
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1603226.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Pansy_Parkinson
  Additional Tags:
      Minor_Violence, Light_Bondage, Humiliation, Dubious_Consent, Light_Angst,
      Not_Happy, Female_Character_In_Command, Cruelty
  Series:
      Part 1 of Hermione_in_Authority
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-23 Words: 855
****** Another Kind of Lesson ******
by Twisted_Mind
Summary
     When Pansy thinks herself the perfect Slytherin, it's up to Hermione
     to teach her that rules do, in fact, apply to her.
Notes
     Originally posted Aug 23rd 2012 at HP Fandom. Betaed by GhostxWriter,
     and edited upon re-posting here.
     Disclaimer: While I highly doubt that events below ever truly
     happened at Hogwarts, how amazing would I be if they did? I would
     never have left such events out of the books ... (thus, sadly, I am
     not JKR)
Pansy had thought herself the consummate Slytherin--sneaky, cunning, and exempt
from the rules. Free to do whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased, and
slippery enough to get away with it.

Pansy thought wrong.

The Gryffindor prefect had been trudging back to the Tower, her bag laden with
books and slowing her down, when she heard it. Her ears pricking, Hermione
followed the faint sounds to their source--Pansy Parkinson, a bottle of
illicit, shimmering potion in her hand and a guilty expression on her face,
trying to close the door to an unused classroom behind her.

Hermione snapped.

Her wand was out in the blink of an eye, and the tip of it was pressed against
Pansy's pale throat a fraction of a second later. Without a word, Hermione
backed the blonde Slytherin girl into the classroom she'd just exited
and closed the door behind them. Stopping her advance, Hermione hissed "Sit!"
with enough venom to make Pansy afraid.

Pansy sat.

Her face set and her eyes glittering dangerously, Hermione held out her hand
without a word. Pansy didn't pretend to misunderstand. She handed over the
potion bottle with a convulsive swallow. The Slytherin wondered what the
prefect would do to her.

She didn't have to wait long to find out.

"I cannot believe your sheer arrogance, Parkinson. Not only are you out past
curfew, but you're also brewing illegal potions," Hermione snarled, her voice
low, as she gestured to Pansy's recently-used brewing equipment. "This goes
beyond deducting points or giving detention. You do realize that I am well
within my rights to take this to your Head of House? Or the Headmaster? I could
have you expelled for this," Hermione went on.

Pansy was only half-listening.

She wasn't giving Hermione's words the attention they deserved because she was
mesmerized by the girl herself. Her eyes snapping and her skin glowing with
barely-restrained rage, Hermione looked like an angel of wrath. What was more,
she had the power to make good on her threats. Pansy felt her belly suffuse
with warmth, and her tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. When
Hermione slapped her for not paying attention, a quiet moan--not of pain--
escaped her lips, and she fervently hoped that Hermione wouldn't notice.

Hermione noticed.

With a subtle flick of a wand, Pansy found herself bound to the chair she sat
in. Her vision grew hazy as her pupils dilated, and she fought to keep her
breathing even. But Pansy's fair complexion betrayed her, as even in the dim
light, the blood colouring her cheeks was visible.

Hermione was too smart to misunderstand.

"Why you sick, twisted . . . you're getting off on this!" she cried
incredulously. Then she laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Well, well, well,
Parkinson. For all the pureblood propaganda you're so found of spouting, it's
ironic that it's come to this. You want me. Not just a Muggleborn, but another
woman." Pansy hadn't known Hermione's voice could be so cruel. "What would they
say if they knew that you wanted me?" With another subtle wand flick, Pansy's
clothes had been spelled off, and she sat naked, still bound to the chair.

She gasped.

The conjured ropes were tight and unforgiving against her bare skin, and if
Pansy wasn't careful, they could easily rub her raw. But it was the way she was
held open and exposed that caused her to tremble. Her legs were spread, her
ankles tied to the legs to of the chair, and her arms bound behind her back.
Heat was rapidly pooling between her thighs, and she knew that if Hermione
looked, she would see how slick Pansy had become.

Hermione looked.

Then the Gryffindor took three steps, bringing herself right in front of the
bound rule-breaker. She leaned down, and--with a sympathetic expression on her
face--asked softly, "Oh, Pansy. Do you want me to fuck you?"

Pansy whimpered.

And then she was there--two of those ink-stained fingers were roughly thrust
inside Pansy, where they were pushing and digging and twisting, so hard . .
. they were rubbing and hitting and shoving, slamming in further and harder and
faster, and it tingled, it hurt, oh it burned, but then Hermione's thumb was
pushing against her clit, and Pansy's body jerked and trembled as she came.
Pansy was coming and Hermione's perfect, cruel fingers never stopped torturing
her tender flesh. When it was over, and the only sound in the room was Pansy's
harsh breathing, Hermione flexed her fingers, still buried inside the Slytherin
girl, and whispered, "Was that what you wanted?"

Pansy nodded. 

Hermione pulled her hand away from between the pale thighs, and--slick and
shiny from Pansy's orgasm--slapped her across the face. "You disgust me,"
Hermione said coldly, before flicking her wand to dissolve the ropes and
leaving silently.

As Pansy sat there, with her cunt throbbing and her face stinging from the
slap, with her juices leaking over the chair, still naked and starting to
shiver from the chill, she thought I disgust me, too.

Because as sick as it was, Pansy wanted her to do it again.



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