Harry Potter does not belong to me. Check! I don't make money off of this. Check! Already obvious fact statement for legal reasons, check!


Our obsession with speed, with cramming more and more into every minute, means that we race through life instead of actually living it. Our health, diet and relationships suffer. We make mistakes at work. We struggle to relax, to enjoy the moment, even to get a decent night's sleep.

-Carl Honore


Throughout her life, Tracey had experienced plenty of trials.

Being a half-blooded Slytherin had ensured she would be hated by the majority of her green-and-silver-clad peers, and ignored by those who would otherwise befriend her in the other houses. Her declining family meant that she could never expect to be set up in a favorable marriage – not that there were that many free candidates available anyways – and she was not at the top of her class nor had any special skills to make a name for herself.

Tracey was average, and in a world determined to curtail her kind from the crop, she had to be clever to make it to adulthood.

She was also obsessed with Hermione Granger.

It had begun as simple envy. The Gryffindor brunette seemed to have everything set out for her from day one; a house that would accept her blood-status, incredible intelligence, drive, and powerful friends from old and respected families.

She was everything that Tracey wasn't, and the Slytherin cherished every victory she could attain over the bookish girl, even if they never exchanged more than a few words over their years in Hogwarts.

Over time, those victories diminished. While they were younger, Tracey had been far prettier than Hermione, who contended with her hair and teeth and abrasive personality on a daily basis. Now that they had reached adulthood however, that had changed, and the brunette had become, if not a knockout like Daphne Greengrass or Su Li, then still certainly beautiful.

The Gryffindor had quickly risen to the top tier of the ministry during reconstruction, and had a hand in almost every administrative action taken in Magical Britain in the post-war era they lived in. Tracey had captured the lead position in the economic recovery and management division, so she certainly wasn't bad off, but she knew that she still couldn't compare.

The auburn haired woman had long since moved past simple jealousy; it was a childish vice that had strangled what could have been an interesting friendship while she was younger. Of all of her year mates, Hermione had been possible the only person she could have an honest, friendly rivalry with during their school years.

The bookworm, while wary of the house, had none of the prejudice against Slytherins that most Gryffindors seemed to assimilate from an early stage. She wasn't annoyingly friendly like the Hufflepuffs, nor was she as aloof as the Ravenclaws, and she wasn't as infuriatingly distant as her fellow Slytherins had been in their constant politicking.

She also wasn't as vapid as the other Gryffindor girls. Tracey had honestly considered hitting them with a tripping hex as they walked down one of the staircases just to shut them up before.

But no, she had squandered that for a one-sided rivalry that she soon realized she'd never win. The Slytherin had competed in silence, cherishing every victory and berating herself for every defeat.

It was an obsession, and probably not a healthy one. Tracey was honest enough with herself to realize that, but it had its own addicting qualities. If she stopped focusing on Hermione Granger, who would she measure herself by? How could she feel accomplishment if she didn't have a rival to surpass?

And yet despite maturing logic telling her to let the old habit go, Tracey found herself once again sucked into her competitive mindset.

Having sex with Harry Potter – of all the random things to happen to her when she'd gone to the gym that day a week ago – had reignited the inner fire which had driven her against Hermione Granger all these years. Or, rather, it had been the commentary they'd exchanged about the Gryffindor boy's not-so-secret trysts with the brunette bookworm.

He'd steadfastly refused to compare either of the women's sexual abilities – Tracey admired his intelligence on that part – but had let slip some interesting tidbits about previous sexual encounters with his longtime friend.

There was his deep appreciation for pulling on long hair. It was something that Tracey imagined would be rather easy given that Granger had long possessed one of the most impressive manes she'd ever encountered, even if it had straightened out in recent years.

What piqued her interest though had come out when, in a fit of passion, she'd tried to pin him down to ride him like a stallion. He'd quickly reversed the role, and had taunted her with images of Hermione Granger – of all people – trying the exact same stunt to the exact same result.

Picturing her lifelong rival in the same position, being ravished by the same man in the same manner had - curiously - made her blood boil.

Not in anger – Tracey had honestly been beyond emotions besides the furious thrum of primal lust by that point – but searing heat that accompanied a ravaging hunger. She'd been utterly sated by her encounter with the Boy-who-lived; to the extent that she'd been left a purring puddle of endorphins when they'd finished; but days later that same heat continued to punish her as she pictured herself, and not Harry, above the brunette, pinning her arms above her head while she left possessive bruises and bite marks all over her throat.

It had begun to have an unhealthy effect on her temper. She was volatile by nature; it was a trait passed down to her by her mother; but recently she'd begun to have trouble finding release. Her own hands weren't enough for her anymore, and she craved the salty taste of flushed skin; to feel a writhing, curvy body beneath her own; to savor the sweet taste of another's nectar.

Well, not just anyone's. Tracey had a particular person in mind.

Thus, she was currently passing a number of ministry workers on her way to the administrative sector of the newly-restored Ministry of Magic.

There were few people in the department. Most were out and about, working on tasks which took them out of the office in the absence of minor workers to delegate to. This worked in Tracey's favor; Hermione had long since risen to a position where she didn't need to go bustling around the ministry like a hyped-up pygmy puff. Her skills were much better favored in research in a static position.

Thus, she was stationary. Tracey knocked on the door to her office.

It was soon answered by the brains of the Golden Trio herself, looking distracted and flustered as she welcomed Tracey into her cluttered office.

Would she like some tea? How was her work in the economics division? Had there been an error that was causing issues? What was the date, perchance?

Tracey was personally amazed at the sheer volume of questions directed at her, although she had to resist the urge to sigh from exasperation towards the end.


She did frown when Hermione, who had not waited for an answer to any of her questions, finished taking a breath that should not have been sufficient for that much talking and began the torrential interrogation once again.

While the brunette was distracted with her papers, Tracey rolled her eyes, crossed over to the other side of the desk, and yanked the girl up out of her seat and smashed her lips against the over-stressed woman's own chapped pair.

She did not relent when she felt Hermione stiffen against her, not responding to the demanding press against her mouth. In fact, Tracey continued applying force to the woman's body, until she was shoved harshly against a wall, where she continued to feverishly press her body against the stunned brunette.

As the brown-haired girl began to regain her senses and squirmed against her, Tracey parted her lips so that her tongue could take a swipe at the Gryffindor's lips, moistening them and causing Hermione to inhale sharply.

Tracey's hand drifted up from where it had settled around Hermione's waist to run along the whole of the brunette's breast, seeking her nipple and giving it a swift pinch when it located the sensitive area. The shock of pleasure ripped a moan out of Hermione, and Tracey capitalized by slipping her tongue into the brunette's mouth to begin a one-sided duel with its slowly responding counterpart.

She resisted the urge to growl and begin tearing Hermione's clothes off, frustrated with how slowly the bookworm was responding to her advances. She wasn't here to ravish the woman yet; this was her bait to lure in and trap the woman who had for once assumed a spot below her on the predator scale.

The Slytherin pulled away shortly after Hermione finally shook off the rest of her daze and began reciprocating the kiss with determined fervor. Whatever shock had taken the brunette had fallen away and the stress of essentially running a country melted as she allowed herself a moment of heated release.

Her action made the brunette mewl disappointedly, but Tracey had yet to finish; placing open mouthed kisses along Hermione's pulse point. As she began to introduce small love bites to her ministrations the bookworm began to pant, her hands gripping the back of Tracey's robes and the nape of her neck.

Tracey imprinted her grin against Hermione's neck as she located her desired spot, and then began to harshly suck on the area, periodically laving it with her tongue and teeth to leave the skin dark and obvious to anybody who spared the object of her affections a second glance.

When she pulled away, there was a purple bruise just underneath Hermione's jaw, right on her pulse point. The brunette, perceiving that Tracey had finished, stared at her with confused but obviously aroused eyes, panting and obviously flushed.

Tracey grinned, 'success.'

"Davis," Hermione said, finally. "What the fuck brought that on?"

Filing away the brunette's uncharacteristic curse, Tracey responded to the valid question. "Well Granger, you've got to have been stressed, and you were talking too much there. I prefer kissing to questions," she said brazenly.

"I never saw you making out with Snape, and he asked Slytherins just as many questions as the Gryffindors."


Following that train of thought led to places which sent unpleasant shudders through Tracey. She deflected the conversation back on point; "You liked it."

Hermione's blush darkened, but she didn't deny it.

"So," Tracey continued, "I don't really want to fuck someone who's not showered for a week," Hermione went scarlet; from the thought of them together or from embarrassment at being so unclean Tracey did not know, "so if you go and clean up, I'll be in my office for the next hour. Alone."

With that, Tracey stepped back and away from the brown-haired woman, straightened her robes from where they'd become ruffled, and walked out the door.


In her office, the auburn-haired Slytherin began to have doubts after the twenty-minute mark had passed. Had she come on too strong? Despite her house's preference for cunning, she was often less than subtle, and more apt to take the brazen approach to getting people to do what she wanted.

It required her to know how people would react beforehand so that she could plan out how encounters with other people would play out, but people often trusted the upfront party more than one guaranteed to have some secret agenda.

She got right down to business, and being stuck waiting for somebody she didn't know would turn up was torture for her.

A knock. Another. Tracey grinned, relief suffusing her for a brief moment before she shoved it aside; 'Fun time!'

"Come in."

The Slytherin was out of sight of the door, hidden so that she could take her new guest by surprise. The brunette walked in, quickly shutting the door behind her.

Hermione's robe was obviously more comfortable than before, looking almost like a bathrobe, but was close enough to a day-robe to not draw attention to herself in the busy ministry. Her long brown hair was sleek and shiny, still wet from a shower, while her skin was tinged pink and looked soft and delicious to Tracey's roaming eyes.

She moved. The bookworm only had a second to react before she was once again thrown off balance as Tracey shoved her backwards. The two women once again engaged in a heated clash of tongues; this time with each party competing for dominance.

When Hermione's back finally made contact with Tracey's desk, the Slytherin continued applying pressure, bowing Hermione's back over it until she was stretched out and Tracey was essentially straddling her.

Tracey smirked arrogantly as she captured the brunette's wrist with one hand, the other performing a quick motion with her wand that summoned a silk ribbon. Another flick of the wand and the silk wrapped around Hermione's wrist and stuck to the desk, trapping Hermione's arm above her head.

Tracey repeated the motion with the other wrist, and with her work completed eyed her prize appreciatively.

Hermione was irritated. "Davis, let me go!"

Tracey snorted, and knelt to take one of Hermione's feet in her hands, slipping the shoe and long sock off, revealing a pale, dainty foot. She removed the other shoe and sock, leaving Hermione's feet bare and hanging just above the ground.

Tracey's voice echoed throughout the room, "I don't think I will, Granger. Right now, you're my little plaything," there was more than a little satisfaction in her voice, "and I am going to take full advantage of every nook and cranny of your tasty little body while I have the chance."

She took a hold of the knot in the Gryffindor's robe, easily undoing it and parting the dark robe. Bare tracts of naked, supple skin graced her eyes; Hermione had worn nothing under the robe. There was very little muscle to be had; two years of little exercise would have degraded what was once undoubtedly muscle into softer, fattier curves. Hermione was by no means overweight, but she certainly wouldn't be taking awards for physical fitness either.

Tracey's gaze moved up to Hermione's breasts, which were not huge but were large enough to be a handful. She licked her lips as she took in both of her pink, pointed nipples straining out into the cool air. Above them was a defined collarbone and the woman's elegant neck; Tracey's hickey still stood out like a beacon.

Tracey retrieved her wand one final time, tapping it against her own clothing and vanishing it with nary a thought.

Wanting to start the action, she stepped between the brunette's legs, leaning over her as she had earlier with their kiss. Their bare stomachs came into contact first; hot, smooth skin moving against smooth, burning skin and sending Tracey's body alight with desire. Their breasts pressed together as she rested her weight on top of the bookworm, both of them coming face-to-face with each other to stare into the other's eyes.

Their contest didn't last long. Hermione broke first, having been fiercely aroused for the better part of half an hour with no release; "Davis, are you going to kiss me or-"

Tracey's lips crashed into Hermione's once again, one of her arms coming up to support the brunette's head as the other moved up and down her side, tracing the hot flesh with her cool, clever fingers.

When they had to part for breath, Tracey began to whisper softly into the crook of Hermione's neck, their meaning too quiet to be understood but the wisps of air tickling her making Hermione squirm. The whispers transitioned into butterfly kisses that made their way down Hermione's neck and past her collarbone. Tracey detoured over the brunette's breast, taking care to avoid her nipple and making the bound woman pull against her restraints futilely.

"Davis, hurry up!"

The Slytherin rolled her eyes. Impatient Gryffindors. Even Harry had skipped the foreplay in favor of simply fucking her brains out.

"Granger, there is a fine art to sex that I imagine escapes you," Tracey began. "In fact," she placed a short kiss just above Hermione's mons. "If I didn't know that Potter has been fucking you for years now, I might have mistaken you for inexperienced."

Tracey couldn't see her face, but if the wiggling of her hips was anything to go by, Hermione was trying to sit up to properly express her outrage. "How the hell did you know that Harry and I were- EEP!"

Perhaps Tracey preferred Harry's no-nonsense take to sex. Just a little. Turnabout is fair play though, so she felt rather justified in shutting the Gryffindor up; especially since she really was as delicious as Tracey had fantasized.

She began by taking long, luxurious licks along Hermione's out labia, putting just enough pressure on the inside to part them just enough to make the brunette moan desperately. Tracey held her hips still to prevent her from bucking against her as she began to dart her tongue in and out between Hermione's lips, going just a little deeper with every pass.

"D-Davis! Ju-aahhhh! Just do it already!" Hermione screamed, her chest arching upwards as she impotently struggled against her restraints. Her hands clenched and unclenched as searing heat shot through her body like a bolt of sizzling lightning.

Tracey pulled away; "You know, you're just as delicious as Potter said you were. Sweet, but not like sugar," she told the struggling woman. She ducked in to take a long, drawn out lap of her swollen lower lips. "Like vanilla, really."

"Harry wouldn't tell you something like that!"

Tracey smiled as she leaned in, taking a deep whiff of potent musk, her eyelids fluttering closed as the powerful scent made her core flutter. "Oh, you'd be surprised Granger. Potter was very willing to tell me all about you two. I certainly wasn't complaining at the time; it's hard to when he's filling you with that huge rod of his, isn't it?"

The brunette emitted a strangled gasp, "You had sex with Harry? How? When?"

Tracey began to examine the inside of Hermione's legs, leaving small bites along the smooth unblemished flesh she found. "I did, Granger. Many, many times. So much, in fact, that I was still leaking his seed two days afterwards," she told her.

Apparently the image conjured up by Tracey's words was enough to earn an extreme reaction from the brunette, because two long legs instantly trapped Tracey's head between them as Hermione's body arched beautifully away from the table.

"Oh, you like that Granger? You like the thought of Harry's hot seed flowing out of my sweet little snatch?" Tracey returned to her ministrations against Hermione's own core, plunging her tongue in and out of the brunette.

Hermione's low groan signaled that yes; she did.

"You like," Tracey panted against the woman's clit, the hot breath sending tingles of sensation up the line of Hermione's spine, "imagining me up against a wall," the Slytherin took the bundle of nerves between her lips, "with Harry's big," Hermione wailed, "hard," she sucked harshly, "cock," Tracey dragged the entire length of her tongue up Hermione's clit, triggering the brunette's explosive orgasm, "thrusting in and out of me?"

Hermione was unable to answer, so consumed by the agonizing pulses of bliss that ravaged her body and left her helplessly bucking her hips against Tracey's face as she coated it with a glistening wave of her juices.

Tracey languidly dragged herself up Hermione's body once again, paying no mind to the random spasms that continued to afflict the trembling woman. As they came face to face, Tracey saw that Hermione's eyes had gained a glazed appearance, and she smirked.

"You got me all messy, Granger," Tracey whispered softly, her breath smelling sweet from her recent meal, "Clean me up."

As Hermione leaned in to begin lapping at the clear sheen that covered Tracey's face, the auburn-haired woman reached up to begin untying the brunette from the desk. A few swift movements later and the silk restraints were loose enough for Hermione to pull her arms out from their imprisonment.

Without the bindings holding Hermione up, the pair let gravity pull them to the ground, where they rolled along the floor, arms and legs tangling together as they eagerly ground against each other.

Eventually Tracey stopped their motion, straddling Hermione and continuing to smirk at the dazed Gryffindor from above. She once again grabbed the woman's wrists, pinning them above her head and leaving her immobile.

"You have soft skin, Granger," Tracey told her as she began to grind her hot nether-lips against the brunette's smooth stomach, leaving them streaked with her leaking fluids.

The contact ignited an inferno within her, as the slick, hot friction made the knot of molten fire deep within her core grow and strain. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and around her temples, making her mussed-up hair damp.

"H-how did you convince Harry to have sex with you?" Hermione gasped, Tracey's weight driving the breath out of her as the woman used her recovering body for her own pleasure.

"I asked, Granger," Tracey told her sweetly, "You see, Potter and I were having a nice conversation and suddenly he starts talking about pulling on your hair," Hermione blanched, "and then I find out that the Boy-who-lived is secretly a beast in the sack, and that you've been keeping him all to yourself;" Tracey's voice darkened to match her lust-blackened eyes, "Naughty little witch."

She felt her core begin to flutter with the first throes of her own orgasm, so Tracey threw herself into it, frantically dragging her sensitive, swollen lips up Hermione's slippery stomach, trying to push herself over the cliff.

Her low, quiet panting ceased and she yelped when she felt pair of nimble fingers suddenly pinch her clit. The Slytherin froze entirely for a second, stunned that the Gryffindor would have the audacity to take some initiative in their tryst, before her face twisted in a feral snarl as she ferociously resumed her grinding, accompanied by the helpful ministrations of Hermione's fingers. The callouses, gained from decades of handling books of all shapes and sizes, felt divine against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves, and soon Tracey was thrown into violent convulsions as her orgasm washed over her, igniting every nerve ending in her body with lances of ecstasy.

Hermione pushed her advantage, rolling them so that she was on top and plunging three fingers into the Slytherin's desperately grasping core, where they were seized and massaged by her frantically pulsing walls. Tracey's voice, high on pleasure, rang out through the air, filling it with sinful depravities as she rode her orgasm.

As she came down, Hermione slowed her ministrations, slowly and gently stroking the rough spot of nerves within Tracey's center that made her stomach quiver and her arms want to give out. Tracey, however, only felt her lust spike as heat began to pool within her as soon as she was able to operate her limbs properly.

In seconds, Hermione was on her hands and knees with Tracey above her. The auburn-haired woman used one arm to seize one of Hermione's breasts, teasingly circling the achingly-hard nipple, while the other went to Hermione's core. The brunette, with her arms supporting her weight, was helpless under the assault, and her wanton cries of pleasure filled the room as Tracey relentlessly attacked every sensitive region she could reach.

"Hey Granger," Tracey said, her voice sultry low, "Do you like that I just came all over your stomach? Did you love it when I made you come all over my pretty little face? I bet you like licking it all up, at least."

"T-Tracy…I – Ah! I want t-to c-come…!" Hermione gasped out, bucking erratically into Tracey's stroking hand.

"I bet you do. You're going to come all over my hand, and then I'm going to let you lick it off my fingers," Tracey purred, "Or, I have a better idea!"

Tracey again shifted the woman below her, who wailed in frustration as Tracey's hand left her frantic center. Within seconds, Tracey's own dripping core hovered over the brunette's mouth, and she stared at the soft, swollen lower lips of the Gryffindor below her.

"Don't go slow on me, Granger; I want it as hard as you – shit!" Tracey was cut off as Hermione latched onto her core, her tongue darted in and out between the Slytherin's labia as she sampled her taste. With a delighted moan, the brunette fully dove into the auburn-haired woman's center, and Tracey was left almost unable to focus on her own task.

Almost, of course. Tracey return just as much as she got, and soon she felt the brunette's already stimulated core begin to clench randomly around her probing tongue. Tracey almost felt the thrill of victory, but just as suddenly as she triggered the brunette's orgasm once again she felt lips latch around her hypersensitive clit and give a hard suck, instantly shattering her focus.

The two women convulsed together, their involuntary cries mixing together in a chorus worthy of a choir of succubae.

As they lay together in the afterglow, each thoroughly spent from their activities, the silence grew thick. Each waited for the other to say something.

As usual, Slytherin patience won out. "Tracey."

"Yeah, Granger?"

"Harry and I and a couple of our friends are having a get-together in a week, do you want to join us?"

Tracey thought for a moment, considering how this would fit in with her standing against Hermione.

Tracey blinked, and pulled the brunette closer, nestling her head in the crook of her neck. Hermione sighed contentedly and curled closer to her. "That sounds like fun, Granger."

"Hermione. Call me Hermione."

"That sounds great…Hermione."

Fuck rivalries. Friendships are more enjoyable.


Right! So while very few people reviewed, many did follow this story, which I took to be encouragement for the Hermione/Tracey pairing. So, as of right now, I do believe this is the only occurrence of this pairing...at all. Personal challenge to everyone out there, try it out! It's an interesting dynamic, and I had fun writing it.

At any rate, I'll most likely be working on Seductress next. Half of the next chapter is already done - and as I write these as 'context for the sex, then sex', that basically means I've got the difficult part done with.

Farewell everyone, and have a merry afterglow!

-Valasania the Pale