Pansy didn't know what to expect.

Well, she did know what to expect, she'd reviewed the list over and over in her mind countless times before today. Since her meeting with Hermione a week prior, she'd felt like a bundle of nervous energy—like a hex held on the tip of the tongue just waiting to be cast. She might as well be a reducto for all she felt like she could shatter her surroundings at any moment.

She'd taken a long, hot bubble bath, drank Merlin only knew how many Coke Lites, fled to the salon for a day of beauty, and even attempted to ride Draco's broom around the courtyard thinking that the feel of the wind in her hair might settle her down, but it only seemed to wind her up more as her clit pressed against the woodgrain of the handle. No matter how many times she'd orgasmed by her own hand, or from her fiance's attentions, it hadn't been enough.

Something was missing. Someone.

Which is why she forced all of her nervous energy into a tightly contained ball in the pit of her stomach and walked through the floo for her appointment.

Miss Fawley was dressed all in lavender today, from the jaunty fascinator perched on the crown of her head down to her dainty heels. The witch positively beamed when Pansy siphoned off any soot from her robes with her wand before tucking the delicate bit of wood away in her handbag.

"Miss Parkinson!" Miss Fawley rose from the chair behind the desk and lifted a small envelope from the surface with her thumb and forefinger, long lavender nails brushing across the script which spelled out Pansy's name.

"Good day, Miss Fawley."

The purple-bedecked witch managed to bustle her way around the desk—her entire body swaying with all of the grace of a newborn colt and Pansy's eyes widened imperceptibly as she watched the flustered witch. A slip of her eyes to the side revealed a copy of Witch Weekly turned open to an article about spring fashions and Pansy spotted herself wearing a set of aubergine dress robes from a gala the month before given pride of place with loopy text surrounding the photograph of her sipping a glass of champagne while speaking to a matched set of ancient wizards.

Ironically, they'd been discussing the application of common herbs in potions—nothing even remotely related to the dress robes the article was gushing over. She much preferred the academic discussion to the gushing.

The envelope was unceremoniously thrust forward by the tittering witch who was bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Miss Granger requested you wait in room CR1 while she finishes up at the Wizengamot and bid me give you this letter." The words rushed out of the witch's mouth like a wave, ebbing and flowing with a vigorous rate and pitch, seeming to climb faster and higher with each word.

Pansy needed another Coke Lite if she were to be forced to deal with this woman for one more second, or possibly one of Draco's cigarettes, never mind that she abhorred the smell. It was nearly impossible for Pansy to hide her annoyance at having to wait but she took the letter nonetheless and followed Miss Fawley to the requisite room.

Crossing the threshold, she nodded politely to Miss Fawley before closing the door behind her, unable to stomach the woman for a moment longer. The room she had been sent to was a normal conference room. A row of windows overlooked the city while large-leafed plants basked in the sun in terracotta pots and a table, topped with fresh flowers and surrounded by several chairs that sat in the center of the room.

This room looked nothing like what Pansy anticipated. She had expected a bed—or a sofa at the very least! There was absolutely nothing about this room that suggested it was used for nefarious purposes such as driving young witches to orgasm or spanking their bottoms until they begged for who knows what. It was as mundane and minimalist as it could be, and Pansy found herself confused.

She pulled out a chair with an irritated huff and tossed the letter onto the wooden table, the paper whispering as it slid across the surface. Sinking into the leather seat, she set her handbag in the neighboring chair and stared at the unopened letter before reaching out with crimson-tipped fingers and grasping the bit of paper to tear it open, one finger sliding under the seam.

The paper inside flitted about before it fluttered itself free of the envelope and unfolded before her wide, violet eyes. Hermione's voice filled the small space, surrounding Pansy in honeyed tones, reminding her exactly why she was here..

You will kneel in the center of the room with your hands resting in your lap and you will focus your gaze on the floor. The amount of skin you choose to bare is your decision. When you are ready to begin, please take your wand and silence the zinnias.

The bright grouping of flowers in the center of the conference table was simultaneously the most amazing and terrifying thing in the room.

This was it.

Confusion morphed into anticipation as the letter disintegrated before Pansy's eyes. She withdrew her wand from her handbag, her grip molding against the wood with a comforting familiarity and all of the feelings she had tried to compress into a tight ball in her stomach suddenly bubbled up into her throat, constricting her breath to a pant and sending a shiver dancing across her alabaster skin.

"Silencio," she whispered, wand trained on the innocuous bunch of flowers.

The room transformed in an instant. Gone were the large-leafed plants lining the windows, the conference table with leather chairs, save for the one she was sitting it; even the windows had darkened to a swirl of thunderheads, intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the now-darker space. A large wall contained floor to ceiling shelves in a rich cherry with implements Pansy didn't even know the name of resting in a precise order. A spacious bed with a pristine white duvet was centered in the room while a cozy sofa sat beneath the ominous windows.

Where the zinnias had been, in the exact center of the room, rested a single gray damask pillow. It's position was not an accident and Pansy stared from the leather office chair as it slowly morphed into a tufted wingback in a deep gray, contemplating exactly what was to happen. Her knees would be required to rest on that pillow in however many layers of clothing she decided were appropriate.

How many were expected?

Pushing herself up from the chair, Pansy noted a small sideboard with an ebony box engraved with silver filigree. She tucked her wand back into her handbag before placing it carefully in the box. Her cadet blue day-robes followed as did her silk stockings, garter belt, and french heels, leaving Pansy in only a priceless set of lingerie made from black hand-tatted lace.

With each step, her heart threatened to erupt, shattering the stormy windows at the back of the space with the force of her emotions, and with a final, calming breath, Pansy sunk low on the pillow on the floor, arranging herself just so. Manicured hands were folded demurely across her alabaster thighs, while a curtain of dark brown hair hid her face as she focused her gaze on the floor.

She tried not to jump at each flash of lightning but found it nearly impossible to do so.

The minutes ticked by as Pansy held her form, violet eyes trained on a single spot on the floor though they threatened to pop up with the sound of a door opening. She heard the rustle of clothing, the click of heels on the floor, and a muttered curse before the thunderstorms and lightning strikes playing over the enchanted windows morphed into something much brighter, flooding the room with soft light.

"I apologize for that. That particular spell doesn't always play nice with the others." Hermione said, tucking her wand back into it's holster as she gazed out of the window to see a beautiful meadow on a spring day.

Crossing the space in a few short strides, Hermione settled herself in the wingback and took a moment to admire the witch on the ground who was every bit as exquisite as Hermione had imagined. The scraps of black lace left little to the imagination as they clung to the curve of her hips, darkening at the apex of her thighs, and cradling the mounds of her breasts within two, small cups. Her skin bore a slight sheen of sweat from the unpractised exertion of simply holding herself still while remaining on her knees.

"Look at me, lovely."

As Pansy lifted her eyes, she was more than a little surprised to find that Hermione was not dressed in leather, corsets, or fishnet stockings like she'd seen in some muggle magazines she'd nicked from Blaise's flat, but in a tailored suit. A crisp, white shirt opened at the neck by a zipper was tucked into a pair of vibrant, blue pencil pants and a tailored jacket of the same material covered her shoulders and arms while on her feet were a pair of high, strappy heels in a burnished silver.

"Good girl." Pansy flushed while Hermione continued, apparently unperturbed by the witch's reaction. "Are you familiar with the concept of a safeword?"

She nodded her head.

Hermione uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair, reaching out with one hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Pansy's ear. "Lesson number one. You will speak when spoken to. You may try again."

The tips of Hermione's fingers trailed over the line of Pansy's jaw, ghosting across the skin and the ripple of want that coursed through her body nearly rendered her speechless once more. "Y-yes."

"Good," Hermione praised, a smile playing on her lips that Pansy couldn't for the life of her decipher, seeming to skirt the borders pleasure and desperation.

"I prefer a simple color system. 'Red' and everything will cease immediately and without question. 'Yellow', if something doesn't feel right and we need to pause, and 'green' if everything is going as expected and you wish to continue."

The pad of Hermione's thumb brushed across Pansy's plump lower lip only to trail down along her jaw to grasp her chin between thumb and forefingers. "It is imperative that I trust you to use these words as necessary. If I ask you for your color, I expect complete and utter honesty."

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, fingers gripping Pansy's chin tightly between them, forcing the witch's violet eyes to look into her own set of honeyed brown as she positioned her face mere centimeters from Pansy's.

"Can I trust you, Pansy?"

Her pulse was fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, flitting from flower to flower seeking out the sweet, nourishing nectar within, and just like that hummingbird Pansy needed to slake her thirst. It didn't matter that the room felt stifling hot or that her thighs were burning, she was consumed by the woman before her—a moth to the flame and she silently prayed to whatever ancient wizard or god would listen for a taste of that all consuming fire.

"Yes."

Pansy's breath was stolen from her lungs when Hermione pressed her lips to hers, the fingers grasping her chin sliding back along the line of her jaw to thread into her hair. Those same fingers tightened their grip as Hermione nipped at Pansy's lower lip with sharp teeth, drawing blood to the surface, but not breaking the skin, and pulling a whimper from Pansy's throat.

Grasping Pansy's hair tightly in her fist, she separated them with a sharp tug to the witch's scalp, luxuriating for the briefest moment in the sight of other woman's rosy cheeks, wide eyes, and swollen lips. Hermione wanted to see her like this day in and day out and she forced herself to ignore the pang of impending loss in her stomach, her expression level and her eyes bright and in control.

Keeping Pansy's hair firmly twisted around her fingers, Hermione rose from the chair, pulling Pansy up onto a tall knee, bringing a grimace to Pansy's face at the tight, ripping sensation. "Follow."

Pansy made to stand, but the hand in her hair forced her to stay down. "Hands and knees, lovely. I did not give you permission to walk."

Pansy nearly balked at the command. No one in their life had ever asked her to crawl on the ground before—not even to retrieve a lost earring under the sofa! She stared at Hermione with wide eyes and parted lips, a protest poised on her tongue.

Pansy's head was tilted upwards as Hermione leaned over, her face so close that Pansy could make out the tiny freckles crossing the bridge of her nose.

"My, my, my," Hermione shook her head, curls rustling with each movement, "Does your behavior need to be corrected so soon, Miss Parkinson? We've only just begun, afterall."

Hermione's index finger traced the curve of Pansy's brow, drifted over her cheekbone, swirled around her lips, and eventually drew down her neck in a long, slow stroke, the tenderness of the motion in direct contrast with the controlled tone of her voice. "And here I thought you were going to be my good girl."

Pansy never realized exactly how much she needed someone's approval until that exact moment. She made to move, to place her hands on the ground as she had been ordered to do so, but Hermione's grip held her in place. "I-I'm sorry."

The corner of Hermione's mouth lifted in a small smirk, her eyes delighted with Pansy's response as she loosened her grip on Pansy's hair, slightly. "As you should be. Now, are you going to be my good girl or do we need to warm up that pert little arse of yours with a few smacks of the paddle?"

If the room was scorching before, it had just become an inferno. She wasn't keen to admit to Hermione Granger that she wanted to be not only a good girl, but her good girl—finding the mere thought of uttering those words terrifying as she fought between her desire to submit and her desire to remain in control.

Hermione remained patient while Pansy struggled with exactly what to say, holding the witch in place, her posture and gaze demanding a response all the while knowing that if Pansy didn't make a decision, she would make it for her and the witch would likely not enjoy it as much had she come to her own conclusions.

Pansy's eyes closed and she swallowed, her tongue caressing each of the words in defeat as they slipped from between her lips, "your good girl."

"Yes you are, lovely. That is exactly who you are going to be." Hermione released Pansy's hair from within her grasp, the dark brown strands drawing a curtain around her ears to brush against her shoulders.

"Follow." Hermione turned, knowing that Pansy would do as she was told, and took several slow strides towards the set of shelves against the far wall.

Pansy didn't disappoint, falling to her hands and knees and crawling after Hermione, her body flushed with an exhilarating combination of shame and desire. She could feel her core clench with each stride of her limbs, the damp gusset of her knickers rubbing against her folds until she was once again kneeling by Hermione's side as the witch surveyed the shelves.

Hermione knew exactly which items she was intending to pick, but pretending to peruse gave Pansy a moment to recuperate from not only admitting her desires but to accept that she could submit—even if she found it difficult to do so in the moment when given a task that was less than preferred. As Hermione pretended to look for what she wanted, she carded her fingers through Pansy's hair, the gentle pressure pulling Pansy to rest her head against her leg. Hermione stood there for a moment, relishing in the feeling of having this witch kneeling at her feet, and allowing her to take the lead with a heady amount of unconditional trust.

She forced herself to step away from the intimacy of the moment, reminding herself that Pansy was very firm about this being a singular experience and that the witch at her feet wasn't hers for any substantial length of time. Pansy was only hers until the scene ended at which time she would return to her life, only seeing Hermione at charity events where they would likely pretend like this afternoon between them never happened.

The gentle feeling of nails stroking through her hair and over her scalp forced Pansy to relax, some of the tension from earlier leaving her body She could almost imagine she was with a lover—not a woman whose services she was paying for, and she felt a slight pang of loss when Hermione stepped away. She watched as the witch shed her jacket, hanging it carefully on a nearby hook before pulling a length of rope and a flogger from the shelves.

"Look at me," Hermione demanded in an even, gentle tone when she noticed the witch's posture stiffened and her wide eyes were on the items in her hand.

When their eyes met, Pansy inhaled a sharp breath through parted lips, surprised at the level of desire contained in those honeyed-brown orbs. And for some reason unbeknownst to Pansy, the desire held within Hermione's eyes only served to increase Pansy's arousal. It was if she wanted this woman, this witch, this dominatrix, to want her—to be something more to her than what she was paying her to be.

Hermione offered Pansy a hand to help her off of the floor. "Go lie on the bed on your back, lovely. You may walk."

Her legs felt shaky from being on her knees and she stumbled as she made her way over to the bed but Hermione was right there to catch her, unwilling to let her fall until she lowered herself onto the bed. Using her arms as leverage, Pansy moved towards the middle and stretched out laying back across the soft duvet.

"Perfect," Hermione said, placing her chosen implements down on the bed before running her hands over Pansy's calves, thumbs pressing feeling back into her tingling extremities and Pansy's eyes fluttered closed as she relaxed under Hemione's touch.

Hermione's hands crept up Pansy's legs, skated across her kneecaps, and slipped over her thighs until her fingertips just brushed against the black lace, dark with arousal. Drawing her hands down the inside of Pansy's thighs, she parted her legs, the damp gusset of her knickers on full display as it just hid her pink folds from view Hermione leaned forward, thumbs slipping under the black lace and looping around to tug the garment down Pansy's legs, revealing her neatly trimmed cunt.

Hermione controlled her intake of breath and as she unwrapped Pansy like a gift, discarding the black lace knickers on the floor and slipping her thumb and forefinger over the front clasp of Pansy's bra before popping it open to reveal Pansy's pert breasts and pebbled nipples. Resting on her forearm, Hermione drew a finger between Pansy's breasts and down to her navel as she took one of Pansy's nipples between her teeth, swirling her tongue over the tip.

Hermione's grip on her hip was the only thing that kept Pansy tethered to the bed, having nearly sprung off of the bed when Hermione's mouth made contact with her nipple, sending a ripple of pleasure roaring down her spine and sounding in her core. She could feel the slick gathering at her entrance and she eagerly pushed her hips towards Hermione's hand when it cupped her sex.

Hermione pulled off Pansy's nipple with a pop, pleased with the witch's reaction. "No, no, lovely." she said, pressing her middle finger between Pansy's folds, just enough to brush against her clit but not enough to provide any sort of relief to quell the ache of her arousal. "This pretty little cunt is mine to do with as I please."

The air around her seemed to thicken with each word Hermione uttered, driving Pansy into a place in her mind where she was simultaneously aching for control and desperate to just feel, to just be. She'd never been allowed to just be in her entire life. It was always a constant string of deportment lessons, magical training, garden parties, cotillions, lessons with the dancing masters, trips to the salon, and more when she wasn't in school. Here, with Hermione, she could release all of her obligations, worries, and frustrations into someone else's hands for a few hours and simply exist.

Coupled with the feeling of Hermione's finger slipping between her folds, teasing her entrance, and the shockwave the word 'cunt' sent through her core, she felt her body flush and still.

"Good girl."

The loss of Hermione's finger made her whimper as it drug through her folds, stroking upwards along her clit before trailing upwards through the trimmed curls at the apex of her thighs until it finally tapped her mouth, seeking entrance.

Ruby red lips parted and the taste of herself filled Pansy's mouth. "That's it, love. Once I bind you to this bed, I'm going to bury my face in your cunt and make you scream my name," Hermione teased.

Gods help her, Pansy moaned.

Her mouth constricted around Hermione's finger, sucking all of her slick from Hermione's finger before Hermione withdrew it with a pop to gather the length of rope she'd set on the bed. She tugged at Pansy's arms, lifting them above her head to rest on the duvet. With a wave of her hand and a whispered spell, the length of rope coiled around Pansy's wrists and secured itself to a hook beneath the bed, trapping her arms above her head.

"Colour?" Hermione asked, checking the tension of the rope with her practised fingers.

"Green."

Pansy found herself being lifted and rotated by another whispered spell until she was deposited with her elbows digging into the comforter and her arse on full display. Her legs were splayed just enough she could feel her folds parting, bearing her quim to Hermione's view while soft lengths of rope wrapped around her ankles, ensuring she remained open for Hermione's pleasure.

"If it begins to feel too tight or you start losing feeling in your hands or feet, I need to know immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

A sharp crack landed on her arse and she yelped at the surprising impact before a pleasant heat bloomed outward. Fingers stroked across the pale pink welt with reverence, brushing across her folds with a featherlight touch before another sharp crack was heard throughout the room as Hermione's hand made contact with Pansy's arse.

"Beautiful."

Tendrils of leather fell against her folds and the furrow of her arse, dragging over the heated skin. "I'm going to warm you up with the flogger, lovely. Be my good girl and hold still."

Hermione began slowly, sending gentle strokes of the leather across the curve of her backside, the contact of each leather strip drawing the smallest sting from Pansy's skin. She took care to ensure steady, even strokes as she slowly increased the intensity and Hermione found herself mesmerized by the sunset of colors rising on Pansy's arse, ranging from a soft pink to a deeper crimson.

When a strip of the flogger whispered across her clit, Pansy pushed her hips back, forgetting the mandate to be still, aching for more contact as each caress of the flogger pulled her closer to her inevitable release.

The sweet, little stings were replaced with a hand to the back of her thigh, sending a sharp jolt through her body until it escaped from her mouth in a growl.

"Needy little witch, aren't you, Miss Parkinson?" Hermione teased as she rested the handle of the flogger just at the top of the crack of Pansy's arse, letting the little leather tendrils fall over her slick cunt, before sending another blow to Pansy's thigh with her hand.

"Please!" Pansy wasn't even sure what she was begging for as her legs quivered and her thigh smarted from the impact, impossible heat blooming and causing her core to clench and seek any sort of pressure to relieve the ache contained therein.

Hermione ignored her plea—or perhaps she fulfilled it, when she began alternating blows with her hand over Pansy's arse from a soft, barely there tap to a full strike. The pretty blush adorning the witch's backside deepened and with each blow, the flogger shifted and the thin, leather strips brushed through her folds and tapped against her clit, sending Pansy higher and higher until she was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and pleading a string of obscenities and beautiful whimpers.

When the blows ceased and the pads of Hermione's fingers caressed the raised, pink welts, Pansy found herself coming back to coherence with wet eyes and an even wetter cunt. Her pussy throbbed, reddened and slick. On the breath of a calming exhale, Pansy whispered a final, "please, let me come" as Hermione's hand cupped her quim, palm pressing against her entrance.

"In time, lovely. You've done so well." Hermione cooed, dipping two fingers between Pansy's slick folds and sliding them in and out with an embarrassingly wet squelch.

"You've been my perfect, perfect girl." Hermione's fingers curled within Pansy's cunt, pressing against that hidden spot that made her see stars. "Do you like being mine, Pansy?"

Pansy whimpered as Hermione's fingers withdrew, lingering at the entrance of her sex. Heat bloomed through her body, flushing her sweat-slicked skin a pretty pink to rival the marks on her backside.

"Yes."

Hermione's fingers pushed forward once more, jolting against the spongy tissue within while her thumb found Pansy's clit, rubbing in gentle circles around the taut bundle of nerves, but not touching it directly. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mistress." The words flowed from Pansy's lips without an ounce of hesitation, surprising both the witch who uttered them and the witch desperate to hear them.

"Good girl." Hermione redoubled her efforts, thumb pressing against Pansy's clit while she fucked her with fingers, basking in the sights and sounds of the witch writhing and moaning beneath her touch.

"Tell me what you want, lovely."

Pansy fought through the haze to find her words, any embarrassment and hesitation replaced by the overwhelming need to come undone.

"I want to come, Mistress." The words escaped her throat in a breathy moan, muffled somewhat by the bedding, but even if Hermione couldn't make out the words, Pansy's tone was filled with desperation and the muffled sounds would have been enough to make her point.

A smile played on Hermone's lips as she bent to press a kiss to one of the fading welts on Pansy's arse, swiping her tongue against the sensitive flesh while her fingers rocked within Pansy's sex, drawing forth obscene sounds from both the witch's cunt and mouth.

"Come."

The command, coupled with a few more strokes, sent Pansy over the edge, her core tightening around Hermione's fingers, locking them in place as Hermione drew out Pansy's orgasm with gentle whispers of her thumb over Pansy's clit.

Fireworks bloomed behind Pansy's eyes as she fought for breath and consciousness, wave after wave radiating out from her core and washing down her arms and legs, simultaneously numbing and heightening every sensation. A litany of obscenities, names, and sounds of pleasure fell from her lips as each wave crested and fell.

With a flick of her wrist, the bindings securing Pansy to the bed released and Hermione quickly shifted the nearly comatose witch on to her back, stretching her legs out and massaging her calf muscles and thighs with languid strokes before straddling her torso to do the same to her arms.

She covered Pansy's body with her own and brushed the sweat-slicked hair from the witch's face, pressing reverent kiss across the high of her cheekbones until she reached her lips. Hermione couldn't stop herself from the needy kisses she pulled from Pansy's mouth, bidding her open with a swipe of her tongue, desperate to taste the witch below her. She couldn't have been more pleased with Pansy's responsiveness, perfect didn't even begin to describe her, she was transcendent.

Hermione withdrew her mouth from Pansy's and muttered a refrain of praises against the warm skin of her neck as she drew her tongue down Pansy's collarbone, her fingers spreading wide over Pansy's abdomen before moving down to slip once more between Pany's swollen folds.

Pansy whimpered, oversensitive and exhausted, barely able to move as she lay prone on the bed, unable to protest even if she wanted to save for the wiggle of her hips and the mewls escaping her throat.

Hermione's tongue swirled around one of the pebbled peaks atop Pansy's breast, fingers pushing through the nectar gathered at the entrance to her center, stroking her inner walls and drawing her closer to coming undone for a second time.

Her hands threaded into her dark locks as Pansy shook her head, a string of "no, no, no…" weakly falling from her lips.

"I know you can give me another one, lovely," Hermione crooned, watching Pansy's face carefully for signs of distress as she laved at her breast with her tongue. Hermione promised to make Pansy scream her name and she intended to do just that, trailing a path of kisses across her ribs as the pads of her fingers found Pansy's nipples, pinching and tugging the sensitive peaks.

Pansy shook her head again, "please…"

Hermione pressed her lips just above Pansy's navel, the fingers within the witch's cunt pulling slowly against the tight, swollen walls, beckoning the next wave forward, ready to crash at any moment.

"Colour?" she asked, a rush of concern flooding her belly.

Pansy didn't hesitate, "Green."

She pushed away the concern with a knowing grin and Hermione continued her descent, her prize coming ever closer as she breathed in the intoxicating scent of Pansy's arousal before dipping her tongue into the slick gathered at her core, fingers withdrawing to spread her folds. Her taste was like ambrosia—heady, sweet, salty, and bitter and Hermione's tastebuds alighted with the first brush of her tongue against Pansy's quim.

She anchored Pansy's thighs to the bed with her forearms, a loud cry reverberating off of the walls as Hermione's lips found Pansy's clit and she sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into her mouth before drawing her tongue down through Pansy's folds to dive into her core.

Pansy'd had enough of gentle.

Hermione was relentless.

A hand splayed over Pansy's abdomen, anchoring her as she thrashed, the grunts, growls, and whines pouring from her lips growing louder as Hermione's lips, tongue, and fingers kissed, licked, and fucked her into oblivion.

Pansy screamed as the orgasm ripped through her, Hermione's name falling from her lips, just as promised.

It could have been mere minutes or hours later when she floated back into reality, but Pansy was wrapped in a fluffy robe and was resting against something soft and feminine, delicate hands drawing a warm cloth over her forehead, wiping the sweat and tears from her skin. Fingers carded through her hair and she snuggled closer, burrowing her face into the neck of the woman who was holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.

She felt the woman smile against her hair as she turned and pressed a kiss to Pansy's crown, nails digging lightly into her scalp while the arm wrapped around her back pulled her closer. "Welcome back, lovely. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Pansy mumbled against Hermione's neck, allowing herself to be comforted by the gentle touches and light, floral perfume that clung to her skin. She needed this as much as she needed everything that had come before.

"To be expected. Sit up just a bit and take a sip," Hermione commanded in a gentle voice, tipping a bottle of water towards Pansy's lips once she complied.

With gentle strokes along her back, Hermione eased Pansy back down into her arms and tilted her head to rest against the back of the sofa, allowing herself this one moment of respite - this singular moment to feel exactly what life could have been.

Hermione plucked a strawberry from a nearby plate and poised it at Pansy's lips, watching with reverence as those crimson lips, parted and accepted the treat.

An overwhelming sense of melancholy began to cloud Pansy's. The silence was too comfortable. Her body felt too at ease. The witch she was resting against smelled too perfect. Even the innocuous bits of fruit were perfectly ripe. It reminded Pansy of a dream, something that surely couldn't be real.

The sweet taste of the fruit turned to ash in her mouth and everything simultaneously felt too right and too wrong. She'd placed herself into the devil's hands and had been sorely tempted. The experience of it all was overwhelming.

The thought of going back to a perfectly vanilla lifestyle was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity.

She couldn't.

Hermione sensed the shift as it happened and held Pansy close, fingers drawing along the ridges of her spine all the while feeling salty tears slide down her skin to dampen her blouse. "Shh, it's alright, my darling girl. I've got you." She crooned sweet words against the witch's ear, reminding her she was cared for - precious even… perfect.

This had been a mistake.

Pansy sobbed harder.

Just once was never going to be enough.