Title: Scarred
Author: Keiran Shea (RandomSlytherin@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG for pretty femmeslash, and a bit of violence
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Who took whom to the Yule ball o.o
Notes: I needed to write this. I absl-bloody-lutely LOVE this pairing,
even if it's so hard to find.
Dedication: for Beth, who IS Hermione, and who's scar gave me the
inspiration to write this
It was an accident, really, how she came to notice the scar.
Not the scar that everyone else noticed; she could care less about Harry-sodding-Potter
and his stupid lightening-bolt shaped scar. Truth be told, she could rally care
less about boys in general. Sure she'd gone with Draco to the Yule Ball back in
fourth year, but she would have been much happier on the arm of Blaise Zabini,
her dorm mate and sometimes-friend.
The scar in question was highly intriguing, almost as much so as the person to
whom the scar belonged. It had appeared, she suspected, during the summer
between their fourth and fifth years, as she could not recall ever seeing it
before. Or perhaps, she thought, it had been there the whole time, yet she'd
simply not cared enough to notice.
It was a small, thin line that neatly cleaved the right side of the upper lip
and ran up to just under the nose. And the mere thought of it was enough to
drive Pansy absolutely insane.
From her vantage point in the Potions classroom she could see it, hovering on
lips that always held the answers, but were never called upon. It was there, in
the dungeons one day, that she first noticed it. They had been a good two weeks
into their firth year before Professor Snape had actually allowed Hermione
Granger to answer a question, and Pansy turned slightly in her chair next to
Blaise to sneer at the Gryffindor girl.
She hadn't meant to look at Hermione's lips; they had just been there and had
been speaking so eloquently, as they were wont to do. The look of contempt that
pansy gave to all Gryffindors had slowly changed to one of curiosity when she
noted that tiny little scar. So much smaller than Potter's, yet it stood out in
her mind like nothing else. She felt Blaise shoving an elbow into her ribs; oh,
she'd been caught staring, hadn't she? Pansy quickly averted her eyes. It
wouldn't do any good to be caught staring so intently at another girl, especially
one from their rival House.
Later she found herself rather perturbed to admit -even to herself- that
Hermione had grown up and filled out rather nicely. No longer was she the
skinny little Muggle-cum-Witch with frizzy hair and buckteeth that Pansy had
taken such pleasure in glaring at when they had been eleven. She'd blossomed
into a lovely young thing with sleek curls and smooth curves that Pansy quickly
found tended to haunt her dreams in one way or another.
And that damned scar that loved to mock her so!
They shared only two classes, and in both of them Pansy had to forcefully
remind herself not to stare at the other girl, had to chide herself mentally
each time the, for even a fleeting moment, she allowed her mind to pause upon
that scar and wonder about its origins. When her thoughts finally turned to
questioning what it might be like to touch that scar she was nearly ready to
throw herself off the top of the Astronomy Tower.
She wanted to run the pads of her fingers over that small imperfection, that
tiny flaw, and see if it was as smooth as she imagined. She wanted to questions
its origins, ask why anyone of the Magical community might have a scar when
anything could be easily enough fixed by magic. She knew that it had to have
happened at home; Hermione's parents were Muggles, and under aged Witches and
Wizards were not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts.
More than anything, Pansy longed to taste that scar, to run her tongue over
that small indent, press her lips to the ones that held and it see for herself
whether or not a Mudblood tasted the same as a Pureblood. She imagined that
somehow they would taste slightly different; a little less magical, maybe a bit
more salty. She was quite sure that should she vocalize that question to any of
the Muggle-loving Gryffindors they would vehemently deny any difference, but
really, she would prefer to find out on her own. Pansy made it a habit never to
listen to anything that a Gryffindor said.
It pained her to see Hermione smile. She would see that smile twice a week in
Care of Magical Creatures, and again in a double-dose of Potions, yet it was
never for her. Always that scarred smile was directed towards another
Gryffindor, most often Weasley or Potter. Inside Pansy died just a bit when she
saw that smile, or even when she caught a quick glimpse of that scar from the
corner of her eye.
That same smile was mocking her now, teasing her once again from across the
Potions classroom. It teased her, taunted her, called out her name then laughed
in her face.
It made her want to rip that smile right off Hermione's face, nails clawing,
scratching, tearing. She wanted to see blood running down that face, pouring
forth from scratches made fro her own silver-painted nails. She wanted to make
new scars on that face, new indentions to mar that simple beauty. She could
almost hear herself already, laughing, laughing so hard as she watched the
tears mix with blood.
She had to do something…anything…she didn't know yet what, but she knew that it
had to be soon. Now. No, not now, there was another ten minutes left of class,
so she couldn't do anything just yet. But soon, so soon. She could feel her
heart pounding, her mind racing with plots and plans. What to do? Corner her
after class? That would be easy enough; lunch was next, so neither of them
would be late to a class. But what about after that? What to say, what to do?
Her mother's lessons had never taught her how to woo another girl.
Did she even want to woo her? Was it a matter of love? Most likely not. Not
love, and probably not even like…but there was some lust, if nothing else. Most
of all there was curiosity, a burning desire to learn everything possible about
that scar and possibly even the girl behind it. The minutes ticked by like
hours, eternities, mocking her as if to say that they would never let her out
of class, never give her this chance that she needed. She glared at the clock
sitting in front of the room, willing it to speed up. She would beat that
clock…she was nothing if not ambitious, and damned if she wasn't going to get
what she wanted.
Another minute…thirty seconds… She had no idea what Snape had been saying the
last half of class. None of that was important. All that mattered was…now!
Class dismissed, and she rushed out with the crowd. However, as they all left
for lunch, Pansy lingered by the door, awaiting her prey.
"Granger." Good, good. Her voice was calm, steady. "Come over here, won't you?"
She stood just outside the door, smiling inwardly; Hermione had stayed after a
few minutes to ask something of Snape, and the halls were now empty. They were
alone, so alone… Would she be able to do this?
"Yes?"
Hermione was obviously rather curious; it wasn't every day that a Slytherin
would call a Gryffindor out for a 'friendly chat.' Good, let her wonder. Pansy
had surely had her fair share of wondering. "You have a scar." Smooth. Perhaps
she would be throwing herself off the Astronomy Tower after all. No matter now
though….
Pull her in, shove her against the wall. Laugh at the surprise on her face, and
ignore those protests. They aren't important.
"Pansy, what on earth are you doing?"
Was she scared? Yes? Good. The way she should be. Her breath hitched, her eyes
were wide and confused.
Pansy could feel the rush of power. Strong. Raw. Wonderful. A slender hand
lifted to run along Hermione's face, a gentle caress of sharp nails. She leaned
in, breaths mingling together in soft puffs of white that formed in the frigid
dungeon atmosphere. No words, no need.
Only lips over lips, touching, tasting, taking more than giving. A pink tongue
that snaked out to trace violently over that scar that had been haunting her
for so long. Nice, soft, like a girl should be. Soft, smooth, slightly moist
from nervous licking. Lips, tongue, teeth, scar… A short, violent duel for
domination that Pansy quickly won. A quick slide of hands down over the swell
of breasts, down gentle curves to pull hips close before pushing away.
Walk away, calmly; rejection can't come to those who can't hear it. Rather tasty
for a Mudblood, not nearly as dirty as she'd imagined.
The scar belonged to her now.
Owari.
11.22.02
I don't like the way it ended, really. In fact, I didn't
like the entire last half. ^_^; But, well…there you have it. Damn, I love
femmeslash… Too bad there isn't more of it..
-=Keiran Shea=-
-a rather pleased Random Sytherin