A Lean and Hungry Look (Part 5/6)
Hermione had been talking to Harry when she noticed that his attention focused on something behind her. His green eyes narrowed, and she turned to see what had caught his attention. Her lips tightened as she watched Ron push past Pansy, knocking her off balance. She immediately started for the other woman, but the crush of people slowed her progress. She darted into a gap, only to come face to face with Ron. He gave her a lopsided grin, as if he hadn’t just accosted the woman he was supposed to be protecting.
Her hand snapped up and slapped his smug face before she even realized her own intention. “You’re a prick.”
“What the hell Hermione!” Ron rubbed his red cheek. “What was that for?”
Before she could answer, a warm hand landed on her shoulder.
“I think you know exactly what that was for,” Harry said from just behind her. “Let’s step outside and have a bit of fresh air, eh?” His words were friendly enough, but the tone of his voice was decidedly chilly.
Hermione could only stare as Harry grabbed the taller Auror by the elbow and forcibly led him toward the door. She noticed that their loud boisterous gathering had gotten much quieter. Her eyes searched for Pansy, and realized the other woman must have fled. This time when Hermione crossed the room, bodies parted before her.
The walk to Pansy’s room seemed to take longer than usual, Hermione’s imagination projecting all kinds of scenarios of Ron hurting her feelings. It wasn’t until the door was practically ripped from its hinges that Hermione realized that she should have known anger would be Pansy’s natural response.
Pansy was obviously upset, but trying to play it off as nothing. She’d tried to charm her out of her mood, tried pointing out that Ron was an idiot, all of which the other woman had mostly ignored. It wasn’t until Hermione had touched Pansy that the other woman had focused her anger at her. And as much as Hermione wanted to remain calm, she felt her patience slipping. She’d forgotten how easily Pansy could get her blood boiling.
“Bollocks!” Hermione was furious. All the sleepless nights she spent trying to figure out who was trying to hurt Pansy, all the quiet dinners, the shared smiles. How dare the woman accuse her of manipulation. “You are a good person, when you’re not being completely mental! Whether you want to admit it or not.”
“I am not mental!”
Pansy closed the distance between them, and Hermione felt her body heat with more than just anger. The many times that she and Pansy had snarked at each other over the years had not prepared her for full out anger. Pansy’s eyes were nearly black in the dim light of her room, and where they’d been cold and formal when she’d entered, now they were molten. Her face was flushed and in her agitation her shawl had fallen to the floor, revealing a hint of cleavage framed by her silver blouse. Hermione wanted to grab her and shake her.
“And I am not a good person!”
The words barely registered with Hermione, she was far too busy staring at Pansy’s lips as they grew closer and closer, until finally she felt them press against her own.
Pansy barely gave Hermione a chance to respond, so angry was her kiss. Hermione’s mind had just wrapped around the fact that Pansy was kissing her at all, before Pansy’s tongue was gaining entry and sliding against Hermione’s own. The moan that rumbled through Hermione’s entire body seemed to convince Pansy that for the moment at least Hermione was a willing participant, and the woman retracted the death grip she had on Hermione’s shoulders slightly.
Hermione took the opportunity to wind her arms around Pansy’s neck, sliding her fingers into Pansy’s silky black hair. Pansy gentled the kiss, but Hermione wouldn’t allow it. She surged forward, capturing the other woman’s tongue and sucking on it, and it was Pansy’s turn to moan. Her hands ran down Hermione’s arms, along her waist and up her back, clutching at her and bringing their bodies into full contact.
Their kisses blended one into the next, until finally, panting, Hermione forced her lips from Pansy’s in order to draw more than a whisper of air into her lungs.
“Good girls don’t kiss like that,” Pansy rasped against Hermione’s ear. Her lips and teeth trailed a path along Hermione jaw and neck.
“Shut up Pansy,” she gasped, tugging the other woman even closer by the grip she still had on her hair. Wherever Pansy touched her Hermione felt on fire. This was probably a bad idea, but Hermione had no intention of stopping. If Pansy was trying to prove something, if she was just using her for sex, then so be it.
“So bossy,” Pansy said, and although she couldn’t see her face, Hermione knew she was smirking. “I meant it as a compliment.”
Hermione pushed Pansy back, separating their bodies. She took in the dilated eyes, the heaving chest, and the kiss-swollen lips of the woman before her. “I know exactly how you meant it,” Hermione responded. She put her hand against Pansy’s collarbone and walked forward slowly, forcing the dark haired woman to back up. When they reached the side of the four-poster bed, Hermione gave a little shove, smiling as Pansy sprawled backward onto the bed’s surface. “And it’s been quite some time since I was a good girl.”
Hermione’s hands grabbed the hem of her cashmere sweater and yanked it over her head. The shock on Pansy’s face was something Hermione would remember for a long time. It should have been uncomfortable, standing in just her bra and slacks as Pansy’s black eyes took in every inch of her body, but it wasn’t. If anything it made Hermione feel even more reckless, more aroused.
Pansy lay across the bed braced up on her elbows, and Hermione couldn’t stop her fingers from reaching out and undoing one of the buttons of Pansy’s blouse. When the woman made no move to stop her, she undid another and another until the grey silk parted completely. Hermione ran just the tips of her fingers down Pansy’s neck and along the tops of her breasts.
She was mesmerized by the silken texture of Pansy’s skin. “God you’re gorgeous.”
Her words seemed to break Pansy out of her passive state. Pansy took the hand running along her chest and tugged Hermione down on top of her. Their lips met again with all of the passion of before.
Hermione felt Pansy’s hands running over her body, tugging at the clothes that remained. Her own fingers were doing an admirable job of divesting Pansy’s garments as well. She felt cool air on her legs and realized that Pansy must have somehow removed her pants. Hermione gave up trying to release the hooks of Pansy’s bra and settled for sliding her hand underneath a lacey cup. Pansy’s gasp and the rock hard nipple pressing into her palm nearly took Hermione’s breath away.
Before she’d regained it fully, Hermione found herself flipped onto her back. Pansy crouched over her, flinging away the last of her clothing, before reaching out and capturing Hermione’s hands above her head. Hermione fought the restraint, wanting to touch Pansy.
“Shhhh,” Pansy whispered into her ear, before kissing her way down Hermione’s neck and upper chest.
Hermione’s back bowed as Pansy licked the stiff peak of Hermione’s nipple. She writhed as Pansy alternated attention between each of her breasts. And though her mind had stopped processing anything other than the sensations emanating from wherever Pansy touched her, Hermione was cognizant enough to recognize the moans and mewls of pleasure as issuing from her own lips.
Pansy moved up to kiss her again, punctuating the move by sliding her thigh up against Hermione’s center. “Merlin, Granger. You’re so wet.”
Hermione’s hips rose up, seeking more contact with Pansy, who obliged her with a steady pressure. It felt heavenly, but at the same time Hermione wanted more. Much more.
“Pansy. God, please.” Hermione knew she was begging and couldn’t have cared less.
Pansy ran her hand down to play in wet curls. “Please? I don’t recall ever hearing that particular word cross your lips before,” Pansy teased in between kisses. “I might need to take a moment to etch this memory in my mind.”
Hermione grabbed Pansy’s face in both her hands, forcing the woman to meet her eyes. “Fuck me, or I swear to…”
Whatever Hermione was going to say next trailed off into a guttural moan as Pansy slid two fingers inside her.
“Bossy,” Pansy accused again, but there was no sting in her words. There was wonder and a little bit of awe, and even a shade of amusement, but absolutely no criticism. Hermione rolled her hips to take in more of Pansy, and the brunette chuckled. “And greedy.”
Hermione was too close. The rhythm Pansy set had her crawling out of her skin. And every time Hermione managed to open her eyes, Pansy was right there meeting them, taking her that much closer to the edge.
They moved in concert, Hermione taking everything Pansy was willing to give. It felt like they had been moving together for mere seconds or forever. And still the building of a tremendous pressure thrummed within Hermione. When she thought she couldn’t possibly take it for another moment, Pansy’s hand, one of those beautiful strong graceful hands that Hermione had studied for so long, pressed firmly against the taunt bundle of nerves and orgasm came crashing down upon her.
***
A pounding woke Pansy. Not enough to make her move, but she did crack an eye open slightly. It was dark still, but the light of dawn was threatening from behind the window curtains. She wrapped her arms tighter around Hermione, quickly lulled back into slumber by the steady heartbeat beneath her ear.
The sound came again, much louder, and while both women stirred, Hermione murmured sleepily and went back to softly snoring. Pansy spared a small smile for her bedmate before giving an aggravated sigh and throwing the blankets aside. Whoever was on the other side of door had better have a brilliant reason for disturbing her. She looked over to the brunette still nestled in the bed while she pulled a robe on. And they’d best be on their way quickly, her mind added as she pulled the bed hangings closed, shielding Granger from any prying eyes.
A final pounding came before Pansy could reach the door, and she jumped back in surprise, as it swung open with a bang. Ron Weasley strode in, and for a moment Pansy was certain the man knew exactly what had occurred in this room some hours ago. His eyes weren’t quite as cold or furious as they’d been the night before, but they weren’t friendly either. So distracted by Ron’s appearance was she, that she didn’t notice Harry had entered as well until he spoke.
“We’re sorry to burst in Pansy, but there’s been an incident downstairs, and we needed to make sure that you were all right.”
“What kind of incident?” Pansy pulled her robe tighter around herself, feeling a shudder of apprehension travel through her body.
“There was an attack downstairs. The wards we set alerted us before they could get to the staircase.” Harry’s posture was still alert though, communicating to Pansy that he wasn’t convinced that the threat had completely passed.
“They were here for me?”
“We believe so. We disarmed one of them, but they disapparated before we could take either of them into custody.”
“Got one of their wands though,” Ron spoke up.
A rustling of blankets came from behind the bed curtains, followed by a sleepy voiced, “Pansy?”
“All’s well for now then?” Pansy said forcefully, ushering the slightly gaping Aurors toward the door. Both men were a bit slower than she’d like, their heads craning behind them despite the firm grip she had on both their arms.
“What’s going on?” There was no mistaking Granger’s voice this time, and Pansy cursed silently as Harry and Ron stopped and whirled back to face the bed not two steps from the still open door.
Pansy turned as well, just in time to see Granger, dressed only in a sheet and hair thoroughly mussed, step out from around the bed. Hermione, for her part, froze at seeing who else occupied the room, and a crimson blush spread from her forehead south.
Unsure what the men’s reactions would be, Pansy strode back toward the bed, placing herself between them and Granger. Although in all honesty she paid little attention to Harry, it was Weasley she was worried about.
Ron’s head was tilted to the side, a look of disbelief on his face. Pansy watched as he paled under his freckles and sank to the floor in a heap.
Pansy turned to Harry. “Did he just…”
“Faint dead away? Yep. Doesn’t react well to shock,” Harry answered, eyes still wide, but slightly amused. “Um, Hermione, you might want to uh find some clothes. I know that the others were going to…”
But before Harry could even get the words out three more men were bursting through the still open door. Unfortunately Neville had been in the lead, and between the sight of Pansy in her robe and Hermione in her sheet he missed the crumpled form of Ron lying in the doorway. He tripped and pitched forward, landing with a loud thump at Pansy’s feet.
Both Pansy and Hermione rushed forward to help him, but he immediately clenched his eyes closed and began backing up and apologizing. Pansy looked over at Hermione, seeing that her sheet had slipped just enough to give all five men, well six if she counted the unconscious Weasley, quite a good look at some of her assets. Without even thinking about it, she used her own body to block as much of Hermione as she could.
“Do you think you gentlemen could give us just a moment?” she said through her teeth. Savage and Williamson at least had the grace to pull their eyes away and blush, and Neville still hadn’t opened his eyes for fear he might see another bit of Hermione that he wasn’t supposed to, but Dawlish stood in the doorway smirk on his face, trying not to laugh outright.
Harry tapped Neville on the arm, getting the other Auror to open his eyes enough to help drag Ron from the room.
“When the two of you ladies are ready, we’ll be downstairs,” Dawlish said with a grunt as he made his way back to the hallway. “Try not to get distracted.” The door closed and both women could hear him chuckling from the other side.
Pansy put her face in her hands. That certainly could have gone better. She didn’t even want to turn and look at Granger, positive that the woman was freaking out. The arms sliding around her waist, pulling her into a solid warm body took her by surprise. She didn’t turn, but laid her own arms over Hermione’s and squeezed back.
They stayed that way for several minutes, until Hermione gently turned Pansy in her arms and kissed her slowly and thoroughly. “Get dressed,” she said, “They’re waiting.”
Chapter X
All six Aurors were sitting or standing around the bar when Hermione and Pansy came down the staircase. Hannah, looking a bit tired was pouring tea into mugs and passing them around. Ron, conscious once more was engaged in a hushed conversation with Harry. Hermione decided that for the moment she would keep her distance from hot-tempered red head.
Dawlish beckoned them over, and the quiet conversation ceased. “So it seems that there are at least two persons involved in the attacks on you Ms. Parkinson.” Dawlish began without preamble. “We managed to disarm one of them before they escaped via side-along apparition. In their haste, they did leave this behind.” He reached into his cloak and pulled a wand out and placed it on the bar.
Hermione felt Pansy stiffen beside her, and automatically twined her fingers with the other woman’s now cold ones. She turned to look at Pansy, relieved slightly when she saw anger and resignation, and not the fear she expected.
“Unfortunately we have no way of identifying them.”
“That’s not true,” Hermione said at once. “Olivander!” She looked toward Harry. “He knows every wand he ever made and who he sold it to.”
“Is he even still alive?” Savage asked.
“Yes. He’s living in Wales,” Harry answered. “And he owes us a favor.”
Dawlish gave them all a long look. “Potter, you and Ms. Granger go see our friend Olivander. Even if he didn’t make the wand, he might be able to tell us something useful. The rest of us will stay here. I don’t like this latest attack. They’re getting desperate, and desperate people have nothing to lose.”
Hermione gave Pansy’s hand a squeeze before releasing it. She longed to say something to Pansy, but wasn’t sure if the other woman would welcome anything she had to say in so public a setting. She settled for, “I’ll be back straight away.”
Pansy nodded distractedly, and Hermione took the unknown wand from Dawlish.
She turned and looked at Harry. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.”
The both pulled their wands and disapparated with a small pop.
***
The small house that Olivander had been living in for the last five years looked the same as they remembered. Both had been to visit him several times since the war. Although extremely odd, Mr. Olivander had always been kind to them and very appreciative for their role in his rescue from the Malfoy dungeons.
Harry raised his fist to knock on the door, only to find it open before he had a chance.
“Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger. What a pleasure to see you both.” Olivander was more stooped and frail looking, but his eyes were still sharp.
“Hello Mr. Olivander,” Hermione reached forward and clasped the old man’s knarled hand. “I’m afraid we have a favor to ask of you.”
“Well then, come in, come in.”
They followed him into the sitting room, taking seats in the chairs opposite Olivander’s. Hermione pulled the wand from her pocket and placed it on the coffee table.
“Maple with dragon heartstrings, 10 inches, unbending.”
“Thank God,” Hermione said in relief.
“Can you tell us whose wand this is?” Harry asked quickly.
Mr. Olivander’s eyes never left the wand. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. Even now.” He reached out and picked it up, flipping it dexterously to offer it handle first to Harry. “Parkinson. Geoffrey Parkinson.”
Hermione was on her feet in an instant. She looked to Harry, who was still seated, mouth hanging open.
“We have to go,” he said in a rush, taking the wand back from Olivander. “Thank you, you’ve been a great help.”
They rushed from the house, barely waiting to clear the doorway before disapparating.
***
The Leaky Cauldron was much busier when they returned. Many of tables were occupied by witches and wizards eating a late breakfast. Several of the Aurors lingered as well, but Hermione paid them no heed, quickly searching for Pansy amongst those gathered. Not seeing her, she turned and raced up the stairs. Wiliamson and Neville both stood sentry outside Pansy’s door.
She ignored them both, and knocked loudly on the portal. Nothing stirred, and Hermione pounded again. “Pansy! It’s Hermione, let me in.”
The lack of response had Neville and Williamson exchanging a worried expression. Neville stepped up to the door and knocked, but Hermione had no patience for that. She tried the knob, and finding it locked pulled her wand. “Alohomora.”
The door swung open on an empty room. Pansy’s things were still there, scattered about as she’d left them early this morning. Hermione looked at the bed, noticing the rumpled sheets with a sinking feeling.
“Oy,” Williamson said from across the room. “Bloody window’s open.”
And in the next instant Hermione knew. Pansy had been calm until the moment Dawlish had showed them the wand. She’d known, she’d recognized the wand, known it was her father’s, had probably seen it dozens of times.
There had been two people who’d broken the wards this morning. “Neville, the people who escaped this morning, was it a man and a woman?”
“Yes, why? What’s going on Hermione?”
“It’s her parents,” Hermione whispered. “Pansy’s parents are the ones trying to kill her.”
“What?”
“She’s gone after them. She’s gone to Sudbury.”
The three of them practically flew down the staircase, only coming to a halt as they reached Dawlish and Harry.
“Pansy’s gone after them!” she shouted at a Dawlish.
“That’s absurd,” Dawlish argued.
“She has. She knew that wand was her father’s. She’s not going to risk all of us, if she thinks she can take them by surprise. I think she went home.”
Dawlish paled. “The estate. Even if she wasn’t sure her parents were there, she’d go to the estate to protect…” he trailed off.
“Protect who?” Hermione clenched her fists in Dawlish’s cloak. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The memo from St. Mugo’s. It hadn’t been from some administrator, it had been from the Healer-in-Charge of the Spell Damage ward. The same ward where Neville’s parents were, where Lockhart was. Pansy was using her home as some sort of convalescence facility. Knowing the things she knew about Pansy it fit.
She released Dawlish. “She’s in Sudbury, I’d stake my life on it.”
***
They’d assembled quickly. Dawlish issuing curt orders and assignments. He hadn’t even tried to dissuade Hermione from accompanying them, knowing she’d follow on her own if he did.
The seven of them, Dawlish, Harry, Ron, Neville, Savage, Williamson, and Hermione apparated on the edge of the Parkinson property.
“We don’t know how many of them there are, but we’re assuming it’s only two. Take precautions for your own safety, but remember there are plenty of innocents roaming these halls,” Dawlish told them all seriously. “Savage, you and Williamson take the south entrance. Potter and Weasley the kitchen. Longbottom, I want you and Ms. Granger with me. We’ll take the north.”
They broke apart towards their assigned entrances, but before Hermione had taken more than a few steps Dawlish caught her arm. “You do exactly as I tell you. Is that clear?”
She didn’t want to take the time to argue with him, so she nodded. The three of them made their way to the north entrance in silence. Neville was first through the door, and though Hermione expected an alarm of some kind to be thrown at any moment, no shouts sounded and no one appeared.
They were in a foyer of some kind. A narrow staircase lead to the second floor and a long hall stretched before them. Together they crept forward, Neville in the lead with Dawlish guarding their backs. The first room they passed was empty, and they moved on to the next. They’d reached the third such room when a shriek echoed throughout the house.
Hermione froze, knowing instinctively that it had been Pansy. Her hand tightened on her wand, but she did not run past Neville toward the sound. Neville did increase his pace however. It still felt unbearably slow to Hermione especially when another scream sounded, closer this time.
They reached a heavy oak door. Hermione heard raised voices from the other side. A man’s, filled with fury and loathing.
“You are a disgrace! How dare you defile this house with those filthy muggles!” Pansy screamed again. “You are the reason your mother and I had to go into hiding. Your selfishness.”
Neville motioned for Hermione to stand aside. The quiet snick of the lock seemed terribly loud in the momentary quiet. Neville took a step back and then pointed his wand once again at the door. “Confringo!”
The door exploded in a shower of splinters. Neville and Dawlish ran through the doorway, and Hermione followed a second later.
Chaos reigned. Pansy’s father lay on the floor clutching one arm, but still firing spells. Neville was dueling Pansy’s mother, and holding his own. Hermione’s gaze fell to the dark haired figure lying in front of the enormous fireplace. Her feet couldn’t move fast enough. Pansy’s eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Hermione had seen the effects of the Cruciatus Curse enough to recognize what had happened.
She stoked the pale cheek, and Pansy’s eyelids fluttered. “Open your eyes Pansy. Please.” Pansy’s forehead creased, frowning. “Wake up.”
Black eyes finally opened and met Hermione’s soft brown ones. “Hermione,” Pansy rasped.
“Hermione! Watch out!” Neville shouted.
A stream of green light flashed from Ann Parkinson’s wand. Hermione had no time to react, to draw her own wand in defense. Time slowed.
Hermione watched Neville stun Pansy’s mother a split second after the woman had fired. Saw the woman collapse to the floor. She felt a feeling of elation that Neville had at least stopped her from hurting anyone else. Her chest tightened, prepared for the burst of power that would collide with her at any moment. Only it never came.
From the corner of her eye she saw a figure rise, just enough to be in the path of the curse. Watched as the green light struck then bounced off, shattering the windows. Hermione saw John Dawlish fall to the floor a moment after saving her life.
***
In the end it took two days to sort everything out. Pansy had been transported to St. Mugo’s. As had Dawlish, Ron joking immediately that Harry could no longer say he was the only wizard to have survived the killing curse anymore. That Dawlish had been wearing his cloak was the only reason the man was still living, and as it was he’d be quite some time in recovering.
Apparently, he could do the bulk of his recovery at Pansy’s. Her ancestral home, it turned out, had been converted into a convalescence home shortly after the war. The estate was a sanctuary for muggles irreparably cursed by Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Williamson and Savage had discovered the current occupants, along with Healer Smythe and half a dozen fierce guardians - Pansy’s loyal house elves, in the attic about twenty minutes after the Parkinsons were subdued. There were nearly twenty-five of the poor souls, huddled together, scared and not quite sure what to make of all the strangers running about.
Neville had immediately taken charge of getting them settled again, keeping most of the Aurors and Ministry officials far away.
Geoffrey and Ann Parkinson had been taken to Azkaban directly, Kingsley Shacklebolt making sure they were on the fast track for a speedy trial. Their accomplice, the house elf Brutus, had been with the family for two generations, and upon being freed by Pansy had turned spy for her parents. He escaped during the initial confusion, but Harry had been informed a day later by one of the other house elves that Brutus had been both located and dealt with. What that meant exactly, Harry hadn’t been told. It had explained a great deal to many of them that Brutus had been involved. How else could Pansy’s parents have know so much and have had access to Parkinson owls and Pansy’s locations.
All in all, it seemed things were on their way to getting back to normal. Unfortunately, life going back to the way it was before Pansy came into her life was the very last thing that Hermione Granger wanted.