She had never played a game of Quidditch but she could imagine what it felt like to be struck in the gut by a bludger. She could imagine it because that is exactly how she felt right now. It felt near impossible to take in any air; her lungs were burning from the intensity of the feeling. Her whole body seemed frozen, ready to hunch over in nonexistent pain. Most significant of all her mind seemed to just freeze as she took in the sight before her.
Three platinum blondes had entered the top box, where the Weasley's, Harry and her had congregated to watch the 422nd Quidditch World Cup. Two of the blondes she had instantly recognized as Lucius and Draco Malfoy. She knew both of them and had quickly dismissed them, her gaze seeking out the unknown.
She had been winded the moment her eyes landed on the third person. Lady Malfoy was dressed in robes made of acromantula silk, the color an icy blue that matched her eyes. Blonde hair hung loose down half of her back, not a single strand out of place. Even with the distance between them Hermione could see not a single flicker of emotion in the blonde's cold gaze. It sent shivers racing down her spine as she studied the other woman. Her face was scrunched up in distaste, expressing a feeling that did not match her emotionless gaze.
She was without a doubt the most stunning individual that Hermione had ever laid eyes on.
There was no doubt or hesitance in the manner she carried herself. There was an aura of composure and nobility that clung to her like a second skin. She was not overtly pretentious like Lucius Malfoy and her son. They boasted their superiority for all to hear and see it was in every move they made, trying to literally scream: "I am better than you!"
Lady Malfoy was different; it was a subconscious thing as she did not need to demand other people's deference as she just naturally expected to command it and them.
The bottom of her stomach clenched and her body felt flush, hastily Hermione turned away from the family of blonde's. Her eyes fell shut and she tried to rein in her reaction to Lady Malfoy, but the image of the blonde was scorched into her mind.
She was young and hormones had been cause for few problems since the previous year but in that moment Hermione felt as if she was falling. She could all but feel the wind against her face as she fell and plunged into an as of yet unexplored ocean that carried the name of desire.
She had like most things in her life research puberty, she had known the definition for lust well before today. Knowing the definition and actually experiencing it were two vastly different things. Her mind was running wild, images of those rose pink lips caressing her skin, and soft hands running over her body filled her mind.
Hermione longed to know Lady Malfoy's scent, to learn the sound of her voice and the cries of her pleasure. She wanted to taste her flesh and compare how the taste of her differed: from her mouth to her skin to the tantalizing sweat nectar of her juices.
Hermione could easily picture her tongue running across the sweat soaked skin, between pert beasts, and nipples as hard as tone. She wanted to hear how Lady Malfoy sounded as she cried out in delight when she sucked one of those nipples into her mouth.
It was so easy to picture ravishing, no worshiping the form that was Lady Malfoy.
The Quidditch match began and listlessly Hermione raised the Omnioculars, the refection of the box behind her appeared in the almost mirror like lenses and she froze as the figure of Lady Malfoy entered her field of vision.
The regal blonde sat almost directly behind her, her form stiff in her seat. The look of distaste still lingered on her aristocratic features but it was almost whole replaced by a look of disinterest. Unlike her companions, she was not moved by the Quidditch match before them. It was illogical and Hermione knew it was but she felt a tug of kinship towards the other woman for her obvious disinterest in the ridiculous magical sport.
The game continued around them, cheering and catcalling filled the air. Hermione noticed none of it, nor did she truly witness any of the game happening before her. She was well known in Hogwarts for her focus and determination, which she had now focused on the blonde behind her.
More than once Lady Malfoy's gaze appeared to linger on her form, and Hermione felt as if she was burning up from the inside out every time those icy orbs glanced over her. The longer they lingered the hotter she got. It was a form of pure torture remaining still and unresponsive every time she felt Lady Malfoy's gaze on her back.
All too soon the game came to an end and Hermione was forced to suffer a new torture as she watched Lady Malfoy walk away. It was painful to see the other woman go, but watching her walk away was delectable. There was a slight but noticeable sway to Lady Malfoy's hips and her robes shifted as she walked, clinging in such a way, Hermione's overly vivid imagination had far more than enough material to work with. She could imagine what it would look like if she could slide her hands under the robes and slowly shift them over Lady Malfoy's legs. She could picture the pale unmarred skin under her fingertips as they ran across her toned thighs and over the swell of a well formed arse.
As Hermione watch Lady Malfoy walk away she could only wish fervently that she was able to see the blonde again, for she doubted anyone else could elicit such strong feelings of lust from inside her. There was something about Lady Malfoy that made her fall from her rational mindset and straight into the waiting waters of her lust and desire.