A\N: I don't think there's enough happy/semi-happy Pansy/Hermione fics out there, so I wrote this. I actually got the inspiration while writing another Pansy/Hermione fic. Hopefully other people also like happy femmslash, as I feel that there's too much depressing stuff out there. I like angst as much as everyone else, but there just needs to be a balance, I think, anyway.

This was so wrong. Throughout her entire life Pansy couldn't remember ever doing something so completely and utterly disgusting. She could remember how dirty she'd felt after the first time she'd had sex, after having a boy inside of her. This was worse. Because this felt right.

But this was wrong.

This wasn't in any way acceptable. And Pansy kept right on thinking that as she continued to kiss Hermione because, for some reason, there was no way she could pull away.

Pansy smoothed her tongue over the top of the girl's mouth, feeling every slight dip and incline. She felt Hermione's breath as it hitched and went faster, much like Pansy's breath. She felt the softness as she laid on top of Hermione and pressed into her, gently, wanting more and wanting it faster but not wanting to hurt her.

Pansy had never cared about hurting anyone ever before.

Pansy could remember torturing someone once, part of her Death Eater education. She didn't care about hurting that defenceless muggle, didn't care then or now. But she cared whether Hermione got hurt, because Hermione was precious.

And that was wrong.

Hermione was a girl. Hermione was a girl from the opposite side of the war. Hermione was a girl.

And Pansy kept right on thinking that as tears stung at her eyes and her hands found themselves removing Hermione's clothes. For a moment she almost didn't care as she looked down at Hermione's naked body, at her bruised lips and the rise and fall of her chest. Almost.

Maybe, Pansy thought, she might care about hurting that muggle now, because Hermione wouldn't like it, because Hermione's parents were muggles and she lived like a muggle throughout the summer. Maybe… maybe she didn't want to hurt muggles anymore.

But she had to because that was what side she was on.

And so Pansy blinked back the tears and held back the sobs as she took her own clothes off and pressed herself against the girl, oh god the girl, beneath her. And all Pansy wanted to do for the rest of her life was press into her and it was so, so wrong.

Pansy began to push her hips against Hermione's, grinding against her. And then her fingers had found Hermione's spot and Hermione's had found hers and they were both breathing very, very raggedly.

Pansy was intoxicated by the feel of Hermione's skin, so soft and so… hot. It was so hot and so very, very wet. There was something about the sweat that sheened across her body that drove Pansy mad and she felt herself dragging her tongue across that perfect skin. And it was, oh was it ever, perfect.

And wrong, bad, gross… filthy.

What they were doing, not Hermione, that is. Hermione would never be wrong or bad, no matter what she did. It was only the activity that was bad, and Pansy, Pansy was bad. Pansy was wrong for wanting this and making Hermione think that she wanted it, too. And if Hermione wanted it, it wasn't her fault; because Hermione was perfect.

And Hermione tasted like heaven. But not like heaven. Because Pansy imagined whipped cream when she thought of heaven and Hermione tasted almost salty, but Pansy was sure that then Hermione tasted better than heaven, better than hell, better than anything.

Pansy wanted to melt inside of her.

Pansy squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a build up of pressure down lower. And she pressed harder, faster, and felt Hermione do the same, her breathing ragged and harsh, and Pansy loved it. Pansy loved every little bit of it. Loved the shallow dip of Hermione's stomach and the hardness of her ribs.

And then Hermione kissed her. Kissed her harder and sweeter and just… more than Hermione had ever kissed Pansy. And Pansy kissed back, whimpering in the back of her throat, a tear cascading because of how bad she knew it was, but mostly because of how… just how it all felt. And the tear fell on Hermione's cheek and she must have noticed, Pansy knew she must have noticed but she didn't say anything, just kissed Pansy.

So Pansy grabbed Hermione's hand and held it, because she wanted something to hold onto because she didn't know what she was feeling and she was so very confused and holding Hermione's hand always made her feel better.

And then Pansy felt a wave that felt more than right ever had a right to feel. It was like riding on clouds, only she was riding them with Hermione, which made it so much better. It was so right and Pansy was screaming Hermione's name as Hermione screamed something else, but Pansy didn't care what Hermione was saying, only cared to hear her voice.

And Pansy felt her body go weak with exhaustion but she didn't relax fully, not yet. She placed open mouthed kisses on Hermione's face as the other girl seemed to sink into the floor with fatigue and Pansy smiled because she loved that. Loved that about Hermione because it was a beautiful thing. Everything Hermione did was beautiful.

Pansy rested her forehead against Hermione's and closed her eyes, closed her eyes because she could still feel Hermione's body beneath her and, fuck the world, it felt right. It felt so fucking right and Pansy didn't give a fuck what anyone else said because she'd rather die than move.

She'd rather die.

And she leaned her head against Hermione's chest and she relaxed, her body going limp. Hermione's hand stroked her head and Pansy only thought about that and was so, so very soothed.

She was tired, tired and still she didn't want to go to sleep, because she wanted to listen to Hermione. Wanted to listen to Hermione breath and feel Hermione's chest go up and down beneath her, wanted it to stay that way forever and didn't want to wake up and have to move.

Pansy didn't ever want to move.

Because this was right.

This was love.

Lyrics from Alright by Kinnie Starr