Title: Almost an Epitaph

Author's Name: Kritter

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairings: Hermione/ Pansy

Ratings: PG

Disclaimers: I don't own them, JK Rowling does. I promise they will be better off when I'm done with them... no longer sexaully repressed and all that.

Authors Notes:Somewhere along the line of reading all the Hermione/Pansy fics I have stored on my computer I've decided that instead of writing a Hermione/Ginny fic, which normally would be something I'd do, I will write a Hermione/Pansy one because really, I like it so much better now. Especially since I've grown a fondness for Ginny/Cho fics and well, I can't have Ginny two timing Cho with Hermione can I?

Feedback: I would love it. Send it all to Kritter_Kaven@hotmail.com

I'm not going to admit that I like Granger. Not by a long shot, because really... I don't. You all think I'm lying to myself, that I'm in some sort of I can't be gay denial, but I'm not. Because well, I'm not. I know I'm gay, or at least partly gay because at times I really do think that Draco looks cute, and that Terry Boot is a handsome fellow. But usually I think about girls and the way that, really, they're so much more beautiful than men. Men are all hard angles and muscle while girls are curves and inviting flesh. Or at least that's what I suppose because contrary to popular belief I haven't slept with Draco.. and I haven't gotten the chance to be with a girl either.

Not unless you want to count myself, which I don't, thank you very much.

So I'm not falling all over myself in love with Hermione Granger, but I was curious. Curious in a way that seemed more fitting of a Ravenclaw than a Slytherin, but my curiousity is filled with sly glances and evil thoughts so I'm comforted with thoughts that really it's just reconnaisance on a possible enemy. Not that I really want to think of Granger as an enemy. Just because Draco has it hard for Harry and looks for every opportunity to get in the boy's face about something doesn't mean that I'm going to pick fights with Granger for no reason.

But there always seems to be a reason when Hermione walks by. With that smug superior attitude that doesn't belong on a Gryffindor's face. And a mudblood at that. So I eagerly pick fights with Hermione because really, its nice to see her eyes flash with anger. Because for a few moments I could confuse the reason adrenaline is coursing through my body with arousal instead of anger. And I could imagine that the spark in Hermione's eyes isn't anger, pure unadulterated anger, but instead a shared lust that would have both of us on floor tearing at each other's clothes.

But I'm not about to admit I like Hermione, because really, I don't.

Not really. I'm fascinated surely. Who wouldn't be. Hermione has the bushiest mop of hair that most girls would be horrified to have, and yet she never really cares. Except for that one time during Yule ball when she made an effort and I had almost fallen flat on my face at seeing Hermione, because Merlin be damned if the girl wasn't hot.

But I don't fancy Hermione. Not that way. Not for torrid affairs and stolen kisses which no one could find about because wouldn't every one be scandalized. And surely my parents would find out. They wouldn't care... not really, because well, who cared if their daughter was lesbian, but they would care that she fancied a mudblood... and a Gryffindor besides. So I wasn't looking for stolen kisses and secret romps in the Astronomy tower.

I don't know what I'm looking for really.

But I suppose it could be found if I asked Hermione, because doesn't Hermione know everything. It wasn't for no reason that Hermione is called the cleverest witch to grace Hogwart's halls in a long time. But I can't ask Hermione because that would be blasphemy. A Slytherin asking a Gryffindor a question. Complete and utter blasphemy. Of course I can't ask anyone else either, because how would I ask the question.

"I've been staring at Hermione Granger a lot. You know, the mudblood know-it-all with the eyes like chocolate and the hair like a crow's nest. And the funniest thing really, I don't know why. Can you tell me?"

Of course people would probably tell me that I'm smitten with Granger, but I'm not. I know that. There has to be a different reason. And so I have to study. Not books and spells and that rot, but I have to study Hermione herself, to see what had so captivates me about her.

And so through my studying is how I ended up being in the hall before the Gryffindor tower late this Friday night. I'm a Prefect so I don't have to worry about being caught in the halls because I am allowed really. But I would never be able to explain why I'm standing here staring at the portrait.

The Fat Lady doesn't mind either. This isn't the first time I've found myself here, just staring, as if through some magic I would be able to see through the walls and spy Hermione sleeping and that would cure me of my... curiousity. But this Friday night was a little different. My nightdress, a thin pink nighty edged in light pink lace and frills around the collar, was too thin for the drafty castle. But everything I own is pink and frilly. And lacey. Must not forget lacey.

But that's not really the point of this. Hermione is emerging through the portrait. And the damndest thing really, she doesn't look surprised to see me.

" All right Parkinson, I've humored you long enough. What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

In truth I didn't know what she was talking about. I hadn't been obvious in my studying. I didn't think I had been. But the anger was sparkling in her eyes and of course that captivates me because really, can't that girl tell she has spectacular eyes that just command attention.

" Are you daft girl, lower your tone."

That's the portrait because my tongue has gotten dry and is stuck to the roof of my mouth. Anger comes naturally to me but only when I command it to. I'm slow to the uptake when someone else is threatening me.

" I've no clue what you're talking about Granger."

I'm trying to sound as if she's standing in front of the Slytherin common room and I wasn't there in front of hers. Of course it doesn't work since she is Hermione and she knows quite well where she is.

" You've been following me, staring at me, and I swear that you're trying to pick fights with me now. You're almost as bad as Draco. Can't you just leave me alone?"

" Oh get over yourself. I'll have you know that I was not at all staring at you..."

She's angry. I can tell because she's shoving me against the wall. I'd heard from Draco that she slapped him during fourth year, but I had never gotten her that far in our arguments. She's being so physical it almost hurts. I can feel the warmth of her hands through my nighty. I don't think I want her to move her hands. Ever.

But its not like I like her touching me. Because she's a filthy mudblood isn't she.

" You're an evil prat Pansy. And a stupid one at that."

And she's kissing me. I should be surprised shouldn't I? But I'm not. Almost as if I was expecting this, even though it really did come out of the blue. And she kisses like a Gryffindor should, all brave and exploring, as if she already owns my lips and she's just making sure she knows the territory. But I'm a Slytherin and I will not let myself be explored without first taking what I want.

Not that I want Hermione. Not at all.

I kiss like a Slytherin should. Bruising and claiming. Her lips are mine because I'm claiming them and biting them slightly until I can hear her moan and press her body into mine. And suddenly her hands are under my nighty, which as thin as it is feels too thick, and I'm too hot. And I don't know how she manages it but we end up in her room, in the safe enclosed canopy of her bed, and I won't mention how I hate the color red, but I hate the color green too so its all right that her room has red everywhere.

Hermione moans loudly when she comes, and I'm surprised that she comes at all because when you see her you think she doesn't know anything about pleasure and surely she knows nothing about sex. But that's dispelled when she's on top of me and I'm shown that yes girls are curves and inviting flesh. But we're also nails that scratch at backs and teeth that bite shoulders when you're afraid you're screaming will wake everyone in the castle.

But most importantly that night I realize exactly why Hermione fascinates me so much. We're sleeping now... or she is rather. She has a grin on that would look perfect on a Slytherin, with all its smug superiority. Her hair is mussed, though it looks normal, her skin is red in places from biting and sucking, her arms have slightly raised welts from scratches because really you shouldn't tease a girl like that. But even with her pale skin not glowing in the moonlight because people don't glow, even with her eyebrows fluttering and her smile going soft its none of that that makes me realize why she fascinates me.

It takes her faintly whispering my name in her sleep, no anger or arousal clouding it so it sounds hoarse. Its just whispered with caring and something else. I've never heard my name sound so beautiful. And I realize when I repeat her tone, her name coming from my lips, soft and beautiful almost like her. And I recognize that little something extra which makes it foreign and fantastic.

I've never liked Hermione Granger. Her bushy crow's nest hair and eyes like chocolate frogs... or hot cocoa mixed with just the right bit of cinnamon... no I never liked Hermione Granger.

But I am in love with her.