Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/459815.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Argus_Filch/Millicent_Bulstrode
  Character:
      Argus_Filch, Millicent_Bulstrode, Pansy_Parkinson
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, First_Time, Animal_Play, Virginity
  Collections:
      Kink_Bingo_2012_(Round_Five)
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-15 Words: 2814
****** Girls Just Want to Have Fun ******
by Delphi
Summary
     In which Filch provides a vital service to the teenage girls of
     Hogwarts and Millicent discovers there’s nothing wrong with the
     occasional indulgence.
Millicent had once asked her brother Mortimer what boys talked about when they
were alone in their dormitories. He had smirked at first, and then he looked
very worried.
"You don't want to know," he said. "It would make you faint."
She was doubtful, as she munched grimly on a diet biscuit, that boys could
possibly be any worse than girls.
"...but a house-elf popped in and startled her," Tracey was saying, relating
the horror that had happened to a friend of a friend of a cousin of hers, "and
she slipped, and the broom handle went all the way up and impaled her! She
nearly died. She was in St. Mungo's for a week—true story."
Diet biscuits tasted like sawdust. They looked and smelled like sawdust too,
but they were the only snacks her mother had packed in her latest hamper from
home.
"That's nothing," Pansy said as everyone else was crossing their legs
uncomfortably. "I heard that for Josephine Boot’s last birthday, her parents
planned a surprise party. They invited all her friends and family, and they hid
in the parlour to wait for her to come back from her riding lesson. Except,
when she got home, she went straight into the kitchen and called for her dog.
Everyone was waiting and waiting, but she didn’t come out. So eventually her
parents came to see what she was doing, and they found her naked on the kitchen
floor with jam smeared all over her privates and her dog licking it off!"
Everyone obligingly gasped, and Millicent refrained from pointing out that if
Josephine Boot’s parents had ever thrown her a surprise party with all her
friends and family, at least two people in this very room would have been
there.
"Well, I heard," Daphne said, her tone clearly daring them to top her, "that
Ellie McKinnon didn’t really transfer to Beauxbatons at all. My brother's
friend's cousin goes there, and he's never heard of her. I heard that she’s in
the family way. Everyone knows she let Roger Davies go all the way in the
Astronomy Tower last year."
Everyone looked aghast, save for Daphne, who looked very pleased with herself.
"What I don’t understand," Millicent said crossly, "is why anyone really cares
about being a virgin that much. I mean, I’d much rather marry a boy who'd had
sex with a hundred girls than one who’d saved himself but had been secretly
buggering sheep."
Everyone turned to stare at her.
Tracey rolled her eyes. "It doesn’t matter if boys do it before they get
married. But who’d want to marry a slag?"
That wasn't what Millicent had meant, but she didn't care to argue as the
conversation turned to someone who had stuck a parsnip up her fanny only to
have it break off and sprout a whole garden inside her. She finished her diet
biscuit with a dissatisfied scowl. Reducing and refusing—that was what was
required to be a good girl. The former was proving a fruitless task, and while
she was managing the latter all right, it was only because no one was asking.
The clock soon sounded the bell for curfew, and Millicent stood up, brushing
the crumbs off her robes. She headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth, and
Pansy fell into step beside her. Pansy had a familiar expression on her face:
the sort she wore when she was holding onto a particularly good bit of gossip.
Millicent raised an eyebrow, wondering what could have possibly been too
scandalous to pass on showing up Daphne.
Pansy ran her toothbrush under the tap and then peered about as if to ensure
they were alone and unheard. "You're right, you know. It's not fair that boys
get to have fun and we don't."
Millicent hummed, sprinkling tooth powder on her brush.
"Of course," Pansy continued casually, "Filch is slightly more hygienic than a
dog."
Toothbrush halfway to her open mouth, Millicent paused and stared. "What?"
Pansy gave her teeth a scrub and then spat delicately in the sink. "Filch. He's
a Squib, you know."
Millicent had not known that, as a matter of fact. She'd always been under the
impression that she'd never met a Squib. Although she supposed it was true what
they said: you couldn't tell just by looking at one.
"So?" she asked.
"Darling," Pansy said. She had recently started calling everyone darling,
although Millicent privately thought it didn't come off quite as grown-up and
breezy as she intended. "Squibs don’t count. It's just like experimenting with
an animal, only not quite as nasty."
Millicent narrowed her eyes sceptically.
Pansy looked around again and then leaned in close, confiding: "If you go to
his office and say that Professor Smith sent you for a detention, he’ll do
something nice to you."
"Do something? What do you mean? Like...sex?”
Pansy drew back and rolled her eyes. "No, idiot. That's the point—you'll still
be marriageable after. Squibs can't do it. They're sterile or impotent or
whatever it's called."
Millicent frowned. That sounded awfully like Pansy's assertion that fizzy
drinks worked for family planning.
Pansy rinsed her mouth and shrugged. "Try it if you like. Just not on
Wednesdays. That’s when I go."
That night, Millicent dreamed that she was at Josephine Boot's house. She was
sitting under a tree in the gardens when suddenly a strange dog approached her.
He was big and wild-looking, and he kept trying to stick his nose in her
crotch. She was squirming to get away, even though it felt good. Everyone was
going to be arriving for the garden party at any moment, and if they saw her
with a dog up her skirts, they were all going to laugh at her. She gave the dog
a violent shove and then woke up abruptly to find that it was still dark out.
She was lying on her stomach with one of the pillows under her hips and a
frustrating, very-nearly-there feeling between her legs that faded away as the
dream dissipated.
In the morning, grumpy with too little sleep, she went down to breakfast and
unhappily surveyed the table before passing over the scrambled eggs and bangers
in favour of the porridge. Plain, no sugar.
Pansy had been teasing her. She was fairly certain of it. Pansy was her best
friend, but she had a mean sense of humour sometimes, and at best, she had a
tendency to believe everything she heard if it sounded worth repeating. The
whole thing smacked of Hogwarts legend.
Still, Millicent found herself stopping in the corridor that afternoon and
observing the caretaker as he swept the floor. When he caught her looking at
him, he narrowed his eyes, but he didn't tell her off. He was usually nicer to
the girls like that. God help you if you got caught out of bed at night—not
that Millicent had any firsthand experience of that—but it was the boys he
grabbed by the ear and threatened to cane. That said, he also didn’t seem to be
a pervert like Professor Binns, who had been dead for decades and presumably
couldn’t even have sex any more, but always floated behind the girls and tried
to look down their robes.
Millicent pretended to riffle through her book bag. From the corner of her eye,
she saw Looney Lovegood drift past Filch and slip into his office. Filch
paused, then propped his mop up against the wall and followed her in with more
haste than Millicent had ever seen him muster for anything less than fire or
flood.
Curiosity roused, she lingered in the corridor for several minutes, paging
through her Potions textbook. She was just about to give up when the office
door opened again. Lovegood came floating out, her cheeks looking suspiciously
pink and an even swoonier expression than usual on her face.
Interesting.
It was a week before Millicent worked up the nerve to try it. She waited until
Game Day, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, when watching Michael Vaisey and Quint
Chambers (and, all right, Draco) in their Quidditch leathers had made her
uncomfortably hot and bothered. She excused herself to the loo at half-time and
proceeded uncertainly into the empty school.
The silence indoors was odd and uncomfortable. She could distantly hear the din
of the crowd outside. They were probably passing around the hot chocolate right
about now. It was probably for the best that she missed it, she thought glumly.
She didn't know for certain that Filch could be found in his office, but she
hadn't seen him at the match, and sure enough, when she knocked on the door,
she heard someone stir inside. Heavy footsteps approached, and then the door
opened a crack. One pale eye glared out at her.
"And what are we doing, traipsing around in here while everyone's at the
Quidditch, hm?"
Millicent fought the urge to step back. Her chin lifted stubbornly instead as
her heartbeat quickened. "Er. I have a detention. From Professor Smith."
At worst, she thought, he would point out that there wasn't any Professor Smith
at Hogwarts and give her a real detention for wasting his time. But the door
opened wider, and Filch stuck his head out just long enough to peer up and down
the corridor before stepping back and ushering her inside.
"Another one, eh? No rest for poor old Filch," he grumbled, but there was no
heat in his tone, and she thought he had a funny glint in his eye.
He pulled a jangling ring of keys off his belt and locked the door behind her.
Then another key opened a narrow door behind his desk.
"Quieter in there," he said, then gestured her ahead with a jerk of his chin.
Millicent peered inside. The cupboard was dark, its shelves stocked with
mundane school supplies. There was a narrow, rickety table pushed against the
back wall. The light was blocked out as Filch came up behind her. Her shoulders
stiffened, but she reminded herself that he was a Squib. She could pop off a
good hex if she needed to. Or a good punch, for that matter.
"Haven't got all day," he said gruffly. "Shoes off and robes up, then hop on
up."
She felt as if she were at the doctor's, and that familiarity gave her the prod
she needed to step forward. Her stomach tensed up nervously, and she felt an
excited tingle between her legs as she slipped out of her shoes. She gathered
the skirt of her robes up, bit her lip in hesitation, and then hoisted herself
up on the table.
"Nearer the edge," Filch said. "There we go."
He shut the closet door, and all the light was blotted out save for a narrow
strip leaking in from the office proper. She heard him ease himself down in
front of the table. His breathing had grown quicker.
She startled when his hands settled on her knees. They urged her legs apart,
wide and then wider, as far apart as she could hold them. The tingle grew, her
fanny flushing hot. She clutched the edge of the table, and a whiskery cheek
brushed against her inner thigh as Filch nosed his way between her legs. The
tight feeling in her stomach drew in even tighter.
The nudge of his nose against her knickers made her gasp. He drew in a deep
breath, and her face went hot as she shut her eyes in blushing embarrassment.
He was sniffing her. Sniffing her fanny. She had been an early bloomer—already
wearing a brassiere when she began at Hogwarts, and starting her monthlies in
first year—but in the last year or two, it had started going all funny down
there. She was wet by whim, and her fanny smelled stronger than it had before.
Madam Pomfrey's humiliating little chat hadn't mentioned anything like that,
and she'd been too embarrassed to ask any of the other girls.
There was no wheeze, however. No disgusted assertion that she needed to go and
wash herself. Filch kept on sniffing, breathing out heavily, and she could hear
the wet sound of him licking his chops. He squeezed her thighs, and then his
hands pushed under her robes to grab her bum. Then she felt a long, slow stripe
drawing up the middle of her fanny.
He'd licked her.
She let out a cry of surprise. Her fanny gave a tremendous pulse as he licked
her again. She squirmed, her thighs quivering. Then he pulled at her knickers,
drawing the crotch of them to one side. The open air was cold and wicked
against her naked parts, and her whole fanny went hot, swelling. She was
soaked, and not just from his spit.
"Mm-mm," Filch growled to himself, and then he was at it again, lapping
furiously.
"Holy hell," she breathed as every flick of his tongue sent a wild zing darting
through her.
At first his mouth was everywhere, laving every inch of her privates until she
was dripping. Then he slowed down, his tongue leisurely zig-zagging between her
folds. She wiggled, gasping, and the table groaned beneath her. He slurped
rudely at her, his rapid breath huffing against her burning skin, and then his
lips fixed around the throbbing nub at the top of her fanny.
"Ah!" She scrambled, somehow ending up with her feet on his shoulders and her
hands in a death-grip on the table as he French-kissed her fanny, his tongue
lapping quickly and his mouth sealed tight around her. The hot, thrumming
pleasure gathered up to a rolling peak, and her entire body shook out of
control as her head fell back and her eyes squeezed shut so desperately that
she saw sparks.
Filch was panting loudly, grunting under his breath, and his hands tightened
around her bum before easing. Then he drew back, smacking his lips, leaving her
drenched and bare.
Stunned, Millicent could only sit trembling for a moment. She shakily pulled up
one of her socks, which had slipped halfway down her calf. Then, not knowing
what else to do, she gave Filch a vague pat on the head.
Filch snorted before rising up creakily. "Off with you," he said. "And no
sneaking around the castle."
The door opened, letting in the light, and Millicent rubbed her eyes before
lowering herself from the table onto wobbly legs. She surreptitiously adjusted
her knickers and then retrieved her shoes and hurried out. To her surprise, the
door shut again and Filch stayed inside. As she let herself out of the office,
she could hear a queer slapping sound coming from the closet.
Her steps were oddly light as she made her way down the dormitories. The match
must have still been going, as the dormitories were deserted save for a few
worried-looking fifth years studying in the common room. She spared them a
mildly withering look and then went to the bathroom to splash some cold water
on her face and clean herself up. She was sticky down there, the mess of
wetness and spit uncomfortably cool as it dried.
Her fanny tingled, still sensitive, as she wiped herself with a flannel. She
hummed faintly in surprise and then rubbed herself again, more deliberately
this time. The sensation of Filch's tongue lapping messily at her was still
fresh, and she felt the tension coming back as she conjured it again. She
closed her eyes, planting a hand on the sink for balance as she worked at
herself just as his mouth had. What had it looked like, she wondered, recalling
the wicked, relentless licking and the low, growling sounds coming from his
throat—
She strained up on her tiptoes as a second peak came, not as sharp as the last
one, but still enough to thoroughly shake her.
"Oh..." You learned something new every day, she breathlessly noted.
She was lying on her bed, feeling warm and pleasantly heavy, when the match
finally finished and everyone came meandering back into the dormitories. The
supper bell hadn't rung yet, and she wasn't inclined to move, not even when the
bed curtains twitched and Pansy peeked in at her.
"Where did you get off to? I was beginning to think—" Then she paused, looked
Millicent over, and smirked. "Ooh. You owe me."
"Mm," Millicent hummed. Then she held out the little emergency box she'd kept
hidden under her bed, left over from last Christmas's care package.
"Chocolate?"
Pansy sat on the edge of the bed and let the curtains close. "Those aren't good
for the figure, you know."
Millicent popped a second one in her mouth and let it melt slowly. "So?"
"Well," Pansy said, inclining her head in agreement as she carefully selected
one of the caramels and settled in beside her, "I suppose just one can't hurt."
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