Reach over pawing at Hermione thighs

The man's hand, warm and slightly damp, shot out from the car window, grabbing her thigh. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh just above her stocking top. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure, unvarnished lust that shattered her paralysis. This was real. This was happening.

A strange, detached calm descended over her. The intellectual part of her brain, the part that couldn't switch off, filed away the sensations, the rough texture of his palm, the cheap cologne that now mingled with the city's scent, the way her own skin pebbled under his touch.

She opened the car door and slid onto the cool leather seat. The door clicked shut, sealing them in a world of muted silence and mounting tension.

"What are you doing out here, Granger?" Henderson asked, pulling away from the curb. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on her knee, inching higher with each block they drove. "Don't tell me that bright future your dad's so proud of went up in smoke."

Hermione turned her head to look at him, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. It was Harry's smile, practiced and perfected. "The future is bright, Mr. Henderson," she said, her voice a low purr that surprised even herself. "Just not the kind my dad was expecting."

He drove them to a nondescript motel on the edge of town, a place with flickering neon vacancies and peeling paint. He didn't even negotiate the price, just shoved a wad of cash into her hand as they entered the room. It felt dirty, thrillingly real.

"Tell me dear Hermione are you a slut?" he asked, undoing his tie.

"I am whatever you want me to be," she replied, the words coming easily now, her training kicking in. "I am your intellectual delight, Mr. Henderson." She knelt on the scratchy carpet in front of him, her fingers already working at his belt buckle. "And I shall provide you with an evening of unparalleled pleasure."

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