Chipmunk

Chipmunk

Pansy stared at Hermione, her eyes lightly tracing the gentle curve of her cheeks, the arch of her neck, the sweet slope that peaked from the top of her jumper, sliding down in to areas full of promise and pleasure. She gazed longingly at the plump lips screwed up in concentration, as the tip of a busy quill skimmed her chin. Bright brown eyes were squinted, hiding the beauty and complexity beneath. Hermione let out a sigh as she realized the answer she sought was not in the dusty tome she was inspecting, and rose gracefully, yet wearily to her feet, lugging the enormous book back to the shelf. Pansy watched her pass, soaking up the sight of one slim leg poking out the side of a simple black skirt, and reveling in the tiny curls that formed about Granger's face. Subconsciously she licked her lips.

Hermione, being rather short in stature, could not quite reach the shelf her book needed to be placed on. Pansy knew without a doubt that Hermione wouldn't simply place it somewhere else, since Gryffindors are * so* above that sort of thing. The small girl struggled pitifully, standing on her tippy-toes and stretching her arms as high as they would go. Pansy smiled softly as she noticed the expanse of tan skin revealed by the rising of Granger's jumper.

The muggle born slouched back into her regular height, pouting. A very enticing pout, Pansy thought. She looked around for someone taller than herself, and found no one but the Slytherin lurking behind her.

Pansy stepped out of the shadows, smirking all over her porcelain face. "Need help, Granger?"

Hermione scowled darkly. "Not from you."

The taller, willowy girl took another step closer, icy blue eyes blazing. "Now, now, why the attitude? I was being civil." Hermione stared at her, suspicion written all over her slightly freckled face.

"That's exactly why I don't trust you."

"You don't trust me because I'm being nice?" Pansy laughed sardonically. "So, I suppose that if I did something really nasty to you, you'd see me as innocent?"

Hermione snorted. "Everything you do is nasty." She turned back to the shelf, a small smirk growing on her lips "Especially Malfoy." She looked at Pansy sideways, to gauge her reaction.

"Yes, he is quite nasty, isn't he?" Pansy said thoughtfully. She paused, and turned to Hermione, who had raised her bushy eyebrows. "But I'm not * doing* him, as you so eloquently put it."

"Oh yeah? Then who * is* he doing? Cause I know he's a hormonally driven psycho who can't live without sex for more than three days!" Pansy laughed heartily.

"Where on Earth did you hear that? It's quite good; I should use it sometime." Hermione looked at her oddly.

"Actually, I heard it from you." Pansy paused, searching her memory. One leg bent as she shifted all of her weight onto the other, hips tilted girlishly. She snapped her long fingers as the incident came back to her.

"Ah, I remember now; we were having a fight about him and his...concubine." Hermione's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.

"Concubine?" Her voice was laced with amusement. "I thought the two of you were together." Pansy let out an all-suffering sigh.

"Granger, do you want me to put the book away or not?"

"Huh?" Hermione looked puzzled.

"The * book*. Do you want me to put it away?….The book in your hand!" She yelled exasperatedly as the short girl's eyes darted back and forth in confusion, earning a reproving glare from Madame Pince.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping a little. "Yes, yes please, of course, yes." Pansy arched a delicate brow.

"I don't believe, Granger, that you've used enough 'yes's." she said with a twisted smile, inching forward. She grabbed Hermione sharply by the elbow, and dragged her further back into the library, and out of the Book Vulture's line of vision. She let her go so suddenly that the brunette stumbled backwards. "Do try to control your clumsiness; you're embarrassing yourself." Pansy said condescendingly.

Hermione glared at her. "Kind of like you everytime you're called on in class," she hissed scathingly, while rubbing her elbow as if in pain. The light of anger was alive in her eyes, making her look, in Pansy's opinion, like some sort of vengeful goddess. She ran her fingers through her smooth auburn hair, and drank up the sight of Hermione's little fingers rolling themselves into fists.

Quite suddenly, the desire to shag the mudblood senseless struck her like lightening, kindling a passionate fire within her. Hermione took in the sight of Pansy's clouding, mad eyes, and became frightened. Pansy grinned predatorily. "Skeeter was right."

Hermione slowly started backing up, using her hands to stop any books from falling down. "Er…what are you on about?"

Pansy took yet another step towards the brunette, fire in her eyes. "The article," she breathed, stopping a few inches before the now terrified girl's face.

"Pansy, you are way too close to me, please back up." Pansy sneered.

"And what if I don't want to?" she whispered huskily into the tan flesh of her neck. Hermione shivered.

"I'll..I'll…I'll-" The sneer deepened.

"You'll *what *?" Hermione placed her hands on Pansy's shoulders and attempted to push her away; unluckily for her, she was fighting against a randy Slytherin girl, and was none too strong. Pansy laughed in her face. "You can't stop this, you know."

"Stop *what *? Your annoying voice?" Hermione said angrily, perturbed at the auburn haired girl's oddly seductive laughter, and hating that she was turned on by it.

Pansy leaned in close, breathing in the scent of sunflowers, and whispered to Granger so closely that the Gryffindor could feel her breath against her lips.

"* This *"

Suddenly the world was spinning as Pansy pressed her lips against Hermione's, reveling in the softness and sweet taste of her mouth. Hermione stiffened, her body becoming stone at Pansy's touch. The Slytherin ran her fingers up and down the other girl's spine, trying to coax a reaction out of her. Slowly, softly, Hermione began to respond.

She felt as if her world were slipping away, everything brightening and swirling into a mess of colour, dipping and pouring out of her eyes, her ears, her nose. Everything she knew was upside down. Slytherins were bad. Pansy was as dumb as a concussed troll. Boys were the flavour of the year.

Lies.

She had lied to herself, ignored her own eyes that traced the contours of pretty girls walking by, ignored the deafening thump of her heart when they smiled at her, the smart girl, ignored the pain when those gorgeous females stopped to kiss their boyfriends.

An image, unbidden, came to forefront of her mind, as a long pick tongue ran slick circles on her neck. Red curtains, Harry's face, his mouth coming closer to hers, closer, and finally touching. The sadness in his eyes as he pulled away, a single tear coursing down his scarred cheek. "I'm sorry," he had whispered, his voice hitching as he began to sob. "I'm so sorry, Hermione; I just had to know."

Never once did she ask him what he had discovered on that day; she never told herself what * she* discovered in that kiss.

She told herself now, with Pansy's tongue swirling about her still immobile one, wet and hot and salty-sweet.

She didn't like boys.

Pansy reeled in shock as Hermione tipped her head back and pushed forward into the kiss, her tongue finally coming to life. The Gryffindor pressed herself against Pansy, soaking up her warmth through the thin springtime robes. Gathering her courage, Hermione lifted her hands to Pansy's hips, kneading the flesh, before raising her left hand to brush the fabric higher up. Pansy's breath caught in her throat as she felt small fingers work their way beneath her shirt, caressing and fondling shyly. Gently she pulled away.

"Granger…Hermione…what are you…trying..to do?" she gasped raggedly. Both girls were flushed and pink-cheeked, slightly embarrassed by their mutual desire. Hermione's swollen lips curled mischievously.

"You."