Kicking & Flailing
Clipping from the Daily Prophet:
Your favorite journalist, Rita Skeeter, will face charges of rape pressed by the young, stunning witch Hermione Granger. It was a quiet and bright morning in Diagon Ally when the hero Harry Potter heard screams while in the lobby of the Leaky Cauldron eating breakfast. The brave, young man rushed to Miss Granger's room breaking down the door to find Hermione Granger kicking and flailing under the strong reporter.
Rumor has it that both women were half naked and Miss Granger's clothes were torn, and she was covered in scratches and bite marks.
When asked how she felt about the matter the distraught reporter simply stated "Miss Granger is a very troubled little girl." When pressed for more, the worn out woman gave no comment and slammed her door in our faces.
Miss Granger, however, has answered none of our responses and avoids all journalists like the plague, in fact, she's taken to locking herself away.
We'll bring you more of this story with our next issue.
The Story:
Hermione felt her stomach lurch as she looked up from her book at Ron sitting across the table from her. It wasn't his face though that made her sick, it was his foot under the table inching its way up her ankle, attempting to caress. She swallowed and managed an awkward smile, trying to seem shy and nervous instead of upset.
It truly wasn't that she didn't like Ron. She loved him. It wasn't his greasy red hair or his ability to get into trouble and on teacher's nerves. She loved all of those things about him. It was the simple fact that his genitals were on the outside of his body. Though Hermione would probably never voice it allowed: she was indeed 100% lesbian.
Poofy hair and books only did so much for her though and she found that as she grew, she had a much harder time keeping it hidden. The fact to simply talk to someone about it was not an option. What if her parents found out!? Dad, the catholic dentist and mum the born-again-Christian, already both at her heels about magic. She didn't like the idea of telling anyone. In Hermione's mind it would ruin her.
"Aren't you hungry?" Ron asked reaching across the table and putting his hand on hers. Hermione blinked innocently.
"Actually I don't feel very well."
His face fell. She simply adored him for caring so much. She knew she had to leave him soon. She was ruining both of their lives now, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. "Are you coming down wif something?"
She shook her head and closed her book. "I just need to take a walk and get some air," she said easily. He stood to kiss her and she turned her face last second so that he missed her lips and kissed her cheek. She flashed him all teeth. "I'll be back soon," she promised, crossing her fingers and turning to leave.
Kicking stones and going through different phases of self-loathing, Hermione walked down the streets of Diagon Alley muttering to herself. "Ron…we can't see each other anymore. It's over…that's it…goodbye." She shook her head and kicked another stone.
"Ronald…you're really sweet and I love you so much…" she rolled her eyes. How misleading would that be? She put her fingers in her hair and walked towards a store with a lovely dress in the window. It was a corset top with a long green gown to follow. Hermione exhaled painfully.
"School shopping, Miss Granger?"
No way, Hermione thought angrily. Of all the people and of all the moments, it has to be her and this particular moment of anguish to mix together!? Inwardly she screamed.
"Just looking," she muttered not bothering to face her, hoping…praying she would just leave. She heard the menacing click of her heels as she stepped closer, Hermione could see her reflection in the glass.
"It's a bit on the glamorous side…for you that is, don't you think?" She was close now, mere inches away, and right next to her. Hermione looked at her chin and neck line and then away, still refusing to make eye contact. Still, the insufferable woman was too persistent. "Green isn't exactly your color, actually it would look simply dreadful with your hair. Still, the color can be altered…." Hermione finally took the bait.
She turned angrily and looked Rita Skeeter from her blond curls to her cock-roach-killing patent leather heels and back up again, her eyes sliding up the front of her dress. "Yes," she agreed. "But at least I could fit into it," she stepped closer, through gritted teeth: "without something spilling out the top." She gave a quick fuck-you-very-much smile and turned.
"Ah," Rita said following her, mildly liberated by her 'insult.' "That can be altered too, Miss Granger!" Rita caught up with her and hooked her arm with Hermione's. Hermione's heart quickened.
"Only some of us prefer that tacky method," she spat. Rita giggled.
"My, my, my…you are in a mood. You'd think after blackmailing someone for a whole year your heart would soften towards them a bit." Rita's purple finger nails (or should we say talons?) gripped Hermione's wrist. Hermione liked it. She stopped and turned to her, their bodies so close.
"What do you know about having a heart?" she let it sink in before adding. "And a softened one at that?" Rita's beautiful red lips curved up into a devious grin, her white teeth glowing.
"Can't you see the halo?" She pointed towards the empty space above her head. Hermione glanced up quickly and met her blue eyes again.
"You mean the one that's being held up by horns?"
Rita threw her head back and cackled wickedly. "Clever girl," she scoffed to herself. Hermione felt her lips twitch into a smile. "Always an answer for everything then, eh?" And it was this moment that Hermione chose to be silent. "Why not answer a few simple questions for an article I'm writing…?" Already the quill was floating in the air beside them.
Hermione snorted. "You want to write about me?"
"Why not? House prefect, top grades…." Hermione held up her hand to silence the woman.
"No." She began to walk passed her. Rita grabbed her arm roughly.
"C'mon," she whispered. Hermione could feel her breath on her face and neck. She smelled like whiskey and tea leaves, and Hermione's heart began to race. "Let me tell your story. There has to be something you just want to…have out with." Hermione pulled away and yanked her wand, pointing it defensively. Rita gasped and flung her hands up.
"I don't know what you're talking about! You ridiculous woman!" And with that she ran down the street. Rita watched her run, her thick glasses sliding down her nose. She adjusted them and made a firm resolution.
"Whether I report it or not, Miss Granger…I will have your story."
Hermione could not stop thinking about a woman that she claimed to loath and despise. Thoughts swarmed her mind. Answering her questions. Her tight skirts. Being written about. Her pale, fine skin. Having "out" with it. Fucking.
She gasped at her last thought as she ran up the stairs to her room. It was so late. She had been out, doing nothing, thinking, kicking more stones, ripping herself into even smaller pieces.
Crookshanks sat on her bed, meowing. Hermione opened the window beside her mirror. "Go on, be free," she whispered as he leapt out. She walked back towards her bed and let her body fall face down into her mattress. "Freedom is not something I can have," she said to her pillow.
"And why is that?"
Hermione leapt up, wand at the ready, but Rita was quicker. "Experliamos!" Hermione's wand flew out the window. She rushed forward, but again Rita was faster, she grabbed her arm and pushed her back.
"You'll be lucky if it didn't snap in half!" Hermione shouted. Rita ignored her and locked the window, she turned and looked at her; determination written all over her lovely face. "How did you find me?" Rita scoffed and slightly rolled her eyes.
"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"
Hermione gave her a disgusted look. "And I suppose you just flew in here?" She sighed. "Isn't there some sort of repellent for a bug of your size," once again her eyes licked up Rita's curvaceous body. Rita felt a slight sting from that. Instantly Hermione regretted her words, and though she did not let it show…Rita knew it. Hermione cursed inwardly as she turned away from her. "Leave." She heard Rita sigh.
"Grant me an interview."
"Leave."
Rita rolled her eyes and threw her arms up. "Miss Granger, if you'll simply agree, think of how much you could do for the school, for the—" Hermione snorted.
"How much I could do for your purse, you mean?" She turned and glared. Rita winked.
"We'll all get something out of it."
Hermione turned away from her again. "Leave."
But Hermione didn't hear the slamming of any doors. She just listened while the pace of Rita's breathing changed, very subtle, and then the quiet click of her heels as she came up behind her.
"Off the record then," she whispered. Hermione could feel her breath on the nape of her neck.
"You are relentless."
"An accurate description!"
Hermione wanted to laugh and bare her soul. She wanted to tell Rita everything. She bit her tongue instead, as tears welled up in her eyes, she blinked furiously. There was silence. "Just leave me, Rita." She paused. "There's no interesting story for you here."
Rite inhaled as if enjoying a fresh aroma of good perfume or home cooking. "That's a lie," her voice was lower, quiet…serious. She suddenly took Hermione by her arms and dragged her to the mirror, her breasts pushing against her back. Hermione didn't put up much of a struggle until she saw her reflection. No, please, I can't bear it!
"Look here at this girl!" Rita demanded, jerking her forward and then pulling her back against her chest. Hermione gave up on the struggle. The commotion level dropped and there was a moment of silence again. "Look," Rita whispered. "So confident appearing, but that's just a matter of surface; a mask. And masks are great for short term use but after a while they begin to make you hot and itchy and it comes down to you wanting only to rip it off and take in air that isn't fake or synthetic tasting."
She pushed her from the mirror, letting her go. Hermione wanted to hide under the covers. Rita just went on though.
"And as you grew, you always knew you were different, not just magic wise of course, that merely baffled you. When you got your letter from Hogwarts it was like a puzzle coming together or more accurately: a picture coming into focus.
"And you thought, if you studied long and hard enough, maybe you'll be fixed some how. Or a spell, hex, anything! Anything just to be 'fixed.'" Fixed. Rita had spit that word angrily at her. Hermione turned from her again. Rita circled her as she went on.
"Though you are still such an angry girl, now angry at those who claim to love you because every time someone tells you that they care all you can think is 'liar! You love me and yet you are so blind!' It's like there's no one in the world."
Her speech and words were slow and cunning, like honey dripping upon a counter. Hermione let them languidly flow over her. "Since you never found that 'cure' you so desperately searched for; you looked for other ways to escape. Mr. Weasley." Hermione's lip trembled.
"He really is so fond of you. How quickly he found you too, and how long it took him to notice! And when he did you thought 'finally!'" Rita exhaled dramatically, throwing her arms out. "At last! That feeling didn't last long though, did it? It was soon replaced with dread and awful memories of all those sticky incidents in deserted classrooms, pushing his hands away…." She was so close now, whispering in her ear. "Dreading the kissing, not even closing your eyes, and stiffening against his touch." Hermione didn't feel the cold tears streak her face.
"You hide behind your books and your hair, wondering 'what if they knew? Is it visible? Can they tell yet?'" Rita paused. "All the while this anger and passion wells within you. Longing, pushing, to get out." Rita took her by the arms again and pulled Hermione against her, their faces so close, their bodies into one another. Hermione was beside herself with desire. Every time Rita touched her it was like a tiny spot of pressure was released, and though it was only a little, it was still enough to relieve her aching body.
She could feel what all of this was building up to and she was so frightened, both craving it and dreading it at the same time. Rita went on.
"It fills you, this feeling. Torturing you, begging and screaming, kicking and flailing, anything to be free! Books and potions don't work any more do they, Hermione? You're a beautiful young woman and you find that solitude isn't really what you're made for, is it?" There was silence and Hermione lost herself in Rita's cool blue eyes.
She gripped her tighter. "You just don't know what to do with all this heat, where will you put it?" She took Hermione's face in her hands. "Use me, Hermione." She stopped, so worked up herself with anticipation. "Tell me...no! Show me all about it."
Rita began kissing the wet spots under Hermione's eyes. Hermione pushed against her, fighting her at first, and then simply wanting to be near her. When at last Rita kissed her full on the lips, her tongue invading and yet so invited. Hermione gasped and put her arms around Rita's waist. The kiss strangled her as Rita tugged her hair.
Hermione stepped back and looked at her, her lipstick smeared, Hermione knew it was all over her as well. Rita came at her, this time tearing her shirt open. Hermione didn't make any moves to stop her as she kissed her neck and shoulders.
"Yes," she whispered, wiping all notion of thought or rationalization from her head. She tugged at Rita's blouse, not wanting to rip the buttons but not being able to see them either. Rita at last stood back up and held still as Hermione unbuttoned her shirt and unzipped her skirt, all of her cloths falling rhythmically to the floor. She kissed Rita's hands and sat on the edge of the bed in front of her, hugging her waist. "Please," she whispered.
"Shhh," Rita whispered, stroking her hair. She kissed her again, harder this time pressing her onto the bed, straddling her. Hermione drew her fingers down her back as she kissed down her neck, sucking and licking.
Their hands laced together and all the pain went away. Hermione felt as though Rita had lifted her off a cross she had been nailed to by her wrists and ankles for years. She felt a million heavy chains slowly being peeled off from her, and each new breath she took was like a Godsend. No, Rita was the Godsend, as her fingers revitalized yet weakened her at the same time. They were up for hours together.
Hermione stood at the end of the bed watching Rita sleep. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She had put on her torn blouse and panties, but neither covered very much. Her hair was mussed, her face covered with red marks from Rita's cherry kisses. Her arms, stomach, and back were covered with lacerasions and scratches from Rita's purple talons. Her right breast had a bite mark, and there was a suck mark on her neck just under her ear. Hermione loved all of these new, gorgeous wounds. This was who she really was after all. Rita had made her whole.
Suddenly, Hermione turned and looked at Rita. Rita Skeeter: the reporter! She gasped and put her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. Instant tears streaked her face. Why did she have to be a journalist? A trash journalist at that! Hermione turned away from her, crying. Her parents would know. Everyone would know. Ron and Harry would hate her. Professor McGonagall would probably spit on her now! What had she done?! What if they could expel her for this!? Dread filled her heart heavily again as she sobbed into her hands.
Rita, who had been sleeping peacefully, heard the muffled cries and her eyes fluttered open. She yawned and sat up on her elbows. When she saw Hermione at the foot of the bed crying, her brow furrowed, and her blond curls shook slightly as her head cocked sideways in confusion. "Hermione?"
The young girl jumped up as though Rita had spit fire at her. Rita sat up all the way, so puzzled. "Why are you…?" She stopped and exhaled, realizing the potential reason. "Hermione," she said crawling towards her in only her splendid bra and panties. "There is no shame in what we did." She came to her knees, now eye level with Hermione, who glared through angry tears.
"You got your story now, why don't you just go! Leave me!" Hermione cried. Rita scoffed.
"That is not…" She was astounded. "This was-"
"Just fucking! Rita! I was just a good fuck, wasn't I?! And now you can write all your trash reading fans about how you managed to seduce the prim and proper Hogwarts student. The Prophet should give you a raise!"
Rita took her by the arms. "This wasn't about the fucking Prophet or any other shitty newspaper!" Hermione pushed and shoved her away. They carried on struggling. "Hermione listen to me, please stop crying!" Rita pulled her onto the mattress, straddling her again, peppering her face with kisses. "Hold still and—"
That was when footsteps were heard racing up the stairs. "Hermione! Guess what Ron-!" And Harry Potter froze immediately after barging in. His eyes went from Hermione, crying and scratched up, to Rita…WHO WAS ON TOP OF HER!
That was all it took. "Incarcerus!"
Hermione read through the headline news of the Daily Prophet. Completely false all of it! She crumpled it up and threw it into the fire, cursing herself madly, already crying. She couldn't believe how much this whole thing had gotten out of control.
Rita certainly hadn't raped her! But what was she suppose to say?! What was she to do?!
She began to pace about her room. She had been moved from the Leaky Cauldron and put on guard. Many had asked to see her. Harry. Ron. Mrs. Weasley. She turned all of them away. She just did not know how to deal with their faces, their excuses. She wanted to leave. To take a walk…but with the guards….
Who the hell was she kidding? She was Hermione Granger. And after being best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley a few guards should not be a problem.
Nearly drunk with Fire Whiskey, Rita Skeeter thrashed through the dark streets of Diagon Alley. She felt something she hadn't felt in a very long time. Pain. Her heart felt as though it had been ripped into shreds. Everyone must have thought she was a monster, and maybe she was.
Certainly not a monster that rapes though!? She heard Hermione's voice in her head crying yes! yes! please don't stop! over and over again. She stopped and leaned against an old building, squinting into the dark when she saw a thin, young figure with lots of hair bouncing behind her as she walked.
She felt her pulse quicken with anger as she headed in the same direction. Maybe she would be that kind of monster after all.
She had followed her until she had gone back to her hotel, which had only been about 8 blocks from the Leaky Cauldron. And the "clever girl" still hadn't shut her window. Transforming simply and easily, Rita flew up through into her room the exact same way she had when she "raped" her.
"Don't you know you're ruining my life?"
Hermione froze.
"I mean really, really setting me up. They're talking about taking my journalist license and sending me to Azkaban!"
Hermione felt talons grip her as she was violently whirled around. "Look at me!" Hermione could smell the whiskey on her breath. She could hardly blame the woman. In fact, at that exact moment, she would have liked a few shots herself. Then Rita turned her back around and forced Hermione to bend over. "You want to accuse me of rape, Miss Granger?!" She gripped Hermione's hips and pulled them against her, taking her by the hair and pulling her back up and against her. "Go on, say no to me!" She teasingly bit the young girl's ear. "Beg me to stop! Kick! Flail! FIGHT ME OFF!" Her hands were all over Hermione; front, between her legs, squeezing her breasts.
Hermione just stood there.
Rita pushed her roughly onto her bed and walked towards the end of it, with her back to her. This is awful, Hermione thought. "I must be worthless to you…really something low. You must despise me! You must hate me!" Rita said through clenched teeth. She wanted to scream: How can you do this to me?!
The worst and simple truth of it was that Rita saw herself in Hermione, tormented by the fact that she liked women and her only intention when she had made love to her was to give her some relief that Rita had never had when she was her age. And by showing that kind of care for someone made the give very vulnerable to the receiver and Hermione had hurt her in the worst possible way.
Hermione didn't know what to say when she realized the woman was crying. And she cried to. And the two of them stayed just like that together, crying like two fools.
Until finally, Hermione got up and walked towards Rita. She put her hands on the back of her shoulders and pressed her forehead on her spine, between her shoulder blades. "I don't hate you," she whispered. "I hate myself." Rita turned, her eyes still glazed and took Hermione's face in her hands. Hermione took her by the wrists, still crying, and covered her fingers with kisses.
"Forgive me," she begged.
She dropped to the floor and covered Rita's patent leather heels with kisses, kissing up her ankle, to her legs, her knees, her thighs, her inner thighs; hiking up her skirt as her lips traveled upwards even further. Rita sighed looking up and taking her thick glasses off. Her mascara running everywhere, she simply stood there enjoying the feeling of Hermione's tongue as the young girl's arms went around her waist. When at last her fingers clenched in the young girls hair: she too fell to her knees, immediately and roughly kissing her tasting herself on Hermione's lips. They fell on the floor together.
Hermione stood watching the rain pour outside. Rita lay sleeping in her bed in a different hotel room, yet again. She knew she couldn't let this go on any further. She couldn't be found out, but she had to clear Rita's name.
Professor McGonagall's warnings rang in her head. Only use it for classes, Miss Granger. Never try to go back twice, and never try to alter things that occur.
But she had broken that rule once, and now came the time where she must do it again. To save the woman who had saved her. She looked down at the small, golden pendant, her time turner. Professor McGonagall had let her keep it.
She looked at Rita, she was sleeping easily, her chest rising and falling slowly. An image of them laughing in the streets together, arguing about halos, flashed before her eyes. Her mind was made up. She began to twist the tiny dial on the pendant, praying that this would not make things worse.
Within an instant she was standing at the foot of her bed at the Leaky Couldron again, Rita lay asleep in her bed. She sighed in relief.
Now came the time to fix it. She simply walked over to her door and locked it tightly, even going as far as putting a spell on it so that no one could enter. She then walked over to her bed where Rita lay and crawled in with her.
She began kissing the sleeping woman's neck, trailing to the spot between her breasts. Rita stirred, a grin spreading on her gloriously smeared mouth. "Hmmm…the perfect way to wake up." Hermione lay against her as she stretched. Rita put her arms around her and kissed her forehead.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, her voice choked. "I'm so sorry."
Rita's brow furrowed as her head cocked sideways in confusion. "Don't be sorry, kid. I came so hard my toes went numb." Hermione giggled suddenly, so very happy that Rita had no idea what she was really apologizing about. They lay together as the sun came up.
That was when footsteps were heard racing up the stairs. "Hermione! Guess what Ron-!"
Hermione and Rita sat up in alert. Harry jiggled the door knob. "Hermione?"
"Harry, go back down stairs! I'm not decent!"
"That's for sure," Rita whispered tickling her. Hermione gasped, not being able to help grinning as she closed her hand over Rita's mouth.
"Hermione? Are you alone in there?"
"Harry! I will be down in ten minutes." She heard him heave a sigh and could just imagine the look on his face as he turned and thundered down the steps.
Rita took Hermione's wrist and kissed the hand that was over her mouth. "Ten minutes? Hmm…I think I can manage that." She put her arms around Hermione and fastened her mouth with hers.
When school started, an owl dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet in Hermione's lap everyday. Before she had left, Rita had promised she would do a story on Hogwarts so that she had an excuse to visit. All of her articles always contained some sort of message.
For example:
The food at Hogwarts must get boring after some time. I am inclined to march up there myself and ask one of the students "Wouldn't you rather be eating out?"