ever wear those trousers. If she had doubts before, they disappeared. It turned out that Parkinson was a cow with incredibly great legs and shiny hair. But not a cheater.
Even Slytherins are faithful to their spouses, a traitorous voice in the back of her mind taunted. It’s only you who can’t make your marriage work. Can’t keep your husband interested.
No, that’s just the alcohol talking.
Hermione shook the negative thoughts from her mind. Tonight was about having fun, letting loose, not worrying about Ron and their failing marriage.
She forced a smile on her face and looked away from the dance floor. “I suppose you’re right. I hope Astoria knows.”
“It’s not that uncommon in pureblood circles,” Ginny explained. “I’m sure she does. Just like Armand knows.”
“Who’s Armand?”
“My husband, Armand Mathieu,” a silky voice said from behind them.
Hermione spun around in her chair and came face to face with Parkinson. Her dark eyes were unnerving, boring into Hermione and sizing her up.
“Pansy, hi!” Ginny greeted Parkinson with a friendly smile. “What are you doing here?”
Parkinson shrugged. “I heard my name. I have this knack to know when people are talking about me.”
Ginny laughed and Hermione continued to feel uncomfortable. Parkinson’s lips were quirked into a half-smirk, but her voice held no malice. It was strange seeing that expression on her face, especially since her eyes kept wandering towards Hermione’s chest.
“Hermione was just admiring your ring. Nothing bad.”
Pansy laughed. “I doubt that but thank you.” She lifted her left hand and showed off her ring. The diamond looked enormous on her petite hand, almost as if it were weighing her down. “Armand spoils me. You know how husbands are.”
The comment seemed harmless, but Hermione was astute, she knew how Slytherins worked. It was a veiled insult.
Pansy glanced at Hermione’s empty ring finger and then smirked. “That’s quite a dress, Granger.” She looked down the neckline of Hermione’s dress again, not even trying to disguise her shameless ogling. “Shame your husband isn’t here to see it. If I were him, I wouldn’t let you out looking like that.” A lewd, devious smile crossed her lips. “Someone else might try to snatch you away.”
Hermione blushed. Did Parkinson just give her a compliment?
“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“I’m sure you are.” Parkinson took a step towards Hermione, reaching out to touch her hair, wrapping a stray curl around her finger. Hermione’s breath hitched. It was unnerving to have Pansy so close.
“I was wrong,” Pansy said, voice deep and sultry. “I never should have mocked your hair in school. It’s not a flea-ridden, mangy rat’s nest at all.” She wound the curl tighter, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Sure, it’s wild and untameable, but it suits you.”
The heated look that Parkinson gave her was disconcerting. The flush from her cheeks spread down to her neck and chest, her heart fluttering. How strange. Hermione had never been this bothered from a mere look. What was Pansy playing at?
Ginny cleared her throat, breaking the heavy tension. “You’re making a girl feel self-conscious.”
Parkinson turned her gaze away from Hermione and then focused on Ginny. She ogled her too and then squeezed her thigh. “You already know how gorgeous you are, Weasley. You don’t need reminding.”
Ginny and Pansy shared a coy look that made Hermione suspicious. She’d have to ask Ginny about it later.
“It’s true. Her head is already big enough.” Hermione lifted her hands up to her ears, shaking them in mock excitement. “Anything for Ginny Weasley from the Harpies!”
Parkinson started to laugh and Ginny scowled.
“Not funny.”
“I don’t know.” Pansy spoke slowly, drawing out each word. “I hear the Ginny Weasley fan club is giving the Potter fan club a run for their money. You’ll have to hook me up with tickets one day.”
“Only if you’re nice to me.”
“I’m always nice.” Pansy smirked and then addressed the bartender. “Howard, the next round of drinks for these ladies is on me. Put it on my tab.” She ran a hand through her hair and then snapped her head towards the far corner of the room. Her eyes lit up as if she were a child who spotted a new toy she wanted. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be.”
Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the crowd.
“That was random,” Hermione said after Parkinson was long gone.
“Nah, that’s just Pansy. I told you she’s not so bad once you get to know her. A little rough around the edges.” Ginny shrugged. “But at least she isn’t boring.”
Hermione wasn’t convinced but changed the subject. “Her husband...she said his name was Armand Mathieu. He’s not the French Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic is he?”
“Maybe,” Ginny replied, her forehead furrowed. “All I know is that he’s important and always busy. He knows that Pansy prefers women and likes to spend her nights drinking and shamelessly chatting up every pretty witch in town.” She paused, gulping down the last sip of her purple drink. “But they have an arrangement of some sort. He keeps the guise of having a beautiful, young witch on his arm for his Ministry affairs or whenever he calls, and she has a rich, powerful husband, who pays for her posh lifestyle and essentially lets her do whatever she pleases the rest of the time.”
Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Even in her alcohol-addled state, this had to be the most degrading arrangement she’d ever heard.
“That’s...that’s-” She struggled to find the right word, a sentiment that was appalling enough. “That’s illegal.”
“Not if they sign a contract.”
Hermione stared at Ginny, blinking rapidly. “A contract? She actually signed a contract saying that she agreed to be his...his plaything. Basically a pampered pet?” She glowered, surprised at how much the idea of Parkinson belonging to some French Ministry bigot angered her.
“It’s not like that. I’ve talked to her.” Ginny exhaled a dramatic sigh. “It’s complicated. She didn’t have a choice. Her family needed her to marry someone and this was her best option. Armand gives her space and takes care of her sister and mum too. Her father was killed in the war.”
Parkinson’s family. Slytherins were always loyal to their own. Hermione hadn’t factored that into the marriage equation. In a way, it made her respect Pansy. Hermione would do anything to protect her family. She’d already proven that during the war, but the idea that she had to copulate even briefly with a wizard that ancient was nauseating.
For once, she gave thanks for her own marriage. No matter how dysfunctional it was, at least it wasn’t arranged. She had chosen it.
“I suppose I can understand wanting to take care of your family,” she said, after a long pause. “But there must be another way. Another way besides marrying a bloke who is more than 40 years her senior.”
“That’s what I said.” Ginny gave a small chuckle. “She just shrugged and said, ‘the older the better. That way, he’ll want less sex and die faster.’”
Hermione tried to fight her grin. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“Trust me, if she’s suffering she hides it well. I hear Pansy’s here every ladies night and fucks 2-3 girls a night.”
Hermione started coughing and sputtered the last sip of her drink.
Ginny laughed again and mock patted Hermione on the back. “There, there. No use wasting perfectly good alcohol.” She grabbed both her own and Hermione’s empty glasses and pushed them towards the bar. “Hey Mr Barman,” she said, winking at him suggestively, “we need two more of your finest drinks. Remember to put them on Pansy’s tab.”
The bartender, whom Hermione later found out was named Henry not Howard, smiled. “What would you ladies like?” He shot Ginny an indulgent grin. “Or should I surprise you?’
Both girls turned to each other and in unison said, “Surprise us.”
Henry gave a little bow and within seconds two pink glowing cocktails were placed in front of them. “I give you the Pink Panty Dropper. The newest house special.”
Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have found such a crudely titled drink offensive. But since this was cocktail number four for her and Merlin knows how many for Ginny, she found the glowing drink amusing instead. After clinking her oversized martini glass against Ginny’s, she took a large sip, downing half the drink in one gulp.
Mmmm, the cocktail was fruity and tart with notes of raspberry and citrus. Although sweet, the Pink Panty Dropper contained a decent amount of alcohol. The burn down her throat was almost as intense as drinking firewhiskey.
Once she regained feeling in her throat, she turned to Ginny. “You were lying about Parkinson, right?”
Hermione didn’t understand why the subject of Pansy’s love life was suddenly so important to her. But she needed answers.
Ginny looked up from her drink. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused, the alcohol finally hitting her hard. Hermione knew she had to take advantage of the situation and ask Ginny questions. “I’m not lying. Where do you think she went? She’s probably off chatting up some pretty witch right now.”
Hermione searched the room for a familiar shiny head of black hair. For a moment, Hermione’s stomach plummeted as she thought Parkinson had left, but then she spotted her in the far corner, leaning against what appeared to be a replica of a Muggle jukebox, talking to a curvy blonde, Lavender Brown.
“You’re wrong. She’s only talking to Lavender.” Hermione shot Ginny a triumphant smile. “Everyone knows Lavender is married to Seamus. They have three boys for Merlin’s sake.”
Ginny scoffed. “Like that would stop her.” She swivelled around in her chair too quickly, which Hermione deducted from the slightly green look on her face. “Help me out, Harvey. Tell Miss Know-it-all that Pansy will go after any witch in her line of sight.”
The bartender nodded. “It’s Henry not Harvey.”
“In fact-Pansy prefers to go after straight women. It’s more of a challenge to her. Gay women just fall at her feet without her even trying.”
Hermione gave her a sceptical look.
“You don’t understand. No one rejects Pansy. Any witch that Pansy wants, whether gay, straight, married, in a committed relationship, or single Parkinson gets. And I’m not exaggerating.” She turned to Henry, who was now actively listening to their conversation. “Have you ever seen her get turned down?”
Henry shook his head. “Never. That girl has game.” He had an awed look on his face.
“I told you. They even call her The Pussy Whisperer. She’s a legend.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Pansy-The-Pussy-Whisperer. Now I know you’re taking the piss.”
Ginny sighed. “Okay, fine. I made up the nickname-”
“The Pussy Whisperer?” Hermione mouthed, clearly scandalised. “What were you thinking, Gin? That’s horrid. And tasteless.”
She leant in closer to Hermione, brushing her lips against Hermione’s hair. “Shhh...I’m a bit pissed. But I’m not wrong. Just watch her with Lavender. She always has the same plan.”
Hermione wanted to object again but decided to give Ginny’s argument a chance. If anything, sloshed Ginny was always hilarious. It also gave her an excuse to stare at Pansy. There was something fascinating about that girl.
“First, she’ll compliment Lavender’s hair or perfume, so she can lean in closer.”
Both Ginny and Hermione stared at the two women in the corner. They watched as Pansy had leant in closer to Lavender and inhaled the scent of her neck.
Hermione scowled. “That proves nothing! You were just leaning over me. Does that mean you’re trying to get me in bed?”
“This is different, Hermione. Every single one of Parkinson’s steps of seductions are carefully implemented. Next, she’s-”
“I don’t believe you. Lavender would never betray Seamus. She loves him.”
“Someone’s a little touchy.” She smirked. “I think you’re jealous. I saw the way you were looking at Pansy earlier, undressing her with your eyes.”
“That’s absurd! I wasn’t-I don’t even.” Hermione took a breath, composing herself. “I’m a married woman.”
“I think you’re lying. But I’ll drop it for now.” Ginny smirked again, this time raising an eyebrow. “Wanna make a little wager?”
Hermione didn’t bet. Gambling was stupid. In fact, she always lectured Ronald about betting on Quidditch matches. But before she could stop herself, she said, “20 Galleons that Lavender rejects her.”
Ginny held out her hand and Hermione grasped it, shaking it firmly. “Challenge accepted.” There was a devious glint in her eyes. “Not only will she not reject Pansy. Lavender will go home with her. Rumour has it that Seamus is more interested in his liquor than his wife these days.”
“We’ll see.”
“Oh, it’ll happen. I just hope you won’t be too disappointed when she leaves without you.”
“Shut up.”
Hermione felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She turned back to watch Parkinson and Lavender, hoping that Ginny wouldn’t notice. She tried not to be annoyed when she realised that Parkinson had one hand wrapped in Lavender’s waves, wide smiles present on both their faces. Bollocks. Could Ginny be right? Did she find Pansy attractive?
“This may be the easiest bet I’ve ever won.” Ginny clasped her hands, rubbing her fingers together. “Soon, she’ll lean in again and start whispering dirty thoughts in her ear.”
Hermione huffed but didn’t comment.
They continued to watch the flirtation and just as Ginny predicted Parkinson started whispering in Lavender’s ear. Hermione had no idea what she said, but it must have been dirty or at least scandalous since Lavender started to blush.
“Fine. I’ll indulge you. What do you think she’s saying, Gin?”
“Well...she’s most likely complimenting Lavender but also insulting Seamus, saying that how did a waste of space like Finnigan ever convince a goddess like Lavender to marry him?” She took another sip of her drink. “And some other things I probably shouldn’t say aloud.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes, frustrated. “And that actually works? That’s the worst line I ever-”
Unfortunately, she had to hold her tongue because whatever ‘line’ Parkinson used on Lavender worked. She continued to blush and was now grinning like a besotted idiot, leaning into Pansy’s touch.
“And now...if I’m right, she’ll snap her fingers above her head and call for a bartender,” Ginny said.
Within seconds, a bartender appeared.
Hermione huffed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her annoyance. “What will they order Oh-Great-One?”
“Pansy is smart. She always tailors her seduction to a person’s interests. For Lavender, I’ll assume she wants to spoil her. The opposite of Seamus, who’s known for being a stingy bastard.” Ginny pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “They’ll order two Golden Goblets.”
“Golden Goblets?” Hermione snorted. “That doesn’t sound sexy.”
“No, but it is the most expensive drink on the menu. 42 Galleons each.”
Hermione sputtered. “42 Galleons? That’s insane.”
Ginny shrugged. “There are real gold flakes in the drink or something.”
“That’s preposterous.” Hermione huffed, hoping she didn’t sound as petulant as she felt. “And wasteful.”
A tense silence spread between them as they waited for the bartender to return with the drinks. Parkinson seemed to make good use of the time and had already draped an arm around Lavender’s shoulder. She traced circles on her thigh with her opposite hand. Lavender giggled like an insufferable schoolgirl, which drudged up old painful memories that Hermione did not want to revisit.
Luckily, the bartender showed up with their drinks-two miniature goblets, crafted from gold and embellished with rubies and emeralds. Bugger, Ginny had been right again. It looked like Hermione would be going home 20 Galleons poorer tonight.
“Told you.” Ginny gloated.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The two girls toasted with their goblets and then drank. Pansy took small, dainty sips, but Lavender gulped it down like water, a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes.
“They’ll leave soon,” Ginny added. “Unless Lavender wants to have a quickie in the loo.”
Hermione tried to ignore the tension that started growing in her gut. Why was watching this little charade bothering her so much? And what was it about Pansy that women found so irresistible? She wasn’t that attractive. There was little doubt in her mind that Lavender - husband or not - would not reject her. The deal was almost sealed.
As the two girls finished their drinks, Hermione used the opportunity to study Parkinson. She had to find out what her appeal was.
Besides the sequined shorts, she wore a tight white T-shirt with a plunging neckline. Although Parkinson’s breasts were nothing to scoff at - Hermione suspected a respectable B cup - they were far from oversized and her own as well as Lavender’s were much larger. A pair of black braces and biker boots completed the look. And-her face was free of makeup except for a striking blood red shade of lipstick; her hair was cut short and layered, long side swept fringe framing her heart-shaped face.
Even though she was more attractive or at least intriguing than she had been during school, Parkinson was not the most attractive woman in the room. She was barely above average, in comparison to some of the willowy blondes she had seen earlier. Hell, even some of the half-naked blokes, grinding on the dance floor were more beautiful than she was.
Yet, there was something about her-a presence that Hermione could not ignore, which had been mesmerizing since she first spotted her earlier. Parkinson had her own unique sense of allure, which like her style was both masculine and feminine, predatory and coy. All Hermione knew was that even though she’d never been attracted to women before, as she watched Parkinson fuss over Lavender, she wished it were her instead.
She wanted her, yearned to know what it would be like to stroke those long legs, to have those lean fingers twist in her hair, and those plump lips brush against her ear.
Holy Merlin Fuck, what was that Pink Panty Dropper cocktail doing to her? These feelings weren’t real. She could not be attracted to Pansy Parkinson. She was married. To a man. A handsome man. Or at least a formerly handsome man.
While lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice that Parkinson and Lavender were no longer by the fake jukebox. “Where did they go?”
Ginny jerked her head towards the exit.
Hermione was almost afraid to look, afraid of the nausea and desire that watching Parkinson leave with Lavender would bring. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself. What if it was the last time she ever saw Pansy? She turned and looked.
As she watched them disappear down the dark corridor, walking hand-in-hand, the nausea she had been expecting flared, but so did a familiar urge to tear every single one of those blonde hairs from Lavender’s head. What was so bloody great about Lavender Brown anyway?
“Pay up.” Ginny said, a giddy smile stretching her lips. “And don’t look so glum. Maybe next time Pansy will take you home.”
“I’m not.” Hermione attempted to keep her expression indifferent and didn’t dignify Ginny’s rude comment with a response. The truth was it hit too close to home. Instead she said, “I just think it’s appalling that Lavender thinks so little of her marriage vows.”
Still smiling, Ginny shook her head. “I told you. No one can resist Pansy. She may be a bitch, but she has this way about her-”
Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Wait a second? Are you saying that you....and...she? Is that what that look was about before? Why you know all her moves?”
Ginny nodded. “In the alley out back.” She sighed and looked blankly into the crowd, clearly reminiscing. “One of the strongest orgasms I’ve ever had. She just vanished my knickers with this handy little spell of hers and damn...” She bit down on her lip. “That girl can do more with one finger than most men can with their dicks.”
Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Ginny and Parkinson? In the back alley? Images of Ginny with flushed cheeks moaning against a brick wall, while Parkinson disappeared beneath her skirt flashed through her mind. That was so...so...demeaning, improper, degrading, she tried to convince herself. But no matter how many derogatory terms she equated with the act, it didn’t stop the rush of heat accumulating in between her thighs.
“I hope it was one of the times you and Harry were on a break.”
Ginny wriggled her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe we talk about in the bedroom and get off on it.”
Hermione shook her head, amused. “You cheeky bitch.”
Go to Part 2
Author: icicle33
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Pansy/Hermione, past Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Lavender, Hermione/Ron
Summary: Hermione and Ginny have a girl’s night out at the Purple Unicorn. Hermione is surprised when she runs into a much changed Pansy Parkinson. "That girl can do more with one finger than most men can do with their dicks."
Warnings: Post-War, infidelity, mentions of unfulfilling het sex, explicit sex and use of sex toys, some slight Ron bashing that wasn’t intentional because I love Ron but was necessary for the story. I just don’t think he makes a good match with Hermione.
Word Count: ~10K
Author’s Notes: This story was written for the lovely thusspakekate for femmefest several years ago. I never got around to posting it here and am in the process of updating my masterlist. Originally, this fic was supposed to be a short PWP between Hermione and Pansy, but it morphed into a Hermione character study that pushes her to explore her sexuality instead. I hope you enjoy it.
“No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor.”
-Betty Friedan
♥ ♥ ♥
Hermione stood at the entrance of the Purple Unicorn, a new bar that Ginny had raved about for the past month. She clutched her silver purse to her chest and frowned, shifting her balance to her left foot in an attempt to relieve the pressure her 4-inch heels were already causing her toes.
The queue moved at the pace of a lazy Flobberworm-and being ogled by sweaty men at some sleazy bar was not her idea of a pleasurable evening. Ginny had pushed her into coming tonight, promising a fun time, but Ginny didn’t understand that Hermione preferred to spend her Friday nights at home, where her feet weren’t mutilated by strappy shoes from hell (no matter how cute they were) and she didn’t have to wait half an hour for one bloody drink at the bar. Or wait in an endless queue.
She played with the thin strap of her red dress - technically, Ginny’s red dress - rubbing it absently between her fingertips and then surveyed the building and people around her. She couldn’t believe that people waited in queue for this. At least from the outside, the Purple Unicorn didn’t seem like anything special. The grey stone exterior was cracked and unkempt; the pavement in front of the building was filthy - covered in broken glass and crushed cigarette butts - even the windows were an eyesore, blacked-out with purple velvet curtains.
Who would ever think that purple velvet was an acceptable decor? The only attractive detail was the welcome sign, Purple Unicorn written in flashing rainbow cursive above the door.
When Hermione lost interest in the lettering, she turned to Ginny, who was hovering beside her. “If we’re not inside in the next five minutes...I’m leaving.”
“Stop sulking, Hermione. You promised to come out tonight and at least try to relax and have a good time.” She prodded Hermione in the back with her purse and snorted. “I know that it’s a difficult concept for you...but think about my stupid brothers and all the trouble they’re getting into tonight. You shouldn’t sit home waiting for Ron.”
Hermione tightened the grip on her purse and huffed, raising her chin and turning away from Ginny. “That’s a rather crude thing to say, Ginevra. I’m perfectly capable of a having a good time. And Ron’s on a business trip.” She narrowed her eyes, exasperated. “You know that. He’s not out having fun. Even if he is out socialising tonight, it’s only for business. He has a lot on his plate with George-”
“If you really believe that...then you’re not the brilliant witch that everyone-”
Ginny didn’t finish her thought because one of the scantily clad girls behind them slammed into her shoulder, almost knocking her over.
“Hey, watch it!” Ginny’s voice was menacing and her fingers were already clutched around her wand. Even in a skimpy black dress and boots Ginny was a force to be reckoned with.
The scantily clad blonde girl turned around and sneered. “Why don’t you watch-” When she made eye contact with Ginny, she let out a high-pitched squeal, her expression changing to delight and admiration. “Oh my god, you’re Ginny Weasley! You play for the Harpies.”
Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest, a smug look on her face. “That’s right. And I don’t appreciate-”
The blonde girl squealed again. “I’m incredibly sorry. I didn’t mean to almost trample you.” Her pale cheeks darkened. “This is so embarrassing. I was only trying to get to my friend. I know the bouncer and he just came outside.”
Both Ginny and Hermione snapped their heads towards the door. A burly sour-faced bloke, dressed in black from head to toe except for his grey combat boots, leant against the glass door, holding it open.
“So you’re a big Quidditch fan?” Ginny asked.
The blonde girl nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! Who doesn’t like Quidditch? And the Harpies they’re-”
Ginny smiled and swatted the blonde girl’s arm. “Isn’t that nice? How about you get me and my friend inside and I’ll hook you up with an autograph?”
“Anything for Ginny Weasley from the Harpies!”
♥ ♥ ♥
Hermione and Ginny sat at the bar, nursing their third round of drinks. The bar stools swivelled and Hermione had to admit that it might have been worth it to come out tonight just for these chairs, even if she were afraid that people could see up her dress. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol getting to her or if she was actually having a good time, but the Purple Unicorn’s unique charm appeared to grow on her. Or at least its strong cocktails did.
Whirling around on her chair - for what was probably the hundredth time in the last hour - she laughed and elbowed Ginny in her side. “I can’t believe you brought me to a gay bar. Of all places.”
Ginny took another sip of her Purple Pixie cocktail. She’d already tried the Green Ghoul and Frisky Fiend. So far, she liked the Purple Pixie best. “I like gay bars,” she said, shrugging. “It’s the perfect bar. Where else can you ogle gorgeous blokes and not worry about them chatting you up?”
Hermione nodded. “You have a point. And the women are quite beautiful too.” She turned her gaze to the crowded dance floor and smiled, studying all the bouncing figures. “They seem so free, positively chuffed, without having to worry about sleazy bastards groping your arse as you walk by like the last time I went...”
“If you only knew-”
Ginny muttered into her drink and was perhaps even ordering another round, but Hermione missed whatever else she said. Her attention was drawn elsewhere. Twirling in the centre of the dance floor were the last two people she ever imagined seeing: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.
She hadn’t seen the pair in years, not since Malfoy’s trial, which was seven years prior. The only knowledge she had about their whereabouts was through overheard office gossip. Supposedly, Malfoy dropped his bachelor lifestyle of partying through Europe and had recently become engaged to Astoria Greengrass. And Parkinson -Hermione couldn’t recall hearing anything about Parkinson - but if the size of the rock on her finger were any indication, she was married to some wealthy, pureblood wizard.
Some wealthy, pureblood wizard who was not Draco Malfoy and she assumed he’d be quite livid to see his wife draped over another man. Oh, well. It wasn’t her problem that Parkinson and Malfoy were a couple of slags. They deserved each other, but even so, she couldn’t look away from their dancing, as if mesmerized by their lithe forms.
Watching Malfoy grind against Parkinson, Hermione wondered if the rumours were true. Apparently, the former childhood sweethearts were once again enamoured with each other. How disgusting. She knew that both Greengrass sisters had been part of Parkinson’s clique at school, and here Parkinson was betraying one of her oldest friends. Some people had no qualms about the sanctity of marriage.
“Can you believe them?”
“What are you talking about?”
Hermione scrunched her nose and motioned to the dance floor, nudging her hand towards the dancing Slytherins. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Oh, them. They come here all the time.” Ginny tilted her head to the side, trying to get a better view.
“Some nerve they have. It’s one thing to have an affair, but quite another to rub it in-”
Ginny gave her a blank look. “Affair?”
“Yes, Parkinson and Malfoy. I don’t know the details, but Parkinson is clearly married. Just look at the rock!” Hermione narrowed her eyes and hoped she sounded appalled rather than envious. In truth, she was a bit of both. She’d been married for seven years and was still waiting for her engagement ring from Ron. “And I know for a fact she’s not Mrs Malfoy.”
Ginny furrowed her brow. “Malfoy is bent. Queerer than Finch-Fletchley’s scarring Celestina Warbeck impersonations. They are certainly not having an affair with each other.” Ginny rolled her eyes and chuckled as if the idea of Malfoy and Parkinson having an affair was the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard.
“Actually, Pansy prefers women. Kind of funny how that worked out.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“I didn’t-”
“Pansy, I can understand. It’s a well-kept secret. For the most part. I think she likes blokes too...but prefers the challenge that women give her. The chance to be the hunter instead of the prey.” Ginny shook her head, her wild curls whipping around her face. “But...Malfoy...straight? Look at those trousers. What straight bloke would be caught dead in those trousers?”
Hermione turned her attention to Malfoy’s trousers. So far, she’d been too focused on Parkinson and how absurdly long her legs looked in those turquoise sequin hot pants to notice anything else. But Merlin’s Beard silver trousers!
Malfoy sported silver trousers that were so tight they left nothing to the imagination and the sleeves of his black shirt were sheer. Ginny was right. No straight bloke would ever wear those trousers. If she had doubts before, they disappeared. It turned out that Parkinson was a cow with incredibly great legs and shiny hair. But not a cheater.
Even Slytherins are faithful to their spouses, a traitorous voice in the back of her mind taunted. It’s only you who can’t make your marriage work. Can’t keep your husband interested.
No, that’s just the alcohol talking.
Hermione shook the negative thoughts from her mind. Tonight was about having fun, letting loose, not worrying about Ron and their failing marriage.
She forced a smile on her face and looked away from the dance floor. “I suppose you’re right. I hope Astoria knows.”
“It’s not that uncommon in pureblood circles,” Ginny explained. “I’m sure she does. Just like Armand knows.”
“Who’s Armand?”
“My husband, Armand Mathieu,” a silky voice said from behind them.
Hermione spun around in her chair and came face to face with Parkinson. Her dark eyes were unnerving, boring into Hermione and sizing her up.
“Pansy, hi!” Ginny greeted Parkinson with a friendly smile. “What are you doing here?”
Parkinson shrugged. “I heard my name. I have this knack to know when people are talking about me.”
Ginny laughed and Hermione continued to feel uncomfortable. Parkinson’s lips were quirked into a half-smirk, but her voice held no malice. It was strange seeing that expression on her face, especially since her eyes kept wandering towards Hermione’s chest.
“Hermione was just admiring your ring. Nothing bad.”
Pansy laughed. “I doubt that but thank you.” She lifted her left hand and showed off her ring. The diamond looked enormous on her petite hand, almost as if it were weighing her down. “Armand spoils me. You know how husbands are.”
The comment seemed harmless, but Hermione was astute, she knew how Slytherins worked. It was a veiled insult.
Pansy glanced at Hermione’s empty ring finger and then smirked. “That’s quite a dress, Granger.” She looked down the neckline of Hermione’s dress again, not even trying to disguise her shameless ogling. “Shame your husband isn’t here to see it. If I were him, I wouldn’t let you out looking like that.” A lewd, devious smile crossed her lips. “Someone else might try to snatch you away.”
Hermione blushed. Did Parkinson just give her a compliment?
“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“I’m sure you are.” Parkinson took a step towards Hermione, reaching out to touch her hair, wrapping a stray curl around her finger. Hermione’s breath hitched. It was unnerving to have Pansy so close.
“I was wrong,” Pansy said, voice deep and sultry. “I never should have mocked your hair in school. It’s not a flea-ridden, mangy rat’s nest at all.” She wound the curl tighter, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Sure, it’s wild and untameable, but it suits you.”
The heated look that Parkinson gave her was disconcerting. The flush from her cheeks spread down to her neck and chest, her heart fluttering. How strange. Hermione had never been this bothered from a mere look. What was Pansy playing at?
Ginny cleared her throat, breaking the heavy tension. “You’re making a girl feel self-conscious.”
Parkinson turned her gaze away from Hermione and then focused on Ginny. She ogled her too and then squeezed her thigh. “You already know how gorgeous you are, Weasley. You don’t need reminding.”
Ginny and Pansy shared a coy look that made Hermione suspicious. She’d have to ask Ginny about it later.
“It’s true. Her head is already big enough.” Hermione lifted her hands up to her ears, shaking them in mock excitement. “Anything for Ginny Weasley from the Harpies!”
Parkinson started to laugh and Ginny scowled.
“Not funny.”
“I don’t know.” Pansy spoke slowly, drawing out each word. “I hear the Ginny Weasley fan club is giving the Potter fan club a run for their money. You’ll have to hook me up with tickets one day.”
“Only if you’re nice to me.”
“I’m always nice.” Pansy smirked and then addressed the bartender. “Howard, the next round of drinks for these ladies is on me. Put it on my tab.” She ran a hand through her hair and then snapped her head towards the far corner of the room. Her eyes lit up as if she were a child who spotted a new toy she wanted. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be.”
Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the crowd.
“That was random,” Hermione said after Parkinson was long gone.
“Nah, that’s just Pansy. I told you she’s not so bad once you get to know her. A little rough around the edges.” Ginny shrugged. “But at least she isn’t boring.”
Hermione wasn’t convinced but changed the subject. “Her husband...she said his name was Armand Mathieu. He’s not the French Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic is he?”
“Maybe,” Ginny replied, her forehead furrowed. “All I know is that he’s important and always busy. He knows that Pansy prefers women and likes to spend her nights drinking and shamelessly chatting up every pretty witch in town.” She paused, gulping down the last sip of her purple drink. “But they have an arrangement of some sort. He keeps the guise of having a beautiful, young witch on his arm for his Ministry affairs or whenever he calls, and she has a rich, powerful husband, who pays for her posh lifestyle and essentially lets her do whatever she pleases the rest of the time.”
Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Even in her alcohol-addled state, this had to be the most degrading arrangement she’d ever heard.
“That’s...that’s-” She struggled to find the right word, a sentiment that was appalling enough. “That’s illegal.”
“Not if they sign a contract.”
Hermione stared at Ginny, blinking rapidly. “A contract? She actually signed a contract saying that she agreed to be his...his plaything. Basically a pampered pet?” She glowered, surprised at how much the idea of Parkinson belonging to some French Ministry bigot angered her.
“It’s not like that. I’ve talked to her.” Ginny exhaled a dramatic sigh. “It’s complicated. She didn’t have a choice. Her family needed her to marry someone and this was her best option. Armand gives her space and takes care of her sister and mum too. Her father was killed in the war.”
Parkinson’s family. Slytherins were always loyal to their own. Hermione hadn’t factored that into the marriage equation. In a way, it made her respect Pansy. Hermione would do anything to protect her family. She’d already proven that during the war, but the idea that she had to copulate even briefly with a wizard that ancient was nauseating.
For once, she gave thanks for her own marriage. No matter how dysfunctional it was, at least it wasn’t arranged. She had chosen it.
“I suppose I can understand wanting to take care of your family,” she said, after a long pause. “But there must be another way. Another way besides marrying a bloke who is more than 40 years her senior.”
“That’s what I said.” Ginny gave a small chuckle. “She just shrugged and said, ‘the older the better. That way, he’ll want less sex and die faster.’”
Hermione tried to fight her grin. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“Trust me, if she’s suffering she hides it well. I hear Pansy’s here every ladies night and fucks 2-3 girls a night.”
Hermione started coughing and sputtered the last sip of her drink.
Ginny laughed again and mock patted Hermione on the back. “There, there. No use wasting perfectly good alcohol.” She grabbed both her own and Hermione’s empty glasses and pushed them towards the bar. “Hey Mr Barman,” she said, winking at him suggestively, “we need two more of your finest drinks. Remember to put them on Pansy’s tab.”
The bartender, whom Hermione later found out was named Henry not Howard, smiled. “What would you ladies like?” He shot Ginny an indulgent grin. “Or should I surprise you?’
Both girls turned to each other and in unison said, “Surprise us.”
Henry gave a little bow and within seconds two pink glowing cocktails were placed in front of them. “I give you the Pink Panty Dropper. The newest house special.”
Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have found such a crudely titled drink offensive. But since this was cocktail number four for her and Merlin knows how many for Ginny, she found the glowing drink amusing instead. After clinking her oversized martini glass against Ginny’s, she took a large sip, downing half the drink in one gulp.
Mmmm, the cocktail was fruity and tart with notes of raspberry and citrus. Although sweet, the Pink Panty Dropper contained a decent amount of alcohol. The burn down her throat was almost as intense as drinking firewhiskey.
Once she regained feeling in her throat, she turned to Ginny. “You were lying about Parkinson, right?”
Hermione didn’t understand why the subject of Pansy’s love life was suddenly so important to her. But she needed answers.
Ginny looked up from her drink. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused, the alcohol finally hitting her hard. Hermione knew she had to take advantage of the situation and ask Ginny questions. “I’m not lying. Where do you think she went? She’s probably off chatting up some pretty witch right now.”
Hermione searched the room for a familiar shiny head of black hair. For a moment, Hermione’s stomach plummeted as she thought Parkinson had left, but then she spotted her in the far corner, leaning against what appeared to be a replica of a Muggle jukebox, talking to a curvy blonde, Lavender Brown.
“You’re wrong. She’s only talking to Lavender.” Hermione shot Ginny a triumphant smile. “Everyone knows Lavender is married to Seamus. They have three boys for Merlin’s sake.”
Ginny scoffed. “Like that would stop her.” She swivelled around in her chair too quickly, which Hermione deducted from the slightly green look on her face. “Help me out, Harvey. Tell Miss Know-it-all that Pansy will go after any witch in her line of sight.”
The bartender nodded. “It’s Henry not Harvey.”
“In fact-Pansy prefers to go after straight women. It’s more of a challenge to her. Gay women just fall at her feet without her even trying.”
Hermione gave her a sceptical look.
“You don’t understand. No one rejects Pansy. Any witch that Pansy wants, whether gay, straight, married, in a committed relationship, or single Parkinson gets. And I’m not exaggerating.” She turned to Henry, who was now actively listening to their conversation. “Have you ever seen her get turned down?”
Henry shook his head. “Never. That girl has game.” He had an awed look on his face.
“I told you. They even call her The Pussy Whisperer. She’s a legend.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Pansy-The-Pussy-Whisperer. Now I know you’re taking the piss.”
Ginny sighed. “Okay, fine. I made up the nickname-”
“The Pussy Whisperer?” Hermione mouthed, clearly scandalised. “What were you thinking, Gin? That’s horrid. And tasteless.”
She leant in closer to Hermione, brushing her lips against Hermione’s hair. “Shhh...I’m a bit pissed. But I’m not wrong. Just watch her with Lavender. She always has the same plan.”
Hermione wanted to object again but decided to give Ginny’s argument a chance. If anything, sloshed Ginny was always hilarious. It also gave her an excuse to stare at Pansy. There was something fascinating about that girl.
“First, she’ll compliment Lavender’s hair or perfume, so she can lean in closer.”
Both Ginny and Hermione stared at the two women in the corner. They watched as Pansy had leant in closer to Lavender and inhaled the scent of her neck.
Hermione scowled. “That proves nothing! You were just leaning over me. Does that mean you’re trying to get me in bed?”
“This is different, Hermione. Every single one of Parkinson’s steps of seductions are carefully implemented. Next, she’s-”
“I don’t believe you. Lavender would never betray Seamus. She loves him.”
“Someone’s a little touchy.” She smirked. “I think you’re jealous. I saw the way you were looking at Pansy earlier, undressing her with your eyes.”
“That’s absurd! I wasn’t-I don’t even.” Hermione took a breath, composing herself. “I’m a married woman.”
“I think you’re lying. But I’ll drop it for now.” Ginny smirked again, this time raising an eyebrow. “Wanna make a little wager?”
Hermione didn’t bet. Gambling was stupid. In fact, she always lectured Ronald about betting on Quidditch matches. But before she could stop herself, she said, “20 Galleons that Lavender rejects her.”
Ginny held out her hand and Hermione grasped it, shaking it firmly. “Challenge accepted.” There was a devious glint in her eyes. “Not only will she not reject Pansy. Lavender will go home with her. Rumour has it that Seamus is more interested in his liquor than his wife these days.”
“We’ll see.”
“Oh, it’ll happen. I just hope you won’t be too disappointed when she leaves without you.”
“Shut up.”
Hermione felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She turned back to watch Parkinson and Lavender, hoping that Ginny wouldn’t notice. She tried not to be annoyed when she realised that Parkinson had one hand wrapped in Lavender’s waves, wide smiles present on both their faces. Bollocks. Could Ginny be right? Did she find Pansy attractive?
“This may be the easiest bet I’ve ever won.” Ginny clasped her hands, rubbing her fingers together. “Soon, she’ll lean in again and start whispering dirty thoughts in her ear.”
Hermione huffed but didn’t comment.
They continued to watch the flirtation and just as Ginny predicted Parkinson started whispering in Lavender’s ear. Hermione had no idea what she said, but it must have been dirty or at least scandalous since Lavender started to blush.
“Fine. I’ll indulge you. What do you think she’s saying, Gin?”
“Well...she’s most likely complimenting Lavender but also insulting Seamus, saying that how did a waste of space like Finnigan ever convince a goddess like Lavender to marry him?” She took another sip of her drink. “And some other things I probably shouldn’t say aloud.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes, frustrated. “And that actually works? That’s the worst line I ever-”
Unfortunately, she had to hold her tongue because whatever ‘line’ Parkinson used on Lavender worked. She continued to blush and was now grinning like a besotted idiot, leaning into Pansy’s touch.
“And now...if I’m right, she’ll snap her fingers above her head and call for a bartender,” Ginny said.
Within seconds, a bartender appeared.
Hermione huffed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her annoyance. “What will they order Oh-Great-One?”
“Pansy is smart. She always tailors her seduction to a person’s interests. For Lavender, I’ll assume she wants to spoil her. The opposite of Seamus, who’s known for being a stingy bastard.” Ginny pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “They’ll order two Golden Goblets.”
“Golden Goblets?” Hermione snorted. “That doesn’t sound sexy.”
“No, but it is the most expensive drink on the menu. 42 Galleons each.”
Hermione sputtered. “42 Galleons? That’s insane.”
Ginny shrugged. “There are real gold flakes in the drink or something.”
“That’s preposterous.” Hermione huffed, hoping she didn’t sound as petulant as she felt. “And wasteful.”
A tense silence spread between them as they waited for the bartender to return with the drinks. Parkinson seemed to make good use of the time and had already draped an arm around Lavender’s shoulder. She traced circles on her thigh with her opposite hand. Lavender giggled like an insufferable schoolgirl, which drudged up old painful memories that Hermione did not want to revisit.
Luckily, the bartender showed up with their drinks-two miniature goblets, crafted from gold and embellished with rubies and emeralds. Bugger, Ginny had been right again. It looked like Hermione would be going home 20 Galleons poorer tonight.
“Told you.” Ginny gloated.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The two girls toasted with their goblets and then drank. Pansy took small, dainty sips, but Lavender gulped it down like water, a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes.
“They’ll leave soon,” Ginny added. “Unless Lavender wants to have a quickie in the loo.”
Hermione tried to ignore the tension that started growing in her gut. Why was watching this little charade bothering her so much? And what was it about Pansy that women found so irresistible? She wasn’t that attractive. There was little doubt in her mind that Lavender - husband or not - would not reject her. The deal was almost sealed.
As the two girls finished their drinks, Hermione used the opportunity to study Parkinson. She had to find out what her appeal was.
Besides the sequined shorts, she wore a tight white T-shirt with a plunging neckline. Although Parkinson’s breasts were nothing to scoff at - Hermione suspected a respectable B cup - they were far from oversized and her own as well as Lavender’s were much larger. A pair of black braces and biker boots completed the look. And-her face was free of makeup except for a striking blood red shade of lipstick; her hair was cut short and layered, long side swept fringe framing her heart-shaped face.
Even though she was more attractive or at least intriguing than she had been during school, Parkinson was not the most attractive woman in the room. She was barely above average, in comparison to some of the willowy blondes she had seen earlier. Hell, even some of the half-naked blokes, grinding on the dance floor were more beautiful than she was.
Yet, there was something about her-a presence that Hermione could not ignore, which had been mesmerizing since she first spotted her earlier. Parkinson had her own unique sense of allure, which like her style was both masculine and feminine, predatory and coy. All Hermione knew was that even though she’d never been attracted to women before, as she watched Parkinson fuss over Lavender, she wished it were her instead.
She wanted her, yearned to know what it would be like to stroke those long legs, to have those lean fingers twist in her hair, and those plump lips brush against her ear.
Holy Merlin Fuck, what was that Pink Panty Dropper cocktail doing to her? These feelings weren’t real. She could not be attracted to Pansy Parkinson. She was married. To a man. A handsome man. Or at least a formerly handsome man.
While lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice that Parkinson and Lavender were no longer by the fake jukebox. “Where did they go?”
Ginny jerked her head towards the exit.
Hermione was almost afraid to look, afraid of the nausea and desire that watching Parkinson leave with Lavender would bring. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself. What if it was the last time she ever saw Pansy? She turned and looked.
As she watched them disappear down the dark corridor, walking hand-in-hand, the nausea she had been expecting flared, but so did a familiar urge to tear every single one of those blonde hairs from Lavender’s head. What was so bloody great about Lavender Brown anyway?
“Pay up.” Ginny said, a giddy smile stretching her lips. “And don’t look so glum. Maybe next time Pansy will take you home.”
“I’m not.” Hermione attempted to keep her expression indifferent and didn’t dignify Ginny’s rude comment with a response. The truth was it hit too close to home. Instead she said, “I just think it’s appalling that Lavender thinks so little of her marriage vows.”
Still smiling, Ginny shook her head. “I told you. No one can resist Pansy. She may be a bitch, but she has this way about her-”
Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Wait a second? Are you saying that you....and...she? Is that what that look was about before? Why you know all her moves?”
Ginny nodded. “In the alley out back.” She sighed and looked blankly into the crowd, clearly reminiscing. “One of the strongest orgasms I’ve ever had. She just vanished my knickers with this handy little spell of hers and damn...” She bit down on her lip. “That girl can do more with one finger than most men can with their dicks.”
Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Ginny and Parkinson? In the back alley? Images of Ginny with flushed cheeks moaning against a brick wall, while Parkinson disappeared beneath her skirt flashed through her mind. That was so...so...demeaning, improper, degrading, she tried to convince herself. But no matter how many derogatory terms she equated with the act, it didn’t stop the rush of heat accumulating in between her thighs.
“I hope it was one of the times you and Harry were on a break.”
Ginny wriggled her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe we talk about in the bedroom and get off on it.”
Hermione shook her head, amused. “You cheeky bitch.”
Go to Part 2