"I'll bet this really burns. Doesn't it, Hermione?" Pansy Parkinson smiled, sweet and venomous as poisoned sugar. Her wet-looking lips were the deep red of some bitter berry, and her dark eyes were made dramatic by eyeliner and thickly fringed by black lashes. Too much make-up, Hermione thought, and tried not to feel inadequate as the nightshade eyes swept over her. They took in Hermione's scrubbed face, and the neat pencil skirt that had seemed elegant when she put it on and now looked like a schoolgirl's.

Pansy's eyes lingered on the white shirt in between, for some reason. Pansy was probably thinking scornful thoughts about Muggle dress. She was wearing dramatic, deep red robes made of heavy velvet.

Fitting, for the new editor of the Daily Prophet.

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione replied steadily, keeping her eyes fixed on Pansy's with an effort. She still thought of her as 'Pansy', even though they'd never been friends and she'd now have to call the bitch Ms Parkinson. Most people used her first name, because of the gossip column. Pansy's Pandora's Box, a daily column that had become an institution. A nasty, vindictive, red-taloned institution.

Maybe Hermione was bitter because Draco had told his friends before Harry had told her; she had not appreciated discovering their affair in Pansy's Pandora's Box, for God's sake. Maybe she was angry that Pansy had been promoted over her, and now had unfettered power over Hermione's career. Over her mission. Despite that, Hermione was mortally certain that Pansy was objectively evil.

Pansy's red mouth curled a little more, revealing a dimple; it was as if she could hear Hermione's thoughts. Hermione clenched her thighs together and tried not to blush. It wasn't possible she knew, was it? Hermione was so careful to keep her thoughts Occluded...

"No? Hermione, I know you'd love to have my job. Not for power, or money..." Pansy paused and stretched luxuriously in her chair, arching her back like a satisfied cat. "But so you could run lots of socially relevant stories about oppressed minorities. It would be very worthy, and it might even help your big-eyed victims. And it would run this paper into the ground."

Hermione stared into the amused dark eyes, and felt a little sick.

"The thing is, Hermione, that people don't buy newspapers to hear about the shocking rates of pay on Knockturn Alley or the brainwashing of house elves. They do it to hear about who the Minister's sleeping with, or the Boy Who Lived's latest deviant kink." She smirked, and Hermione reminded herself to check the privacy wards at Harry and Draco's flat. "Your reports help our reputation for being socially responsible, and Merlin knows that's in need of help. But the space could be devoted to adverts and make us far more money. Or foreign correspondence, perhaps; the Prophet can be quite shockingly provincial."

Hermione's throat was dry, but she had never backed down on her causes and she wasn't going to start now. "Does that mean I'm fired? I have a contract, Ms Parkinson – "

Pansy laughed throatily, throwing back her head. Her long, pale throat moved as the sound poured out into the room. Then she swept round the heavy desk that already seemed entirely hers, and put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione looked up from her chair, straight into a bright smile and dark eyes that shone like a steel trap. She could feel Pansy's long nails digging into her shoulder.

"No, you're not fired! I wouldn't do that if I could; you're a great journalist." Her other hand landed on Hermione's knee, warm and unexpected. It moved a little, long fingers fanning out and almost caressing her skin as Pansy spoke. "And call me Pansy, all right?"

Hermione nodded dumbly, feeling hypnotised. Her skin felt hypersensitive, aware of the slightest movement of Pansy's fingers on her skin, the slightest pinch of those frightening nails. She watched Pansy's richly red lips move. "I'm just not sure whether to keep you on the same tasks. You'd do well reporting on politics – meaning the Wizengamot. Let someone else speak for the goblins. Someone not at the Prophet."

Hermione's head swum. Pansy's hand was definitely caressing her knee now, stroking it ceaselessly. Arousal built, hot and tight, in her stomach, only made more powerful by the pinching nails that caught her shoulder and held her in the chair. She was sure Pansy had noticed how heavily she was breathing, and there was an edge of triumph in that smile. Hermione wasn't so easily put off, though; she tried to think through the fog of confusion and lust.

"But this newspaper is the only one the public takes seriously," she protested. "It has to be here. There are so many intangible benefits in keeping up our social justice campaigns – "

"That may be true," Pansy said. "But I'm a realist, which is why I'm the editor. You're going to have to offer me more than that. You're the idealist. I much prefer tangible benefits."

And her hand slid down between Hermione's legs, and a little further up. It was nowhere all that shocking; but that hand was a statement of intent.

Hermione breathed in – one small, shocked sound – then opened her legs a little more.

Pansy crouched, her left hand still on Hermione's shoulder. The new position let her move her hand, slow and smooth, despite Hermione's pencil skirt. It travelled up between her legs, stroking teasingly over the fine hairs there. Hermione held her breath as Pansy held her position, high between her thighs but not quite touching her there. For long moments, the only movement in the room was the heaving of Hermione's chest and the sharp, small breaths Pansy was taking. Then the hand moved, and Pansy pressed the tips of her long fingers against Hermione's pussy. She breathed out.

"Relieved?" teased Pansy. She brushed her fingers lightly over the front of Hermione's knickers, and chuckled at the stuttering interruption of breath that caused.

"One moment." To Hermione's horror, Pansy slid her hand out of Hermione's skirt and crossed the room. Hermione twisted round to watch her. She was aching, her skin tender and buzzing with arousal, breathless with the anticipation of touch.

Pansy locked her office door. Then she turned, undid a clasp, and let her heavy robes drop away. Pale skin was revealed in an instant. She stood there in stockings and black stilettos, her bra and knickers midnight and plum, satin and lace. Pansy was smiling, utterly confident. Hermione had never seen anything so erotic.

Then she came bouncing back across the room, surprisingly playful now she knew she had what she wanted. Pansy undid her bra as she came, letting it drop to the expensive carpet and releasing pert breasts with hard, dusky nipples.

"Get up, Hermione." Now Pansy threw off her heels, suddenly several inches shorter – a little shorter than Hermione, actually. But even almost naked, she never lost that invincible aura of command. Hermione, in her sensible office wear, felt distinctly at a disadvantage.

She obeyed, standing to meet Pansy as the other woman reached her. She was caught in a torrid kiss. Pansy's whole body pushed against hers, unfettered breasts pressing against Hermione's, hips pressing forward. Hermione parted her lips on a gasp and Pansy's hot mouth pressed still closer, her tongue meeting Hermione's. The hot, wet contact was overwhelming, and Hermione grabbed for Pansy's waist, drawing her still closer as she opened her own legs and allowed Pansy between them.

"So," Hermione said, her voice breathy. She had to lean away from Pansy to avoid her lips, and it felt wrong. "If I do this with you, I can keep up my campaigning?"

Pansy paused for a moment, her expression going suddenly neutral but for her flushed cheeks: her negotiation face. Then she smiled, her red mouth curling wickedly. "Absolutely." Then she kissed Hermione again.

They kissed for long moments; hot and slow, letting the tension build around them. Then Pansy pulled away with an impatient sound. She pushed Hermione backwards, and Hermione stumbled against Pansy's desk. She gasped and looked down into wicked dark eyes.

Pansy smirked and reached down, pulling Hermione's skirt up around her hips. It revealed Hermione's plain white cotton knickers. She flushed, embarrassed in front of this – this vixen, but Pansy groaned at the sight of them. "Oh God, Granger, you're so fucking hot and you always pretend you don't know it."

Hermione opened her mouth indignantly, but was immediately distracted as Pansy shoved the knickers aside and pushed two long, knowing fingers inside her. Hermione groaned, the creaking sound halfway between pleasure and strain. Pansy grinned, watching her face. She leant in and brushed light kisses over Hermione's lips, her chin, her neck. Pansy scissored her fingers inside her, and when Hermione moaned she felt Pansy's smile against her skin.

Pansy's thumb came up now, and rubbed Hermione's clit through her knickers. Hermione groaned again, her thighs clenching around Pansy's wicked hand. Pansy kept moving, thumb stroking over that little button and fingers fucking her. Three fingers now, and it had been a while since Hermione had had sex; the ache of the stretch, and of lust, were all mixed up. Pansy's other hand was busily undoing her shirt buttons – it was slightly awkward one-handed and Hermione reached up to help. Her fingers curled in the cotton as Pansy did something amazing with a twist of her fingers.

But she managed to open her shirt, revealing her pink bra with its hint of lace. Pansy smiled and lowered her head, kissing Hermione's chest, her mouth soft and open, tongue playing slickly across Hermione's skin. Hermione's whole body seized up; she cried out, and several endless moments later she came.

Her head was still swimming, her body feeling like one giant nerve ending, when she opened her eyes. Pansy was staring at her with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. She looked utterly caught up in the sight of Hermione's orgasm.

Hermione flushed, a little embarrassed to have been watched so intently when she was so out of control. She fidgeted, shifting under Pansy's dark, sparrow-bright eyes – eyes that were so dilated they looked black.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realised Pansy's fingers were still firmly inside her. Her fidgeting had her moving against those stiff digits; it was definitely... stimulating. Hermione swallowed. She could feel her body humming with Pansy's nearness. The reaction was overwhelming, too much so to be comfortable – trying to push it into acceptable avenues, to use it so she could do the right thing and no more, was like riding an avalanche. But there was no way she could walk away from this feeling: as if every cell in Pansy's body and hers were reacting to each other, sparking together.

She reached out, and stroked Pansy's stomach with her fingertips, carefully watching the other woman's face for her reaction. She felt Pansy's stomach contract under her fingers, saw Pansy's mouth soften and open, just a little. This powerful woman didn't just want to fuck Hermione; she wanted her touch, and Hermione felt herself smile in recognition of her power.

Pansy stared at her, eyes going a little wide as Hermione's fingers stayed where they were, simply stroking Pansy's bare stomach. Then Hermione took a deep breath – internally, she couldn't let Pansy see her nerves – and finally got to do what she'd wanted to ever since Pansy was hired by the Prophet. She got to surprise her.

Hermione slid her ink-stained hand inside Pansy's knickers. She must wax, or use those horrible painful spells Hermione tried once and swore off forever – she was bare, and all that soft skin was intoxicating.

The silk of Pansy's knickers was damp. Hermione slid her hand further down: watching Pansy, enjoying the movement of her breasts at a sharply-taken breath. The heel of her hand pressed firmly against Pansy's clit, and she slipped a finger inside Pansy's slippery cunt easily. Pansy took a noisy breath, her lids lowering in apparent relief.

The relief didn't last long. Hermione kept just one finger inside her, barely up to the first knuckle. She played and pumped it, watching Pansy, an uncontrollable smile breaking through as Pansy reacted to her teasing: her luscious mouth opening, her face tensing, her fingers clawing at Hermione's shoulder, and air.

Hermione leant forward. There was a slight leap of nervousness in her chest, wondering if Pansy would push her away; but she didn't, and next moment Hermione was kissing her. It was careful at first; Hermione was always careful, nervous until she learnt what her partners wanted by heart. But that caution couldn't last, when Pansy's unabashed moaning was vibrating in her chest. Pansy's lips were parted; her tongue flicked out to play with Hermione's, drawing it back into her own mouth.

And all the time, Hermione was providing just enough pressure on Pansy's clit, just enough fullness inside her, to stimulate without satisfying. She pulled back, watch the flush deepen on the crest of Pansy's cheeks. Pansy pushed against Hermione's hand, chasing sensation, but Hermione pulled back herself.

Pansy's hoarse moan of frustration drew a wider smile to Hermione's face. Pansy caught it this time, through the haze of her arousal; her dazed eyes narrowed. She pulled back, away from Hermione's mouth and hands; the loss of warm, wriggling woman in her arms was dismaying. But before she say anything, Pansy was stepping out of her knickersand her rosebud mouth – her lipstick messy now, smeared past her swollen lips – was set in determination.

"Damn it, Granger, you are not going to tease me to kingdom come."

Hermione found herself giggling at the unintentional pun, and Pansy smiled at her, even as she rolled her eyes and threw back her matted black hair. Hermione wasn't about to get offended, particularly since Pansy had, by reflex it seemed, thrown her shoulders back too in a warlike gesture. It pushed out those delicious, pert breasts of hers, and Hermione's hands were practically itching to touch.

"Gryffindors," Pansy continued, rolling her eyes. "Stop giggling and get naked, would you? There'll be no hiding behind that prim, professional little outfit with me."

Hermione happily obeyed. Once she was naked, she looked up and found Pansy's eyes on her, drinking her in. Pleasure shivered through her at the idea of Pansy watching, of this beautiful woman being turned on by her.

That made her want to play. So she tilted her head, and stared back boldly into Pansy's dark eyes. "You've already had your fun. What makes you think I'll let you near me again?"

Pansy's head jerked back a little, her eyes widening. Then she caught Hermione's smirk, and visibly slipped into the role Hermione had offered her: wicked seducer of a nice young woman. Amusement glowed in her eyes as she set her mouth, and came forward in a rush. Her face was close to Hermione's, her warm breath brushing Hermione's heated skin with every word, though their bodies didn't touch.

"I hold your career in my hot little hands. Not to mention other things." She punctuated this by running her hands along the curves of Hermione's breasts, her mouth curved into a scythe. Hermione nodded, feeling sweat prickle at her temples. "I know."

"Oh you do?" Pansy tilted her head teasingly, looking as if she were entirely focussed on the conversation, even as she plucked at Hermione's nipple and played a finger over her areole. Hermione's eyes flickered between Pansy's raised eyebrows and watching Pansy's hands on her own chest, even as she tried to concentrate. "Then I suppose you agree that under the circumstances, it's a good idea to keep your boss sweet."

"Nothing could make you sweet, witch," Hermione retorted. Pansy's teasing fingers seized her nipple and twisted it; she gasped in pain and surprise, as Pansy's fingers squeezed for a long moment before they let go.

"You were saying?"

"I – I was saying," said Hermione, trying to keep her composure.

"You were saying," Pansy whispered, almost against her open mouth, "that you're going to do as I say. Because otherwise, you might get in trouble." Hermione stared unseeingly into her face as she felt Pansy's hand slide down, caressing warmly over her stomach, until it was poised above her groin. Pansy's fingernails were toying with her pubic hair, just able to reach. "And you wouldn't want to get into trouble, would you?"

"Actually," Hermione gasped, "I might like some trouble." She reached down, and pushed Pansy's hand down against her slit.

Pansy smiled, and kissed her as she pushed her hand against Hermione's pussy, running her fingers along her slit; Hermione gasped, her clenching thighs holding Pansy's hand tight against her. She moaned into Pansy's mouth; the moan became a whine of loss as Pansy pulled away.

Pansy's long fingers curled round her shoulders, and pushed her back. Hermione clumsily obeyed the gesture, wriggling onto Pansy's desk – feeling papers scrunch and crumple under her arse as she did so. Pansy's hands were pushing her thighs apart; Hermione spread them easily, exposing her wet pussy to the cool air of Pansy's office. She spread them until they ached at Pansy's urging, not thinking, until she looked up into Pansy's pleased face and was flooded with embarrassment. She was naked on her boss' desk, legs splayed, leaning back casually as if this were all quite normal and by the way, Miss Parkinson, what do you think of my breasts? She felt her face redden, and waited for Pansy's sardonic commentary.

Pansy's smile was bright and pleased, the sort she used to give to that horrible Draco Malfoy when they were all thirteen. "You're so bloody gorgeous, Granger." She fell to her knees and leant forward, in a movement so swift and graceful that it looked like a pounce, and buried her face between Hermione's legs.

Her tongue licked its way eagerly to Hermione's cunt, playing inside and lashing at her tender flesh. Hermione was briefly embarrassed by the volume of the sound that tore from her throat, but there was no time for that: not when Pansy's tongue was licking her juices from her, her mouth sucking at Hermione's cunt like she was hungry for her. Hermione pushed her hips up, chasing more; her arms were trembling, and as Pansy slipped two fingers inside her, her mouth heading in new directions, she let herself flop back onto the surface of the desk. How could she hold herself up? Nobody could, not with Pansy Parkinson's brilliant mouth sending sparks through her sight, pleasure shooting through her like a comet. Pansy's tongue was pressing on her clit, one long touch after another, until Hermione was sobbing for breath and her whole body seemed to thrum to the rhythm of Pansy's touch.

Pansy curled her fingers inside Hermione, her long nails scraping at Hermione's inner walls; at that, Hermione came with a scream.

She almost blacked out. She clawed herself back to consciousness with the knowledge that Pansy hadn't come yet, and also she didn't want to be That Witch Who Passed Out On Her Boss' Desk From An Orgasm. She lay panting for a few minutes, her breath rasping hoarsely in her sore throat, while Pansy amused herself sucking a large lovebite onto Hermione's inner thigh. It made her thighs tremble, and after a while she tried closing them. Pansy's firm hand put a stop to that.

Hermione looked over the hills and valleys of her own naked body, to where Pansy was looking at her with a wet face from between her legs.

"That was amazing."

"Good." Pansy was suddenly crawling onto the desk; she moved like a predator, but Hermione was too obsessed with the movement of her hips and the swing of her breasts to care. "In that case, you can reciprocate."

"Oh! Oh, yes." Hermione began to sit up; a push sent her flat on her back once more. Pansy's eyes were glittering, and she seemed very tall as she reared up on her knees. "We'll do it this way."

She swung one white thigh over Hermione's shoulders, straddling her. Hermione could smell her, like this; could see the wet, swollen flesh that demanded her best efforts. Next moment, Pansy was poised above her. Hermione licked, one long lick that took in everything she could reach; the taste was exquisite, and Pansy pushed down.

All at once Hermione was surrounded by flesh, delicious and wet and radiating heat. She plied her tongue, teasing and touching; she raised her head to suck at Pansy's clit, and the other woman ground against her. It was sloppy and desperate now, Pansy grinding at her face, Hermione sucking and licking and hardly able to breathe, feeling dizzy with it. She didn't move her hands to help: though Pansy hadn't ordered it, Hermione felt sure she should keep her hands at her sides. Pansy's fingers wrapped round her head, pulling her even closer. Hermione licked and sucked and moaned against Pansy, doing her best as always, until Pansy shuddered against her, and came with long gasps.

Still gasping, Pansy got off her face in favour of wriggling her way down Hermione's body. She lay heavily and deliciously on top of her while they shared long, sweet kisses, trading the flavours lingering on their tongues. The firmness of Pansy's body against her was wonderful, and Hermione wrapped her legs round Pansy's in an effort to make her stay. She did, for long minutes, lying there pleased as a cat in the sun. But finally she drew back. "Sweet as this is, Hermione, I really must get back to work. Not necessarily get dressed, but definitely get back to work. Unlike some people, I don't sleep my way into my promotions."

Hermione gasped, feeling like she'd been slapped. Pansy didn't seem to notice; she was engaged in clambering off her desk and padding naked across the carpet to a bookcase. She took a large volume out, and began flicking through it, muttering to herself. She twitched her head, throwing back some of her heavy black hair, now matted with sweat.

Hermione blinked at her for long moments before she made herself stand up and reach for her knickers. She was going to smell like sex, but perhaps a cleaning spell – something less harsh than Scourgify, which felt like iron wool on the skin – would take care of that.

She was proud that she managed to wait until she was slipping her shoes on before she asked. Her voice had just a bit of an edge to it, but sounded controlled.

"Are you going to be asking this sort of thing from the others?"

Pansy laughed, and Hermione blushed furiously before she realised Pansy wasn't laughing at her. "Please. None of them are nearly attractive enough."

So I am?, Hermione wanted to ask; but she'd been sixteen and had the pick of boys for Slughorn's Christmas party, she knew she could attract them. Still, it was so different; Pansy was so glossy – an image of Pansy's wet cunt came to her, and sent a shocking thump of heat through her before she pushed it away – and polished. Not the kind to be attracted to Hermione Granger, virginal bookworm.

But then Pansy seemed very good at drawing out a different side of her altogether.

She was being stupid. Hermione wasn't young or foolish or innocent enough to believe that being a good lay made you a good person.

"Besides," Pansy added, her voice full of some bright amusement that quivered under her voice, wanting to burst out into laughter, "none of them would try. I didn't use a silencing charm; you screamed loudly enough that they Iall/I know who the Employee of the Month is. You'll be my favourite for a while."

Hermione stared at her, embarrassment and horror and hope and pleasure all colliding like clashing colours in some stupid piece of modern art. Pansy smiled a smile as poisonous and vicious as ever (though her smeared lipstick and swollen lips spoke of some change) and showed her out of the big office.