Even though she's nearly late for the DA meeting, Hermione moves slowly and cautiously, wishing she were invisible, vowing to start practicing her disillusionment charm more thoroughly. The corridor looks deserted, but these days, she takes nothing for granted. Dolores Umbridge has a nasty of habit of showing up literally out of nowhere.
Like now. It's only a flash of pink reflected in mullioned windows that gives Hermione enough warning to slip behind the statue of Unferth the Unwanted. She's barely hidden herself when Umbridge turns the corner and heads towards the very spot on which Hermione had just been standing.
The toad's little eyes are darting back and forth; she's searching for curfew-breakers, and the last thing Hermione needs is to be caught on her way to the DA. She risks taking another small step deeper into the statue's stone niche.
And bumps into something.
Not the wall.
A person.
Hermione is sure that she gasps with surprise, but luckily, the sound is covered by another voice in the corridor.
"Headmistress!" It's Mr Filch, wheezing and panting as he draws nearer. "I think I just seen two o' them brats headed up the side stairway!"
Under the sound of Filch, a new voice whispers directly in Hermione's ear. "Well, well, if it isn't little Miss Goody Gryffindor. Sneaking out for a good fuck or something, Granger? I should tell the headmistress."
Hermione's stomach clenches. Pansy Parkinson, of all the terrible. . . She tries to will herself to calmness as she whispers back, "I don't think you will. You're hiding, too, Parkinson."
In answer, Parkinson pinches Hermione's arm as Filch continues, "I sent Mrs Norris after 'em like you said."
The pinch hurts, and Hermione is about to pinch back when Parkinson suddenly begins rubbing the pinched place gently. It feels surprisingly good, the soft touch on top of the sore skin, but Hermione barely has time to register the sensation before she feels Parkinson's other hand on her breast, kneading lightly.
"Stop it!" Hermione hisses, trying to stamp on Parkinson's foot in the darkness. But they're too awkwardly placed, crowded together as they are, and she can't find purchase.
So the stroking goes on, and it feels far better than it should.
". . .wait here until she returns," Umbridge is saying. "Let them all gather together before we move in."
Pansy is now alternately sliding a soft finger over Hermione's nipple and lightly pinching it, and despite herself, Hermione finds the sensation arousing.
"Stop it," she says again, but it's almost a moan this time, and she can feel the other girl snicker soundlessly.
Parkinson doesn't stop. Instead, she moves one hand slowly down Hermione's front until she reaches her crotch and then cups her fingers between her thighs, kneading, pulling, stroking through the fabric of robes and pants.
"Right you are, Headmistress," Hermione hears Filch say. It's all too surreal for words, and even though she now feels Parkinson's foot right behind her own, she doesn't step on it.
Like now. It's only a flash of pink reflected in mullioned windows that gives Hermione enough warning to slip behind the statue of Unferth the Unwanted. She's barely hidden herself when Umbridge turns the corner and heads towards the very spot on which Hermione had just been standing.
The toad's little eyes are darting back and forth; she's searching for curfew-breakers, and the last thing Hermione needs is to be caught on her way to the DA. She risks taking another small step deeper into the statue's stone niche.
And bumps into something.
Not the wall.
A person.
Hermione is sure that she gasps with surprise, but luckily, the sound is covered by another voice in the corridor.
"Headmistress!" It's Mr Filch, wheezing and panting as he draws nearer. "I think I just seen two o' them brats headed up the side stairway!"
Under the sound of Filch, a new voice whispers directly in Hermione's ear. "Well, well, if it isn't little Miss Goody Gryffindor. Sneaking out for a good fuck or something, Granger? I should tell the headmistress."
Hermione's stomach clenches. Pansy Parkinson, of all the terrible. . . She tries to will herself to calmness as she whispers back, "I don't think you will. You're hiding, too, Parkinson."
In answer, Parkinson pinches Hermione's arm as Filch continues, "I sent Mrs Norris after 'em like you said."
The pinch hurts, and Hermione is about to pinch back when Parkinson suddenly begins rubbing the pinched place gently. It feels surprisingly good, the soft touch on top of the sore skin, but Hermione barely has time to register the sensation before she feels Parkinson's other hand on her breast, kneading lightly.
"Stop it!" Hermione hisses, trying to stamp on Parkinson's foot in the darkness. But they're too awkwardly placed, crowded together as they are, and she can't find purchase.
So the stroking goes on, and it feels far better than it should.
". . .wait here until she returns," Umbridge is saying. "Let them all gather together before we move in."
Pansy is now alternately sliding a soft finger over Hermione's nipple and lightly pinching it, and despite herself, Hermione finds the sensation arousing.
"Stop it," she says again, but it's almost a moan this time, and she can feel the other girl snicker soundlessly.
Parkinson doesn't stop. Instead, she moves one hand slowly down Hermione's front until she reaches her crotch and then cups her fingers between her thighs, kneading, pulling, stroking through the fabric of robes and pants.
"Right you are, Headmistress," Hermione hears Filch say. It's all too surreal for words, and even though she now feels Parkinson's foot right behind her own, she doesn't step on it.