Keywords: M/F, F/F, oral, BDSM, magic Author: W R Jenkins Title: Hermione's Hubris Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal. This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are under 18- 21 in some localities If you are underage you must leave now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation. End Sermon. Hermione's Hubris (Hhubris.txt) - Poor Hermione doesn't learn her lesson easily this time. The problem is that she doesn't like the limitations and has to suffer grievous sorrow a couple of times to actually accept that other people have rights too. Of course her lessons are mostly sexual or else why would they be here? M/F, F/F, oral, BDSM, magic Stole this: Only the idea, however. The original synopsis (story by FIN, available in Kristin's Collection)is: "Hermione finds a book that she spends 6 years deciphering only to find it is a book about sex. So she enchants her schoolmates in a variety of ways." The story is set in the sixth year/sixth book and mine is meant to run concurrently with the events chronicled there. Before this, Hermione has magically seduced an 11-year-old and the installment ends with the mysterious ...to be continued?. This leads to the new stuff, thusly... What the fuck was I thinking? What the flying, flaming fuck was I thinking? I wasn't thinking, that's what I was thinking. Hermione was done trying to sort out her reasons and hide behind excuses. She was dead center in the middle of reviling herself for stupidity. A fucking 11-year-old? What would have become of *me* if that happened, Hermione asked herself. Certainly I would have thought magic had a dark, dangerous side- not that it doesn't- but one that was unavoidable. I wouldn't have been so proud to be a witch then. She already knew her reasons; she just wasn't very proud of giving in to them. She could make boys orgasm. She could make girls orgasm. And one was just as thrilling as the other. Some silly prejudice- like against Muggle-borns- made her seek someone who wouldn't understand what Hermione was doing. Well, that was bollocks, Hermione decided. It wasn't as if she invented it. And it wasn't because she was odd, or evil or even queer. It was just a fact. Sex was fun with both boys and girls. It was only some stupid idea about procreation that gave same-sex love a bad name. Nevertheless, 11 was too young to have such feelings imposed. Hermione knew that at 11 she was more of a man than Ron or Harry. Her natural feminine maturity made her like a boy of 13 and she still lingered in that sexless stage of childhood that was called boyish or tom-boyish. She was a tireless little machine with no glimmer of the softer side of her nature. Now 13, or possibly 12, was a different matter. But that too was a confusing time, coming to terms with her identity as a woman- that blood- and breasts, not the time for more complications pushing in. She remembered her somewhat romanticized urges with Viktor at 14, and that, romance and all, was more like it. She was satisfied that her dreamy notions had not been corrected by a full-grown Krum, but she had to admit that she would not have been devastated if he had chosen to relieve her of her virginity and ejaculate inside her rather than on her bare and barely formed chest. She knew all about sex by then. She thought she was ready for it and it was likely the experience would have brought as much wisdom as heartache. So by 14 a girl should be ready. But setting a limit only partly served to assuage Hermione's guilt. She was ashamed of being ashamed. She was ashamed she allowed her shame to make her hide, to shirk responsibility for her desires. Not only should a girl be physically and emotionally mature, but she should be willing! And that brought up the weird, odd, queer problem again. Hermione might be convinced, on compelling evidence and faultless reasoning, that it was natural, but other girls might not want to consider, much less agree to these truths. It was something pounded into them- blatantly and with such subtlety that it seemed to come from their own thoughts- and they might not see reason. Still, it was the only way to do it- straightforward. The stealth approach might be all right for such as Draco, who she intended to harm, but she couldn't harm someone and try to call it love. If Hermione had solved her dilemma, she had left herself with an even larger pile of 'perhapss and 'maybes. Perhaps she could indeed capture the rapture that came with her discovery, but maybe she would be no less ostracized than Draco if she explained herself. "Why are you sitting there with your face all screwed up? It's spring!" Ron jostled into her thoughts, sounding as if he was personally offended by a person having thoughts when they were not compelled to think. "It's called thinking, Ronald," Hermione said sharply. "You really should have someone explain the process to you so you can try it." She caught Harry's smile at her eloquent, yet eviscerating retort which he quickly tried to hide lest Ron also see. "Ron's got a point, Hermione," said Harry, obviously trying to atone for his lapse of loyalty to his mate. "It's break. You should be trying to have a bit of fun." Not stunned, or even slowed by Hermione's repartee, Ron was back to twittering about this plan and that plan for maximum joy. As Harry joined in- with altogether more sensible suggestions- Hermione let her mind wander back through her thoughts until she found the right one. Viktor Krum: Yes, International Quidditch player, indeed among the most storied names in the sport, and older, and genuinely infatuated with her. He would have been an appropriate choice to have her virginity. Even though at 14 she was hardly ready to make such a choice, Hermione had to admit that she would not be forever saddened if he had been the one. This brought her critical eye down on the two boys sitting beside her. It was a no-brainer, or at most half a brainer. Ron had qualities, and Harry had never shown that kind of interest. Ron would quail at her feet when it was important and gave good value over the long haul. Those were the strongest things she could say for Ron. It was not enough to hesitate more than a second in choosing Harry for her first. Harry was dreamy- almost divine- and on a very, very short list of males more universally delectable than Viktor Krum. It was the same list, ranked from most to least women pining for his carress, that found Harry at or next to the pinnacle. And she could have him. She knew she could. Just as quickly as that was decided, the older thoughts swarmed over her. She had not sought the solitude of an early morning by the fire to choose on whom to bestow her maidenhead. It was other- sisterly- feelings that had debated in her head while the dormitory dozed. Ginny? The arrival of Ron's red-haired sister stirred the scenes forming in the cauldron of her thoughts. "What are you guys up to? Danger? Mystery?" Ginny inquired. As long as Ginny never knew... Harry would have no reason to tell her. She, herself was itching for a touch-by-touch, button-by-button confession of Harry's courtship of Cho, but she knew it was vain curiosity and had no bearing on her feelings for Harry. Surely, Ginny would feel the same way when Harry was, inevitably, hers forever. It wasn't like boys had a band on their organs that showed if they were experienced. Maybe that was why it didn't seem to matter as much to them. But this was for Hermione, Hermione determined: one indelible, personal memory of crossing to womanhood. "I was about to suggest we all have a picnic," Hermione spoke up. "Harry could get all the necessary things from Dobby, I'm sure. That would be fun, wouldn't it, Harry- Ron?" It was time to kick their budding romances into high gear. She watched that very realization cross Ron's face like a billboard in the Ginza of Tokyo and the eager look that followed. Harry blushed with the same thought and Ginny smiled. But that wasn't Hermione's purpose. She had a very different purpose indeed. "You must have seen me working on this book in the dormitory," Hermione told Ginny as they sat together on the blanket Dobby had provided along with lunch. The boys were off on some small adventure and the two of them were alone for a moment. "Please, Hermione, I know you end up with Ron and I should be nice to you, but it is break. I don't want to talk about books," Ginny replied. "Ron?" Hermione was shocked out of her speech. "You know? Me and Ron?" "I'm the seventh child... red hair? Witch? Three maybes are as good as a certainty. The second sight comes with the territory," Ginny said patronizingly. "And yet I still don't want to do schoolwork." "But Ginny, this isn't about schoolwork," Hermione recovered herself. "It's about sex." Ginny's reaction was unexpected. She laughed. Hermione was affronted. "You know, Hermione, it may shock you, but there's a whole world outside of books. And *that* is something much better done in person than read from a book," Ginny was still smirking. It wasn't like she was striking from the shadows, if it was without consent. Hermione felt justified in ignoring that last detail as she muttered "Cunniformus impacto" while fingering her wand in her pocket. Ginny's smirk became a wide-mouthed gape of disbelief, her eyes bulging in wonder. Served her right, Hermione thought, knowing Ginny was at the moment stuffed as full as she could manage with a phantom something forcing her capacity. "And I didn't even use the book," Hermione said smartly, muttering, "'coito tumlo'" Ginny didn't reply. She was busy huffing and puffing as, Hermione knew, the invisible, magic something was now flying inside the young red-head like a piston. Ginny's eyelids lowered and the look of surprise morphed into a dreamy stare. From where she had been sitting with her legs pulled up, Ginny fell back and her legs opened as if she was welcoming this invisible lover. Her knees rose and Hermione unabashedly stared at the wet, panty-covered crotch that Ginny was putting on display. With a flick of her wand, Hermione made Ginny buck so hard the young witch actually left the blanket to convulse in mid-air in flops and hops of ecstasy. "Now, was that the real world?" Hermione asked cattily as Ginny lay, drained and panting on the blanket in the aftermath. "I didn't see anyone with you." "You? Did you? Was that? What did you...?" Ginny was full of half-gasped questions. Her opposition erased, Ginny listened raptly as Hermione gave her an overview of the book's many uses. Then, as a casual footnote perhaps, Hermione came to the real question. "Now I know what you felt because I've tried most of these spells on myself," Hermione started boldly and then was hushed as she came near the heart of the matter, "But you don't know how I felt just now. It's... somehow fun doesn't seem to capture it, but it is good." "You mean it affects you too?" Ginny asked. "I don't believe it's the magic," Hermione tried to explain. "I think it's just the normal, ordinary feelings one has when they are giving pleasure to someone. But it is intense. It's like... power- the kind of power that's sexy." Hermione didn't need to give Ginny any more of a diagram than that. A look of comprehension came over Ginny's face and then became a knowing smile. "Hermione! You're gay!" Ginny said. It was Hermione's turn to blush. No, no, that wasn't it, but there was a lack of accusation in Ginny's statement that let Hermione pause to consider how true it might be. No- that wasn't it. She had been contemplating fucking Harry Potter before she brought them on this expedition. But the idea of working her spell on Ginny- and having Ginny work the spells on her was also attractive. "Don't be so narrow-minded," Hermione said more harshly than she meant. "I mean, just because it's fun with boys doesn't have to mean it isn't fun with girls too. I honestly don't see the difference." "Why Hermione, I would have never expected that from you," Ginny said, the look of awe somehow conveying a feeling of pride to Hermione. "I thought you were more- you know- proper and all." "Then you're interested in the book?" Hermione asked, driving past the momentus occasion they had just shared in her urgency to share more. "Of course I'm interested," Ginny said, perusing the book's size. "There's a lot more of that stuff in there, isn't there?" "Enough for a lifetime," Hermione said, not sure whether to be relieved or to give in to the rising exhultation she felt as she threw off the weight of fear she had felt before talking to Ginny. "Now- I'm sorry if this sounds narrow-minded- just to make sure- these spells are for boys *and* girls," Ginny ventured. "Yes, Ginny," Hermione said a bit impatiently, "in fact, most of them are for boys. It seems they need a lot more help in that area." Ginny thought a moment and then said, "I think I see what you mean, but isn't it odd that all boys think about is sex and they need so much help?" "Not really," said Hermione, who had given the matter much thought. "I think the pre-occupation is nature's way of giving the same kind of help for their pathetic ability to perform. We women can just do it- and keep doing it without all that fuss. Boys need something to spur them past their regrettable one-shot tendancies." They both giggled at that. That was the way Ron and Harry found them when they returned from their sport. "Oi! I thought I heard a gaggle of geese," Ron said, "but it's just girls giggling." That only made them laugh harder. Ron was so naive. To be fair, Harry was hardly better, but at least he didn't make a habit of emphasizing it. As an outing, it barely lived up to the hopes they had for it. The boys were mostly confused. One one hand, being all together was comforting, strength in numbers and all of that, but at the same time there were few opportunities to get to some serious snogging- ego issues, you know- when they were all together. Hermione felt the loss less than Ginny, since Ron still had to unlearn some unfortunate habits he had picked up from Lavender Brown, primary among them the desire to strangle her with his tongue when they kissed. Ginny wanted more, but knew in her heart that it would be another session of noble Harry hanging back and a frustrating effort to drag more intimacy from him. This was offset by the excitement she felt at learning more from Hermione when they could be together by themselves. "Is this the one you used on me?" Ginny was asking as she read Hermione's translation of the sacred tome. "I don't know, let's see," Hermione said evilly, concentrating hard on the incantation 'pentico-omino'. Ginny shrieked and fell back on the bed, her hands pawing at her crotch. It was, in fact, the spell to make invisible tongues lap at the red-crowned crotch of Hermione's willing victim. "You sly bitch," Ginny said affectionately. "You could have just told me that without the demonstration, you know." "What's the fun in that?" Hermione asked. "It is fun, isn't it?" Ginny rolled her eyes. But at the same time as it was repetitive, Hermione's doubt was dear. "I told you, I'm always up for a bit of fun," Ginny said. "And I don't see the harm either. I mean, why should we only have boys to look to for pleasure? That seems like such a hard slog most of the time." "You know, you could try some of them on me," Hermione said shyly. "Just so, you know, you got to feel what it's like to have the power." Ginny smiled. Perhaps there was more to that feeling than she thought, but it seemed to her that it was Hermione's timid way of asking for reciprocation. Well, Ginny thought, she had her turn- several in fact- she might as well show some gratitude. "How about this one?" Ginny asked, scanning down the sheet, "'bosium lingam'" "No!" came Hermione's strangled cry before she doubled over grunting in distress. In front of the amazed Ginny, Hermione went from her ball of contraction to spread eagled on the bed. Her legs were thrown wide and her back arched as she continued to try to force words past her grunts and groans. "What is it? Is something wrong?" Ginny asked in concern. "Boys... spell... " Hermione finally managed. "Can't... stand..." "My robe! my underpants!" came out in a burst and Ginny threw up Hermione's robe and then paused dumbfounded at what she saw. Her suspicion that it was a trick to draw her into further intimacy with Hermione vanished in wonder. There was a bulge in Hermione's underpants- an impressive one, extraordinary for a girl. As Ginny reached out her hand, Hermione screeched: NO! At this rebuff Ginny tried to remove the underwear as gently as she could, nevertheless causing Hermione great turmoil as the fabric drew across the mysterious bulge. And there it was- a finer cock than had ever been on woman before. A bit strange in the way it stuck down while being as firm as any cock Ginny had ever seen- and she'd seen a few- it took a few seconds before Ginny realized that it was Hermione's clitoris engorged and enlarged- probably by the spell. "Really sensitive, huh?" Ginny asked Hermione who was writhing with gritted teeth. "I stopped the spell- this a timed thing or something?" she asked, and Hermione managed a curt nod. "Then there's nothing for it, I guess," Ginny said with apparent disregard for Hermione's distress. As Hermione seethed in her frozen position- fearing any move that might bring more of the painful ecstasy of feeling into the swollen organ, Ginny shucked out of her own robe and pulled off her panties. "You said it doesn't make a difference," Ginny quoted Hermione's words back at her, "So I don't expect you will mind. And I think it might actually give you some relief." Hermione watched in fascinated terror, still breathing too hard to speak normally, as Ginny loomed over her. When she saw what Ginny intended, she braced and hoped. She jolted hard when Ginny sat down, bringing her own vulva in contact with the swollen clitoris. Hermione bucked with the unbearable sensation as Ginny dragged her moistening slit up and down its length. "Now be a man about this," Ginny scolded. "You're sporting the apparatus. Let's see some of the fortitude." Hermione felt she was being mocked, but her anger seemed to dull the worst of the fiery tingling that was driving her mad. Perhaps there was something in Ginny's words. If she'd stop trying to fight it, perhaps it would go better. Emboldened by the lessening commotion, Ginny let her thoughts drift back to her first impulse at seeing Hermione with a cock. There was nothing wrong with fucking Hermione. Normal rules didn't cover this. She began to manuver until she could feel the tip of the huge clit nudging inside her. Hermione wondered if it was something in the spell. As she felt Ginny's vagina capture the head of her cock-like clit, she was charged with a need to be deeper. It couldn't be natural. Naturally, she had nothing with which to penetrate. None the less, she found herself trying to pitch her hips in such a way that she could push toward Ginny. But she was trapped by Ginny's weight on her legs. Moaning in frustration, Hermione reached for Ginny's legs to pull her closer and gain the penetration she craved. "Not too deep!" Ginny protested. "That's big enough to pop my cherry if you go too deep." Hermione paused as much in surprise as compassion. Of all the names on the 'least likely to be a virgin' list, Ginny's was near the top. How many boys had she been through? And none of them had pinned her down and entered the magic kingdom? "And what would I say?" Ginny continued. "I lost my cherry to Hermione's big dick? No- just let me do it. I promise I'll make it good." Now that might be the answer, Hermione thought as Ginny began to sway her hips. This is very nice- no- this is great! Had Ginny discovered the art of just short of the hymen penetration and was that how she accomodated boys while retaining her virginity? Hermione stopped thinking. This monumental achievment came as she was taken by the overwhelming feelings Ginny was giving her clit/cock. It had to feel better with a clit. A boy would be destroyed from feeling such pleasure. There was no way it could feel this good for them. There was howling. Dimly, Hermione perceived she had a share in the other-worldly caterwauling, but it was not her voice alone. Astride her, Ginny was making her own prayers to Eros as the two girls fucked an unnatural fuck with the most natural orgasms and pleasure. Fortunate or unfortunate had little to do with fact. The fact was Hermione's cock did not ejaculate, did not fade, did not stop giving her sensation and would not be sated. They both were worn to exhaustion when- in half an hour- the jinx began to fade and Hermione's 6-inch clit began to shrink back to normal dimensions. Hermione had lost track of her orgasms at 12. She was fairly sure the actual total was nearly double that. At the moment she found herself wishing that the spell had conferred more 'boyishness'in her response. That many orgasms without relief or rest had left her not only drained, but sore and aching. "Next time, let's talk more before we try things, okay?" she whispered in rough, dry-throated voice. "So what was that? Some spell to make a boy's dick grow?" Ginny asked. "Bull pizzle might be a good translation," Hermione rasped. "Invigorates the organ and turns up the desire. Obviously, not meant for application to females." "Sorry," Ginny said, not sounding that sorry. "But you have to admit it was quite different. I know I had more orgasms than I've ever had at one go and you beat me by half." Hermione nodded feebly. It had not been as disasterous as it might be. And they were orgasms- big, bright, explosive orgasms. That they were too much was not the same as saying they were evil or harmful. "So- did you feel it?" Hermione asked weakly. "Feel it? I told you- more orgasms than ever before at one time," Ginny said, and then paused, "oh, you mean the power thing. I guess I was distracted by you having a cock. But that was-- I don't know. It was like nothing I've ever heard of before- nothing anyone's ever heard of before. I'm not sure your evil little tickle had a chance compared to that." Evil little tickle- Hermione didn't think of it in those terms, but it was more of a self-satisfied warmth than actual sexual pleasure. But it was still satisfying all the same- more mental than physical perhaps, but satisfying. "So, maybe we should take a break of spells, huh?" Ginny suggested. "Maybe read a little- you tell me what things do before something like that happens again?" "Unless you'd like me to give you a cock to see how it feels," Hermione said as her humor returned. "You think I won't?" Ginny was suddenly defensive and Hermione realized she felt more guilty than she displayed "I'm up for anything. Always ready for a bit of fun." There was something endearingly vulnerable in that burst of braggadocio, like the 'bit of fun' mantra Ginny often repeated. Hermione realized she did have warm, loving feelings toward Ginny that she had never pondered before, much as she had never fucked Ginny with a dick of her own. Still, she filed the retort, just in case. Just in case she recovered enough to want to see what it felt like to get fucked with girl-dick- and to let Ginny see what it felt like to be paralyzed with that sensation. Her next project was Harry. She knew Ginny's complaints about his nobility and that made her task doubly hard. Not only would she have to move him past his shyness and into mindless lust, but she'd have to overcome his self-protective little fiction about their relationship. Sure they were friends, and many of her feelings for him were sisterly, but they weren't *really* related. She wasn't trying to change things between them- friends was a very good thing to be. 'Friends' often lasted longer and through more upheaval than 'lovers' ever did and that was important. But it didn't mean they couldn't screw. Probably not as an on-going affair, but once- at least once, what harm could that do? She had already determined that Ginny should never know, and certainly not Ron. It could be their little secret- another bond that bound them together, however Harry wished to view that bond. And here was the reason, she thought suddenly, here was the way Harry's very nobility could work to her advantage. She'd carefully explain how special a woman's first love was. She'd impress upon him that it was a decision, a choice, that every woman had the right to make- however few actually had the chance. And that her choice was Harry. And because they were like brother and sister- because they had that kind of love and devotion, she wanted him to always be first in her heart- and that meant first in her cunt as well. She knew she'd have to get over that last point quickly, while he was still agreeing with her right and her choice and all that muck, but then she could give him a little push with a hex to help him forget that part. Not that she'd force him- because that would not be a good memory, but if she could just give his libido a little boost... Harry was certain to be more reasonable about the whole thing if he fancied her irrationally. Not like a true love, mind you, but only as a sex object. A sex object- the thought gave her a little thrill. Hermione Granger, the femme fatale, it fit into this picture like it would few others. She certainly didn't want all men gawking and drooling after her, but Harry- Harry was special. "Where's Ron?" was Harry's first question when Hermione detoured him into the dungeons. Planning what she was planning, it was an irritating question. She could not deceive herself into thinking that Ron would not suffer if he found out. In Ron's mind Hermione was ever balanced on the point of abandoning him and choosing Harry. Seeing what she was planning, she had to grant him that fear. "I have something I want to say to you- not Ron," Hermione replied. And here the whole plot rose or fell. She was not planning on seducing him at once. She was going to explain her intention and let him mull it over. He wouldn't like it at first anyway. Since rushing almost insured rejection, she had chosen to inform him meekly and leave the hard sell for another day. The tricky bit was giving Harry the impression it would be his choice, while leaving him no choice at all. "Harry, you know I love you," she started hard so she could lessen the impact on her startled beau. "Well, yeah, Hermione, I love you too," Harry bumbled, "but.." "I don't mean *that* way," Hermione loosened the collar that was choking Harry. "It's never been *that* way between us. I know that. But I love you just as much." "Well, yeah, me too..." Harry fumbled. "And you know how Ron and I are getting on now. I think I might love him too," Hermione said. She saw him relax. Boys were so predictable. He was waiting to dispense wisdom about catching Ron, because what else could be on her mind? They all saw them as a match, even Ginny- when not despairing of ever seeing what Hermione saw in her brother. "So you could help him out," she threw the first curve*. *(For our Brit mates, a brief explanation of these terms follows at the bottom) "So what can I do?" Harry swung and missed. "I want to be more physical- intimately physical with Ron," Hermione dropped the efus pitch on Harry. Harry was too embarrassed to even swing at that. He turned scarlet and developed an interest in his shoes. He had no idea how he could help Hermione with that mystery. He wasn't sure how you went about it, and wasn't sure he really wanted to know. "I'm not asking for your advice," she said, this time it was hard and straight and over the heart of the plate, but a bit low. "There's just something I have to do before I can give myself to Ron." Relief, an uptake in spirit, Harry's eyes came up to look in Hermione's again. Like a sheep to the slaughter, she thought. He was so willing to help. "I want the first time to be special," she said, not even trying for the strike zone. Harry nodded in agreement or understanding. The count was two and two. "I want it to be you." A streak of light right down the middle, belt-high. Strike three! You're out! "Ahhh... what?! Excuse me?" Harry stuttered. "I love you, Harry. You've very special to me. I know it can never be like that, but I want- just once- to know what it's like with you," Hermione gave him the calf-eyes. "Just once...?" he wasn't agreeing, just turning it over in his mind. Once, twice, some number greater than zero but less than- let's say 136. It didn't matter. She had him. His only defense would have been to laugh. "For the first time," she confirmed. "then it would always be you. I want it to be you... If things with Ron go... as I think they might, he'll have no reason to complain." "Ummm... Hermmione? I... ahh... I don't know," Harry looked hunted. "Well, that's a relief," Hermione said with a flash of inspiration. "I didn't think you would, but the one thing that would ruin this was you saying yes and grabbing me. But I knew you weren't like that. No, Harry, I don't mean right away. I just wanted to tell you. I want us both to think about it. I won't change my mind, but I will think about it." "Are you sure?" Harry was concerned. "Do you think it's a good idea?" "No, Harry, of course not," she popped the honesty on him to make her emotional appeal. "It's a bad idea, but it's what I want. I want you to be the first. I want us to always have that. And it might be selfish, but I think I deserve the memory I want. You're a great wizard, Harry Potter, and I want you to take my virginity." It was a bit showy to gobsmack him that way at the end, but Hermione had made her impression. She wanted Harry unable to reason for a moment so he didn't discredit her appeal out of hand. And it was cute to watch him flinch when she said 'virginity.' Harry's hollow eyes, which followed her whenever they were together now, were proof her strategm was working. He was thinking without resolution about her proposal- or proposition came nearer. She didn't try to further influence him. Her next shot was going to be the final rush before Harry put his dick in her. She spent her efforts on her 'studies' with Ginny. The two of them now shared that sinful appreciation of bringing pleasure to another. Hermione was particularly enjoying the not so surprising discovery that her passion was even sharper when it was brought on by another rather than by herself. That offset her loss of the ilicit thrill at causing it. That thrill, she found, came directly from the very wrongness of imposing her will. It was a much softer, milder thing when it was consensual. All told, it was a net gain and both girls eagerly looked forward to alone time when they could practice their spells and discover new pleasures from Hermione's book. As an unguessed, unconsidered benefit, Hermione also felt the pleasure of pride as she instructed Ginny in the use of non-verbal spells, so that they could carry on their infamy without anyone knowing what was going on. Hermione let Harry stew until he was tender. Then she led him to the fire when the rest of the Gryffindors were snug in their beds. "Have you thought about it, Harry?" she asked. "I have, and I haven't changed my mind." Harry knew full well what she meant. She had dropped hints and even surreptitously raised an erection or two so he would have no doubt of her intention. It was not doubt she saw in his eyes, but fear. "I'm not sure..." Harry started, "I don't know. It feels funny to even think about it." "So funny you can't do this for me?" Hermione put on her 'hurt' tone. "Harry, please, it's so important to me." Truth leaked into her plea. It was important to her. That should be almost enough to convince Harry without playing on his other emotions, but it was important enough that she used her every wile. She slipped her hand into his in the innocent gesture they fell into naturally so many times, but held it with a guilty intent to ensnare him. "I don't want to hurt you, Hermione, you know that, but I'm not sure it's the right thing to do," Harry crabbed backwards. But he did not try to release her hand. She felt that as the first signpost to victory. He was only going to sputter his uncertainty if they talked. Hermione took her chance and pulled Harry to her and kissed him. He was hesitant, but after the hesitation his tongue timidly tried to follow her own. One more thing, Hermione thought coldly and turned on the waterworks. With eyes just leaking first tears, she looked up at Harry after the kiss and pleaded, "Please, Harry, can't you do this for me? I need it to be you. I want it to be you so much. Can't I have just one thing that I want, even if it's a bad thing?" Score one dead in the soft center of the compassion zone. She felt Harry shift uncomfortably at her tears. He couldn't bring himself to speak, but he nodded quickly. "Then I think you ought to get your Invisibility Cloak," she whispered. Harry made her think that perhaps not all her histrionics were necessary when he reached in the pocket of his robes and said, "Not necessary. I've got it right here." 'I need a place to fuck Harry Potter', 'I need a place to fuck Harry Potter', 'I need a place to fuck Harry Potter', Hermione thought as she dragged him back and forth past the door of the Room of Requirement. Whatever else happened after, she was not going to be disturbed during the greatest conquest of her life. The door opened on a fairy tale scene of rich, fresh-mown grass under an over-spreading oak with a white, gauze-draped four poster bed and a unicorn capering about. Hermione first thought of the connection between unicorns and virginity. She wondered if the beast would vanish at the hymen-tearing thrust. Harry was a dead weight behind her as she tried to advance and she looked back at him questioningly. He didn't see. Harry was frozen in open-mouthed awe at the scene. It was as if he was a Muggle beholding Wizardry for the first time. It was cute, and, better, a sign he needed no more urging. "Come on, Harry, I'll be nervous until we start," Hermone said with more truth than she wished. Somewhere in her haste, in her eagerness, Hermione forgot her wand in the robes she discarded. She was wearing underpants- she felt too naked without them, but nothing else. It was much the same for Harry as his robe joined hers on the floor, but his underwear signalled his intent with more clarity. She pulled them down before Harry got onto the bed. So that was Harry Potter's other wand. It was as impressive in a natural way as her having her own cock was impressive in an unnatural one. And while that was a reason for pride in her choice, it was more immediately a reason for sudden concern. It was so big. She had not considered how much pain there might be until that very moment. Now that consideration crashed in on her with the added impetus of Harry's size. "Is it okay?" Harry asked with typical male uncertainty. "It's wonderful!" Hermione swallowed hard to be able to put the enthusiasm he needed to hear into her voice. "Can I touch it?" "Okay-- but be careful. I'm feeling pretty... nervous," Harry said with a dry mouth. They had reached the Oz at the end of Hermione's Yellow Brick Road. Now her calculations deserted her. She was left with her inexperience and insecurities. She had plotted to bring them to this point. Now she had to stumble on with no guideposts. She reached out to touch it and it jerked at her touch. It was like a soft little pet as nervous as she was about this contact. She wrapped her hand about it to capture it and marvelled at the heat, the softness and the hardness all together in this sturdy stalk of manhood. "Oh, Hermione, that feels so good!" said Harry, not without concern. "Don't worry, I won't make you..." she let the assurance hang as she was again lost in the thought of this thing, this cock going inside her. Yes, it did frighten her. But she had not lied to Harry, not about this, anyway. She did want it. She wanted it to be him. Emboldened by the surge of emotion that drove off her fears, Hermione kissed Harry again. This time he was quicker to respond. This time she used his reponse to draw him on, to lead him onto the bed so he lay over her, the poking reminder of their intent pressed against her thigh. "Harry, I'm so happy right now," she said with bedewed eyes, "This means so much to me, it does." "Glad to help," Harry said somewhat thickly, a different kind of emotion choking his vocal cords. She felt no irriation at his innocence. It was dear in the same way Harry himself was dear. She was happy to guide his hand to her breast and show him how to carress it. She was pleased that he would wait until she was ready, that he would follow her lead and not rush or fumble. "Is that right, Hermione?" Harry asked as his hand moved in circles on her breast. "That's wonderful, Harry," Hermione breathed. "Now kiss me too." For all her dreams of this moment, Hermione found herself slipping away. She was not watching the proceedings in her mind's eye. Instead her head was caught in a growing feeling, like a tide rising to cover her and wash all the mundane world away. She reached for Harry and stroked his arms and back as she returned his kiss and let her passion pillow her on the bed of her deflowering. "Should I take these off?" Harry asked as she roused when he was drawing down her underpants. She nodded absently. She was thinking how good it was she wore them. Now she felt like a gift Harry was unwrapping, a final mystery to be revealed before Harry came to her and plunged into her with the gift for them both. She was shocked to feel his lips on her sex. It came like a bolt straight through her heart. She had not asked nor indicated in any way, yet... "Sorry, I couldn't help it. It was so... marvelous I had to kiss it," Harry said. "Don't be sorry. It was wonderful- just like you," Hermione responded with heart-felt love. "Now... could you do it?" Her concerns were rising with the flutter of wings like bats, threatening to dislodge more and overwhelm her. This is what you wanted, she reminded herself sternly as Harry took his position between her legs. Then even the bats of concern scattered in the great gasp as he thrust. In truth Harry had edged timidly into her and paused at the gate. Hermione was fighting her anxieties and didn't note this until, with a surge of her own hips and Harry's startled response, her innocence was gone. It was not so much the pain, but the symbol that brought her response. Loss, a threshhold never to be crossed again, yet giving that place to the one she most wished. Pain, a tearing of identity as well as flesh, yet welcome in Harry's arms. "Are you all right?" Harry asked with endearing concern. "It's supposed to hurt," Hermione soothed him. "Otherwise how could it be special? And I'm glad you were the one." Harry seeemed taken by this expressed emotion. In any case he was slow to respond. "Now do it, Harry," she said with less kindness, "the pleasure is supposed to erase the memory of the pain." That seemed a myth until just at the end when Harry's urgency finally raised her above the raw irritation and brought her a glimpse of the pleasure to be had. But that was just at the end. Harry heaved, grunted and made the strangest face and Hermione knew by the quivering of his body and the commotion inside her that he was climaxing. "That was wonderful, Harry," she said quickly, certain she had to reassure him. "It was bloody brilliant!" Harry surprised her with his response. "That was... That was just the best thing ever!" It seemed he was talking to himself because his eyes changed focus to look at her. He was more subdued. "That was... great, Hermione. I'll never forget this either because it was a first for me as well," Harry said to her. "I hope I didn't hurt you too much." Well, it wasn't his fault. She wanted famous Harry Potter to be her lover. Nor was it news that she was his first. If she felt resentment about his performance, it was her fault for wishing for it. And, somehow, it was more important that they shared this initiation than all the skillful, orgasm-producing sex in all the world. "No, Harry, I wanted it to be you," Hermione said again. "I'm so glad to be here with you like this." That was cold truth. Whatever she could have wished, to be laying naked with Harry's organ still inside her made up for it. She was immersed in him as much as his penis was immersed in her. "Don't go- not yet," she said before he moved. "Let's stay just like this for a bit." It was wonder and a wonder what happened to Harry after he had deflowered Hermione. His natural curiosity and the feelings of first sex had driven all doubt from him. He propped himself on an elbow, still joined with her, and stroked her naked flesh. Just a bit slow, but so sweet, Hermione coldly assessed him. He was a great wizard- would be a great man- she did adore him- idolized him even, but there was always that greatness in him that she dare not touch. No- love him as she certainly did, she did not love him *that* way. But she was still pleased to have his cock inside her and elated to claim him as her first lover. It was not a time for talk. They had said the same thing over and over already. She laid content and let Harry explore. His touch was gentle and very welcome. "You're quite beautiful, you know," Harry said in an off-hand way after long moments of touching her, trying out the techniques she had taught him. The thought struck Hermione oddly. Warmth toward him flowed out of her without thought. Of course she wanted to be seen as attractive. But there could be no false appeasement in Harry's words. He didn't have it in him. It meant his feeling was genuine and it touched Hermione more deeply than she imagined it might. "Thank you, Harry," she blushed in return. His penis had long since slid from her. They had laid side-by-side without interruption when it happened, content to feel their warm flesh pressed together. Hermione was certainly not going to disrupt the idyllic interlude. But then she felt something crawling on her skin. From the location, it could only be Harry's penis stirring. She had considered that. Harry's performance was not unexpected, however it left her feeling. She had considered fueling his ardor so they could have a good fuck untainted by the concerns of lost virginity. But she had left her wand in her robes. She was so glad she had. Now she knew with certainty that it was herself and not some magic that brought this response, this desire from her desired one. She reached down to stroke the poor, limp thing. "I can't help it," Harry protested. "It just does that." "Hush," Hermione scolded gently. "It's paying me a compliment. I'm glad you feel that way about me." "Well... yeah... but wasn't it supposed to be once?" Harry was in danger of bringing the outside into their magic retreat. "It is once," Hermione said. "One time. It doesn't mean that we can't rest in the middle." He was unconvinced, but he did not pull away. She saw the conflict behind his eyes, but that was not the reason her head moved down- down, down. It would take away his doubt- it certainly would do that, but Hermione felt a desire beyond calculation to take his penis in her mouth. "What are you doing?" Harry asked after it was clear exactly what she was doing. Hermione did not reply. She had a mouthful of cock. It was so different in repose, tender, vulnerable. She prodded it with her tongue for the amusement of feeling it squirm. The transformation was magical. It quickly became fierce, dangerous as it grew in leaps under her oral ministrations. "Hermione..." Harry squeaked in warning. She knew exactly what he meant- all volumes. She had roused his ardor with his cock and any lingering would bring a swift dash to completion. But he wasn't ready to cum yet. That was just his unfamiliarity with these things. "Yes, Harry, I want you to make love to me again," she said, releasing his cock and laying back on the bed. She had not noted the tastes in her concentration on the texture and emotions of sucking Harry's cock, but now they came to her- traded and traded back with the tangling of their tongues- a sharp taste she somehow knew was her own and a musty almost fungus-like taste of male that surely came from Harry. That was like watching herself in a dream, tasting the tastes of their consummation, while her unattended body grew passionate from Harry's attention. Her arousal seemed unattached as she picked out the little memories from the great pagent. "Now, Harry, please, now," she heard herself breathe with disconnected interest. Then all came into focus as sharply as Harry's bright green eyes looking into hers when she felt him enter again. And this was sex. Before had been an event- more symbol than love. This time she felt her heart beat faster from the very presence of her lover- over her and inside her. It was all so sharp and clear, uncluttered with other concerns. She stared into Harry's eyes, yet saw him all, taut muscle and sleek body, rumpled hair and loving expression. This time was to share. This time they were together, two bodies working as one toward their common goal. She did not feel that she moved, but was rather moved by Harry. Nor was it Harry that surged and receded inside her, but her willing the motion that set her blood afire. It was not either of them, but them together. And she was quickly losing control of even that gossamer thought. "Oh Harry!" she moaned. "No- dont stop!" she screeched at his reaction, "please! More!" The crystal focus shattered as quickly as it had come. Hermione was catapulted higher as she returned to her bliss and then she knew ecstasy as it had never quite been before. It did not relent. She could not quickly recover from the crest. It went on because she was not in control. She was sharing that as she shared willing Harry's rhythm and he shared willing her response. It grew. It became so hard to breathe. Harry was urgent now, driving away all possibility of recovery. It seemed to Hermione she bobbed like a kite in a high wind in the upper regions of bliss. And Harry cried out. She was lost. There was no Hermione. There was only one being, fused and suffering outrageous ecstasy as they/it became a spark unattached to time or place. Hermione could not calculate how much later it was when she finally returned to her body. She knew only that she was loathe to leave the place she had lingered and that her only comfort was Harry's warm body in her arms. They may have slept; they certainly dreamed. Whether it was a world in a moment as their climax was or simply exhausted repose, nothing troubled their visions. Hermione remembered where she was, still clutched in Harry's arms, his organ still fierce within her. "That was so much better!" she enthused. "For me as well," Harry agreed sheepishly. "I guess I wasn't so scared this time." "You were wonderful both times," Hermione said carefully, "But this time was better." He pulled away before she could stop him this time, not rampant, but still considerable. She missed him immediately but not as much as she would have done before. This time she didn't need the consolation. She was more than content with what they had shared. But he was right. It was time to return to the cold, hard world outside the door of their romantic wonderland. It was probably late and well past time, actually. She scampered out of bed, noting in passing that the unicorn had indeed disappeared- though when she had no idea- and joined Harry in dressing. For all his hurry, Harry startled her by taking her arm at the door. He turned her and looked into her eyes. "I'm not sure I know what to think of this," he said. "I don't know what I'll think when I look at you. But I know I'm not sorry. Whatever happens, I wanted to tell you I'm not sorry." It took every bit of her composure to stop herself from bursting into tears. Nevertheless, tears leaked from her eyes as they walked back into the hall covered by the Invisibility Cloak. Damn Harry Potter! He was TOO sweet, TOO dear. She loved him all the more fiercely, all the more hopelessly for saying that. Yet even the fiercest emotions become muted by time. Nothing could ever dislodge the memory or the devotion, but the sharpness faded. There were tense, uncertain days as both she and Harry tentatively tested the world to see if it had shattered at their act, but they passsed without apocalypse and they settled gradually back into routine. It was all for the best, Hermione decided. It was never her intent to alter the world. She had wanted Harry to be her first lover and she had accomplished that. If there had been unforeseen complications in their deeply involved emotions, that was the price and she would gladly pay it. She was more willing to suffer the uncertain heart than the physical pain that persisted a few days between her legs. That gave rise to delicate questions from Ginny when Hermione was not in the mood to participate in their naughty diversons. That was a danger on all fronts and Hermione felt distinctly dirty in ways she had not, even plotting to seduce Ginny's true love, when she lied about her reasons. In the strange way people cope, Hermione came to view her own deceit as a reason for revenge. There was an item filed in her mind that would be just the thing. And, as she was no longer a virgin, it was also just the time. "Remember my dick?" she asked Ginny innocently. Ginny laughed heartily and nodded. "It was quite a nice one as I remember, although I think I enjoyed it more than you." "And you said you'd return the favor if I asked?" Hermione prompted. Ginny let her grin slip, but did not lose it entirely. She was going to brass it out- at least until Hermione came out and said that she wanted to cast the spell. She was Fred and George's sister. She knew better to shrink before she had the full story. "Sure. For all I know it might be quite nice to have a cock- temporarily at least," Ginny brazened. Neither of them thought it would be 'quite nice', but Ginny was resolved to live up to her word and Hermione had her own darker motive. At least, once Hermione had pressed the issue, they stripped down so Ginny would not have the initial discomfort of confining, stimulating cloth bedeviling her new, super-sensitive clit/cock. "'Bosium lingam'" Hermione said firmly, pointing her wand at Ginny's crotch while staring her straight in the eye. In some way, torturing Ginny to her face was a way of paying for stabbing her in the back. It would be earned resentment, if resentment it was, and Hermione felt she deserved no less. It was not regret. She could not make herself sorry for claiming Harry as her lover. But she knew she owed Ginny for that and this was her twisted way of offering recompense. In the end it was something more. They both watched in wonder as Ginny's clitoris seemed to split its nest and grow suddenly to astonishing proportions. Ginny gasped in surprise and quickly opened her legs so as to not impede it, but she took it rather better than Hermione. I suppose it's easier when you know what to expect, Hermione thought a bit crossly. It wasn't assuaging her guilt if Ginny liked it. There was another discovery of significance, but Hermione would not know that until she surrendered to Ron at last. Ginny's new girl cock was a nearly exact copy of her brother's boy cock. Once she found out, Hermione positied that she knew how big her brother's cock would be- if she had a brother instead of the big-dicked brother substitute that was Harry. At the moment, both girls were staring down at the odd, inverted sex organ between Ginny's legs. "Lay back," Hermione invited. "This time we can try things we were too shocked to try before." More like she was too weak to bear, Hermione thought ungenerously to herself. She noticed that Ginny's 'cock' stood more to the erect than hers had. It made her manuver easier as she moved between Ginny's legs. "What are you going to do?!" Ginny asked shrilly as she saw where Hermione's head we going. "Boys like their cock sucked, don't they? I want to see if girls do as well," Hermione said. It was that- and a need for Ginny to feel the resentment Hermione had sought in suggesting this in the first place. That worked as well as the first part of the plan. Ginny bucked violently when Hermione's lips touched her engorged organ, but her outbursts were howls of delight. Hermione guiltily felt that Ginny's gyrations of lust were calculated to drive this unnatural appendage deep into her throat instead of being a helpless reaction, but she accepted that gladly and continued to treat the magically grown clit as if it were the penis it most resembled. "Oh! Do you girls do that in Gryffindor as well?" No one ever explained how Luna came to be in the dormitory, or how she managed to gain entrance to the Gryffindor common room in the first place. It was more the mystery of why now? and what now? that drove such questions into insignificance. Hermione recoiled in shock and then it was Luna's turn to gawp unbelieving. Interestingly, Luna's pop-eyes seemed to retreat to almost normal as she looked on the wonder. "We don't do that in Ravenclaw," Luna said with her usual unflappable regard for the outrageous. "Luna- you can't tell anyone!" Hermione gasped desperately. "Why not? It's quite amazing," Luna answered. "Because-- because we shouldn't! and it would give Ginny a reputation!" Hermione grasped at straws. "Because it's a secret," Ginny answered for her. "Just between us?" Luna's eyes, now bulging slightly again, lit up. Of course. Hermione was disgusted with herself for letting her terror clog her thinking. What else did Luna crave above all other things, but inclusion. As quickly, she was irked with Ginny's clear assessment under pressure. It was just like Ginny's stubborn refusal to detest Hermione. "And can I play too?" Luna asked. That was too much of a gut-punch for even Hermione. For all the urge she had to strangle Luna for her stubborn witlessness, the pathos of Luna's plea went straight to her heart. She was generally kind-hearted. It was too much to ask her to consider cold questions of risk in the face of such a touching plea. "Only if you get undressed," Ginny again beat Hermione to the response, and Hermione fumed some more. In the flesh, Luna was as graceful as her demeanor was awkward. She was all soft, white flesh with all the color of moon-tan. Her hips were suprisingly broad and well-fleshed and her smallish breasts made her seem a beauty from a by-gone age of antiquity. Hermione could not help but admire her- for her classic beauty's sake alone. Ginny had a more immediate reaction. "Now are we all going to stare at Luna or are we going to play?" she said, the stress evident in her tone. "Oh, don't let me interupt. I can watch if you like," Luna said with too much grace. "No," said Ginny firmly. "Come here so you can join in as needed." "And you..." Ginny turned to Hermione, who did not need Ginny to finish her prompt. But sucking clit was over. Beyond her need for self-flagellation, Hermione's other goal was sex- pure sex in a way that no other girl could give it- sex that was boy-girl sex between two women. She reversed herself accordingly and scooted toward Ginny's girl cock. "Hermione!" She had broken through Ginny's calm as she pulled herself on Ginny's knee with their legs astraddle and driven the clit-cock into her vagina. It was triumph and relief to feel the magic organ slide down the trail that had been untraveled since Harry had blazed it more than a week before. "Hermione! We're fucking!" Hermione only vaguely heard the words. She did not sense whatever intent might lie behind them. She only knew that it was a marvelous feeling and was determined for it to revive the memory of the ecstasy of her coupling with Harry. Ginny fared no better. Hermione knew the raving that must be her mind as sensation indescribable assailed it. By the time Hermione found the ecstasy she sought, she estimated Ginny would peak and peak again, perhaps four to one. Nor was there any reason to stop there. They were girls, after all. No need to wait for a girl cock to revive, no reason to pause, no reason the pleasure could not break on them wave after wave like the eternal ocean. Rising lust muted all else. Hermione flung her hips at Ginny's at the call of primal rhythms in her pounding blood. She saw, but did not understand the significance of Ginny thowing her arms out to Luna. Her being was in the motion. And the motion was commanded by the stiff phallus-like core that moved in her and urged her needs ever more strongly. Ginny's orgasm, although Hermione neither knew nor cared what it was, brought the first uncanny sensation. Ginny's restless writhing in ecstasy brought pleasures that Hermione was helpless to comprehend. She only knew it was good. She abandoned all else. Much more like three Ginny orgasms later, Hermione found herself questioning her resolve to go on and on. Everything leading up to her monstrous climax had been so strange and nearly as disturbing as pleasurable. She felt the need to sort it out. It was like an epiphany- an answer to an unprayed prayer, when her eyes fell on Luna again. More precisely, they fell on the womanly rear of the girl now clutched against Ginny, kissing her. Without the normal process, Hermione spoke. "Luna, don't you want your turn?" Her voice was barely recognizable to her own ears, as breathy and feeble as it sounded. The words were nearly as strange. Only belatedly did Hermione grasp the precocious intent that had burst, full-grown into her head. Marvelling at her own mind, Hermione dragged herself out of the entanglement with Ginny's legs, the loss of fullness a twinge of regret as she got out of Luna's way. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude," Luna said. Hermione's altruism strained at this over-polite question, but she managed to hold back the choler in her reply. "You might not think it's so nice of me once you try," Hermione said. "I can't take any more and Ginny is still anxious for more." Hermione released some of her spite in Ginny's direction with that. She was sure anxious was not an accurate description of Ginny's mood. But Ginny said nothing to dispute her. After an intital interest in Luna taking her place and a fleeting question as she saw Luna take Ginny's girl cock as deeply as she herself, Hermione's thoughts snapped back minutes in time. She distractedly let her hands roam over both girl's breasts in a show of support as she mused about the overwhelming nature of passion. All thought suspended, all nerves alert for pleasure, it was another world from the one in which she usually lived. No question that it was worth seeking, but there were still facets that troubled her. Now her routine, damn nice, thank you, self-inflicted orgasms were one thing, quite pleasurable, satisfying and manageable. It was only recently- with her girl cock, with Harry, with Ginny's girl cock- that these sensations- and the resulting explosion- had gone out of control. She didn't want them to stop. But there were questions. Why should she feel that the highest good was dangerous? Was it fear her own dark soul would escape and consume her? And why did she think her soul was dark? It was easiest to answer when her thoughts drifted further from the mystery she was trying to solve. Her soul was dark with willful trespass, with betrayal. And she wasn't going to lament that! But just as she was distracted, the truth was freed for her to see. It was control again. When she experienced ecstasy of the sort she had been experiencing lately, she lost control. She gave in to her body and it took advantage to find pleasure. Hermione was interrupted in her thoughts by a great commotion. (She would later understand she had unravelled the mystery as much as it might be unravelled.) Her eyes focused again and she saw a great surging mass of flesh quivering and writhing in front of her. She could pick out Luna or Ginny only by the difference in skin tone of the body parts that seemed at all other observation to be parts of one mis-shapen body. They seemed stuck on the crest. Hermione was at a loss for a solution. As they twisted and turned, jerked and trembled, she watched helplessly and then less kindly. There they were, lost in that place without the least urge to locate themselves. She was jealous. "That was fun! Is this a Gryffindor thing?" Luna was unaccountably perky after her long sojurn in the heavens. "No, it's just a spell," Hermione said, her kindness wearing thin and her pique returning. "It's a Hermione thing," Ginny said weakly, her clitoris gradually shrinking and herself showing signs of recovery. "She found this ancient book of spells. "Well, it was quite out of the ordinary," Luna said. "Thank you for letting me play." "It's a secret, remember?" Hermione called after Luna as she dressed and walked away. "Oh yes, a secret," Luna agreed. "Who could I tell anyway?" "She won't say anything- or at least only to one of the two of us," Ginny said when Luna was gone. "She's not daft. It's just her way." "Well, she is a mystery," Hermione offered, again wondering how or where or to whom Luna had lost her virginity. "At least one of us is," Ginny said mysteriously. The tone made Hermione turn. Ginny had a look of great seriousness. It was not beyond her, but rarely did a look like that reside on Ginny's face. Hermione felt a chill. "You've done it, haven't you?" Ginny asked. "And I didn't even get a kiss first, Judas." "What?" Hermione stalled. Oh yes, just as she had discovered the truth about Luna. Of course Ginny knew, because Hermione had taken the girl cock all the way. "You don't have to lie." Ginny said sharply. "What's to be, will be. It's the first thing you have to learn." It was beginning to dawn on Hermione. All her efforts to purge her guilt were needless. She was about to face the confrontation she dreaded. She had nothing to say. "But I'd like to hear your reasons," Ginny finally broke the uneasy silence. "I know what you did. I just don't know why. I can't believe you hate me. I don't see that. But I don't understand." Ginny weakened as she spoke. Hermione felt regret like nails driven into her flesh. She deserved that. But she wished she could suffer them without having to face Ginny. "I never wanted you to know," Hermione babbled. "You were never to find out..." "And yet..." Ginny showed no patience. Hermione bowed her head. She bowed even lower, wishing she could hide her face in Ginny's lap, but knowing it was not a welcome place any longer. It took several deep, long breaths before she began to speak. "I wanted him to be my first," she said in a tiny voice. "It isn't like that between us, but I thought, just the once- just the first time. I don't want him. He's yours, I know that. I just wanted him to be the first." "At least you didn't try to say you saw him first," Ginny said cooly. "Because I was there with him before he got on the train his first year." Ginny closed her eyes. If not for the tension in the room that gave off a smell like ozone after a lightning strike, she might have been meditating. Hermione waited motionless. "So you robbed me of the chance to be *his* first," Ginny said after a nearly unendurable pause, her eyes still closed. "something you can never give back." It had never occured to Hermione. More than her regret at hurting her friend, which was boundless in itself, Hermione chastised herself for that stupidity. Not only stupid, it wasn't sensible. She had let a desire, a selfish desire rule her thoughts. Most damning of all- she hadn't thought it through. She burst into tears. "No use crying over a melted cauldron. Tears won't restore the potion," Ginny said with no emotion. "I'm sorry!" sobbed Hermione. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorrier than I can say for not thinking. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want it to hurt you." "Don't lie to me!" Ginny said her first mean words. "You knew it would hurt me!" "But I didn't think you'd know!" Hermione howled. "So- as long as I was ignorant of the truth, I wouldn't know you'd hurt me? Is that it?" Ginny had removed the edge, but her words hunted Hermione like a wolf-pack, relentless, without mercy. "I wanted him so much! I couldn't bear to give that up!" Hermione heard nothing. For some time she sobbed piteously into her lap. When she finally raised her snuffling head, she saw Ginny regarding her cooly. "And you couldn't come to me? We couldn't talk about it? You couldn't ask? You couldn't wait until I was Harry's first and he was mine and then have him be yours?" Her words were as chillingly cold as an executioner's axe but, regrettably, left Hermione alive. She could happily wish for death, but she was denied that mercy. The total of her transgression had not been calculated until now and Hermione was in deeper debt than ever she knew. If she had waited... Her stupidity in ignoring the consequences in her blind selfishness, however distressing, was nothing compared to the devastation she felt at hearing the simple solution. She had been so dumb. She was nothing. Would Ginny? If she had asked... that was not important now. For the sake of her pennance, she should consider the answer to be yes. But there was no restitution, no damage that could be undone. Hermione was not fit to ask forgiveness. "Please don't hate Harry!" she blurted out. "It wasn't his fault. I played on his soft heart. He couldn't resist. Not Harry. He can't help being noble." There was a sharp intake of breath. "That is the only thing you can say to me," Ginny said authoritatively. "But even Harry doesn't escape. ... No, I don't mean I hold him accountable. He will do that to himself despite any forgiveness I offer him. I will never hate him. But he is still a victim of your treachery. He will never forgive himself." There was another long pause. This time Ginny's eyes were open, considering Hermione. Hermione sat still as a frightened rabbit, not daring to more, barely to breathe as she awaited her judgement. "But what's done is done," Ginny said more softly. "Pain will remain pain whatever we do. That is the way of the world. The thing I cannot hate you for is loving Harry. He deserves whatever comfort or benefit comes from those who love him. I love him too. I cannot say that I love you. Neither do I hate you. I cannot say when my feelings will change, but I feel that they will, at least, soften in time. I see us together, although that does not mean we are friends." The damn second sight. Hermione paused in her self-loathing to gather more reasons to loathe herself. She knew that. Ginny had told her. But she was blind- so blind, so stupid- and, perhaps it should be listed first- uncaring. "So we pretend..." Hermione began. "NO!" Ginny interrupted. "We know what happened. Harry knows what happened. We go on from there. We don't pretend anything. I will be as civil as I can manage. You will refrain from tearing at the hem of my robe and begging forgiveness. From now on that is the way it will be. I will not abide sham." The funny thing about the world is that it is incorruptible in its unfairness. Bad happens to good people, good happens to bad people. Sometimes bad happens to bad people when they try to do good and good happens to good people when they try to sin. This has nothing, however, to do with Hermione. Her coup- once her newest joy was now the source of her greatest regret. Not that Harry was her lover. That was the lone untarnished part. But that the fact would torment him and that she would torment herself over the pain she caused him and Ginny. That barely brushed the surface of her self-disgust. There was being a fool- unforgiveable- and an idiot- unthinkable- and a failure. All of this she laid at the dizzy feet of love and resolved never to let this Satan lead her astray again. Of all the unlikely suspects, Ron was the one that led her to salvation. "Well, bloody well fix it!" Ron was shouting in one of their ever-more frequent rows. "What's done is done, Ronald," Hermione spat back, her own fragile nerves contributing more than her share to the growing unrest. "No! Just bleeding well undo it. Don't tell me *anything* is beyond the ability of Hermione bleeding Granger!" The item(s) in question- Ron's set of wizard chessmen- were worn out in Hermione's opinion, cursed in Ron's. It now took 32 muttered 'reparo' jinxes to reassemble them and he didn't like the effort. But the impact of his shouting reached far beyond some ancient chess set. She *was* Hermione bleeding Granger. Whatever the problem was, it did no good to mope in her despair. And what was done sometimes could be undone. Clearly, she had set herself an impossible task, but that was better than doing nothing. It was more impossible because there were no books with the hidden secret, no one to ask for a direction to her goal. She didn't care that Ginny would think she was hiding. How much lower could Ginny's opinion sink? She missed her friends but she felt unworthy. She could not bring herself to meet Harry's eyes in particular. She could almost hear cruel fate laughing when it was Harry that sought her out. He was concerned about her disappearance. Weighted with his own share of their guilty secret, he had guessed the reason for her self-imposed exile. "Hermione, you can't do this," Harry told her. "If you don't need us, we still need you." Hermione could not bring herself to turn him away by claiming the only thing they needed was someone to do their homework. She was in no mood to even pretend superiority. "But I'm working on something," she tried to distract him. "I need all my time for research. It's important, Harry." He didn't believe her. She saw it in his eyes. She couldn't bear to hold it in any longer. She had also doomed him in her error. "What we did was wrong, Harry," she told him. He looked as if she had struck him. "I don't mean I didn't want it. I don't mean I wasn't glad you gave in," she said quickly. "But we... *I* hurt Ginny. And I have to find some way to set it right." "But you can't," Harry said flatly. "What's done is done. You... we just have to find some way to make it up to her." "But I must. Don't you see? You'll never forgive yourself. You love her too much. And I... I don't deserve forgiveness. It was a stupid, selfish thing I did. I have to do something to put it right." "But it's impossible. Even with a Time Turner- and those were destroyed when we went to the Ministry- but even a Time Turner couldn't take us that far back," Harry said. "But I have to try. You can see that can't you? I have to try. It's the only thing I can do," Hermione had broken into tears. Harry remained skeptical, but he left her to her studies with only fearful and pitying looks she sometimes caught in the corner of her eye. And he seemed right. Time was a temporal fluid and only wanted to flow one direction. The Turners themselves were highly magical and even they could only fight that current in short bursts. Any spell, if she could find one, would have to be powerful beyond imagination to buck the current for such a span of time. It was hopeless. But she had no other choice. "One would have to sleep for a very long time to make sense of any of this." Hemione was startled awake by the soft, kindly voice of Professor Dumbledore. He was standing over where she had fallen asleep in the library and he was perusing her notes. "Oh, Professor Dumbledore, sir, I must have nodded off," Hermione sputtered. "Yes, I see. So much knowledge would make one's head heavy," he replied, the twinkling eyes turned upon her. "Oh this..." Hermione made a swipe at covering her notes. "Just fascinating isn't it? Time?" "Yes, you did have some experience with that, if my memory has not yet become faulty," Dumbledore said. "Disorienting, I believe. Much better just to pack up and retrace ones' steps. Now I must tell you the library is closed and you should be off to bed." It was another two weeks before Dumbledore's words ate at her. She was no closer to finding a way to launch herself into the time flow and the necessary power still hovered near the sum total of every wizard and witch in the world. "Pack up and retrace one's steps..." That was nonsense. But none of her discoveries was any better. "Pack up and retrace one's steps..." Oh, why didn't she just erase herself and everybody would be better off! She was stabbing angrily at her parchment covered with figures as she hatched that nihilistic thought. Retrace... Set it all to zero... She hastily re-worked her calculations aiming to reconcile a naught. Not travel back... Be back in time. Not to project oneself into a parallel stream with the past, but to return and occupy yourself at the point. Now the figures were reasonable. One huge burst to return, but no need to maintain the disturbance for the entire period. An incredible burst, but much more reasonable than all the magical energy in the world. She had discovered another way that could not be done. How did one erase oneself? How did you travel backwards in time, erasing yourself as if wiping out your tracks in the snow? But if... she began to scribble frantically while the gleam of an idea lingered. To a point... Cease to be... It was all so theoretical and precise. There was a tricky bit where you had to intercept your past self at a point a split-second after the actual interception point so you'd retain the new time stream in the old time. Otherwise you'd just merge and not remember the future. "Would you be willing to die to set this right?" Hermione burst in on Ginny looking mad, speaking of death. Ginny recoiled in shock. "Is that your answer? Kill me and it will all be fine?" "No, not kill you, not on purpose. It's just that I can't guarantee it will work properly. There's a risk. I'm willing to take it. Dead would be better than this. But for it to work, you'll have to come with me." That was all hardly less mad than the proposal of killing Ginny. She stared at Hermione with a piercing stare. "Would you care to explain further before I pledge my life?" An hour later, Ginny's eyes were filled with wonder. She had not been as exposed to Hermione, mad genius, as her brother or Harry. The prospect was frightening, but thrilling at the same time. "Then all I have to do is find a source of power that can send us," Hermione said after gaining Ginny's agreement. "Mind you, that won't be easy." It was as if a watchful eye noted her every movement. She was filled with doubt, not a little guilt, and shaking as she took the spiral stairs to the Headmaster's office. Had he discovered her out-of-bounds? And in what? There were several things that came to mind as she watched the door to the headmaster's office come nearer. "Ahh, Miss Granger, please come in," Dumbledore greeted her cordially. Hermione could barely stay still enough to sit. She balanced on the very edge of the chair to keep her knees from knocking together. Dumbledore seemed unaware. "I'm sorry, Professor, sir, if I've done something," Hermione began to spout her every fear. "If it's about..." Dumbledore held up his hand to still her. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss any unauthorized subjects with students. This is not the time." Oddly, Hermione felt that Dumbledore had chosen the word 'time' to strike at her heart. But he went on as if he meant nothing by it. "I called you to my office to show you something," he said, opening a small casket on his desk. Inside was a gold ring, figured with the twining design of Celtic craftsmen, set with a curious green stone. Hermione looked at it with awe. "That's not... Surely that's not... Merlin's Ring?" Hermione gasped. "I see you are as versed in history as you are in your other subjects," said Dumbledore with a chuckle, "But no, it is not Merlin's Ring. It is, however, a clever copy made by a powerful Dark wizard who wished to have it mistaken for Merlin's." "Then it must be very evil," Hermione recoiled. "That it is, indeed," Dumbledore said. "And no one, at least no decent wizard, would mourn its passing out of history once and for all. Would you like to borrow it?" Hermione's mind was speeding. There was reason here even if she could not see it. She couldn't fathom what it might be, but she was sure she was right. She only knew that Dumbledore thought she understood- and that he wished her to take the ring. "What if I lost it? Would great evil be released in the world," she asked, a thought coming to her. "I trust that you will be more careful than that," Dumbledore replied. "But I would not be cross if it never returned if it was never found again." The ring securely in its protective box, the box in her pocket, Hermione continued to scratch at Dumbledore's meaning as she made her way back to the Gryffindor dormitories. It wasn't until she drifted at the edge of sleep that she saw it. Whether in a dream or still waking, Hermione came awake and sat upright. She had seen the green stone glow. It had grown brighter and brighter until it and everything around it vanished in the green light. It was a powerful object. If she could harness that power, it might be enough for her spell. And it would be destroyed. Everything fit so snugly. She had to be right. Ginny was showing signs of nervousness as Hermione prepared the cauldron. A thing so evil needed to be shielded. Hermione willed herself to keep her mind on her task. She could not afford to be nervous, not when so much rode on her ability to cast this spell. She pointed her wand. Ginny giggled nervously. She spoke. Everything vanished in a blinding flash of green. --------- 'I need a place to fuck Harry Potter', 'I need a place to fuck Harry Potter', 'I need a place to fuck Harry Potter', Hermione was dragging Harry back and forth past the door of the Room of Requirement. She saw the door appear. She knew what waited beyond, but she didn't move to open the door. Ginny would be back in the dormitory. It would take her time, even using secret passages, to arrive. Harry was impatient. The only thing to do was ruin the surprise. "No, Harry, don't," she said as he reached for the handle of the door. "Why not? I thought you were anxious," Harry asked, showing the signs of anxiety himself. "I wasn't supposed to tell you. It was to be a surprise," Hermione drew it out as much as she could, hoping Ginny would appear before she had to tell Harry. "What, Hermione? Is this some kind of joke?" "Harry! You know me better than that. I would never participate in anything so..." But she was rescued from telling Harry what she would not do by Ginny's panting arrival. "Have you told him yet?" she asked the empty corridor, knowing Hermione and Harry crouched under the Invisibility Cloak somewhere near the door. "No. Almost. But you can do the honors," Hermione said, appearing in a ruffle of shimmering air that also revealed Harry from the waist down before the Cloak again settled into place. "Come out, Harry. I don't like talking to ghosts," Ginny requested. He appeared, a sour look on his face. Clearly he felt they were taking the mickey out of him and he was not amused. "Cheer up," Ginny said brightly. "You're getting two for the price of one tonight." The door opened on a fairy tale scene of rich, fresh-mown grass under an over-spreading oak with a white, gauze-draped four poster bed and a unicorn capering about. Ginny gasped in awe. Hermione resolved, this time, to see when the unicorn vanished. Harry was a dead weight behind them as they tried to advance. Harry was frozen in open-mouthed awe at the scene. It was as if he was a Muggle beholding Wizardry for the first time. It was cute, and, better, a sign he needed no more urging. "Now, Harry, you'll do what you came here to do, but you'll start with me" Ginny said. This time Hermione left her wand in the robes she discarded on purpose. She was still wearing underpants- she felt too naked without them, but nothing else. It was much the same for Harry as Ginny stripped off his robe, but Ginny hadn't bothered with anything under her robes. What Hermione remembered as a large bulge in Harry's underpants was smaller, but quickly became the signal of intent she remembered as he looked at the two girls. "Are we? All together? Right here?" Harry had still not adjusted to the secret change in plans. "Yes," said Ginny firmly. "We'll have no secrets then, will we?" She gave Hermione a significant look and Hermione managed a weak grin. "It's better that way," Hermione said meekly. Ginny pulled down Harry's underpants before he got onto the bed. Harry Potter's other wand was no mystery to either of them. It was still very big. This time Hermione's moment of crisis came in the panicked thought that she had no maidenhead for Harry to take. She had been here. He had penetrated her... But then she remembered the condition of the spell. She was a virgin again, as Ginny remained. The only difference, the *only* difference was that her awareness remained. In order to return, both she and Ginny had to sacrifice those months already lived. There were no future selves, or past selves to avoid. They, the one and onlies, were here, the sole representatives of their souls on this earth. "Is it okay?" Harry asked with double male uncertainty. "It's too friggin' big, as I've told you before," Ginny answered him this time, taking a different approach than Hermione. Harry glanced at Hermione as if apologizing for Ginny. He, happily, had no clue. He was living this for the first time. He would be spared. Hermione felt relieved. They had reached the Oz at the end of Hermione's Yellow Brick Road as before. She had no better calculations or experience and security than before. She had plotted to bring them to this point twice. But now it was Ginny's turn to dare the unknown. Hermione found it was all different from the observer's point of view. She did not climb on the bed as Ginny pulled Harry down, and wasn't invited. She stood at the side, watching. It felt good to do pennance, even though, presently, she hadn't done anything to regret and was repairing the ill she had done the first time she had lived these hours. It was confusing. And it was hard to call it atoning when the worst of her punishment was seeing Harry fuck Ginny. The only bad in that was realizing how simple this solution was and how easy it would have been to do it this way the first time rather than anguish over her deceit and druge over some dangerous and complex magic to get a second chance. Harry was kissing Ginny eagerly. It was obvious they were on familiar ground, if they were less dressed than usual. Hermione saw with a start that Harry wasn't as timid or as shy as she had assumed. He needed no lessons on touching a woman. She blushed at her own presumption as she watched Harry gather one of Ginny's breasts and close his hand on it slowly as they rocked a little in their kiss. He was firm and confident with Ginny and may have been with her if she had left him be. Harry placed vampire bites along Ginny's neck as his hand went lower, into the her red-furred crotch. Ginny was pulling at him, raking her fingers along his back and they wrestled together on the bed. It had little to do with the romantic, gentle dream Hermione had followed the first time she had visited this room. "Harry," Ginny said breathily, "It's time." Harry was stiffer at that, not just where stiff was a good thing. Reluctant, hesitant, fearful, Hermione ran through the adjectives. One of them applied, but she wasn't sure which. For the first time watching them Hermione had a twinge of regret she wasn't in Ginny's position. If she had been, then she'd know which word to use. Harry was between Ginny's legs. She was stroking his face and smiling reassuringly. "I don't want to hurt you," Harry said so softly Hermione had to strain to make out the words. "But you have to, to make me happy," Ginny said just as softly. "You love me don't you?" Hermione recognized the careful movement of Harry's hips. She knew he had slipped inside Ginny and stopped where he felt resistance. But Ginny was both bolder and less merciful than Hermione had been. "You have to do it," Ginny told Harry. "You have to want me enough nothing will stop you." Hermione wasn't in a position to see the looks passing between them. There may have been a blaze in Ginny's eyes because Harry still paused an instant after her ultimatum. Then he slammed forward with a violence that made Hermione jump and Ginny squeal. "Yes, Harry, come all the way in," Ginny said clearly, "I'm yours now, yours forever." It was as if she forbade Harry to apologize in some way. Hermione expected the rushed apology and noticed the absence at once. Then she pondered Ginny's words. They were very nice words to Harry- appropriate and all- but Hermione couldn't help feeling they were aimed, in part, at herself. She deserved them, Hermione thought. It was becoming clearer and clearer as she watched Ginny drop a hand on Harry's buttock and urge his thrusts. It was merely interesting and a bit exciting to watch Harry fuck and Ginny surround her lover with her legs in invitation. She wasn't jealous. She didn't love Harry *that* way. He was heroic and tender and dear and all of that and she did love him, but her desire for him was like of millions of witches, a romantic fantasy. The difference was that she was well-placed and clever and Harry loved her too. She had used cunning and deceit to snare her trophy fuck. She couldn't put it plainer than that. For an instant she wanted to run away and forget the whole thing. But she couldn't. She had deceived Harry. Even admitting it now would make him feel a fool and she didn't want that. She would have to go through with it. She'd have her Harry Potter memory, but it would be forever tainted by the way she obtained it. Harry was driving for the finish now. Ginny's legs had ceased to surround him and were wrapped around his waist, crossed over his bottom and moving with as much energy as Harry himself. Ginny wanted it. That was very clear, and Harry was responding. It made Hermione feel even more a sham. Distracted, Hermione suddenly remembered. She looked up from the entwined couple on the bed to search for the unicorn. It was still there. It was no longer frolicking, but standing still just past the bed. She had the feeling it was looking at her. "Oh Harry! That was wonderful! I'm so glad you're truly mine at last!" The words snapped Hermione's attention back to the bed. Ginny breathed those words with her arms wrapped tight around Harry, his weight laying on her, his head beside her own. "It was bloody brilliant!" Harry responded with familiar words. "That was... That was just the best thing ever!" Well, *that* made her a little jealous. But Hermione quickly understood she had no right to feel that way. Harry should have that memory of Ginny, not of her. Otherwise he would have been haunted by it all his life. It was just that Ginny was so much different- so much better at it than Hermione. She was feeling the pinch of pennance now. She would be little more than a pity fuck now. And there was no turning back. She had tempted fate enough with this second run-through. A third was out of the question. Hermione felt their eyes on her. They had recovered from their head-to-head lovey-dovey and Ginny was directing Harry's gaze in Hermione's direction. She'd missed whatever Ginny said. Harry reached his hand out to her. He was still laying with Ginny, still half-trapped between her legs. Hermione hesitated, taking in the scene. "Don't be shy," Ginny teased her. "It only hurts a moment and then it's wonderful!" Their eyes met. They alone knew all the significance of this moment. Ginny was smiling, but Hermione saw a mocking grin behind it. Well, she had to. Hermione had discovered no good way out and she was doomed. Hermione stepped forward to take Harry's hand. He pulled her to the bed on the side opposite Ginny and turned to her. "I'm not sure what good I'll be for you now, but I'll try," Harry said. It all became clear. Hermione not only saw her every movement, but was filled with certainty. She had to play the part and be convincing and it was no good hanging about. And she had to stop mulling it and do it. "You'll be wonderful, Harry," Hermione said. "Thank you. This means so much to me." And it did. Harry was untouched by lies and deceit, tangled emotions. He was pure and natural. All he said came from his heart and not some redux of sins in the past, now present. Hermione went down. She had seen how it would go in a flash. Harry's protest, her assurance and then his cock in her mouth. This time she tasted the mixed essences as she prodded Harry's cock with her tongue. Ginny's was not as sharp- more melony than her own and Harry's stronger musk than she remembered. She also had more time before she felt the stirring and then the rapid inflation to the hard plunger that would soon rip away her virgin defence. "Hermione?" Harry questioned as she lifted her head, "I never knew... I never thought you..." Never thought I could suck cock? Hermione could understand that. On the other hand, it showed Ron demonstrated rare restraint on the subject, even with his mates. She was learning many things on this day in the past. "I wanted to, Harry," she said. "This is kind of the one time to do all the things we'd never do, isnt' it? I'd rather do than wish I had." The words that had come so naturally seemed to catch like fishhooks in her throat. That was the root of all the trouble, wasn't it? I'd rather do- and damn the rest of you. Harry didn't notice. He pulled her close and kissed her. He was so different this time. Confident- not haunted by guilt? Hermione tested her theory. She pulled his hand to her breast and refrained from the demonstration. His touch was firm and arousing. He treated her nipples just rough enough. He let his hand sweep her body as they kissed. He toyed, almost teasingly, with the cloth of her underpants. "I think you should unwrap her, Harry." Ginny's voice came from a distance. She had moved away to give Harry full play with Hermione. It was her turn to watch. She remembered feeling like a gift that Harry was unwrapping. Only now it was confused who gave it to him- her or Ginny. The rogue thought vanished in a gasp as Harry bent to kiss her sex. Hermione stiffened and her legs flew open of their own accord. Here, Harry, she thought, here is the gift. Take it. Use it. Look at it. I'll give you whatever you want. He lingered. He kissed her many times before he slid, snake- like, sinuous between her raised and open knees to loom over her. He bent and kissed her forehead. "I'm ready, Harry," she said softly. "I want you. I want you to be the one." She did. Whatever was wrong, or selfish about that, it was still true. It was not her greatest moment, it was shallow and illusionary, but still true. Star-fucker Hermione wanted her trophy. And somehow it didn't matter. It did not reflect on Harry. The kindness did not diminish him. Then she remembered what was coming. She felt him ease her labia aside as the nose of his cock pressed in. She tried not to fear it. "All at once, Harry," she urged. Take me and make me yours." A thought died in the sudden tear of membrane and Hermione cried out. Her breath rushed back again as she felt Harry fill her- fill her so full. She was his. The thought returned. He had claimed her, taken her. He now possessed her as no one had before. Before, she had thought how she had made him hers. Now she knew that he had made her his. "I'm yours now," she said as if thought had escaped to lips. "Do what you want with me." She would have to count herself well-served if he turned away at that moment and returned to Ginny. She had gotten the thrust she required. Making love to Harry Potter had not entered into her plans. Perhaps that was why it had affected her so much the other time. But Harry was not so cold. He would do anything for his friends and he would not do it halfway. He moved gently but with purpose inside her. The pain was an irritation, every so often it was pain, but Hermione was lost in the bright green eyes and idolizing, loving Harry. That too was different in this time. Again, her passion only caught at the end, as Harry threw aside consideration and plunged into her with determination, but she was ready for it. It lifted her higher, raised her heartbeat more. And she felt a warm, melting emotion as she watched the mask of ecstasy hood his face as thrusts became lunges and she knew he was having the pleasure of her. "Thank you, Harry, I wanted it to be you," Hermione said, touching his face when his eyes focused again. "I'm so glad to be here with you like this." "Me as well," Harry said. "I'm really confused. All sprung on me of a sudden, but you're beautiful, Hermione, who wouldn't be lucky to be with you this way?" So he really meant it. That was an unexpected thrill. It did mean something to her. "I'm the lucky one, Harry," she said, "that Ginny was willing to share. She gave me my heart's desire- and that's you." She hadn't meant to mention Ginny, but it just came out. It was true, after all. And a second later, she was glad she had. There was no need to ask Harry to stay with her. Ginny was on his back, pressing him into place. She had the warm, rather large reminder within her as she watched the look of joy on Harry's face. He was very happy. She could imagine having his true love pressed to him would do that, but she genuinely felt that she was also contributing some share to his happiness. He was trapped in a boy's dream sandwich, after all, and of that Hermione knew she had a share. Another thought returned. Hermione cast a look about. "He disappeared," Ginny said as if reading her mind, "Just on the thrust, as should be." "Now what are you talking about?" Harry asked, "My two wicked plotters- what are you planning for me next?" He couldn't stay forever. Hermione was glad for the time she had to feel him in her. At his question he turned and Ginny bore him down to the bed between them. Then her heart began to beat again as his arm snaked out to gather her into the bunch. "You are going to be our slave- and wear leather straps for underwear- and go about on your knees- and you know what you'll be doing while you're down there-" Ginny was teasing him. "Then where is this underwear and when do we start?" Harry replied genially. "That at least is something I can do in my weakened condition." Hermione felt sadness. The gay atmosphere only made it worse. She had been so wrong. As tender and touching as their tryst had been, it was like a child's dream of what could be. She had cramped Harry with her narrow understanding. She had made him into what she'd thought he'd be. Being so pure and true, he'd managed to burst the bonds here and there, but it was nothing, nothing, compared to what had been when he was left free. It was Ginny again intruding on her thoughts that set Hermione straight. "Why so quiet? If you can't think of a game, I'm sure Harry can think of one for you. We can do what we want this time. It is better that way, don't you think?" Yes. This was the one reality now. It had been wonderful. The other place was only a bad dream- a flawed memory that she was lucky to set right. Hermione cheered considerably. "Hmmm- Hermione- let's see," Harry was taking Ginny's suggestion to heart. "What would Hermione most like to do? I imagine she'd like to whip my narrow buttocks in this leather gear, but let's think of something else." That hurt Hermione, but she had to admit it excited her a little too. Did Harry see her as some sort of tyrant? But the idea of Harry's arse... Hermione decided she was thinking too much. "You know you want to see her kiss me," Ginny put in, "All the boys do." "All the boys want to see you kiss Hermione?" Harry sounded shocked. "You know what I mean," Ginny poked him none too gently in the ribs. "Boys get all hot over girls making out." "Let's see it then," Harry said, like an instructor demanding a demonstration. He lay back, inviting this demonstration to take place over his reclining body. Hermione let a small smile slip as she faced Ginny. Ginny was already smiling broadly. Ginny pursed her lips. It seemed like a clue- a small clue, but it seemed she and Ginny were back to the understanding they once had. Had at this time, Hermione corrected herself. She leaned forward. Ginny met her in the middle- their lips pecked and they both pulled back. "Oh yes," roared Harry. "That was all for me. Look at this stiff-stander!" Ginny giggled. Hermione didn't wait for her. She was starting forward again. This time Ginny's hand touched Hermione's face. Mouths met, opened, it was Hermione who gripped the back of Ginny's neck pulling her more erect on her knees. Harry coughed and they ignored him. They were pressed breasts to breasts. Hermione thought she might faint from lack of air, but she was unwilling to break the kiss. So much more than words could say was being exchanged between their tongues. All is all right. You are forgiven. The past is gone. The past is now. We are friends. Only a challenge was in Ginny's eyes when they finally broke and looked at each other. It was an evil glint that dared Hermione to carry on. Hermione hoped her eyes relayed the intent to do just that. "Hey! It's working!" Harry called out as Hermione clumsily lunged forward from her knees and collided with Ginny. Ginny clasped her and pulled her as she fell back carrying Hermione along to fall on top of her. They were kissing again, their bodies pressed together and writhing, flesh on flesh, skin on skin, heat rising. "Hey! What about me?" Harry was ignored. Maybe I am queer, Hermione thought. She knew she was aroused and not at all ashamed to be snogging Ginny- whoever might be watching- whining for his turn. More interestingly, she felt a real desire to have that cock again, so she could take Ginny like a man. Then she was wrestled down. Ginny was not content to let their skins touch. Her hands roamed Hermione's body. The kisses came and went. Ginny kissed her neck. Hermione found she was just as content to be ravaged as to ravage. She no longer cared if she was queer. Designations were not for the heat of passion. She only wanted to love and be loved. "You girls are serious, aren't you?" Ginny's head came up at the note of concern. "Yes, Harry, we are. Does that shock you?" "Well... yeah..." Harry said. "I mean, what does that mean for me?" "Don't you think I like boys, Harry?" Ginny interrogated him. Hermione supressed a giggle. It was quite funny that Ginny would ask this while wrapped around a naked woman. "It always seemed like you did," Harry agreed. "Then I probably do," Ginny said. "And what does that have to do with if I like girls or not?" "I can't compete with girls," Harry said. Hermione couldn't supress that giggle. It was all becoming too surreal. And she was yet to hear Ginny's quick-minded retort. "And did you win me in a race, or perhaps a manly combat?" she asked acidly. "No. You won me because I love you. I love who you are. Now be a sweet boy and continue being you instead of this thick-headed ogre you're trying to become." "Sorry," Harry said automatically, "but I love you too and you're scaring me." Ginny relased her death-grip on Hermione and turned to him. "Harry. Think." Ginny kept her stern air, but Hermione knew her concern. She had tensed at Harry's fear. She wasn't nearly as matter-of-fact as she pretended. "Did someone here give themselves to you- a man- willingly, even eagerly? Did it seem they were less than comfortable with the idea?" she asked. "You both did that," Harry said. "So, if you see both of those people also enjoying each other, what does that tell you?" Ginny asked. "You like sex?" Harry ventured, looking confused. "Right in one!" Ginny said. "And you know I would have enjoyed a little more sex- with you- before now- too, but let's not dredge up ancient history. The point is, I do like sex. I like sex with you because I love you. I like sex with you more because I love you. With me so far?" Harry nodded. "Right now- or just a moment ago, I was enjoying sex with Hermione. I like Hermione, maybe I love her too, but it was sex I was enjoying. Hermione was enjoying it too- right?" at that prompt Hermione nodded. "And she was the other one giving themselves to you. So she likes boys. You like boys, don't you?" Hermione nodded again, fascinated by the way Ginny handled Harry. Hermione was impressed. It made Hermione's dominance over Ron seem like child's play. "Now what have we learned?" Ginny asked. "I'm an idiot?" Harry offered. "Talk nice about the man I love," Ginny cautioned. "No. I love you. We love you. And this." She paused to kiss Hermione on the cheek and continued, "Has nothing to do with that. First off, we were doing it to get you hot. So we actually like it, so what? And secondly, it has nothing to do with enjoying sex with boys." "But wait," Hermione interrupted. "You're not going to screw other boys because you like sex, are you? I think Harry has a valid concern. What if he doesn't want you to fuck anyone else, even girls?" "Then he's a prat- but go on," Ginny said. "Then is it okay if your Harry wants to let your brother bugger him? As long as no girls?" Hermione asked with a straight face. "You're having me on, now, aren't you?" Harry interrupted. "A little," Hermione agreed, "But it's important that this come out, don't you think?" "I don't want Ron to bugger me," Harry said hotly. "No, no, that's not what she means," Ginny returned to the discussion. "But I didn't think of it that way. I guess it is like saying it's all right as long as it's just for laughs." "Do you feel that way?" Harry asked. "No, my dearest, darling love," Ginny said. "But then I don't have to worry, do I? You're Harry bleeding Potter. I can trust you, believe in you, believe you rather than my own eyes. I could see you naked, up to the bollocks in some tart and know you were innocent." "Get on with it," Hermione nudged, feeling a bit like the tart in question. "All right," Ginny said. "The important thing is how you feel. I am safe, sure and content knowing you'll never hurt me. And I don't want to hurt you. Would you like me to only have sex with you?" Harry was perplexed. He had only a misty concept of the things Ginny was talking about. "I don't know," he said. "This is all new to me." "Come here," Hermione said and drew a look from Ginny. "Right here." She pulled Harry between them. "Now we'll all fuck," she said. "You and me and Ginny and Ginny and you and me- and who cares who does what. Just this time. Just for now. I'm never going to do this again- unless Ginny asks me and you agree, so let's make it special." Ginny kissed her. It was a deep, probing kiss, but stopped too soon, for Ginny to turn to Harry and kiss him, the taste of Hermione still on her tongue. Seeing the idea, Hermione waited for Ginny to break away and swooped in to kiss Harry herself. Then there were hands and skin and hovering. More than once heads cracked trying to kiss and giggles were the sound of the day. Hermione neither knew or cared who was touching her or who she was touching- although it was pretty evident when her hand wrapped around a cock whose it was. She felt certain it was Ginny's hands that pulled at her when she felt herself lifted astride Harry just before she was stuffed with his big prick. It was certainly Ginny who whispered in her ear: You were right about your prospects- so enjoy this time. Harry's cock felt even bigger somehow. But Hermione had little time to ponder. Someone was playing with her arse- doing rude things- and Harry- she could watch him do it- was pulling, molding, smashing her breasts as she rode the St. George on his cock. He was jerking too- heaving and moaning as unseen hands- obviously Ginny- were doing unseen things to him as well. She felt Harry's knees come up behind her and wondered briefly what he was feeling before the rocking became fierce lunges up into her. His hands had stopped, now merely holding onto her breasts as all his attention seemed to be consumed in driving off the bed and into her. Hermione moaned. He was battering her remorselessly- and all she wanted was for his cock to drive farther- to split her down the middle. She cried out when she could stand no more. For all the good it did. She absently felt her body tossed on the continuing lunges, Harry's cock pummeling her, its filling intrusion a focus point holding her to the world. She was roughly thrown aside. She only barely noticed. As her head was clearing, the first thing she saw was Ginny's face, oddly distended. No- stuffed with cock. Her face was stretched to open wide enough but her cheeks bulged around the cock she was forcing into her face. Then Harry erupted, a spasm knocking Ginny's head back roughly and bringing a choking sound. But she persevered, and Hermione was filled with wonder as Ginny held on to the pulsing member and kept moving her head. Bubbling white escaped the seal of her lips and dripped down Harry's shaft and over Ginny's lips. Strange gutteral noises came from Ginny. Hermione felt she was observing a miracle. She had sucked that cock- twice if you counted the past- but gave it up when it pried her jaws open in erection. She could not imagine how Ginny could let it thrust into her mouth that way in its aroused state. Harry was like a man stricken. He lay back- arms thrown wide and gasped for air like a diver returned from the depths. Hermione noted with amusement that his cock followed his breathing. Ginny was also gasping, swallowing and held her hand to her throat. Finally she looked up at Hermione. "We've seem to have done for him," Ginny said. "Was it good for you?" "The best," Hermione said. "A bit more than expected, actually." "I'll look forward to that," Ginny said. "but I can imagine from the way it feels jammed down my throat." Suddenly Hermione felt naked. She had been naked all along but now it was a concern. She guessed the magic had gone out of the night. No reason to be manic about it, she thought as she slid from the bed to retrieve her robe. Harry's seen it all- had his face in the most private bit, in fact. No reason to rush. She didn't bother with her underpants. Perhaps some house elf would find them and use them for a bib. "Come on, big guy, Hermione is telling us it's time to leave," Ginny prodded Harry. It was time to return to the cold, hard world outside the door of their romantic wonderland. It was probably late and well past time, actually. Hermione looked at Harry with some regret. What had passed between them before was sweet and touching. Then she looked at Ginny and knew her stolen sweetness was not worth the loss. She had accomplished what she set out to do and retained Ginny's good graces as well. That it was less tasty was only because of her own dark heart. Yes, stolen apples were sweeter, but at what cost? Hermione did not miss the tension of the next days when she and Harry had cast guilty looks and feared detection. There were still guilty looks, but they were all Harry's. She assumed he had trouble accepting that he was due such a bounty as she and Ginny had given him. In truth, it was simpler than that. "I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said without reason, looking away from her. "Sorry for what? What did you do?" Hermione asked. It's just... It's just... since that night..." Harry could no more look at her than he could finish his thought. "Yes, I know what night-- go on," Hermione said impatiently. "I see you naked," Harry blurted out. "When I look at you, I see you naked. I can't help it. I'm sorry." Hermione began to laugh, but stifled it to a cough. "Of course you do," she said sensibly. "I imagine its been the same with Ginny for some time now. It's normal." "But I don't like it," Harry said. "It's not... nice." "My body isn't nice?" Hermione prodded him. "I didn't mean it that way. Of course it's... But I shouldn't... It's not good," Harry struggled. "Harry, you poor sot. You poor, sweet little angel," Hermione said. "It's all right. I'll get up right now and wiggle my arse for you if you'd like. I don't mind." Clearly the visual picture flashed in Harry's head. He gritted his teeth. "But I can't stop!" Harry said. "You said about Ginny. Yes, I can imagine, but I don't have to. I only do when I want." "Then that is a different problem," Hermione granted. "But there's an easy solution. Get over it." "Get over it?" Harry was nonplussed. "You can't stop because you're trying so hard. It's like 'elephant'. If I tell you not to think of 'elephant' all you can think of *is* 'elephant'," Hermione explained. "The solution is to go ahead and think of 'elephant'- or in this case, me naked, and it will pass." Harry finally looked at her, his face disbelieving. "Are you thinking about these now?" she asked holding out her hands to indicate her breasts, although not so close as to be obvious. "Yessss." Harry hissed in frustration. "Then look," she said. "I don't mind, you know. It's rather complimentary, if you don't know. Not that it's welcome from anyone, but it's not something I can control. There might be some perverted fourth-year sitting here that is imagining what you're seeing so clearly." "And why are you seeing so clearly?" Hermione asked as she turned to give Harry's inner eye a side view, and then answered herself. "Because you know. Because I have taken off my clothes- stripped bare naked for you. So isn't that permission?" "Are you still looking?" she asked sharply as Harry's head threatened to drop. "Yes." he said grimly. "Then take it all in," she said, getting up. "Look down. Look up. Oh, my quill!" Hermione said and bent with her bum facing Harry. "And I hope that all at least aroused you," she said as she resumed her chair. "It isn't funny, Hermione," Harry said hotly. "No, I suppose it isn't, but I swear, this is the cure. You'll get tired of it if you give yourself the chance. And I give you permission. Not just for now, but for anytime in the future that you just want to peek and remember," Hermione said. "That came with me stripping off for you in the first place. And I was serious about you being aroused. If you are- I hope you are- I'd consider it a personal favor if you- um- 'handled it' thinking of me- unless you're going to seek out Ginny to 'handle it' for you." "It isn't a joke," Harry said. "No, it isn't," Hermione bent to him and said seriously. "I meant every word. We know each other on a level beyond friends. This is part of that. I'm proud of it. You don't have to carry a burden over it. And if you wank to my image, that's fantasy- or memory, which is also all right. It happened, Harry. Accept it and enjoy the benefits." Harry didn't say more, obviously getting nowhere. He left Hermione hoping her words had found the mark, but not very confident. Ginny was quick to join Hermione after Harry's exit. "What was that about?" Ginny asked. "Harry sees me naked," Hermione had no reason to alter the truth. "In his dreams, in his mind, behind the greenhouse? what?" Ginny wanted to know. "Just sees me," Hermione said. "When he looks at me he sees me naked." "What did you tell him?" Ginny asked. "Tell him?" Hermione was incredulous. "You saw. I did my sexy dance and told him I'd be offended if he wasn't aroused. And if he was aroused he should wank to memories of me." Ginny had a look of concern. "Come on, Ginny, the only reason he's having these... peeks is because he's trying so hard to stop them," Hermione said. "One good gawk and he won't be able to conjure the image any more." "But to wank over you?" Ginny was still concerned. "Yes- what difference does it make? Me, Celestina Warbeck, Fleur, guys do that. You think I'm trying to steal him?" "You did before." Now it was Hermione's turn to be cross. "No I didn't! Whatever memory you have of something happening, didn't happen and you know because you were there when it didn't. We're living with a new past now and I wish you'd remember that one and not one that doesn't exist any more." "And for your information," Hermione drew herself up. "In the past that isn't any more, Harry didn't have this complaint. Either he didn't see me that way or he didn't feel guilty about it." "Yes, okay, sorry," Ginny said. "You did a lot to make that right. I'm just jumpy." "And I'm touchy because I did it once," Hermione admitted. "And anyway, I also suggested that Harry find you if he needed help with that 'problem' I hoped I gave him." "Does he see me that way?" Ginny asked. "Yes, at will," Hermione said. "He said that. That was the difference. He can look and see you naked or not as he pleases. With me it's just naked. I told you- he's trying to supress it too hard." "Oh, I get it," Ginny said. "I just wanted to know he could do it with me too." "I think he can do anything with you," Hermione said. "Do you want to fuck him again?" Ginny changed subject with neck-snapping suddeness. "Honestly?" Hermione stalled. "No. I realized it *isn't* that way for us. Even pretending, I ended up making him into something of a stick. Romantic and boring with no spark. He's like a mechanical toy because we don't feel it. But if you mean along with you...?" "But that big dick..." Ginny tried to sound tempting. "I got all I ever wanted from Harry already- except his continuing friendship- which I treasure," Hermione said. "I love him, you love him, you love him *that* way, I love him. And the good thing about fucking is orgasm and that's the only time I'm not feeling abused by his big dick with Harry." "Most girls would do anything for it," Ginny said. "Most girls, excuse me, are idiots," Hermione said. "And I've had it, if we're talking conquest. I've climbed Everest and have my trophy and the climb is long and dangerous, and I don't need to go again, thank you." "You're lying," Ginny accused. "No," Hermione said firmly. "You don't get it. I know why you don't get it. You've been in love with Harry since you were 10. It's never been different. You don't know how close you can be to Harry without wanting his dick in you. You don't know how little different loving him and loving him *that* way is. And just loving him might be even closer. I don't need. At least I don't need assurance or returned passion, or any of that. All I need is to care and for him to care and that comes easy." "You wanted his dick in you," Ginny pointed out. "Because I'm Hermione, star-fucker," Hermione snorted. "He's famous, you know. I wanted him because every other witch in the world wants him and I could get him." It was a price to say that out loud. But there was another part that cost even more dearly. "And part of it was to assure myself that I really was a part of it all," Hermione said, more quietly. "To all the other witches: See, I'm better than you. To myself: Yes it's true, Harry cares enough to even do that to please me." Ginny seemed contrite. "He doesn't love me *that* way either," Hermione said. "It was all because I begged and because he cares. It was a favor. He didn't really fancy me. He did it because I told him it was important to me." "I'm sorry," Ginny said quietly. "Sorry? Don't pity me. You and I, your brother, we're the luckiest ones in the world. We're Harry Potter's closest friends. I don't think there's anything better to be." "I'm sorry I doubted you," Ginny corrected. "Oh, that," Hermione said with a wave. "It's Harry. If I were you I'd doubt myself in fear of losing him. He is that precious. But it'd be stupid. He loves you. He loves you *that* way. Like you said, you could find him bollocks-deep in some tart and they're be an explanation. He'd be innocent." Hermione had nearly forgotten. At least she was not in the same state of mind. She wasn't going to bring it up. "Aren't you supposed to give me a dick about now?" Ginny brought it up instead. "Only if you want it. I did it before because I was mad at you for being innocent," Hermione said. "Interesting reasoning," Ginny said. "But we're going to be interrupted by Luna. And we did introduce her to a marvel." "I think Luna has enough marvels floating around in her head that she won't miss that one. Besides, we might find out what she really came for," Hermione answered. "Not the dick," Ginny said. "Sex with another human. She might miss that. And I think it would be sad." "But she wasn't a virgin. She took your dick right down," Hermione said before pausing. "You mean... It was you? You were the mystery man I wondered who you were?" "I guess you couldn't ask," Ginny said, looking off, "Right after was when I went Evil Willow all over you. But there you were- flaunting your status as a woman- and on the dick of the woman you betrayed!" "I was hot for you- you have to believe that. I wasn't thinking. In any case I could have said it was Ron and you would have believed me if you didn't KNOW and were sitting there playing me like a spider does a fly." "You're blaming me?" Ginny was incredulous. "No, of course not. I'm describing the feeling," Hermione said. "Injured party gets a free pass. In fact, the more distress to the evil-doer, the better. That's my motto even when the evil-doer is me. But back to Luna. You mean you were her first?" "Back in the past that is only about an hour away," Ginny said. "I suppose she's a virgin right now. I'll only be her first if you give me that dick and start sucking it again." "Or we could give her the choice," Hermione said. "I recall saying something like: your turn, and Luna might have mistaken that for a command." "Or she was so happy to be a part that she gladly experienced it," Ginny countered. "You know her better than I," Hermione said, "And I see how she might even think having you be her first was somehow preferable to some mundane encounter with a boy. I mean- all boys have dicks- how special is that? But a girl- a girl she likes with a dick- the temporary part being a plus- she might like that. I still say we ask." "Ummm- Ginny? Sorry to interrupt, but Michael Corner sent me to ask you if he can borrow your broomstick." They had blabbed too long. Luna was standing there, looking as vague as ever. "Oh, Luna, they just said that to have you on," Ginny said impatiently, "I haven't spoken to Michael in a year." "Oh, I know that, Ginny, but it did get me past all the Gryffindors and into your room, didn't it?" Luna said with a giggle. It was a weak explanation of an odd circumstance, but Luna didn't have the look of a liar and she was indeed there. "Then why are you really here, Luna?" Hermione asked. "Oh, I thought I might find something here to do with just us girls," Luna said mysteriously. Actually, it wasn't that mysterious, merely vague, as Luna tended to be, but Ginny and Hermione were so sensitized by the strange and confusing properties of their time loop that they took it as such. "I don't know if you'd approve," Hermione took the lead, "Do girls make love to other girls in Ravenclaw?" "Of course," Luna snorted, "It's the intelligient approach to getting pleasure. You can't leave it up to boys when you can do it yourself." "Then there's something we girls can do," Ginny announced. "But you have to get undressed first." In the flesh, Luna was still as graceful as her demeanor was awkward. She was all soft, white flesh with all the color of moon-tan. Her hips were suprisingly broad and well-fleshed and her smallish breasts made her seem a beauty from a bye-gone age of antiquity. Compared to Luna and Ginny's pale, freckle-dusted hue, Hermione was positively dusky. And with her brown hair she was easily the darkest of the three. That aside, with the pile of clothes at the end of the bed, they looked like a Durer woodcut of witches, with Hermione representing the Devil's agent. It seemed only appropriate she would be the one holding the wand. "Now this is something they don't to in Ravenclaw," Hermione announced as she pronounced the charm. Luna had been politely avoiding staring into the gap where Ginny sat with her legs open, knees up, but now her eyes were drawn to the remarkable change. As advertised- and as demonstrated before, even in this time stream, Ginny's clitoris grew rapidly. One... two... three.. four. five six. Luna stared unrepentantly. "I have a cock," Ginny said to clear up any confusion. "For about half an hour," Hermione said. "Can I have one too?" Luna asked. "What for?" Hermione asked. "I don't know, but it looks like fun," Luna said. "You can borrow mine," Ginny offered. "Or I can at least give it to you like a boy would." "We're going at this all wrong," Hermione broke in. "Let's all sit on the bed." Luna sat and looked back and forth between the two. It was hard to imagine what she might be thinking. Hermione pressed closer, intent on making it more of a love-fest than a side-show. "Do you mind if I kiss you?" Hermione asked Luna. "Like a boy kiss?" Luna asked. "Are we starting now?" "Yes, if you like," Hermione said. "I'm afraid Ginny is acting like a boy because she has that boy thing, wanting to just stick it in people." Ginny stuck out her tongue. "Why don't we all kiss together then?" Luna asked. Arranged with Ginny in the middle (naturally) the orgy finally began. Wet lips, probing tongues, hungry hands, the girls quickly lost track of who was kissing who and whose hand was probing where. It was Ginny who finally protested their progress - or lack of it toward seeing to her magic appendage. "Damn it! If I'm acting like a boy, then I want to put my boy thing into someone," Ginny snapped. Hermione had stroked it, not seriously, but comfortingly, she was sure and felt a little unappreciated. But she thought Ginny was trying to answer the Luna question. "I'll fuck you," Hermione said. "Unless you want to go first, Luna." "That is very nice of you," Luna said. "Are you sure you don't mind?" "You're our guest, Luna," Hermione said. "And I can put this spell on her again. But you know it's just like a boy- except it doesn't squirt." Luna looked at Hermione like Hermione was the vague one. "I mean you won't be a virgin-- if you are, I mean," Hermione said. Luna's stare was now pitying. "That old thing? What's it good for anyway? I'll be glad to be rid of it. You're not a ninny that puts great store in preserving it for some fairy prince, are you?" Luna asked. From Luna that was scathing. Hermione watched in awe as Luna took her place, weaved her legs between Ginny's and pulled herself toward the red-headed girl. Knowing what was going on this time, Hermione watched closely. Even with the closer look, she could not see where Luna forced herself past her hymen. Whatever was strange about Luna, lack of courage was no part of it. Luna was now pressed against Ginny, a position that was pleasurable even without six inches of girl cock inside you, and grinding. Hermione could have read a book as much as Luna or Ginny would have noticed. But she was obligated by her sex, at least in her own mind, to do something. She reached out a hand to both, finding a breast in each hand and fondled. It was so much like the fairy dream of 'once was'. Hermione was again distracted as she dragged her hands over the heaving breasts. This time it was not the nature of pleasure but the myth of the precious hymen. Luna, Luna of all people, had made much sense. While Hermione had not preserved herself for a fairy prince, her idea that the first to enter her held great significance was nearly akin. A girl was never supposed to forget her first. But wasn't that like 'elephant'? If you were told and told not to forget, wouldn't that make you remember by itself? And Harry- would it mattered if she had been taken by Viktor and then Harry? Was the order more important or was it the importance of the act? Was Luna now doomed by some rule to pine for Ginny? It made as much sense as the cheval-merde, pardon my French, about girls loving girls and had the same sound. Hermione's ruminations were pre-empted, because the hand was anything but a rude interruption, by someone- someone she quickly identified as Luna- putting her fingers inside her. Suddenly the strange habits of the world no longer mattered. "I'm fucking you Luna." The girls in front of her were in clear focus now. It was still difficult to distinguish one pale from the other but not that Ginny was heaving and Luna resisting. Ginny's toes curled. They were in the thick of their struggle now. Hermione paid more attention to them, adding belly strokes and thigh squeezes to her breast massages. Inside her, Luna's fingers beat a more furious rhythm as the girls squirmed against one another. It was hard for Hermione not to help, but she assured herself there was nothing more to do. Ginny and Luna were managing just fine on their own. "Fuck me more!" It seemed like a demand from Luna, the least demanding person ever. Hermione decided it was as much a warning, because Luna dug her feet into the bed and began to move up and back. From total penetration with merging labia, Luna went to the more conventional in-out. Ginny began to yip. They thrashed on the bed with the sounds of mating cats in an alley. Hermione was forced to grab Luna's wrist as she forgot herself and began to tug on Hermione's vagina in her fight to move more, faster, harder. More than ever, Hermione saw nothing to do. She was, in fact, afraid the addition of more might drive the two mad. It was much later that Luna's ingenuity showed Hermione what could have been. "No- I'm fine- I want to!" Ginny was resisting Hermione's suggestion that the drenched, panting girl take a break, "you know how it feels. It burns if you're not using it!" Hermione didn't remember that, but she did remember discomfort. She was willing to forego her turn, but Ginny was having none of it. "You need a new position," Luna said, approaching it like a jig-saw puzzle. "Upside down- no, Ginny's too tired now. Wait!" "Sit here." And the double chair was born. For the first trial, Ginny sat down and threw her legs over the chair's arms. Her girl cock stuck forward like the prow of a chair-shaped ship. Hermione gingerly took her place in a chair abutting. Her legs over Ginny's, Ginny's over hers, it made little difference it seemed. Hermione scooted forward. Ginny bucked like a horse. "Yes!" Ginny exhulted, "Bring it here. Let me fuck it!" Hermione didn't remember the need, but complied, despite the frightening fervor Ginny had shown at first contact. To be fair, it hadn't been painful, only startling. Ginny's swollen clit was less danger than an actual cock. It didn't seem to have the quality of bruising, although it was almost psychic- if the word can be used for a brainless organ- in finding the most sensitive spots in another and terrorizing the pleasure from them. Then came the problem of slippage. Try as they could, the slap of Hermione's buttock on Ginny's seemed to drive the chairs apart. In the future of the double chair, the legs would be bound together to prevent this, but they were too busy at the moment to make the alteration. Instead, Luna did what she could to slide them back and then added what Hermione came to call the 'third girl assist'. Simple enough, Luna braced behind Ginny's chair and pulled Hermione's feet toward her. It was a terrible torture- with bondage sprinkles, but a torture of delight and orgasm. Hermione again left the bonds of the world, if not Luna, and wandered lonely as a cloud in the halls of Shambala. Or at least she was cumming so hard she dreamed it. Ginny's clit had shrunk to less than two inches when the two cried, hold, enough and Luna took pity. As a pennance for her enthusiasm, Luna had to all but carry both of them to Ginny's bed and lay down with them. "I guess Gryffindors do have a good time," Luna said, "Not all staunch and sticky." "But you..." Hermione gasped. "Can't tell. It's a secret. Yes, I remember," Luna said. It was some time after, that Ginny and Hermione racked their brains to recall when they had told Luna that this time. No memory of the conversation ever surfaced. In the meantime, casting back for some mention of secrecy, Hermione uncovered a rather spooky fact. At least spooky to her. It came as Hermione wondered what in hell Luna was thinking when she wanted a dick like Ginny's. "For you, silly," Ginny said automatically. "For me?" Hermione said. "Oops," Ginny said. "And then she shut up like I should right now." "No- tell me. How would Luna having a dick be for me?" Hermione asked. "Well, let's see- one girl, two dicks... do I have to draw you a diagram?" Ginny sounded frustrated. "Yes," Hermione said, "I refuse to guess. Just tell me. Why would Luna think I would want two dicks." "At least you got that far," Ginny said. "And why 'you' is because you were in charge. You asked her if she'd like to participate and you cast the spell. She thought it was your turn or something." "Turn for what? Can't you just say it? Are you embarrassed or something?" Hermione was warming. "You remember that night with Harry?" Ginny asked. "Is this going somewhere?" Hermione asked. "Of course I do." "Well, we hardly exhausted the possibilities of what two women can do to a man, but we did some," Ginny said. "That's the same with two men and a women- or two girl cocks in this case." "Why it's clear as mud! Thank you!" Hermione said. "Look- you have three holes. Pick two," Ginny snapped. At least Hermione now knew who put their finger in her arse while she was riding Harry's prong. But the idea was rude. Obviously, her face showed her opinion. "That's why I didn't want to tell you- that look," Ginny said. "I just can't see how that would be fun," Hermione replied. "Nor do you have to. It's just what Luna thought," Ginny said. "I'm just explaining, and now you know." "Would you?" Hermione asked quietly. "Let Dean Thomas bugger me?" Ginny asked, "Well, yeah." Now that was another reason Ginny could have remained virginal. Hermione had to accept that it was more likely. "And was it fun?" Hermione asked. Ginny looked at her a moment. Hermione didn't appear to be teasing. Ginny's claws retracted. "Not strictly, no," Ginny said. "But it wasn't horrible or anything. I've talked to girls that swear they like it." "Girls in Ravenclaw?" Hermione ventured. "Matter of fact, yes," Ginny said growing more sour. "They could be telling the truth," Hermione said, guessing the reasons behind Ginny's look. "It might not be a conspiracy." "I didn't say that," Ginny said. "And it wasn't because I believed them, anyway." "Why then?" Hermione asked, "If you don't mind telling." "I already said the embarrassing part," Ginny sighed, "But it wasn't so bad with a finger. It wasn't so bad when... you remember, was it?" "I guess not," Hermione said. "I thought it was rude. But I guess it wasn't bad." "You're not going to say anything about Dean, are you?" Ginny asked. "Of course not," Hermione pledged, "But don't you think he's already bragged his head off?" "I told him I'd kill his family. In front of him. Then him," Ginny said. "I guess I can be scary at times." Hermione laughed. "I'm sorry, it's not funny, not the one part anyway, but threatening his family... that's good," Hermione snickered. "I pretty much do that with all of them," Ginny said, "Except Harry, of course. He can brag all he wants." All of them? Hermione swallowed her shock for the safer reply, "And, of course, Harry is the one who'd never do that." "He's a saint," Ginny agreed, "But he's cute too. And pretty manly- that's why I love him." "Then I'll go for the saint part- kind, caring, dependable, all the boring stuff," Hermione said. They ended giggling together, but Hermione couldn't shake that awful thought. She had heard about it before. She wasn't a dunce, but it was like saying Harry wanted Ron to bugger him. Nobody was supposed to 'want' it. Even considering that it was Luna didn't help. Luna wasn't a dunce either. And she liked Ginny, however she felt about Hermione. Hermione didn't think it was a big joke on her. She was sure Luna seriously thought it was a good idea. Anyway, it would be impossible to pull off with girls- that three thing. It would be too hard to find a configuation. And she could just hear herself saying to a boy: for a bit of fun why don't you stick it in my arse. She had already spent an unwanted period of time fighting off these thoughts, so she refused to listen when her mind tried to tell her that Ginny had done it. She didn't want to think about the subject at all, and that was something she was *certain* she didn't want to consider. It was time for her to turn her thoughts to Ron anyway. It was inevitable after all and she couldn't keep turning him away with petty arguments forever. Actually she might, but it was hardly a very good solution. However cold and sexless she was viewed, she was as randy as anyone and could do with a good shag now and again. And while the diversions with Ginny were probably better that she could get from Ron, they were more like quiche and Hermione found herself craving some roast beef and potatoes. Yes, Ronald better buckle his belt because Hurricane Hermione was about to swoop down on him! "Well... er... ah... umm... well..." "You've stuttered 'well' twice now. Are you about to go 'round the cycle again? Because it was a very simple question, Ron. A very simple question," Hermione fumed at the evident rejection of her advances. He was a worse prude than people thought of her! Imagine! All rough and tumble, keeper of 'The Way It Is' of the wizard world- how did he imagine little wizards were made? "I respect you, Hermione. I can't just go... Well, I can't. It's not very respectful, is it?" Ron finally said. "You RESPECT me! That's your excuse? You sure it isn't something else? Like the people who'd laugh at you for being with plain old, ugly Hermione?" Hermione was in full fury. "No, no-- I'm with you, aren't I? I don't care who knows," Ron said. "Is that like pity, Ron? Are you showing the poor girl a good time because no one else will?" Hermione fumed. "Well, then SHOW HER A GOOD TIME!" "I can't... I just can't." It was the worst ever, because Ron had yet to walk out on her in the next book. She hated him! But in that odd way these things work, she wasn't about to let him escape. There would be Hell to pay, and Ron better start ponying up! "You just asked him?" Ginny seemed incredulous. "Not just like that," Hermione said. "We were kissing and he was feeling my breast, and I just said, don't you think we're ready for something more? I didn't say: come on, let's get to shagging!" "And he jumped back like you were 1,000 degrees and started sputtering like a motor boat?" Ginny asked. "That was the reaction," Hermione said sullenly. "That's the flight or flight reaction," Ginny said. "Don't you mean fight or flight?" Hermione asked. "Not with Ron," Ginny said. "His choices are always 'run away' and 'run away farther'. He's always been like that." "How did he get into Gryffindor then?" Hermione was curious. "All Weasleys are Gryffindor," Ginny said. "But it might be that sometimes Ron is too dumb to do what he's supposed to. His head says: run! and he says: huh? what? and ends up doing the right thing by accident." "Very nice to know, but how does that help me?" Hermione asked. "I don't know. I've never seen anyone try to get him to fuck them," Ginny said. "Maybe you've got to sneak up on him." "Like what? Tell him to close his eyes and hope you can hop on it before he notices?" Hermione scoffed. "Don't scoff. That might work," Ginny said. "It isn't elegant, but it's what you're aiming for, isn't it?" Hmmmmmmmmmmmm. In a mixed up way, Ginny may have hit on something- the elegant solution to an awkward problem. And all it would take was a romantic setting- food, a Ron staple- and a blindfold. And that only had the problem of: they were 16. they were at school. privacy was hard to come by. and Ron could feel when you tried to get his pants off. They were far from where they chould share an idyllic, naked repast where Hermione could slip a blindfold on Ron and slip something of his where it would do her the most good. Uncharacteristically, Hermione threw that all away rather that try to assemble another plan from its parts. The problem was Ron was a big chicken and... No, you couldn't frighten him into fucking. If you put a curse on him and told him he'd die if he didn't fuck you, he probably couldn't get it up. And when he didn't die, you could never get it to work again. "But Ron's your best mate, Harry. Surely you could talk to him, tell him it'd be all right?" "Umm, Hermione, that's not the kind of thing I'd like to bring up," Harry said sheepishly. "Why? Don't you think it's all right if Ron and I are together? Not you too!" "No, that's not it at all. I'm all for you in this. It's just... I don't like to bring up the subject because..." Harry stalled. "Because of you and Ginny! I see that now," Hermione said. "I understand. But can you think of another way I can convince him?" Not surprisingly, talking a boy into screwing his girl was not a common problem with many solutions. It may not have been unique, but there was no indication Ron was gay. Pleased only that Harry had no lingering doubts about their own adventures in the sexual arena, Hermione continued on her quest for answers. "Ahh, Miss Granger, I was wondering when we would next meet." "Hello, Professor Dumbledore, is there something you wanted?" Hermione asked politely. "I was wondering about the status of the ring I lent you," Dumbledore said. "I know what you don't want to know, so I won't tell you it went well, but I guess I can say I lost the ring for good in a flash of green light," Hermione navigated. "Most artfully done, most artfully done," Dumbledore congratulated her. "It is always pleasing when two problems can meet in one solution, is it not?" "Yes, Professor. Thank you Professor," Hermione said and then in a fit of madness, said, "I don't suppose you could help me... No, I shouldn't ask." "No, you shouldn't," Dumbledore said, his face still placid. "I have no secrets for luring boys and would most certainly vehemently deny them if I did." Hermione didn't care about Dumbledore. Whatever he was, it was not an issue. He was a kind old man and a great teacher. Her recent encounter with the faux Ring of Merlin illustrated his uncanny skill in education. None of that other muck was anyone's business. Harry would say so too and he had better reason to be worried if there was anything to worry about- which there wasn't. It turned out the only one who could help with Ron was Ron. Not exactly hat in hand, but eyes downcast and hands searching for a place to be, Ron found her in the second floor hall. "I just wanted a word," he mumbled, looking at the floor. "Did you have one in mind, or should I choose one at random?" Hermione snapped impatiently. "I didn't mean to make you angry," he said, refusing to rise. Hermione was put off guard by his demeanor. "All those things you said- like my pitying you or being ugly, they're not true. I'm with you because I love you." Even though he picked up speed there at the end, Hermione was literally knocked back a step. She stared dumbly for a moment. Then, not trusting her sharp tongue, she stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Does that mean you're not mad?" Ron asked. "Oh, Ron," she said, her heart softening, "I was never really mad. It was more... frustrated. I mean, I gather all my courage to say something and then... Well, you know. I think I expressed my feelings rather well at the time." "I got that you weren't happy," Ron said, looking over the top of his lids with his face still down. "No. I felt rejected," Hermione said. "And I was very vulnerable at the time. And I was rejected by someone I least wanted to reject me." "Well, I'm sorry," Ron said. "I didn't mean it that way." "Could we walk?" Hermione asked. "I feel a bit- exposed here in the hallway. Anyone could be listening in." There was little else to say and they both knew it. At least nothing that could be said until they were in private and facing one another. It wasn't a walking down the hall conversation. They walked silently not particularly heading anywhere, but inexorably approaching the deserted wing on the third floor. Still, neither of them was surprised to find themselves outside the door they had entered in their first year on a desperate mission to save the Sorcerer's Stone. Ron did not raise an eyebrow when Hermione took out her wand and murmured "Alohamora". It had been so long that the room was no longer familiar. Hogwarts had changed in six years and the room with it. There was no trapdoor, nor, to their relief, Fluffy. "Remember this place, Ron?" Hermione asked unneccessarily. Ron visibly relaxed at an innocent question. He had obviously expected their conversation to veer back to the subject of their argument. "Yeah- We didn't like each other so much then, did we?" "We liked Harry," Hermione offered and then said quietly, "And I was terrified for you during the chess game." "Even then?" Ron asked. "Yes, Ron," she said a bit sharper. "You and Harry saved me from a Troll, if you remember. That makes an impression. We were a group after that." "But you weren't in love with me?" he asked. "Of course not. I wasn't in love with anybody at 11. But I did care what happened to you," Hermione said. "You didn't like me so much second year," Ron said. "That was you, and all because you falsely accused... but let's not talk about that," Hermione pulled back. "When did you start liking me?" "I dunno," Ron threatened to play dumb, but then said, "Looking back, I'd have to say fourth year. But I didn't know it." "You were trying to date Fleur!" Hermione snorted. "I said I didn't know it," Ron sparked, "When was it for you?" "I'm not sure either," she said. "I must have felt something for you by last year, or I wouldn't have been so frustrated with how you were." "I guess we kind of grew into it, huh?" Ron said. They had both been waiting through the exchange, knowing it would happen, but not wanting to start. Hermione looked up at the uncommon insight from Ron and his eyebrows raised a millimetre. Then they were in each other's arms and kissing. "Hermione, Hermione! I got to tell you something else," Ron struggled away from the kiss. She stepped back half a pace, fearing the worst. "The reason I said the things I did was because I was scared. I didn't want to look like a fool and have you laugh at me. I want to be with you- with you *that* way but I don't know how to go about it," he said with a sad, serious look on his face. "Then you are a ninny," Hermione said lightly, but there were tears in her eyes. "Because I'm no expert either, but I'll be there and I'm sure we can muddle through. People have managed for eons." "But could we... could we go slow? Work up to it?" Ron asked. Hermione resisted the urge to point out they 'had' been working up to it. Instead she stepped into his arms and kissed him again. "Just so it doesn't take us as long as it took to discover we were in love," she said after the kiss. To Ron, slow meant a guided tour of Hermione's body. She discovered he had been operating on folk knowledge and superstition rather than an accurate understanding of female anatomy. After all their time and growing intimacy he was still bewildered at the sight of her vulva. For that, Hermione accepted some share of the blame. It was her caution that had kept their fumblings in the dark and under cover to avoid detection. One carefree, dangerous afternoon of skinny dipping might have made a world of difference, but Hermone could not bring herself to be so bold. (Until the 8th Harry Potter book- available online NOW!) Nor was that the total of his nervousness, but Hermione's patience went a long way toward dispelling his fears. It was rather idyllic for Hermione, in three naked lessons to go over the basics and engage in full-on heavy petting while anticipating the day they would consummate their love. There was: 'welcome to my vagina', including 'what is all the stuff down there?' and 'Oh! *That's* a clitoris'. Then: 'I like to touch', with 'Let me ask you- how many fingers would you like me to stuff up your arse' and 'Not so friggin hard'. This was capped by 'up close and personal', including 'yes, I mean with your mouth' and 'if you want me to suck yours, you have to lick mine'. Ron was somewhat more co-operative than the lesson titles might imply. His main objection to cunnilingus wasn't so much a revulsion as his natural pessimism that he could do it right. In his pessimism he was fairly accurate, but Hermione was careful not to seem disappointed. The perfect solution was to assign extra lessons, which Ron accepted with rather better grace than if it had been schoolwork. He was less gallant complimenting Hermione on her oral skills, but she took that as a sign he had been so overwhelmed as to be unable, a position for which there was ample evidence in Ron's crossed eyes and general disorientation. Hermione kept all this private, even from Ginny, or perhaps particularly from Ginny. She went as far as Ron's sweet apology and profession of love and left out the lessons. Even with her more jaundiced view of her brother, Ginny had to agree he had outdone himself with that. Only once did the spectre of her assignation with Harry raise its disturbing head and that was only in Hermione's mind. In choosing a place for the final consummation, she had to eliminate the Room of Requirement from the possibilities because of the memories. Instead they, rather boldly, chose a shaded bower- or at least a leafy clearing- behind Hagrid's cottage. It should be deserted enough. Hagrid would be off spending time with Grawp deep in the Forbidden Forest and other students tended to shun the area, not having the group's affection for the half-giant groundskeeper. "Don't just think about it, Ron," Hermione said as she noted the staring look and other symptoms of cold feet. "That didn't help, did it?" she said lightly, thinking of her 'elephant' example. "Then maybe we should go the other direction?" "Direction?" Ron was bewildered. "You want to go some where?" "No," she said, standing, "You're going to sit right there and watch me." She had come to the idea with an internal sigh, but as she slipped out of her clothes, she felt another emotion. It was not something to grit your teeth and do. There was something freeing about stripping for Ron and it wasn't because her clothes were constricting. Instead of feeling slightly foolish, a warmth seemed to kindle in her. It wasn't exactly desire. It was the power of sex and the gratifying feeling of finding it in herself. Watching Ron's grin fade and turn first to uncertainty and then to lust furnished impetus to her display. She saw her appeal in his eyes and made her feel it in herself. It banished self-consciousness and when she ran out of clothes to remove, she stood and flaunted herself without a quiver of shame. Her thought was all for keeping the mood alive as she bent brazenly over Ron, shaking her breasts before his face as she surreptitiously undid his pants. She was outrageous without concern as she swivelled her hips for him, already mapping her obscene dance to turn and press her bum in his face as she got the pants off and out of the way. Ron was an eager distraction as he buried his face tongue first in the offered sex. There was no hint of his prior nerves as she left him naked and heart-warmingly erect. Now all she had to do was find a position and invite Ron over. She lay back and opened her knees in invitation. She lifted her head to see Ron's bemused face and said, "Come here and kiss me." Stunned thoughtless or willing victim, Ron crawled over her and into her arms. It was the same and yet completely different. They kissed as they always kissed, rather better with their practice as Ron understood the point of tongue meeting tongue and not trying to reach her stomach, but with the shudder of skin on skin as they lay together completely naked. She lay back with him looming over her. His hand was familiar on her breast but without any impediment of cover. And there, at the joint of her thigh, his hard cock lay hot, reminding them both of the intent with which they joined. "Put it in now, Ron," she breathed in a whisper. "Now? Are you ready?" Ron asked. "Yes, I've been waiting so long, I'm ready," Hermione sighed. It was only the positioning of his leg between hers. It brought him nicely to the spot and Hermione had little difficulty adjusting the angle of her hips to aid his aim. He perched at the gate with a slight rocking. "Love me," she said quietly, "show me you love me." And then it was in. "I do, I love you, Hermione," Ron said with as much awe as Hermione had ever heard in his voice. "I love you so much." Hermione quelled her impatience and urge for him to move. There was a far-away look in Ron's eyes as he seemed to stare past her into some private scrapbook of memories. It's his first, she thought, let him get on with it as he will. "I don't want to move," he said with religious awe, "I'm afraid it will all be over and I'll spoil it." "Then stay- or move, and we'll do it again," Hermione said. "I'm already happy to feel you inside me at last." Hermione was trying very hard to feel as she said, but she had worked up a hunger for Ron in her immodest display and was wishing for more than the comforting but hardly arousing feel of his cock motionless inside her. At least he had most of his weight on his elbows like a gentleman. The Ron cautiously began. At first it was a short withdrawal and immediate return. Then it was a little farther and then two- and he was caught in the frenzy. "Hermione! I love you so much!" Ron said somewhere between a gasp and a groan as his natural urges took over. Hermione slapped her feet flat on the blanket and reached for Ron as his thrusts were urgent and rapid inside her. He seemed in a rush to finish, but moments went by and Ron's ardor did not diminish. Hermione let herself relax and tried to catch his furor. She was rising... rising, when Ron jerked unrhytmically and groaned. Still, it was better than the brief spark she got with Harry. She cursed herself inwardly for bringing that into her first liason with Ron. "You didn't have to worry about spoiling it," Hermione did her best to capture praise in her words. Ron took a moment more to get his breathing under control before he said, "That was amazing! That's like the best thing ever!" "It will get better with practice," Hermione said. "You mean... Oh, you cheeky tart!" Ron guffawed, "And that dance- that was something." It was remarkable how completely all traces of the hesitant Ron had vanished. It seemed that the height of the hurdle he had cleared had thrown him deep into the middle of self-satisfied appreciation of being a sexually active teen. It was so typically Ron, but Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with the concentration needed for Ron to be so familiar with the attitudes of the sexually active. It meant more study than he ever devoted to schoolwork, certainly. Rather boldly, Ron lounged naked beside Hermione. For the moment he was like a new beast in his skin. The exhilaration of first sex drove away a prudery that would return, but not on this day. He explored Hermione with the same liberty of first discovery. "That's nice, Ron," Hermione encouraged him, pressing his hand between her legs, "see what you did?" His hand fluttered a moment, but she held it firm. Finally it relaxed and Ron's fingers began to play in the fluids leaking out of her. Hermione sighed contentedly. "We have time for you to do it again," she said seductively. She felt his cock jerk against her leg. She rolled toward him and kissed him this time. He let her roll him on his back and clamber astride. He held her as she lay on him and kissed him. It was a wonderfully freeing feeling. Hermione pressed against him as she might against Ginny. Only with every tendancy to the rear she bumped Ron's rapidly rising organ. Soon she was cradling it in the cleft of her sex while she rubbed on Ron and their tongues tangled in mounting anticipation. The insistent rub of Ron's stiffness between the lips of her sex soon brought a reciprocal need in Hermione. She pushed up slowly, but the rush of Ron's cock inside her was sudden and welcome. He felt fully inside her before she slid back and took in even more. "Ohh! Hermione!" Ron gasped, "That's so good! That's so fucking good!" "It is, isn't it?" Hermione agreed, rocking forward and back, "It feels very good." Ron amused himself with her breasts almost absently as she moved on his cock. For Hermione too all the action was where their groins met. She was able to rub most satisfyingly against Ron even as she moved up and back along his body to plunge his cock in and out. In charge of the pace herself, Hermone was pleasantly surprised how quickly she was aroused. It took hardly anytime, it seemed, certainly within the duration of Ron's impetuous thrusting before. Then she became less aware and less active. She willed her hips to move but they weren't listening. Fortunately Ron's ardor took up for her. He thrust up at her to restore her rhythm. Then her hips jerked on their own as streaks of nerve impulses shot through her like lightning across the sky. Ron kept up his end, slamming into her with his own rising desire. Hermione recovered just in time to join in the exertion to bring Ron to the crest. He was moaning as she returned the orgasmic favor by maintaining his rhythm, even accelerating a bit, as he lost control and jerked helplessly beneath her. She kept moving. There was something... comforting or settling about the way Ron's cock became rubbery as he dropped back to the blanket and moaned as she moved up and back on him. She rocked to a stop and sat on his cock in content. "That was so good," she enthused. "We should have done this ages ago." "Yeah- " Ron wheezed. "That was amazing." As weeks went by, Hermione began to feel a looming spectre over her. Certainly Ron, the arm around the shouder, this here's my main filly, this guy he was portraying had to wonder why she wasn't more... virginal. It was a thing she meant to gloss over with some pap about horses or gymnastics, or even a nasty fall skiing, but she thought it would go down smoother the quicker she made her explanation. Giving Ron more time to think meant giving him more time to consider and that wasn't optimal. Of course he could be blissfully ignorant or not care- but the latter didn't sound like Ron and the former would make it worse when someone wised him up. But really, all she could do was sit with her prepared story and hope she never had to use it. Bringing it up... there were only all kinds of bad there. Of course, she giggled to herself, Ron could always hang her up by her hair and whip the truth out of her. If only... Such bloody fantasies were beginning to capture Hermione's mind. While they might be said to plague another's thoughts, Hermione found them welcome in some twisted pretend way of inverting normal passion. She was not dissatisfied with Ron's prowess, nor indeed his eagerness now that his fears had been driven off. They were coming to understand each other's need and rhythms and their sex was improving with every occurence. It was just he was so... nice about it. It seemed a strange complaint, particularly about Ron, but there is was. Nor was the irony that she liked control, but was pining for Ron to wrest it from her lost on Hermione. It seemed the dark places where sex urges dwelled were filled with twisting corridors and quite confusing and contradictory desires. Again, it was not something she could bring up. Far beyond the chilling effect it might have on Ron's ardor, it wouldn't be the same if he did it because he was told to. It was hardly seizing the initiative when he was prodded into it. Of course she was an idiot. Honing in on a problem with her razor-sharp intellect had gone just as well before and she was again losing sight of the larger view with her narrow focus. This was amazing, given that she and Ginny continued to explore the more feminine ways to please a witch with magic. That in no way devalues their joint efforts to include Luna in these pursuits, particularly giving Luna a girl-dick of her own and letting her use it on them. It was only more incomprehensible that Hermione's mind didn't make the leap as she was upside down at the foot of the bed, her legs thrown over her face, and Luna squatting over her, fucking down at her from above. It seemed Luna was the one in whose head the possiblities exploded like fireworks when she was introduced to something new. Hemione was left to plod along, making variations on the theme rather than bold new melodies of her own. It was fortunate then that they had chosen to befriend Luna. "So, is it because a guy's penis is covered in skin and that makes it less sensitive or are girls just hotter than guys?" Luna was inquiring as she lay back making bed-angels in Ginny's sheets after the turbulent sex. "Huh?" Hermione lifted her head wearily. She had been the first to feel Luna's girl-cock. Granted, balancing on her head and shoulders as Luna pile-drove her sapped some energy, but she had been watching as Luna fucked Ginny next. She was still exhausted and Luna seemed to be still working off nervous energy although her clitoris had shrunk back to normal. "I think everybody's set different," Ginny opined, dodging Luna's arms as she tried to lay beside her on the bed. "That might be a bigger difference than boy or girl." "Nope," Luna said confidently. "Not only would a boy take all night to do that much fucking- because of their physical limitations, but I don't think there's one that would be wanting more as much as I do right now." "But say you're right," Hermione was drawn in, "What can we do about it if we want to be with boys?" "Oh, I'm not gay," Luna declared unprompted. "I could lower my expectations. It might still be nice, but don't you have a whole book of spells that could bridge the gap?" Hermione lost interest in the conversation, even her need to fix Luna's broken thinking. Didn't she have a whole book of spells she'd been ignoring? A book. Ignoring. Hermione was struck by that fact alone. And weren't most, 60- 70- 75 percent of them concerned with putting the pop in a pecker one way or another? Hermione let herself quiver with the possibilities as Ginny and Luna raided the book for something to amuse Luna's still hungry libido. Through Luna's delighted squealing, Hermione thought what kind of hex she would need. Nothing like she had used on Draco. Ron didn't need help to be eager and ready and she certainly didn't want to rush him to climax. It would have to be more of an attitude hex, an entitlement jinx. "I just don't see how this can go well," Ginny registered the counter-point when Hermione asked her advice. "This is Ron we're talking about. He just doesn't have the hang of masterful. You know Ron. Even when he's being the voice of authority he can't help whining." "But that's just it," Hermione argued. "It's a matter of confidence and I might be able to supply that with a little nudge in the right place." "But that would be like letting a 10-year-old Apparate: He'll be all over the place. He doesn't know how to act. He won't be able to control it," Ginny argued back. There was more sense in that than Hermone was willing to admit, but she was anxious to try. The lure of fantasy was strong and the uncertainty only seemed to make her more aroused at the thought. The unexpected would make it that much more exciting. She couldn't prepare and she wouldn't know what might come next. Thinking about it made Hermione deaf to all reasons to the contrary. It would be... she wasn't sure, and that was sexy beyond imagining. At Ron's mercy- his helpless fuck toy- the vague concept itself was enough to make her wet. Don't be concerned. Everything is under control. Nothing can possibly go wrong... go wrong... go wrong... The hex was 'testostorus anabolus': the hex to make your man more manly in every way. It wasn't the first time she and Ron had experimented with a little juice just for kicks, although so far they have been more pleased with hexes for Hermione than for Ron. That's not to say Ron was disappointed or offended by the jinx to enlarge his cock. He was happily smug when Hermione complained it made her sore and asked to abandon its use. It didn't really make it better for him anyway and it made him feel he was better just the way he was. The same could be said for a little push to hurry Ron's revival time, which left him sore like Hermione after the big dick and kind of felt fake to both him and her. However, they both appreciated the specific ticklers and the tongue spells on Hermione. Hermione, obviously, liked writhing in pleasure the entire time they were shagging and Ron found she was much faster down the road and quicker through the corners when she'd been properly warmed up. So Ron was game even though Hermione stopped at the book's truncated description of the effect and didn't add her own suspicions what might come. He wouldn't exactly remember it anyway, she hoped. At least no more than a kind of vague dream that, hopefully, would be a fond, if cloudy memory. Oh yes, 'testostorus anabolus' made Ron more of a man in every way. He was suave in an uncaring way, smooth and disconnected. His technique became confident and effective and his ego swelled like his prick had under the discarded hex. "That's good, isn't it? You're feeling it now. You won't be able to stop screaming for me before I'm through. A little more? Just a little more like that? You're never going to forget this night." It was a bit insufferable, but Ron was making good on his boasts. It did feel good and it was the one-sided, all Ron in charge that Hermione had wanted. He was a bit too smug, but that was a quibble. That was just the foreplay. When Ron finally 'gave her what she was dreaming about', in his words, Hermione knew who was in control. He was fucking her for a reaction. He was out to break her. He was going to reduce her to quivering jelly to show her who the man was. No- she was going to fight him. If he broke her spirit, he'd have to fuck her into jelly like he promised. Hermione was not resisting the idea, only trying to force it to a higher level. She was going to make Ron make this a pinnacle event that would forever leave fond memories. Only Ron was not appreciative of her fire. He had a job to do and he was going to do it, but her forcing extra effort was irritating him. He grabbed her wrists roughly and slammed into her. He was going to subdue her with prick. In the face of it, Hermione felt her dream shudder. While the power Ron demonstrated and her helplessness were right on script, a creeping uncertainty was killing her buzz. It was everything a poor captive could want from thrusting cock, but the fire in Ron's eyes glinted too much of madness. "You're going to cum, you little bitch! Go on- fight it! It won't do you any good. I'll fuck you 'till you beg!" Ron had kicked her in her insecurities before, slashed her with his tongue, but nothing like the raw aggression she heard coming from him now. Her heart beat faster but some of her pulse was drawn to fear rather than excitement. He spun her over, propped her hips with pillows and fell on her again, never taking both hands off her at the same time. Once driving fiercly into her again, he pushed down on her shoulders, pressing her face into the bed. Hermione gasped for air, gasped for excitement and gasped in uncertainty. She was being taken like a bitch in heat and with no mercy. It was titillating, it was what she wanted and she could not ignore the intense eroticism she felt. She begged him to fuck her. "Can't get enough, can you, you little slut!" Ron responded. Possibly that response fit and calmed the niggling doubt and possibly Hermione was no longer alert enough to fear. She knew little beyond burning loins and rhythmic rolls like thunder in her head. Her body responded and she was helpless to do anything but go along for the ride. "Oh, you're not done yet!" Ron gloated as she stopped flopping and gasped for air. "What should we do now?" Hermione had no suggestion, but she knew what they shouldn't do. Ron shouldn't pull his cock out of her and press it on her anus. She shouldn't lay there and let him. "No! Stop it!" she shouted into the muffling sheets. "Don't!" Ron was so very male. Her retreat made him charge. "Don't tease. You know you want it," he said in a growl. "No I don't! Stop!" Hermione said frantically. "How do you know? You might like it." Ron was relentless. Hermione felt poised on the razor's edge. The niggling doubt, the uncertainty that had lurked at the edges before, was now rushing at her, making her unsure who was looming over her, holding her down. She didn't know if she could reach that person. "No. Something else! We can do something else," she bargained frantically. There was hesitation of some sort or the other. Hermione seized the opportunity to swing away from Ron and turn under the pressure of his hands. She faced him on hands and knees and offered an alternative. She rocked forward and let his hard cock slide into her mouth. There was a groan of content from above. Ron stopped trying to turn her back. He knelt up straighter and let his hands rest on her head. The bad tension retreated and the nervousness of treading new ground swelled in Hermione. Ron was still having his way with her and she felt distinctly scandalous servicing him in her position. She swayed forward and back, feeling like her whole body was invested in moving Ron's cock in her mouth. She was slavishly, servilely minstrating to her man. She was intensely aware of her nipples as they swung at the tips of her breasts with the motion of her swaying. They were hard and tingling and made it seem Ron's cock was exciting her body like her mouth was exciting him. Her next meshing of the concept of mouth as cunt came when Ron's hands tightened on her head and he thrust forward. This was not like exciting her body. It was more like rape. But only like it. Hermione found herself more interested in straightening her throat to ease the passage of Ron's cock than determining the ethical status. Her excitement was trickling down her thigh even as she struggled. It was as much a challenge as brutality. And she had imagined all manner of force being used on her. She fought her reflexes and concentrated on breathing. It was what she wanted. Some part, in some corner was breathing heavily even as she grabbed opportunites for air. This was the unexpected, the danger- and it was almost perfectly brutal and benign at the same time. Hermione tried to help, offering herself to Ron's use. Then suddenly he was too wrought to go on. He lifted her head carefully and pushed hard on her shoulders to topple her backward. He gathered her legs by the ankles and lifted them as he advanced. He in fact lifted Hermione a few inches off the bed, at least her bottom. He lifted her to the level of his dick and pushed in. Hermone lay back, arms thrown wide, and let him ravage her. This was even more perfect. She could lay back and melt as Ron took her like some tart. "You like that, don't you," Ron crowed. "Yes, Ron, I like that. As hard as you want- I like that." The uncensored invitation passed out of Hermione's mouth and seemed to also pass Ron. Or perhaps it was a moment of perfect understanding that passed between them. Ron did not seem to respond to her permission, but he was already throwing his hips at Hermione with a will. Hermione was undulating on the bed with Ron's thrusts. Her mind was free to roam as she abandoned herself to the pleasure flooding her. She was being taken- certainly. And if not bindings, she was restrained by her own desire and unable to resist Ron's rapid heaves into her and the stabbing of his cock. He brought her to the crest with him, perhaps before, perhaps after. She only felt the primal surge and the heard the blood in her ears as he finished in a fury. She was still languishing in the sensation of flashes like sprinkled glitter throughout her body when Ron dropped her legs to one side and slapped her flank. "You like it that way, don't you," he smirked. "It was amazing," Hermione enthused, "I felt alive to bursting. That was... very good." Good- yet problematic. She was not sure the man who came out of the hex was Ron. He was dangerous on just the edge of panic. While that was perfectly what she wanted, she wasn't sure how carefully this hexed person would toe the line the next time. It had been frighteningly good- and the fright was part of the thrill. But it had wound her emotions as tight as they could be wound and she shrank from repeating the tenuousness of that state. As always, if she could have just some of the swagger and some of Ron, but the whole package seemed too extreme to trust again- at least until she felt more confident. And that was all stubbornly refusing to remember her narrow escape from having a cock in her arse. That was its own issue. She had not spent much time considering her conversation with Ginny on the subject, but it seemed to pop up wherever she turned. No- that made it sound like the world was conspiring against her. The truth was she had tried so hard to not think about it, but it intruded in unguarded moments, a constant thought that came to her when she lowered her defences. It didn't meant she was eager, no, certainly not. Or even curious except in the most morbid sense. There was the looming question of why? Why did one's arse become the focus of interest? What was the reason to be with a girl and want the thing you say you don't want from a boy? Hermione would not let herself continue on in wonder. How it could be accomplished and how it felt were considerations she didn't want to reach. They were busy with what they had and she saw no reason to go that far even in thought. "It's tight- which is why it feels the way it feels," Ginny answered the legitimate question while dragging in the taboo. "I don't want to know how it feels," Hermione brazened, "I just want to know why boys crave it and girls give in." She had tossed that straight at Ginny. It was the question that distiled all her disbelief. Why would anyone want to- give or receive, but particularly receive? "Because it's like sex and it makes boys happy," Ginny said with a grimace. "So it's sex lite?" Hermione asked. "For me it was sex substitute," Ginny said. "I was hanging onto my cherry a little while longer, but you know how boys get." "No, I don't," Hermione said seriously. "Well, seeing as it's Ron, I get that, but most boys aren't like that. They're impatient. I don't even think they're sure of what they want- they just know they want something and they want it really bad," Ginny responded. "Isn't that what oral sex is for?" Hermione asked. Ginny could finally take no more and dissolved into giggles. Hermione wasn't stupid. She was prodding Ginny on purpose. "I don't know, Hermnione. Like I said, I don't think they know either. My theory is that blow-jobs distract them, but they know they want something else too," Ginny said. "Some girls say it's pretty distracting, though," Hermione reported. "You're going to do it, aren't you?" Ginny jumped in. "You'll go back and forth, trying to change the subject, but then you'll think about it and think about it and have to find out." "Is that a prediction?" Hermione was cautious. "No- a premonition. My instinct tells me. Knowing how you are tells me. The sight doesn't like to get involved in little issues like this," Ginny said. "It isn't earth-shattering either way. But I think you will." Hermione felt her arsehole clench at the very mention. She had to grant the truth of Ginny's insight, but she was a long way from curiosity over-powering her fear at the moment. "But I keep feeling it will be arse-shattering," Hermione said. "And even if you're right, I'm not going to think about it now." The denial didn't really make the thoughts worse. They seemed to lurk on the edge of Hermione's consciousness as before, with the same persistence. She could banish them by applying herself to the problem of a jinx that made Ron a little more aggressive without the fear-inducing properties of 'testostorus anabolus'. The desire of a ravaging Hun... continuous ecstasy, time after time... continuous draining completeness... Hermione scanned the descriptions frowning. Complete disregard for mores and propriety... that made her pause until she saw the incantation 'omnia orifico'. It sounded like it would make Ron a sissy-boy, or worse, even more intent on invading her arse. Where were the gentle ravagers, the safe sadists, the kind torturers? Hermione put her head in her hands over the tome and the book seemed to ruffle its own pages with a mind of its own. When she looked down, the book was open to a section edged with a dark scrollwork on greyed vellum. Finger at the spot, Hermione leafed back to the title head: Darkest Dungeons of Desire. While the book did tend toward the florid, the title still gave her a chill. She opened it again where it had fallen open. For the numbing of the conscience while all others senses are heightened, the legend read. "To be transported to the time when Witches laughed and Muggles screamed in the flames, an incantation most effacious. Questioned by the Examiner, will you writhe in the chains or scream with greatest delight? "CAUTION: Pains suffered are not illusory. Only intent is altered and damage sustained will remain when the curse disperses." Hermione felt a heat between her thighs just letting her eyes wander over the words. A trickle of wetness escaped her as she imagined the affect. She looked around quickly to see if anyone noticed her guilty arousal, but no one was paying her any attention. Her breath came shallow and rapid as she read the incantation: 'Inquisitamus'. A one word incantation- usually a powerful word of command- it sent a chill thorough her already tingling body as she guessed the power it might unleash. She went on. There were hexes to paralyze, for him and her, so the 'victim' could know everything being done to them. A suggestibility jinx made the conjuror wield a power not unlike the Imperius Curse over another- their word was a comand that could not be resisted. A duplicity curse, which Hermione thought misplaced in this section, multiplied partners, each copy maintaining a rudimentary thought process and all the natural instincts of the original. There were more, all much more than a feather hex to tickle the sex parts of another. But Hermione kept returning to 'Inquisitamus'. It was dark, perhaps too dark, but there seemed to be no lighter version that held the same attraction. 'Inflamo dorsi' was but a pale jinx that forced attention to one's bottom and Hermione wanted more than a spanking! How much more, became the question she wrestled with and kept the question of her arse at bay. Her fantasy had clear points- hung by her hair- whipping- and violent, indescribably orgasmic sex. The rest was nebulous. She knew she was helpless, but the exact manner was hidden in the mists of unconcern. All other things floated about, leaving no clear impression, like location or the aforementioned restraint or the reason she was found in such peril. Those weren't crutial. It was the main points that touched her so deeply. She was too unfamiliar with this dangerous part in the dark of her desire to know how crutial the other details might become when they became real. She had only a vague understanding of how it could differ once it left the safety of her imagination and was put into the hands of another. "If you're so hot for it, do it," Ginny advised with reservations, "But remember what happened the last time. It didn't work out exactly as planned and this sounds like something that could go horribly wrong with only the slightest slip." Hermione was hoping for more of a solution than a warning. She already was nervously wavering between the safety of a spanking and the terrible promise of 'Inquisitamus'. Without troubling herself with the exact nature of the consequences, she was already fearful on principle. "What about no fun without a bit of risk?" Hermione asked sourly. "Or have you changed your tune?" "I said do it," Ginny replied. "I just think you ought to know the risk you're taking for a bit of fun." It was that Hermione least wanted to comtemplate. The vague dangers could stay vague, thank you. She was having quite enough to be going on with trying to guess the probability that it would all go wrong. It was a measure of the lure of fantasy that she thought there was the slightest chance it wouldn't go wrong. She would be quick to point that out in any other situation, to any other witch or wizard, but, like the dangers she didn't want to consider, she was ignoring reason in her desire to have her wish. She was stalled by not being able to solve the problem of location. While it was entirely possible, even probable, that Hogwarts had a dungeon- a dungeon replete with instruments of the darkest evil- Hermione couldn't locate it or find anyone who had. While she wasn't sure it made any difference, she had a feeling it was important. And it gave her an excuse to decry her luck and deflect her thoughts into different avenues. Not that arse thing, of course. "I thought you didn't like that other one," Ron said as she proposed another hex. Ron had not asked for another dose of 'testostorus anabolus' or seemed to recall its effect. He did report a memory of feeling 'really strong' and a satisfaction about his performance, although he seemed to recall little beyond the physical reward of his climax. Since rewarding climaxes were becoming a penny a pound for them, and Ron in particular, he seemed to have no regret about discarding the experiment. But it had left a good enough memory for Hermione to call upon it. "It was fine... a bit too intense, perhaps," Hermione said, "But you liked it. And I think you'll like this just as well." Ron was putting up no serious resistance. As Hermione had noted, he had emerged contented from all her ventures and didn't mind another experiment. She explained the jinx by saying it would make Ron want to 'put her in her place'. Ron was understandably attracted to the idea. He made a joke of his eagerness by saying what he wanted was to put *his* in her place. Hermione smiled and muttered: 'Inflamo dorsi'. "You sure it took?" Ron asked in a break from snogging. Hermione didn't answer. Even as Ron was questioning the effect, his hands were grasping her buttocks like they were a lifejacket and he was in the middle of a stormy sea. She took a quick breath with the feeling she was climbing the first hill of a roller-coaster. It seemed the effect crept upon him. As their bodies became more involved, he augmented the expeditions of his hands inside her clothes with a growing callous attitude. She could feel that he was treating her like a possession. "You are a cheeky little tart, aren't you?" Ron said as his hands invaded her underpants. He had managed to open but not remove her shirt and her bra was askew, but her skirt had become an early casualty and now he was edging her underpants down as he grabbed at her arse. He had blunted all her efforts to remove his clothes, with the exception of letting her open his jeans before he grabbed her hand and stuffed it inside his own underpants. It was one-sided, but Hermione did not find it unappealing. The throbbing hardnesss in her hand promised some real passion and Ron's proprietory handling of her actually whetted her own desire. It was somehow more naughty to have him narrow his focus to her bum and to leave the rest of her to another time. It could be like a hurried coupling in a stairwell, all naked under cover and mutually gratifying while clothed and at first glance not what it seemed. Hermione could imagine the thrill of that without the experience. "You want it, don't you?" Ron was looking at her with eyes narrowed and intent. "You'll do anything to get yourself some cock, won't you?" It was both teasing and accusatory. Hermione again felt the twinge of uncertainty, an uncertanty that made her heart race and and her nipples draw tight. "It feels so big!" she said as she stroked Ron's cock in his pants. "I know it will feel so good up inside me." It was a generic response because she wanted Ron to do what he would do without prompting from her. She had a feeling she could not deflect his purpose, but she took no chances. He released her arse and took her hand out of his pants. He pulled her roughly, with stuttering steps because of her hobbling underpants, to the teacher's desk in the deserted classroom. He hopped up smoothly and pulled her after him. In contemplation, Hermione had not seen that this would be so exciting. In action, it was more of a thrill than she imagined. She was drawn over Ron's legs fully aware of what he intended and feeling the naughty thrill of it. Her pulse still raced and even her arse itself was tingling with the anticipation. It could not help but be more intense for taking place on a teacher's desk in a schoolroom. "Now I'll teach you about having such wicked feelings," Ron blustered, accompanied by a resounding whack on her rear. The echoing sound of flesh on flesh shocked Hermione almost as much as the force of the blow. It was quite loud in the empty room. It was loud because Ron was not sparing her. That realization came alone, unburdened with other sensory input, as his hand landed again, hard on the heels of the first. She had never imagined how much it would hurt. She had considered the concept, but that was very different than the actual impact of Ron's hand. She squealed from the first whack and added protest as she could catch her breath to cry out again. Her arse was tingling with pain and not anticipation now. It was growing hot and squirming under Ron's imprisoning hand while his other hand continued to rain more pain and heat with every stroke. "You don't like it when you get it, eh?" Ron was jubilant as his hand kept slapping the quivering globes, "Then you'll think twice before you ask for it again!" Even in extremis, Hermione found her rogue mind darting to other things. The sharp pains in her arse were enough to occupy her, but they, and her cries of torment, slipped from her mind without being diminished as she noted another interesting thing. Ron's cock pressed hard and insistent into her belly as his hand whailed on her rear. It was almost like he was fucking- or masturbating by whacking her bottom and letting that serve to stroke his cock. There was no doubt. Her cries and struggles and his persistent paddling were arousing Ron like sex. "Please! It's enough! Please stop!" Hermione began to beg. It was enough. It hurt terribly. And yet there was something of Hermione becoming accustomed that allowed her to beg rather than just cry out. She did not note that, only that her experience had changed. And then, in no particular order, Ron stopped his hand on her arse and squeezed, she felt wetness against her belly where his cock prodded, and he let out a growl like she had struck him. The pain didn't cease. That was her first discovery. Then Hermione realized the wetness meant Ron had climaxed while spanking her. Then she felt the heat in her bottom like a prod of excitement and desperation for it to become some kind of satisfaction for herself. "No!" she gasped almost to herself and pulled away from Ron's now disinterested grip. She dropped to her knees in front of him and tore at his pants. She managed to free his cock from his gummy underpants, all in a twist around the organ she sought, and sucked his cock into her mouth. No! echoed in her mind as she bobbed determinedly on the fading erection. What had she suffered for this? Her ass burned like the flame of desire in her breast and what was Ron going to do about it? The spanking had, she didn't care how, aroused her need, but what was going to satisfy it? Ron was content to purr and lean back on his hands as she futilely sucked his slackening cock. It had been well enough for him, obviously. Finally seeing it was a bad job, Hermione looked up at Ron. Her face must not have reflected her ire at the injustice. Ron smiled down at her with a different perspective. "Didn't learn anything at all, did you," he smirked. "Stand up. Turn around. Let's have a look at you." Hermione obeyed with rising fury until she was on her feet facing away from Ron. Then the humiliation of his request registered. She tried to fight it with pride, but she was standing with her bare bottom red and exposed while Ron happily surveyed his handiwork. At most she managed the tingle of uncertainty. What would come of this now? She jerked involuntarily when she felt Ron's hand on her arse. "Nice and warm," he said gleefully as his ran his hand over the red, burning flesh. "I expect that hurt quite a lot." Hermione was preparing a scathing: yes, when Ron turned it to a gasp with yet another slap on her bottom. It did not have the force of a spanking, but the shock and the sensitivity of the area made Hermione jump. "Come over here, let me look," Ron said with deceiving concern as he turned her and led her back to the desk. He inclined her forward until she rested on her elbows on the desk and ran his hand over the punished flesh again. She braced for the slap, but he seemed to be soothing her. She felt his lips run over the curves of her behind. "Gave you quite the whipping," he said with the sound of compassion, his lips so close to her bottom that she could feel the hot air of his breath. "Kiss it and make it better?" She was lulled by the kisses. Her ire had not yet dissappated but it was diminishing and she was turning to plots to entice Ron to satisfy her. Then he slapped her again. It destroyed all that had gone before. She started up and Ron guffawed at her reaction. Just as quickly he began to explore her heated flesh again. "Like a little reminder, eh?" he said happily. It was in this state of nervous waiting that Hermione noticed a strange touch. It wasn't Ron's hands. They were accounted for. It was there, along her thigh, damp and soft and intermittent. As it became less evasive, she realized it was Ron's cock reviving from the dead. At that, she rediscovered her need. It had not gone away because Ron chased it with his own devilry. She still wanted satisfaction. Only the lost hope had demoted it beneath Ron's maddening use of her. "Now what to do?" Ron sounded like he was arguing with an invisible mate, trying to dissuade himself. "It can't be right to give her what she wants. She's a bad girl." His cock no longer touched her. Hermione was convinced it swung erect over her proffered bottom. Still Ron played aloof, rubbing her bottom with perhaps a bit more intent that before. Now she was aching for it. The pain had faded, leaving the sting and heat and they seemed to call along with her heart for something to be done. She felt as if her bottom was a flashing sign pleading for Ron to have done for her. Then with a rush of shock, consternation and gratitude, she felt Ron take her. Relief quickly became a morass of emotions as she felt abused by the casual use, ashamed of her position as a convenient orifice and finally contented as Ron's cock found her yearning and bashed into it. "Don't think it's all right," Ron warned, "I can't resist a good red arse." Hermione's morass had dried quickly. She was getting the satisfaction she craved and the rest fell away like dried leaves. She had less than no concern for Ron's words. Let him urge himself as he might. It was hard cock driving into her that concerned Hermione. The twinge of Ron driving against her abused bottom did add something, but Hermone was greedy for her own pleasure and could not be bothered to discern what. She arched up to afford Ron a deeper access and encouraged him as she could with swaying hips. That was enough to do. The one thing inescapable, she did not have to think to notice, was that Ron thrust so deeply into her. That their position, her angle, his angle, her bottom clear of interfering, caused it was beyond her care. She only pushed back to encourage more and gloried in the quivers it made dance through her body. She was wailing like a lost soul in short order, with Ron still manfully helming her bum. She wandered in the daze of fulfillment as Ron thrust even harder in his jealous need to find as much pleasure of himself. The crack on her rear came to her like Crookshanks bumping into her leg. The next was a little more. She could only think vaguely that it might be nice to have that here instead of at the start. It was the same as Ron whacked her and fucked her in his fury. Perhaps the last splat of his hand before he grabbed her hips and thrust out the last of the short strokes came as a rude reminder, but all before had seemed a mild impetus for her to enjoy her orgasm more. Finally satisfied, Hermione slumped forward onto the desk, momentarily surprized to find her clothes between her and the cool wood, and drew long breaths. It was not so bad, she considered from so near her climax. Perhaps a bit frustrating at the start, but the end was all right. It was Ron's turn to be confounded. While the former hex had left him with the vaguest impressions, the jinx had not been nearly as efficient erasing its trace. He did not recall every particular, but he did recall feeling the need to punish Hermione and doing it. While he sulkily accepted her license for his actions, he seemed to hold firm to the uncomfortable memory of climaxing while hitting her. Despite her assurances to the contrary, he also felt he had thrown her to the floor and somehow forced her to suck his cock after. He resisted her efforts to remind him of the sex that took place subsequently and that she had found it very pleasing- in fact regarded the whole incident, as a whole, fondly. "But... I don't like the feeling I was feeling," Ron continued to bleat. "You don't know what that was like." "I said you'd put me in my place," Hermione offered, "I suspect you felt happy to be doing that at last." "But that's a stupid feeling," Ron said. "That's not your place. And feeling... that way about hitting you? That's really sick." Hermione could hardly feel frustrated about him feeling that way. She cuddled up to him and squeezed him. It was sweet it bothered him that much. "Then we just won't do it again," she said brightly. "So stop dwelling on it. We'll call it an experiment gone bad. And I didn't mind, really." Maybe he wouldn't climax until he was fucking her *after* he whipped her, Hermione thought to herself wryly. It seemed to put any serious discussion ending in Ron acting out her fantasy out of reach. Again, Hermione blithely ignored the glaring error in her reasoning. Spanking hurt. She had been unprepared and not particularly pleased with that. She did not then apply that lesson to what whipping might feel like. The agony of fantasy excited her. That real agony might not be any more appealing than the pain of spanking, indeed very much less so, Hermione did not spare a thought. As she had been on her uninspired spiral to nowhere, Ginny had been merrily screwing Harry, Hermione was indifferent to discover. Harry was, by Ginny's report, the best thing ever. Beyond the huge prick Ginny seemed to treasure, he was solid and earnest and very considerate of her feelings and wishes. Hemione couldn't bring herself to scoff at her friend's- her two friends' happiness, but she allowed herself the caustic private thought that the only one less likely than Ron to make her fantasy real was Harry. She doubted she could have even made Harry paddle her with a hex. So it seemed the shine was off the hero when Hermione talked to Ginny. But something emerged as they sat and compared notes- in a general sense. As she commented on this or that in passing, Hermione returned to the more balanced view of her relations with Ron. Ron had been, not that Harry wasn't, a good solid partner in his own right. Whatever secret disappointment she felt about her private plans, in the main Ron had satisfied. More than in the main, he was hitting the high 90th percentile. This was Ron she was considering. And though it was Ron, there were no lowered expectations and still he rated the high score. Hermione felt buoyed by her gossip with Ginny. After all, in one tiny corner of the back of her mind, that she hadn't even admitted, Ron had yet to be tested. In all else, she found him to exceed expectations- bordering on outstanding. It put her in quite a good enough mood to inquire about how Luna was getting along. She instantly regretted it because it put her in mind of the other thing she didn't wish to think about it, but generously allowed that was hardly Luna's fault. Luna, she learned from Ginny, was doing much as usual, although Ginny felt she smiled a bit more. Hermone expressed regret that they had too little time for their 'sharing' and was stung by the look from Ginny. "Oh I'm sure she doesn't mind terribly," Ginny said breezily, "You and she were never as close as she and I." "But I've got the book," Hermione protested. "You could have at least asked for it. No need to keep doing the same things over and over again." It was Ginny's turn to look down and pause before saying, "We sometimes don't use any spells at all. We've discovered... well, it wasn't like the hexes forced us or gave us permission... we've found it's quite nice just to do it for ourselves and each other." "And you called me gay," Hermione clucked her tongue. Ginny's head snapped up, but she softened when she saw Hermione's grin. "Call me what you want. Harry's finally decided he can deny me nothing and that any girls I might meet aren't a threat to him," she said. That was not a discussion Hermione had with Ron, nor planned to. It was possible he would be reasonable, but she felt ignorance filled the same need and was better for already existing. Something else popped into her head and out of her mouth in the same instant. "Then Harry won't be an old stick about watching us together, will he?" It had been an innocent utterance and it took her a beat to understand the look on Ginny's face. "I meant... You know what I meant," Hermione said quickly. "I am not trying to climb into bed with you two. It was just amusing the last time. That's all I meant." Ginny held the hard look for a long moment and then relaxed. "Sorry, jumpy," she excused herself. "But I don't think Harry meant he'd like it in front of him. I don't think it's that he's uneasy so much as doesn't understand, but it looks like uneasy on him." "Worse luck. I mean for both of us," Hermione quickly mended, seeing she was headed into deep waters again. "That the most likely people to add a little extra are just the people that can't. I mean, you're Ron's sister for Merlin's sake! If we wanted to have a bit of fun like that you'd be right out." Ginny was more mystified than cross. "A little extra? Is that what you think? Is that something you'd really like?" Ginny asked. "Come on, Ginny," Hermione said as if to a reluctant swimmer, "As if that even scores next to three girls in a pile and one of them posessed of a dick." "Well, I suppose you're right," Ginny allowed. "Now wait a minute, Miss Shrinking Violet, who was it that explained to me all about two boys and a girl and two girls and a boy in the first place," Hermione pressed. "Well, I know about it, but that's different from actually seeking it out," Ginny said. Hermione let those words tick across her mind. She wasn't swallowing them. What did that mean about their original threesome with Harry? Of course Ginny could claim that was forced on her by Hermione's willful sin and she was making the best of it, but that cheated the memory. Ginny seemed to anticipate Hermone's thoughts with a sorrowful expression. "That time... That time was special," Ginny said quietly. "It was all magic and once and forever. I don't regret it, but I don't think it can be like that ever again." "Nor was I suggesting..." Hermione put in hurridly. "I don't just mean it can't be with us," Ginny interrupted her, "I mean that was a special moment and having someone, anyone along to shag with us would never measure up. It was like that time was meant to be- meant to be just that way- and no other time would be." "I'm glad it was so special for you," Hermone said evenly. "I was burning with shame for the most part. I watched you with Harry feeling it was my punishment for being evil. And I felt... dirty still wanting Harry to be my first." She put down Ginny's attempt to argue and soldiered on, "I didn't feel like I deserved it after what I'd done. But it got better- it got the way you say it when we kissed. I felt you forgave me. Then it was marvellous and I could enjoy us all being together." "I didn't realize..." Ginny said. "You didn't have to. You were not burdened with betraying a friend," Hermione said. "Two friends actually. Because I may not have worried and studied and persevered for you alone." Hermione knew what she was saying might be hurtful, but it was also the truth. And since she had started, there was no point in stopping until she got it all out. "I could have let you hate me and hated myself for giving you cause," Hermione said. "I could have loathed myself the rest of my days and borne that. But I couldn't do it to Harry. He wouldn't have hated me, he would have been understanding and that would have been too much to bear. He wouldn't have hated me. He would hate himself. And that I could never live with or even die knowing I left it unresoved." Ginny sat with a look of frozen awe on her face. "You once told me I didn't understand because I had always loved Harry," Ginny started, choosing her words. "I thought you were the one that didn't know what it was like to be struck through the middle with the *certainty*, the absolute utter knowing that no other man would ever exist in that way for you. I didn't even understand the immensity of it at the time. I was too young." Ginny shifted uncomfortably, "But now I'm quite sure I don't understand what Harry is to you. That scares me a little. It makes me feel I didn't earn my love the way you did. It was a gift, the most marvelous gift, but not something I deserved. But you, you grew to devotion, proved it with your blood and tears and only because you chose to see what Harry is. Not just see, but so fully believe that you resolved to make his fate your own, his task yours. I love him because I was made that way. You love him because you chose to." "You're wrong about not deserving him," Hermione said. "If for no other reason, you deserve him because he loves you." "So what were we saying?" Ginny jumped up as if it was the chair making her so maudlin. "Something about perverts and gay women?" "Threesomes- or perhaps someone watching, I'm not sure anymore," Hermione profesed. "You were being shockingly provincal about the whole thing." "Oh yes, but I'm not sure I see the fun," Ginny said. "And I can't imagine having something in my arse would be pleasant, but there you are," Hermione replied. "I guess it appeals to different tastes." "No, no," Ginny protested. "You have to give me more than that. Why might I find it interesting?" "Well, in participation, there's the feeling of two people seeing to you or at least the anticipation as you see to two other people. That's double the fun even in Muggle math. "Watching I don't quite get, but it has to be interesting and naughty. Being watched, obviously lets you be in the watcher's eyes and in the middle of what you're doing at the same time. And there's the incentive to over-perform, go the extra bit to show off," Hermione wrapped up. "Well, you make a case, but I'm sure Harry would never go for it," Ginny sighed. "And if he was, he'd want it to be you and Ron and that brings up the problem of being Ron's sister again." "Oh goodness!" Hermione said in mock shock. "How unnatural! Why that would be like... like... getting fucked with girl cock- no, like growing a cock and fucking two girls with it. How could anyone live with the shame!" "The shame I could live with," Ginny said wryly, "It's Ron that I couldn't take." And all that seemed like an obvious stall to putter in marginal issues before Hermione either solved the fantasy problem or decided she was tired of avoiding the issue and stuck her bum in the air for an arse-reaming. (And fun reading all the same.) But Hermione needed the time. She was no closer to finding the right place to dare the 'Inquisitamus' nor had she moved any closer to curiosity about having a cock in her arse. They both seemed in the far future, the dungeon regrettably, the arse question less so. Yet, smug narrative comments often betray themselves and their general lack of vision. Lurking in the shadows was a danger unforeseen. Watching with narrowed eyes in his sharp, ferret face, was Draco. Always convinced that his humiliation was caused by one of the fellows, he had chosen Hermione to suffer for the indignity. It suited him in so many ways, not the least being she was a girl and better suited to his idea of revenge. Even distracted, Hermione proved to be a formidiable foe. Caught off guard on her return from the library, it still took the heroic effort- or perhaps lucky accident of a slug-formed Crabbe to trip her from her feet and let Goyle leap on her wand arm. "Not so formidable now, are you?" sneered a ruffled Draco when she was disarmed and bound tightly. "Ask slug-boy how formidable I am," Hermione sassed back, "Oh- that's right, slugs can't talk." "And I could do with more of that from you," Draco said and stuffed a pair of foul socks in her mouth. Things looked grim for our heroine. For all her unwillingness to show fear to Draco, Hermione was despairing silently. She had been deliberately evasive about her plans, not having decided whether to steal some private time with Ron or to visit Ginny. No one expected her and no one would miss her until far too late to set forth on a rescue. And though she had given a good account of herself against the odds, she had been de-fanged with the loss of her wand and had little hope of escape. Hermione had little illusion about her fate as Draco hustled Goyle, dragging Hermone, down toward the Slytherin's dungeon home. He was making it quite clear. "Don't think I don't know who was responsible for that fiasco in Binn's class," Draco blathered. "I've been biding my time since then, waiting to strike." More like licking his wounds and waiting for the giggles to die down, Hermione thought, but that was of no help to her. He had obviously regained enough status that he could set out for revenge. "And now I've struck," Draco said. "Since you seemed so interested in the big dragon, I've decided to give you a taste. Notice that word- taste? That will be the least of your worries before I'm done with your filthy Mudblood body. Then Goyle can have a go if he's not too disgusted to touch your filthy skin." Goyle was grinning at that. Hermione had nothing to smile about, but affected a jaded air. The big dragon? Did all boys need to name it? Was it because they had a conversational relationship with their pricks? And if it did talk back, which of them was the wiser? Her musing only served to keep her panic at bay. Draco was capable of any number of mean things that she had no wish to imagine and less to participate in. It was a small relief to see he was not taking her to the Slytherin common room for the general use of the house. She imagined that was because Draco had slipped so low in the order that he might not gain use of her for days. Fortunately she was able to ignore that thought with her arrival in a dark dungeon room down the corridor from the picture of fruit she knew led to the kitchens. It was a bad trade. As frightful as the thought of being used by every Slytherin in Hogwarts was, her doom was now immediate and not just fear. Goyle made a noise of confused uncertainly, which served as his most frequent utterence. Draco pointed to a long, low slab of rock that seemed to grow from the castle's floor. Hermione looked around in dread. It was no ordinary chamber. It was too small and strangely appointed to serve as a classroom. It was further cramped by such growths as she was now being tossed upon, three in number, set like bisectors of the angles of a triangle. Amid them, between the slabs and at their ends were small protruberances like stools of solid rock. Hermione had no reference for such a configuration, although the Rule of Threes was familiar enough to her. The room lacked further dressing, or it was obscured in the shadows that clung to the walls like evil spirits. Inappropriately, she found herself wondering if it could be fit to serve for her own dungeon fantasy. It was not fantasy that loomed over her as she lay uncomfortably on the cold stone. It was Draco and he was using his wand like an extended hand to pick at the hem of her robes. She knew that with a wave he could pull it from her, but he was content to toy with uncovering her. "Want to see Mudblood knickers?" he asked Goyle, snickering. Hermione refused to close her legs or try to hide from the scrutiny. It would do her no good and it would show fear. She stared malevolently at Draco as he played peek-a-boo with her underpants. This seemed to rob Draco of his fun. "If you don't like that, then let's get started," he said with ill humor. The robes were whisked away with the wave Hermione knew awaited her and she was left in her underwear. Before he made a move to go farther, Draco paused to make several wiggles of his wand. Hermione thought she heard him mutter 'evelus protrast'. From the stone there now protruded spikes. With the incantation 'Carpelleus' Hermione felt the stone heave up like the rounded shell of a tortoise. Now perched precariously on the cold stone, she felt more disturbance than simple modesty as Draco threatened to unseat her as he drew off her underpants. He flicked his wand carelessly, but her underpants flew with precision to drape over Goyle's startled face. The large boy put his hand to his face slowly to draw them off, pausing while making snuffling noises that disgusted Hermione more than her exposure. "Interested, are you?" Draco asked Goyle as he almost absently made the purpose of the spikes evident by conjuring ligatures that bound Hermione's ankles to them. "Well, let me see them. Let's see how a Mudblood smells." Draco took her underwear and held them near his nose, but not too near. His face twisted in disgust. "No- not good at all," Draco said. "You'll find, Goyle, if you're ever fortunate enough to sniff a Pureblood's panties, that they smell like strawberries, or some, peaches, not this foul sour stench." Knowing Draco was saying it to distress her, Hermione still could not help the pang of shame she felt. It forced the unbidden memory of comparing Ginny's taste to her own into her mind. And Ginny had indeed been sweeter. It struck her more deeply than her open-legged exposure in the sacrifical pose. "But now for the fun," Draco said, tossing her underwear back to Goyle and advancing on Hermione. He stood by her head and parted his robes ceremonially. There was nothing under them but Draco. The white-blonde hair surrounding his cock seemed to glow in the dim light, setting off the hanging organ like a halo. Hermione would have liked to call it skimpy and thin, tiny even, but it was no more or less than an average cock on an average boy Draco's age. At least his size would be no problem. "Yes, I'm going to make your dreams come true. I'll let you suck it," Draco said breezily, "And of course you know better than to bite. Any damage can be quickly reversed and will be visited on you ten-fold. And I'll still have you suck it while you're screaming." She knew it was coming since Draco emphasized the word 'taste' during her abduction. It didn't make it any more pleasant or his words any less true. He'd be happy enough to hurt her, perhaps hoping for the pain to gain the opportunity, and she would gain nothing in return but trouble. She let him drop his cock in her mouth and they reached the stalemate. Draco waited and she lay helpless with his organ in her mouth, doing nothing. "I said suck!" Draco thundered, reaching down to pinch the point of her bra and the nipple it contained, harshly. The pain immediately made Hermione's mouth close on his cock. Her intake of breath might have even seemed like sucking. In any case, Draco relaxed his grip and gloated. He was a right little torturer, Hermione thought glumly as she gave in to the inevitable. He would know how to make the little pains add up to unendurable. She sucked his cock sullenly, knowing there was no help for it. "See, Goyle? They're like dogs. They learn from their beatings," Draco smirked as Hermione's mouth moved along his cock. "And they're happy when you reward them like this." His reward, or her reward, whatever his twisted logic dictated, was quickly turning Draco's 'big dragon' into a standing stiffy. In her position, Hermione could do little when it popped up from her mouth in erection and she wanted to do nothing. "I suppose I could get over you and fuck it into your face, but then I couldn't look at your joy," Draco taunted her, "But since you're in position, I believe I will use you the only way you're good for." That was a foregone conclusion as well. There was no other reason for Draco to have carefully placed her in that position. Like this will be a big deal, she thought rebelliously. Go on and have your sick fun, it can't take but a minute. Her bravado served her through the first rough thrust as Draco breached her with only her own saliva to ease the entrance. But that hurdle cleared and Draco hunching resolutely into her, the reality crept in. She was being raped. She was enduring it rather better than some might, but it had just started. Her resolve was already crumbling and there was the threat of Goyle following his master in defiling her. She desperately looked about to find something to distract her. What she found was a worse kind of rape. Draco saw her turn away and redoubled his efforts to drive powerfully into her. She slammed into her so hard he strained the ligatures biding her ankles to the stone. She felt each impact like a hard slap on her genitals. And she liked it hard. Her traitorus mind would not mind. Her thoughts turned to Ron under the influence of her hex and her cries for him to take her as hard as he liked. Draco was fulfilling that with a viciousness even the hexed Ron never managed. And the torture- her nipple seemed to sting at the thought of it, though Hermione was sure it was only in her mind. Was this, then, what she wanted? She fought the thought, found it loathsome, but the increasing thump of Draco on her belly would not let her turn it away. And... No! This was not it. This was rape. This was Draco. She would not, could not enjoy even the trappings of her desire like this. He could create the situation, but he could not be the one she wanted. Something crystallized with that decision. But it left her tied to a stone, suffering the wild thrusts Draco was now pounding into her with great urgency and force. Her sex might still accept them with no fuss, but inside Hermione her heart sickened at what she was being forced to endure. "Now that's the happy face I like to see," Draco taunted her as her face twisted in disgust. His strokes slowed, became more purposeful as she scowled. It seemed it took her reaction for Draco to settle into the rapid rhythm that soon had him grunt and drive hard into her with a spasm. He was climaxing in her. Hermione's stomach rolled with the thought of the unwanted semen. He had marked her, damaged her in a way the rape was only a prelude to. And now... Now she had to prepare for Goyle to do the same. "What a fine cum-bucket you are," Draco said happily, wiping his cock in her pubic hair. "And we have another filling for you, don't we Goyle?" Hermione's eyes came open at the flash. She saw a wide-eyed Draco descending on her in a rush. The impact of his stone-stiff body knocked the air out of her. She looked wildly about and saw Harry and Ron. It was the flash of Harry's stunning spell that opened her eyes. Ron had rendered Goyle immovable with the more direct action of knocking him on the head. "Sorry about that," Harry said as he rushed to pull Draco off her. "but I can't help where they fall." There was a moment as Draco was lifted off her that Harry's eyes dropped down. They came guiltily back up with a snap and met Hermione's. She fancied she saw the hint of a crooked grin before Harry set his face and turned away. "Hermione!" Ron rushed at her and quickly threw her robe over her near-naked body. "I'm sorry we didn't get here in time!" "But you saved me," Hermione said. "I didn't think anyone would come. And you saved me from Goyle at least." Harry let Ron tend to releasing Hermione and helping her back into her clothes. He worked off his pilfered peek by piling Draco onto Goyle in a compromising position. Those tasks done, they fled the dungeon. Hermione kept her story short and without detail. The boys had a much braver tale to tell in any case. "I knew it was you right then," Ron was saying. "I said: that's a Hermione slug, didn't I? And then we had to think." "And that's what took the time," Harry put in. "Well, we had to proceed logically," Ron said seriously. "Who would Hermione curse? And Madame Pomfrey said it was Crabbe. And who would Crabbe be with? Obviously Malfoy and Goyle. And what did they want with Hermione? Well, anyway, where would they take her?" "Which proved to be a stumper," Harry said. "Yeah, well, who knows about that room anyway? Except for slimy Slytherins," Ron snarled. "But we heard a noise," Harry said. "And talking," Ron cut across him, eager to tell the story in his own words, especially at the heroic part. "So we burst in and, boom, bang... well, you know about the rest." "Yes, Ron, you beat Goyle down and you and Harry saved me," Hermione said. For all the thrill of their tale of detection and revenge, more private matters weighed most heavily on their minds. Each sought out Hermione in private later that evening. "I... ah... saw," Harry said quietly. "Nothing you haven't seen before," Hermione impatiently rushed to assure him. It was sweet, but he had just rescued her. "I don't mean that," Harry said evenly. "I mean that Draco... That he had..." "Oh," Hermione said mostly to stop Harry searching for the words he wasn't too embarrassed to say. "Yes, you didn't arrive quite in time to stop that. But you saved me all the same." Harry held up his hand at her gratitude, "I just wanted to know if there's anything I can do. You know, talk or something." For the second time, but the first in the present timeline, Hermione hated Harry's nobility. But this time it wasn't for magnifying her guilt with his nobility. She had wrapped a brittle shell about the past hours and he was shattering it. The tears came and poured down silently. She pulled Harry to her and kissed his cheek. "I... I don't think I can talk about it just yet," she fought to keep her voice steady. "But thank you, Harry. Thank you. Just knowing you're there helps." Slightly embarrassed, but much wiser than to put that before Hermione, Harry put his arm around her and let her sob on his chest. He patted her back gently from time to time until she was done. Ron restored her shell out of her indignation. "That Draco, he didn't, he didn't do anything to you?" Ron asked fiercly. "What do you think, Ron?" Hermione asked, feeling a bit on trial herself. "You saw how you found me." "Well, okay, he had a look, obviously, but... He didn't hurt you? Do anything like that?" "What do you want to know Ron?" she said, growing impatient at the direction this examination was going. "Do you want to know everything?" She put such bile in the last that Ron retreated a bit. "Well, no, not like that," Ron said and changed tack, "I mean, I don't *blame* you. You were tied up and all, but I want to know what he did to you." "Why?" she asked simply. "Are you going to do something to Draco? Because that's stupid. You'll only get in trouble yourself. Or do you want to know how I'm damaged so you don't get infected?" Ron was stopped dead by her attack. He looked at her, blinking. It was like he was 11 again and had no idea what she was saying. "No," he said finally abashed, "That's not the point, I just... I just want to protect you." She softened a little. Not that he meant it, or that he had repented, but because, deep down in his intentions, it was true. "And you did that. You came and found me and I was sure no one would be able to," she said. "But I don't want to talk about it. It was stressful for me, you know." Rape he wanted to talk about. Stress was too much to put her through. It followed only in that stress was a 'girly' emotion he didn't understand or want to deal with. Hermione sighed when she reached the dorm and saw Ginny's inquiring stare. Yet one more gate before the slalom of this endless evening would be through. "Your brother's a berk," Hermione said to start the conversation on her own terms. "You just discovering that?" Ginny asked. "What's he done now?" It seemed like the best way to ease into the discussion. And Hermione had something she did want to convey to Ginny. It had just come up. Ginny had a slightly different view of Ron's reaction. While his motive, as far as he himself was aware, was to gather more reasons to hate Draco and to think about doing something, confession was to be avoided. He would manufacture great plans he would never carry through regarding Draco. Any admission by Hermione would lead to a cancerous worm being planted deep in his mind and it would infect him. It seemed like an altogether reasonable plan and coincided with Hermione's instincts in the matter. She was surprised that the same mind would have such a different view when she told Ginny everything that happened. Then she remembered she was Fred and George's sister as well. "Then Mr. Malfoy needs to pay," Ginny said at the conclusion of Hermione's full story. "He must suffer and suffer he will." It would have been uplifting if delivered with the proper irony, but Ginny was serious. Hermione was confused. "But you just agreed Ron shouldn't have reason to go after Draco," Hermione sighed. "Of course not Ron," Ginny said. "Then we'd have a right mess. You have to leave these things to someone who is good at them: girls." "But before you go off plotting, there is one thing I need you to do," Hermione finally wedged in her primary concern, "Tell Harry I haven't told Ron anything and not to say anything himself." "Harry knows?" Ginny was surprised. "He pulled Draco off me and saw the spooge leaking out of my cunt," Hermione said bluntly, "I think that was a clue." Ginny was relieved and Hermione finally made her way to her bed. It was not a pleasant refuge of escape. She wondered why she rushed from her well-wishers as she lay re-living the past hours. It could only be because they were worse, but she wasn't sure how that could be. Draco's dick loomed over her uninvited. It was a particularly rude memory pressed upon her, because she was convinced that she was hardly that upset by it. She knew it was coming and was braced for it. It came as no shock and yet it haunted her. The rest was easier to supress, until she slept. Then dreams of being tossed and shaken plagued her sleep to the accompaniment of Draco's taunts. It was not particularly sexual, although the battering took place between her legs. It was more abuse and it chased her through her dreams. If she had feared an investigation and indelicate questions, she was relieved. If she was looking for something to be done about it, she would have to put her faith in Ginny. Hogwarts was the same in the morning and even Harry and Ron uneasily conspired to treat it that way. Hermione herself was divided among the options. Relief was the best refuge but it occupied an ever-shrinking part as her rage at Draco grew. Not for the sexual assault, she was still unable to face that squarely. But for his careless taunts, the very indignity of ganging up on her and taking her captive; for that she felt she deserved redress. And all that shifting balance lay beneath the surface of her pretending nothing had happened in front of the rest of the world. Ginny's plan was devilishly clear and quickly formed. It had benefits even beyond revenge on Draco. There were, however, a few unresolved issues. "So what we have to do is lure Draco and Pansy into that fucking room and *then* it'll all work?" Hermione questioned. "I think you've just had an idea," Ginny said. "Fucking room. Draco isn't that bright. If he's stumbled on a nice private place like that he'll use it over and over. Makes sense he'd take you there. Makes sense he takes every girl there." "So now we've identified that, how does it solve our problem?" Hermione asked. "Now we don't have to *lure*, we can *encourage*," Ginny said. "Don't you see? Catch Draco and Pansy, give them a little wiggle-giggle, and wait for them to come in ready for the zap!" It made more sense with the hand motions. One of the arousal spells, perhaps one each, although Pansy never seemed to need much encouragement to run after Draco, and he would naturally take her to the neglected room when they would wait and curse him. The curse, of course, was 'Inquisitamus'. It would give Hermione a first-hand look at the affect and them both many giggles as they watched Draco whip a screaming Pansy Parkinson. They would use Harry's Invisibiilty Cloak and try to giggle quietly. As punishment, it fit Hermione's revenge at being taken captive by making Draco her unwitting tool. Any retribution for her unresolved issues would have to depend on Pansy Parkinson bringing about the scandal that Hermione could not arouse. That they would never be suspected of having a hand in any of it, would serve to repay the mildness of the revenge. It seemed to Hermione to fit the circumstances perfectly. If she would have to rely on Pansy's outrage and her father's power, at least Draco would never know she cared enough to bring it down on his head. Ron had calmed in his outrage and Hermione suspected a long talk by Harry was responsible. Ron was carefully, almost comically, avoiding the topic at all costs. It was easy to lull him into accepting an early night. Harry, of course, had to know since they were borrowing his Cloak. That may not have been strictly true, but Hermione did not mind and Ginny could not help but tell him all they had planned. He was lukewarm to the idea of sacrificing Pansy, but shut up when the girls assured him it couldn't happen to a girl that deserved it more. "Draco! What are you...? How are you doing that?" Pansy squealed as she felt a hundred phantom hands on her body and saw Draco's still at his sides. He responded to the giggle and the look with his own growing desire to do whatever she was nattering about for real. Hermione had not fallen back on simply giving him an erection or making him ejaculate. She had combed through her tome for the jinx that set the mind aflame, the desire of a ravaging Hun... The two crouching girls had no insight into what was in Draco's mind as he dragged Pansy into his lair. They could only see that he was eager and, with irritation on Hermione's part, that he produced a cushion perfectly sized for a bench for them to sit on. In the dim light, Hermione felt, more than saw Ginny turn to her. She shook her head. Let them get a little farther before it all goes wrong. Pansy was most transparent in the way she turned, leaving her legs parted for Draco's hand to find its way, when they kissed. It was obvious this was not the first time she had welcomed his advances despite the way he treated her in the public eye. Hermione felt a surge of outrage at that attitude, but couldn't supress a twinge of pity as well. It was as rehearsed as a dance. Draco's hand slid under her robes and she turned more to him in acquiescense. He didn't bother with any of the rest of her, his hand moving purposefully under her robe until he felt what he was waiting for. Then he pulled her away silently and stood up to throw his own robes back. She didn't move. Perhaps she knew better. She waited as he threw off his robe and then came to take hers off. He pulled off her underpants like they were a tag at the end of a receipt and dropped them to the floor. That was sufficient for him. He tilted her back as he moved forward to finish it. "Inquisitamus" Draco paused for an instant. Both Hermione and Ginny held their breaths for what would come next. Draco seemed to unfreeze and jabbed forward as if there had been no interruption. He plunged into Pansy long enough for them to wonder if the spell had any effect at all. Then he spoke. "Pansy, I think I must ask you some questions," Draco said in a strangely formal way for one fucking his respondent. "What? Draco? Well, ask away, I guess," Pansy was as confused as the hidden witnesses. Draco was no longer fucking Pansy, at least he stopped presently after taking her wrists and pulling her up by them. He ignored Pansy's quavering questions as he pushed her backwards toward the wall. Out of fear or confusion, she stayed with her hands above her head as Draco took out his wand and, in a familiar sequence to Hermione, formed posts from the wall and bound Pansy's wrists to them. "Oh? Is this something you like to do? A new game to play?" Pansy asked nervously. For a man who professed to need answers, Draco was oddly silent as he meticulously and precisely removed Pansy's robe completely and then her bra. Not hearing an answer to her questions and seeing no intent of answering in Draco's eyes, Pansy shivered against the wall and remained silent. "Now you've been a slut, haven't you?" Draco accused her. "Tell me, how many Slytherins have slithered in that slit of yours?" Pansy's eyes were wide in disbelief. She quaked as she squeaked out, "No, no one but you Draco. You know that." Draco didn't need a whip. He had a wand. He brought it across in a slashing motion and an angry red weal appeared across Pansy's chest as she screamed. "Tell the truth," Draco cribbed from Voldemort, "How many?" "NO! NONE! I SWEAR!" Pansy screamed, eyes bright with tears and wide in terror. Beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione stirred nervously. This was very like her fantasy. She could nearly feel the hot kiss from just above the nipple on her right breast down across her ribs, like the mark on Pansy. It was making her wet. Draco swung his wand again and the mark cut across her hips, low on her belly. Pansy's feet came off the floor and she hung from her wrists for a moment as she howled and tried to regain her feet. "Not Crabbe and Goyle? They told me, you know," Draco hissed at her. "They're lying!" Pansy sobbed. "I never. No one but you!" "I think she's hiding something," Hermione whispered unkindly to Ginny. Hermione was in the grip of her fantasy. The second stroke felt to her like actual stimulation of her groin. She was struggling to keep her breathing low and endure the wait until Draco struck Pansy again and brought her more pleasure. "No one but me, eh?" Draco said nastily, stepping in and bringing his wand in contact with Pansy's left nipple. "Liar!" He snapped the wand down and Pansy screamed. Her nipple began to swell and puffed out of a red, damaged circle around it. Under the Cloak, Hermione jerked with a surge of lust. "Just confess. It will go easier on you," Draco said smugly. "Please, Draco, why are you doing this?" Pansy sobbed pitifully. "Because of THIS!" Draco bellowed and brought his wand up in an upward stroke. Hermione pitched forward onto her knees and nearly fell out from under the Cloak. The stroke had been straight through Pansy's sex and even the shriek of agony could not forestall the climax that burst through Hermione at the very thought of the stroke. "No, Draco, I'll do anything. I'll say anything. What do you want me to say?" Pansy babbled madly. "Please stop and I'll do anything- say anything you want." "You'll do anything?" Draco asked, pushing Pansy's face up with his wand under her chin. "Say anything? Now isn't that the reason we're having this talk in the first place? That you do anything?" "No, Draco, please," Pansy begged with desperate eyes searching his face, acutely aware of the wand so near her throat, "Anything, I'll do anything, anything you want. please. no." Draco's other wand was throbbing visibly. Across the room Ginny could see the bob of his excitement as Pansy pleaded so pathetically. She was disgusted and nearly as much with Hermione's reaction to Pansy's distress. It could only have been the fear so bright in her eyes and the sweet call of her pleas that saved her more. With a gasp from Pansy as her weight fell on her shoulders, Draco picked her legs off the floor and plunged suddenly into her. His face remained an inch from hers as he pinned her against the wall with furious thrusts. Ginny had had enough. She gathered the mass that was Hermione and edged toward the door. "Tell me what you'll do," Draco demanded, to refresh Pansy's supplications as Ginny pulled Hermione from the room. "Are you insane?" Ginny was trying to restrain her disgust and revulsion rather unsuccessfully as they reached the dormitory. "That was horrible. How could you be excited by that?" "You don't understand," Hermione said defensively. "It's a matter of taste." "No, I don't understand. Explain," Ginny demanded. "It's... it's... I can't help it," Hermione floundered. Not the least because Hermione could not frame it in words, Ginny realized there was something seriously lacking in her own understanding, not just of Hermione's state, but of the dark power of sex itself. It was something deeper than she'd thought. She forgave Hermione a little. "What about it excites you?" Ginny tried to cue Hermione to a part she could describe. "That I can tell you- with precision," Hermione said and listed the points of arousal for herself- hung by hair- whipstroke- violent explosive orgasms- some manner of helplessness and surrender. It still mystified Ginny but she was calmed by the sense it was not Pansy's suffering that so pleased Hermione. At the same time, she remained a bit nervous that this passion blotted out all human concern for Pansy as well. "But you can't still be planning to try that curse on yourself- or Ron?" Ginny was amazed. Hermione looked at her questioningly. She had been beside her. How could she have missed the power of the orgasm she had? "More than ever," Hermione said stubbornly. "After what I felt, how can I not?" "But it's not what you felt," Ginny said reasonably, "It's what Pansy felt you have to consider. Did it look like she was having- what was it?- violent explosive orgasms to you?" "She's weak," Hermione said after a pause to find an excuse. "And it might not be for her. I understand how pain can be pleasure. It's all neural stimulation. I think it will be special." Seeing there was no budging her on this, Ginny pleaded to at least be informed before Hermione tried it. Informed, and if possible, present to insure nothing got out of hand. She could crouch under the Cloak like that night. Reluctantly, and perhaps ingenuously, Hermione finally agreed. It did seem an awful lot of fuss over something so simple, and private. Again the fall-out of the evening failed expectations. They knew because they knew, when Pansy winced in moving that the wounds pained her, but there was no report or protest. With Draco's father in Azkaban there could be no thought of his influence quashing matters and it was mysterious to the group that Pansy and indeed Mr. Parkinson seemed pressured to allow Draco to escape unscathed. Somewhat unseated by Ginny's intrusive concern, Hermione stubbornly rushed forward with her plans. That dungeon room could be the proper place as long as she could keep Draco out of it. That detail inclined her toward Ginny's offer to sit mute witness to her triumph. A stunning spell from cover would furnish a safety that no locked door could. And Hermione feared discovery more than she was put off by Ginny standing guard. Ginny was just as enthusiastic at the prospect of being present while Ron got laid. She was less eager for it to happen at all, but no amount of last chance persuasion could deflect Hermione's intention. Ron was seduced by Hermione's solemn avowal that only a return to the scene could erase her memories. He would replace Draco in her dreams. He would let her only remember his welcome advances and no longer fret over the other. It went as well as anyone could have predicted. Ron and Hermione reached the room, followed by invisible Ginny, and Ron immediately began to find fault with everything in it. The rocks were hard. The room was cold. It was too dark to see what they were doing. "Then I guess we'll have to proceed by feel," Hermione tried to sound bright as she placed his hand on her breast. Somewhat quieted and predictably calmed by Hermione's hand wrapped around his cock, Ron settled into some kissing. But Hermione felt the pressure of unwanted invaders along with the resurfacing of Ron's temper. With less preliminaries than she had seen in her fantasy, she sloughed off her robe and came out of it with her wand in her hand. With no ado she pointed it at Ron and said "Inquisitamus". "What was that for?" Ron complained. "Just a little something to make you forget it's cold and dark and the stone is hard," Hermione said cheerily. "Didn't sound like it," Ron said grumpily. His petulant child face served as the beginning for the scowl that came over it as the curse gripped him. He looked at Hermione like she was a stranger and pulled away. "What did you do to me?" he accused. "Nothing, it was nothing," Hermione squeaked with real concern. "Then I'll ask you another question," he said, melding her fantasy with nightmare as he grabbed a handfull of hair and pulled her to her feet. Hermione's hand flew to her head to prevent her hair from being torn out at the roots. This was not the way it was supposed to be at all. Ron dragged her, not to the wall, but to one of the round stool-like pillars and yanked her down onto. She sat, hands on thighs, unmoving and uncertain of what she had released. Ron looked around slowly. Hermione had seen to furnishing a whip, which hung on the wall and Ron took it down and turned it in his hands. Despite it all, Hermione felt excitement rise as her teeth chattered with cold, or fear, or both. It was as if her dread fed her lust. She felt it rise as she saw Ron consider the whip and then fall as he tossed it aside. He chose, rather, a long switch of wood and approached her again. He stood over her as she stared at her knees and waited. She felt very much the prisoner even without being fixed to the wall. The deliberation he had devoted to choosing her seat and his instrument of punishment vanished as he once again gripped her hair and yanked her to her feet. She could not look up with the way he held her and found herself with her eyes fixed on his groin. His cock was sturdy and erect, waiting for her. "Now I know I'm just a stupid prat, and I can't be expected to notice, but somehow I managed," he said in an ambling prologue. "I know I was not your first. Who was it, then?" He sounded unconcerned, almost conspiritorial, but a sharp edge threatened to break through his words. Hermione began to tremble in earnest. He was not supposed to ask a question with such an explosive consequence. He was supposed to make obviously false accusations for her to deny. Or were Draco's accusations more to the heart of his relationship with Pansy than a casual observer might know? Before she recovered her shock at his question, Ron swung the switch and cut her, right to left across her right nipple. Her gasp did not have time to become a scream before he swung back, left to right, again leaving a streak that centered dead on her other nipple. She was too injured to scream. The breath that had been pulled into her lungs by reflex burst out again in a mournful: OHHH! "A horse! I lost it on a horse!" she hurried out as soon as she had breath enough. "Then why didn't the horse take you back to find it?" he asked. His mocking retort was accompanied by dropping the hand in her hair, pulling it down sharply and forcing her to tilt her head up and look into his face. The eyes she met were cold voids she had never seen before. Her breasts were on fire. Her nipples throbbed, the pain seeming to worsen with every beat of her heart. And yet, as she looked into those eyes, she felt icy fear. He twitched and she flinched. He laughed at her. "So you lost it to a horse? How was that then? Did this 'Horse' have a huge cock?" he was toying with her lie. "I didn't... I didn't have sex with it," she stuttered between chattering teeth. "It sometimes happens, riding just makes it tear." "Oh, sometimes, eh?" he said and raised his arm. A squeak escaped her as she recoiled. He was amused and dropped his arm. "Sometimes means not to you," he said decisively. "Sometimes means you hoped I'd believe your excuse." "Now tell me," he said and jerked so hard on her hair that she stumbled, "Who was your first?" She couldn't tell. Whatever pain she felt or would feel, she could never admit it. She was shaking so badly Ron pushed her down to plunk hard on the stone stool. He brought a gasp at the fear of pain as he drew the switch over her damaged left nipple. "It was a horse," she said stubbornly, determined to stick to her story lest he not believe a subsequent lie. "What can I do with a liar like you?" he asked menacingly, leaning down to put his face next to hers. "I will probably beat you to death and you'll lie with your last breath." Again Hermione felt the chill that subdued even the screaming pain of her throbbing nipples. They were swollen quite hard and felt ready to burst. But it was the sincerity of his threat that made her wince. She was not excited by this, all sex had gone from the pain, the fear. Her only desire was to survive and live another day. The closest thing to sex she felt was a dull throb that told her her bottom was bruised. "But I can't tell you the truth when you won't believe the truth," she whimpered. "That's not the truth!" he roared and pulled her up by the hair again. It was part of her torment to look down and see him bring the switch between her legs. He stroked it between her labia, irritating rather than arousing her. She went up on her toes in anticipation of the blow when he flicked his hand back. She could not imagine the pain should he strike her there. He let her wobble on tip-toe for a moment and then went back to sawing the rough wood in her cleft. The threat had drained her. She could feel the sweat rolling down her back from her distress. And her nipples throbbed on, screaming for her attention. "Now tell me!" he drew the switch back. She squeaked in panic and tried to pull against his grip on her hair. But she was caught fast and fixed by fear of the pain from trying to free herself. She trembled with the emotion. He flicked the switch to snap against the tender skin of inner thigh. It was an almost playful gesture, but still held the meance of intent. It did not cause Hermione great pain, but it did sting the vulnerable flesh and gave her one more reason to believe Ron's threats were real. He pulled it back. She flinched. He drew it slowly over her sex with menace. She felt like a candle burnt down to the stump. Every time he threatened, her energy, her resolve, her very life-force waned. From time to time he gave her another brisk reminder of the pain he could bring by switching her inner thigh. She was wrought with tension, now flinching and twitching with the very thought he might threaten her again. It finally was too much to bear. She could not bear the fear any longer. As desperate as she was, no one could blame her. "All right! I'll tell you!" she screamed. He pulled her hair down, her face up and she was forced to look into his eyes. He was smiling broadly. "You knew it! It was Viktor!" she lied desperately. It was not even a reaction of anger. Ron threw her aside by the hair in disgust. As the world spun and Hermione tried to find her balance in the jumble of stones, she saw his look filling her vision. It persisted as she came to a stop on her knees in front of one of the long stones. Her knees and her palms were skinned in her fall. Her nipples screamed agony as they swung and her hair hurt where Ron had pulled it. Still she saw his face floating before it and the pain in her heart trumped all the others. She could feel no lower, even when Ron, without a sound, was behind her and forcing her knees apart with his own. It was not sex what he did. It seemed to Hermione that it was no more than a necessary coda even to Ron. He thrust into her sullenly, mechanically with no more sound than the grunts of effort it took to fuck her. He climaxed quickly and, it seemed even before he was properly done, pulled away and left her. She stayed where he put her until Ginny crept out from under the Cloak to say he had been gone for some time. Hermione was too woebegone even to cry. She shuffled along dumbly as Ginny led her back to the Gryffindor common room and then to the dorms to her bed. If there was any emotion in the long walk, it was gratitude Ginny did not try to speak. Ginny was watching her with a look of concern when she woke. "Go ahead, say it. I deserved it. I was a fool," Hermione snorted. "I wasn't thinking that," Ginny said. "And since you said it, I don't have to." Hermione looked at her questioningly. "I've been wondering-- everything you told me you wanted was eerily similiar to what happened," Ginny said. "I wonder if you didn't have a moment of the sight." "Except that it was supposed to be wonderful and exciting and... pleasant," Hermione scoffed. "That's a common error," Ginny said simply. "Interpreting what you see instead of just seeing it introduces some of the most grievous misinterpretations. There are centuries of examples." "I don't think I understand," Hermione said, surer than she admitted, that she didn't. "Staying with your example, if it is an example, you saw yourself hung by the hair-- a whipstroke-- violent, explosive orgasms," Ginny listed. "All except the orgasms happened. You say you like those things, so you interpreted it as good." "As I did the orgasms, Hermione concurred. "Because what I saw was violent emotion and much thrashing about. I gave it context and called it pleasure. I see what you mean. Do you think this means I have the sight?" "Do these things happen often?" Ginny asked. "Do you see something and later it occurs?" "Not before now," Hermione said. "Then, no," Ginny said. "Everyone has the power to have a vision. Many people have one. Some even have several, spaced at significant junctures of their lives. But the sight is generally considered to be a bit more consistent." "But why me, why now?" Hermione asked. "Who knows?" Ginny threw up her hands. "It's random even at best and for a normal person it's more random than that. Sometimes it's a warning or a preview of a significant event. A lot of those reported by otherwise non-sighted persons are like that." But what could be happening? What did it mean? Hermione let a number of like questions die unasked because she knew Ginny would not be able to answer. It was a marvel of a revelation, but Hermione wished her revelation came with more solid information. Like her vision, if that was what it was, she only needed more patience to find the answers. Again like her vision, her ignorance was happier than the truth. She saw it in his eyes first. It was a glowering look of contempt. Hermione felt a chill as piercing as when he stood over her holding a switch. "What's wrong?" she asked, feigning bravery. Ron didn't answer. He turned away. "Ron, what's wrong?" she asked with panic creeping into her voice. He turned finally and regarded her with a cold stare. She despaired of an answer but could not turn away. After she was sure he would remain silent, he spoke. "You would have to ask," he said sourly. "Yes I do," she said, trying not to shake, "I don't know and you have to tell me." He turned away emphatically. Hermione knew that begging him to speak would do no good. She tried to hold her tears until she was out of the room and safe in the solitude of an empty classroom. Many escaped her control and leaked down her cheeks. It wasn't just anything. Hermione knew it was connected to her ill-fated attempt to make her fantasy real. Her fantasy fantasy, she corrected herself sternly. She had just discovered it wasn't real. What part was still a mystery, but that hardly mattered if Ron was so upset. It was her fault for stubbornly refusing to listen to anyone. She wanted to make amends, but for that, she realized, it would be best to know Ron's complaint and not bruise any other tender areas. "He won't tell me," said Harry when she asked him, "he just sulks and won't say why. What happened?" Hermione couldn't bring herself to explain. It seemed too melodramatic to say she was protecting Harry's honor and she didn't want to go into details. She said enough to leave him with the impression it was over private, sexual matters. Ron took no pains to avoid her. It was as if he had decided his righteousness should drive her out. He kept to his old patterns and haunts- their patterns and haunts- while maintaining his steely silence toward her. That at least stiffened her resistance. However heartsick she was, Hermione put on a brave face and resolved to fight Ron's stubborness until he would at least talk. Even Ron must have seen the strain of this, but he, of course, said nothing. She was lonely in a way she had not anticipated. Through other tiffs she had tried to put it out of her mind and concentrated on her studies. This time she desperately ached for a resolution and couldn't put it out of her mind. And neither studies nor the spells from her nasty book could replace her newly discovered need to have Ron. In some totally foreign way, her love for Ron and their sex had become tangled inextricably together. Her ache for him was in her heart and her loins. Her self-induced orgasms seemed to fizzle like wet fireworks. She was left believing that neither her heart nor loins would ever be happy again if she could not get Ron back. Fortunately, there was unseen strain on Ron that made him drop his resolve to ignore her. Less fortunately, it seemed it had come because his wrath had boiled over. "Why do you keep at me? You could give it up, you know," Ron said coldly. "No I can't," Hermione tried not to whine. "Not until you tell me what I did wrong." "You know," Ron said, threatening to pull into his shell. "No, Ron, no I don't. And you won't tell me," Hermione was near dry of tears, but her eyes still burned, "What did I do wrong?" "She doesn't even know!" he mocked her with disbelief. "Then I guess it's not too important then, is it?" "It wasn't Viktor. I lied because you were so awful!" it came out while she was deciding if it should. Of all the events of that night, the most striking was the way it all changed when she had blurted out Viktor's name. If there was one thing she'd choose if pressed, it was that. And she had. "Not Viktor, eh?" Ron smirked. "You lied. But, oh yes, it was because I was awful." Hermione saw the look she feared in the dungeon come into Ron's eyes. But it was better. He was talking. She tried to reassure herself. "I had to. I couldn't take it any more," Hermione gasped. Ron started toward her as she spoke. For an instant she fancied she felt the pain in her nipples and was filled with the thought he meant to hurt them again. It was as if opening these matters transported them back to that night physically as well as in memory. "Then it was the horse?" Ron asked smugly. As she felt the fear so real it brought back the chill of the dungeon room, Hermione suddenly realized a new fact. There seemed nothing fogged about Ron's memory of that night. In word and action he was showing that it was as clear in his memory as it was in hers. This was a new factor. "Yes, Ron," she stuck with the first lie she uttered and bemoaned that she hadn't thought of a better. For the one certain thing she knew was that Harry must not be dragged into this. The past weeks had taught her what she lost without Ron, but even that was not worth betraying the trust she had pledged Harry. "You don't get it at all," Ron seemed to shrink before her eyes. "You like being scared, don't you?" It was so unexpected Hermione could only stare for a moment. The looming presence of an instant before had become a sad, defeated boy. "Not scared to death, Ron," she tried to answer levelly. The significance had not yet begun to dawn on her. She found the answer waiting and gave it. She was not ready for Ron's reply. "So your little experiment went awry and the monster got loose," he said caustically. "Glad you survived. Hope the monster does." He was being cryptic. It wasn't like him. Hermione thought she saw the thread, but she had been so mistaken before. "You... you remember everything, don't you?" she asked hesitantly. "Yes," he said bitterly. She waited for more, but nothing more came. "But you can't blame yourself," she said quickly. "It was the spell that made you do it." "Bloody well right it was the bleeding spell!" Ron exploded. It all fell into place. But the fall was like their little kingdom crumbling, leaving the puzzle sorted in the ruins. "I thought it would go differently," she said in a small voice. But that was a lie like every other lie she told to get her own way at the expense of others. She had seen what had become of Draco, but she didn't care because it was what she thought she wanted. She had cursed Ron without warning because she knew he would object, but she didn't care because it was what she thought she wanted. Ginny had warned her, tried to reason with her, but she didn't care because it was what she thought she wanted. "Well, it didn't," Ron said coldly. "And I don't want to be your guinea pig any longer." "No, Ron, please, I won't, never again," Hermione called after him as he turned his back and walked away from her. Where she had sought resolution, she had found only conflict. But now she knew. She knew Ron's anger was deserved and that she might very well never be able to repair the damage done. She may have lost him forever. Her lonliness became an ache. She missed him more now he was truly gone. Yet he would not leave her alone. She was beset by waking dreams of being together, seen as if through frosted glass. These memories became progressively more carnal until she could hardly escape thoughts of Ron having her. This procession of Ron fondling her, thrusting, moaning with pleasure over her, seemed to drive all real pleasure from her. As it became harder and harder to concentrate on anything but her sex dreams, she became unable to find any real satisfaction for herself. Forlorn, abandoned, sexless, she felt like a shrunken wanderer through the halls of Hogwarts. Ron's desertion left a void of passion for anything else. Thoughts seemed to drip one by one and echo in the emptyness inside her. Ginny was of little help, but she was a comfort. She had no forgiveness for Hermione, but her understanding was a mooring as Hermione threatened to drift away. "There's nothing for it. You just have to suffer," was Ginny's advice. "You have to move on. You can't force Ron back. You have to go on and hope he will one day forgive you. It's out of your hands." It was advice Hermione clung to desperately. She had to be resolved to her state. No clever strategm or cunning ploy would help her. Her easy use of them had brought her to this place. She had to do it the hard way, the painful way this time. The lone spark in the dark of her solitary path was a bit of insight into her pre-cognition. Oh yes, a bit of fun, Ron in control, all things set to just her standards- perfect. And she had learned how hollow it all was. She had deemed it perfect because she wished it so. She could do with Ron being more decisive (as could Ron himself) but it was not her place to arrange it. It had been, in fact, a warning of how wrong things could be if such wishes were granted. As it had seemed to her to be perfect, it was her perception that was flawed, her desire to rearrange for her benefit that was the error. She would have thought she would have learned that, but she hadn't. For the second time the same error had come to destroy all she wished to build. Hermione hoped she had learned it this time. Her journey of self-discovery was no comfort. No comfort was to be found in the barren Ron-less lands she wandered. The pity of her friends was a burden she seemed fated to bear. Her 'comfort' was the sharp ache of pain as she felt the destruction wrought of her own doing. Harry was solicitous when he wasn't off on adventures with Dumbledore. Ginny was company when Harry was off. And her sole wisp of hope was that, as yet, Ron did not seem to be seeing anyone else. "He's miserable, but he won't talk about it," Harry confided. "I don't think he knows what to do himself." "I'm miserable too and you can tell him that," Hermione answered. "And that I understand it's up to him. I wish he'd talk to me, but I don't feel I have the right to ask." "What happened?" Harry asked. "If you can tell me any of it." "No, sorry," Hermione shook her head. "I'd say it if it was only me, but it's private between Ron and me and I don't want to upset him any further." Harry nodded. It was pretty easy to understand, however hard this estrangement was to take for everyone. Hermione tried to stay away so it put the least strain on the rest, but it was impossible to avoid them all and neither Harry nor Ginny wanted that, either. Only Ginny could see the pall that fell over them as a blessing. "It means Ron still hasn't made a decision," Ginny said. "If he was done with you for sure, you know he'd be prancing around, waving it in your face. Enough of Harry rubs off on him that even *he* could get a girl." Ginny saw Hermione's look of distress and said, "You know I didn't mean it that way. I mean, he's my brother. I can't help thinking of him as an irritation rather than a boy." Hermione dwelt weeks bouncing between a desperate hope for Ron's return and a sullen conviction that she didn't deserve to have him back. She couldn't make herself follow Ginny's very good advice to go on with what remained, since it was beyond her control. Nor, it seemed, could Ron bring himself to enforce the death sentence on their relationship. They both were miserable and both Harry and Ginny tried to convince each of them separately that they had to decide one way or the other. It couldn't continue on like this. But no sense or well-meaning interference was to budge them. It had to come from them, and in this case Ron losing his struggle to hate Hermione for what she did more than he loved her for what she was. (For you twisted berks out there, sex had little to do with it. It threw its weight on both sides: Ron's dick shrank in the fear of what might happen if they went on as started, and swelled in the longing for the best of it to return in reunion.) "Hi," Ron said simply. Hermione's head snapped up at the greeting and waited, quivering, for more. It was the first sound he had made in her direction in ages. But he was walking away from the table where she sat. Her hopes fell, and she was beginning to try and comfort herself with the fact that relations between her and Ron were thawing, when he paused by the entrance to the common room and looked back for her. She jumped up immediately, leaving her books on the table, and went toward him. He didn't wait, but let her catch up in the hall. He said nothing and she maintained her silence as he led her to a deserted room. "I can't go on like this," he said, once in private. Hermione waited in anticipation, eager for his terms and conditions. Ron seemed vexed by this. "Do you feel the same way?" he asked. "Of course I do!" Hermione exploded. "I've done nothing but wait and hope since... But I knew it was for you to decide. I know I was wrong. I could only hope you could forgive me." Ron seemed to relax at the burst and the fawning manner with which Hermione answered. His face betrayed the temptation to smile. "Well, I guess we all make mistakes," he said carefully. "And... I don't want it to happen again, I'm firm on that, just so you know... But... I don't think it should ruin everything, just a mistake." "All right, Ron," Hermione capitulated easily. "I promise I'll never... I know how wrong it was. And it was worse for me to treat you that way. I've done nothing but suffer for it. And I know I deserved it." His notes were shattered, he had prepared a long speech to make his determination clear, but Hermione's willing surrender made them superfluous. With a: well, all right then, he stepped toward her and they kissed. He pulled back when she tried to put her tongue in his mouth. "Can we go slow?" he asked. "Ease into this?" "Yes, Ron, anything." Her sense of irony returned quickly, but she felt no shame. She had dreamed of the stronger, more forceful Ron and sought it in devious ways. Now she had him- or made him- in her own eagerness to end her torment. But she was surprisingly undisturbed with her role in that. She found it difficult to snort derisively at anything Ron did when her own decision-making had proved to be so flawed. It seemed safer, and comforting, to let Ron make his mistakes and know she could not be blamed. But the final irony chafed. Her new stronger Ron seemed almost afraid to let their sexuality off its leash. He was wary of adventure and their sex was more the rudimentary fumblings of neophants or perhaps an old couple long grown disinterested. "He can't think that excitement will change us!" Hermione complained to Ginny. "Who can tell what he thinks?" Ginny questioned. "But you seem happier now that you're back together." "Well, yes, I can't say how much," Hermione admitted. "And I will put up with whatever he offers, but he's cheating himself. I am willing to be so much more!" "Maybe that's what he fears- that you'll be more and overmatch him," Ginny offered. "He might fear losing control and being led astray." "I know it's odd for you to hear this, but your brother keeps up quite well in those things," Hermione said. "I'd go so far as to say Harry has nothing on him but size in that department." Ginny was appropriately uncomfortable with this information and said only, "I'm glad that's good for you." "You know I don't mean to slight Harry," Hermione said quickly. "But Ron isn't the Ron you know when it comes to it. I was quite happily shocked myself." Even more information she didn't need to hear made Ginny no more forthcoming. "Then you'll have to wait until he goes back to normal," Ginny said to avoid deeper thought on the topic. Irony being Hermione's watchword of the hour, she discovered that Ron had his own concerns. And they had little to do with the lack of fire in their passion. "I've heard talk about you and Ginny, that you're *real* close and I was wondering," Ron said. "Like we're lesbians?" Hermione asked innocently. "Well, I suppose. After all, I do try to evade sex with you and when I have to I hardly seem to enjoy it." Hermione said those words with her legs still lolling open and the furry little mouth of her sex drooling Ron's semen. They had just finished another satisfactory but hardly notable screw and she was still feeling the glow. "Okay, but people are still talking," Ron insisted. "If you're not careful, you'll get a reputation." "You mean careful about what they say or what I do with Ginny so they won't talk?" Hermione asked. She was skating very near the edge, but on purpose. She wanted to answer Ron honestly and was checking to see if he could stand the revelation. "What do you do with my sister?" Ron asked. "Girl things," Hermione said, seeing as he had asked. "And yes, sometimes there's touching." "I don't want to hear this," Ron backed away. "All right. I don't want to go into details either. But I don't want to lie to you," Hermione explained. "It's kind of normal. And it's dropped off when we finally got you guys to participate instead." That was true in the slightest degree. And the only reason it wasn't truer was that she and Ginny had never been that busy with each other at any time. "Normal? If it's normal, then why are people talking?" Ron was calling her on that. "Well, normally, the girls are ashamed and make it a big deep, dark secret, but they've done it- maybe only once, but almost everybody does," Hermione said. "Tell me you've never wanked another boy." "Well, that's a phase," Ron said, not denying it. "At a certain age it isn't like there's an alternative." "I don't think it's weird, Ron," Hermione said. "I think it's weird people think it's a big, dark secret when everybody does. And that's how I feel if Ginny and I want to be close." "I don't want to know," Ron put up his hand. "Then distract me," she suggested, reaching for his cock, "Make me forget everything but you." "That makes the least sense of anything you've said, but somehow it's the part I can agree with," Ron grinned. He had been perched on his hip, resting on his elbow and now he reclined, perhaps anticipating Hermione moving down and taking his cock in her mouth. But she finally shifted her post-coital position only to take up the one Ron abandoned and kept her hand on his cock. "Then let's stop making sense and see if we can find more to agree on," she suggested. Ron looked at her questioningly and with a little suspicion. "You've been awful 'normal' since we've made up," she began, "I understand your reticence in view of what happened to us in the past. You don't want to slip into something like that ever again. But if we talk about it, that's not the same is it?" Her hand was lazily stroking his cock as she spoke, careful to continue the arousal. It was the one bit of influence she allowed herself. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, suspicion intact. "Not you, us," Hermione corrected. "We talk. We share what might be pleasing for us. That's all I meant." "You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't have something in mind," Ron countered. "I deserve that for the things I did, but no, I'm not saying it convince you to do anything but share. It should be something you want, anyway, since I had my share before," Hermione said. She saw Ron look down at where her hand carressed his cock. Well, even that, if it got them discussing it, she thought, sure he was going to ask for oral sex. "Well... I don't know," Ron said. "See, for me it's all about climax. The naughty stuff just gets me randy. I don't need that when I have you and thinking about it only makes me want to get to a climax fast as I can." Hermione hadn't thought about that. It was working! Ron was telling her what he needed, which was really her intent, whatever suspicions Ron retained. "And that's what's happening now?" she asked, feeling his cock jerking alive in her hand. "So what can I do to make you have that climax?" "I dunno. I don't think my best when I'm randy," Ron said. "But... I remember it was good when you were on top." It was a happily mundane response. If it was hardly a leap forward, it indicated Ron was willing to participate. And it was the way they'd fucked the second time ever. Hermione took it as a symbol they could start over and do everything right this time. She moved over Ron, hovering on her hands and knees without touching him. "Would you like me to be on top this time?" she asked, feeling it was important to emphasize that it was his choice. Ron just grinned and reached up for her. He had seemed happy and content before, but this was the first grin that warm. Hermione let her knees slide up and collapsed down to kiss him. She noticed that his cock had dashed the distance from stiff to very ready in the time it took to take her position. She was not quite as aroused, but it was hardly a chore for her to press back and orient his cock toward its happy home. She'd warm quickly, she knew. It was always easy to rub most happily along Ron's belly as she brought him along. It was a good first step, she felt. It was a good step in any event since Ron expressed an appreciation and she liked the control of her own pleasure. That kind of happy collision of their preferences, like the happy collision of their genitals, boded well. Hermione gave less thought to those matters and reverted to animal pleasure quickly. Ron's cock was making her seek its penetration deeper and faster and he proved his own involvement by sliding his hands down to grip her buttocks. He did not seem to wish to interefere. Rather, his hands seemed to be a purchase point to help him drive up and meet her as she moved up and back on his cock. They were no longer kissing, but Hermione's face was just as close as she pressed against Ron while she slid over him to drive his lust-giving cock into herself. "Oh yes, Ron, help me!" she moaned, her head snapping back as the lightning bolts struck her body. Then she lifted up, trying to force his wonderful cock deeper, but losing control of her resolve. Ron's hands became the guides then, moving her slightly while the majority of the motion came as he surged up into her. "Oh yes! Don't stop!" she begged. Then it was as if she emerged from the haze of orgasm in full gallop. As she recovered her senses, she discovered her hips were bouncing recklessly on Ron. His hands dug into her bottom and it was his turn to flop with sporadic success at trying to thrust up into her. She kept bouncing, as fast as her thighs would let her, and Ron groaned a groan that was like a protest of pain. His brows were drawn and his eyes squeezed shut in a face that portended the same, but he was still trying valiantly, if with uneven success, to match her fervor. She knew his cock was spurting inside her. She was working much too hard to feel it and she kept up her efforts until she saw his face relax and his mouth loll open. Then she slowed to long movements up and down, tilting her hips as she slid his cock in and out. "That was quite nice," she said, bending her arms to move closer to him and look in his face. "Just sit," he sighed. She stopped and sat back on him at his request. In another moment his eyes opened and he said, "It's always nice. But it's different when someone else is doing it for you." "Yes, and sometimes it's nice to do it for yourself," Hermione meant to advance her complimentary view. "So, is that what you mean? Is that what you want?" Ron asked. "Doing it one way sometimes and another way other times is what I mean," Hermione clarified. "And talking about what we like or think we might like." "You mean without magic," Ron said suspiciously. "I mean what you want," Hermione said. "I'm only going to suggest. You decide. I've proven unreliable at deciding." "That's not fair either," Ron said. "You should get to pick sometimes." "I don't think that will be a problem," Hermione said. "And I don't mean I'll just ask what you want. I might think of something and I'll say it. But the point is that we should agree. We should talk about it. I think we can explore lots of things as long as we both feel we want to try." However belated, she had struck the right tone at last. It was still important to move slowly, until she had erased Ron's very valid skittishness about her new attitude, but the way was open for communication. Just having moved Ron away from the same thing every time was enough to give her hope and patience to make it work. The reversal had been so simple and yet went beyond his chance to relax and be fucked and her chance to take the active role. It was almost a metaphor for the possibilities of variation. They both felt the power. Ron was being served and she was serving herself while serving. More than a reversal, which would be stale itself in time, it was change, which could keep it ever new. "Mostly, with Harry, he just sticks it in from whatever angle he can manage at the time," Ginny responded to Hermione's grand flowery description. Hermione felt slighted that she didn't have some sibling relationship as an excuse to recoil from Ginny's frankness. It wasn't the same thing. She imagined Harry naked and wrapped around Ginny with delight rather than revulsion, but how naturally they did, at least in their own way, what seemed to come so hard for her and Ron made Hermione anxious to change the subject. "Well, you haven't cursed him into beating you yet," she said. "You try that and see if it changes anything." Now Ginny was the one uncomfortable. It had been a BIG favor to Hermione in the first place, and it had gotten worse from there. Being subjected to watching her brother have sex was the best of it. She was still trying to avoid any memory of the things he did to Hermione. How she could crouch there and let it go on was still something that made Ginny feel horror she did not want to examine. Although Hermione absolved her, Ginny wasn't sure she should be so quick to absolve herself. "Well, if I do, I'll make you watch," Ginny said. "You can't imagine how much fun that is." They were becoming more like sisters, no longer needing to reassure themselves about being malicious. Malice was becoming their lingua franca for matters that would be too dour to discuss in any other way. "Well, we mustn't have too much fun, or people will talk," Hermione said as she informed Ginny of Ron's concern. "So you said we are lovers?" Ginny questioned. "Ron didn't want to hear that. I think he got that, but I didn't draw him a picture," Hermione said. "I didn't want to lie. I tried to keep it as pleasant as I could without sacrificing honesty." "You said we're lovers?" Ginny said again. "More like we had sex, but only in general terms," Hermione answered. "It is hard to describe, isn't it? I mean, we're close enough, but it's not like that. But it is like that because we've... you know." "I get that part," Ginny said. "But telling Ron..." "Well, I didn't like getting you involved, but Ron already knew you were involved. I mean, I would have refused to identify you, but he already had heard rumors," Hermione said. "I wonder where he heard it?" Ginny pondered. "Who knows?" "Knows might be strong," Hermione said. "I have to think its only jealous gossip to make us look bad. Otherwise it has to be Luna and I don't think she'd say anything." Ginny nodded. "No, not Luna. She'd never need to impress anyone with insider information." "Probably someone that watches us too much, sees we go off together, makes up a story that's scandalous and spreads it around," Hermione said. "Probably be shocked to know it's all true." "So, lover, how do we handle it?" Ginny asked. "Well, lover, I think we watch back for a while to see who might be on the list," Hermione said. "Then we plan a floor show starring our little gossip." Being nasty was gloriously free of guilty twinges when she didn't have to pretend virtue. She could understand the attraction to be openly evil. It was much harder to try to cloak evil intent in rationalized goodness. And the consequences were devastating when uncovered- as she knew all too well. Of course it was that temptress Romilda Vane. Even if the love spell that misfired had been meant for Harry, Hermione still felt personally affronted it had been visited on Ron. It gave her great delight to turn the pages of her book of spells looking for just the thing to use on her. Ginny, who had more cause for concern, shared an equal glee considering this or that revenge on the little hussy. It was not enough to embarrass Romilda with a public orgasm. The punishment should fit the crime more closely. "She was sneaky, but I guess whatever we do will fit that requirement," Ginny said. "She told lies suited to ruin our reputations in everyone's eyes." "Well, not lies," Hermione countered, "I guess she thought they were, but look at the content and intent: Something scandalous, something private, something that made her feel superior." "All right, you have a plan, what is it?" Ginny asked. It was a train wreck in slow motion. Ginny and Hermione settled back in the common room full of Gryffindors to watch it unfold. Romilda couldn't help herself, but much of what followed came from her own dirty mind. She was in love with Edward Cornish. Edward was a confused fourth-year unprepared for her affections. Romilda stalked him like a hunting tiger. It became clear she had planned her moves in advance. Her robes were undone to an immodest point that exposed much of the curves of her breasts and teased with the promise that all might be revealed if she moved just the right way. Edward even seemed ashamed for her and looked away. "Come now, Edward, don't you want to see?" Romilda asked seductively. The other boy at the table and Ginny and Hermione were still the only ones aware of what was happening. Romilda hadn't attracted other attention yet. "I could show you more, if you like. I'm quite naked, you know," Romilda brought Edward's head around with that. He looked up, astounded, and his friend's eyes followed. Romilda was toying with her robes, teasing with opening them completely. Another couple of heads turned to see what was going on. "It's all here for you, you know, whenever you want it," Romilda had leaned in to say this quietly in his ear. The girls had to strain to overhear. Romilda's back was blocking what she was doing, but by Edward's saucer-eyes, they were sure he was staring into Romilda's robes, looking with amazement at her naked breasts, fully exposed by the gap of her robes and her position. "Umm... Romilda, I don't think this is the place," Edward seemed flustered by her sudden affection. Across from him, his mate scowled, wanting to see more. "Romilda..." Romilda said. "I love when you say my name." She had obviously undone her robes while she played with them. Her hands reached out for Edward's face and they came undone, parting to reveal that she was indeed naked under them. She was unconcerned, but Edward's- and his friend's eyes immediately went to where the gap in her robe exposed her furry pubic patch and the mysterious (to them) mount it covered. More heads were turning and they in in turn brought the interest of still more. Most of the Gryffindors on that side of the room were now looking with interest or confusion at the drama being played out. "Do you like it?" Romilda asked when she saw where he looked. "Everything of mine is yours, you know." With that, Romilda shrugged off her robe and stood naked in the middle of the common room. Any eyes that had not been turned before turned now. She was chubby, Hermione observed jealously. She was soft and fleshy although not as much as Hermione wished. It was a layer of baby fat still flowing to her hips to give her the roundness of a woman. Romilda's breasts were full and round, standing out with a boldness of curve made more impressive by her unaffected pose. Her thighs may have been a bit thick, but they framed the pouting wedge of her sex mound all the more invitingly for that. Edward was shocked into staring at her sudden unveiling. "Come then, you can touch me," Romilda said, taking the stunned boy's hand and putting it on her breast. Several Gryffindors started up from their chairs, but then stood, uncertain how to proceed. There were angry looks in response to any action and more than a few hands put out to hold do-gooders back. Everyone wanted to see the wreck. "I... ahh... what are you doing?" Edward stuttered as he regained use of his tongue. "Everybody's looking." "I don't care who knows I love you!" Romilda pronounced loudly. "They're all just jealous!" That had the effect of relaxing those that would come to her aid. She took Edward's hand and stepped forward, placing it between her legs and closing her thighs on it to trap it there. "Feel how wet I am for you!" she announced, a bit quieter. "I want you to have me, all of me!" Edward was struggling as if her thighs were a trap. She had finally shocked him to his senses or scared him into flight. He finally pulled his hand free and leapt from his chair. Romilda's mouth opened in surprise and disappointment. "You're crazy!" Edward accused. "Leave me alone!" Romilda lunged for him as he backed away. She did seem a bit spare with her attmept to capture him. Edward pushed her away and ran for the dormitory. Romilda fell to her knees, a pitiful sight crawling after Edward calling, "Don't go! I love you! Please, don't go!" A new circle opened where Romilda crawled, hand out reaching for the now retreated Edward. Smirks and looks of horror were rather evenly distributed on the faces that watched. Ginny and Hermione remained decorously seated as they watched it all. The spell was broken (of the unprecedented tresspass against decorum and propriety, not magic) when Romilda gave up her crawling and rolled on her back, both hands going between her legs, and began frigging herself, calling loudly for Edward. Someone decided it was too much and grabbed Romilda's robe where it had fallen on the floor and threw it over her. Several more girls came to their senses with that and they gathered up the twitching, moaning girl, still frigging herself under the robe, and took her to the girl's dorms. "But it will wear off?" Ginny asked. "As soon as one of the other girls speaks his name," Hermione nodded. "And then she'll return to her previous opinion of Edward Cornish." Ron, perhaps more alert for his suspicion, identified the culprits at once. "What did you do to Romilda?" he asked Hermione. "Taught her not to carry tales about others," Hermione didn't deny anything. "She was the one that told you about Ginny and me, wasn't she." "Some of her lot, yeah, but isn't that... Didn't we say no more of that kind of magic?" Ron was concerned. "Not on you unless you want it and agree," Hermione said. "Nor, I suppose, on me without your consent, but I didn't think that meant becoming a Squib entirely." "You know what I mean," Ron said, rising. "Yes, Ron," Hermione said patiently, "But Ginny and I felt it was exactly what she deserved. I mean, she didn't really *know* anything. She made up those stories for spite. It was coincidence what she said was true." "But how do I know this doesn't mean it's starting again?" Ron asked. "I suppose you don't. You just have to trust me. I promised and I meant it," Hermione said. "I really meant it. I know how it hurts without you. I won't ever do anything to make you go again." Somewhat placated by her sincerity and more flattered by her tone, Ron moved on to a discussion of the event that had Gryffindor tower buzzing. He and Harry, by design, had been absent before the girls worked their spell on Romilda. "I could put the picture of her in your mind, but that would be starting up that kind of magic again," Hermione said haughtily as Ron went on about Romilda's naked prance. "Come on, Hermione, its not that I *fancy* her. It's just that kind of thing is so... I don't know... interesting," Ron protested. "Well, I guess you remember what happens when you fancy Romilda," Hermione reminded him, "Which was another good reason for her to be humiliated." Without his being aware, the incident began to crack Ron's animosity toward sex magic. Accepting Hermione's interpretation of their agreement unconsciously made him accept that it was for him to decide, not that the magic was inherently evil. And that had nothing to do with fucking Hermione. She had succeeded in explaining to him that change for the better didn't mean something new every time. He had stopped racking his brain for a new mode or position and they had settled into the old groove of plain old man on top sex for the most part with excursions into something different on occasion. Hermione was satisfied. It had always been good enough. The idea that she be bent over something and taken from the rear, or just pulled atop Ron to perform for him was enough to keep tedium from setting in. It was Ron that found himself thinking about more. It had come when he felt the pressure to invent a new way of fucking every time. His mind had wandered far and wide, mostly without encountering anything, but he had also glimpsed some dark corners that now returned to haunt him. In Hermione's arms, the simple need to put his dick in her and fuck out the joy chased such specters, but in solitary comtemplation Ron found himself wondering what more it might be if some of those urges came out of the dark. Hermione was busy repressing thoughts about her arse. It was Ginny's fault. Her prediction, premonition, whatever it was, now haunted Hermione like Ron's kinky thoughts. Back and forth, back and forth, and then have to try. Ginny's words danced to a sing-song in Hermione's head. It was so like her, Hermione had to admit. But it was NOT true. She had developed no more curiosity about having something patently too large going into her arse than before. And she resented her own mind for harrassing her with thoughts that it was inevitable. "So, what was it that made you put that curse on me in the dungeon?" Ron clumsily resurrected all the pain. "Upon further review, I think it was because I misinterpreted a warning not to," Hermione said stiffly. "Oh. ... What?" Ron was first rebuffed and then confused. "What warning?" Hermione tried to shorten the whole sad tale, but Ron asked so many questions she found herself starting over and going over it from fantasy to Ginny's thought it was a vision to the very bitter end and her abject devestation. Ron remained somber and nodded gravely in spots, but when she finished he looked up and smiled. "I thought it was something like that," he said. While Hermione was wondering why he put her through the explanation then, Ron caught her off-guard with his explanation. "I've been thinking," he revealed, "It was like that other thing we tried. Where I was supposed to 'put you in your place' and I ended up beating you. And you said you didn't know what the vision thing meant because you thought it would be fun." Impressed by Ron's ability to turn a ten minute explantion into one line, Hermione was still unsure she wanted to hear where Ron was going. None of the things she thought she wanted had turned out that well. "Only pain hurts," Ron came up with a stunningly obvious conclusion, "And I think what you really want is for me to, you know, order you around a bit. Let you feel all down-trodden and all of that, but more like pretend." Hermione's eyes went wide. As evident as all those things might be, it was Ron not only figuring them out, but mentioning them. She could only wait to see what wonder came next. "So, am I right?" he asked. He stopped just on the brink and threw it back to her. It was the reason she couldn't see him carrying through on anything like he was proposing. But she didn't want to quash the impulse and stumbled trying to find a reply. "Well, yes," she said hesitantly, "But it would have to be a certain tone. It would have to be- I don't know how to explain it- sexy." "Well, sure," Ron said like Hermione was stating the obvious now, "And I could call you names and tell you to do sexy things. Stuff like that." "You'd like to do that?" Hermione asked. "Well, sure, as it's only play," Ron said. "It would be funny in a way to be the one in control. Like a joke only randy." It was certainly one way of looking at it. Hermione sensed Ron grasped it better than he could express. She was impressed. And however sad the attempt, at least Ron was trying to add something. He was lovable even if he wasn't always the most successful. "Well then, pick it up," Ron's tone missed severe by many inches in the direction of laughter. "That's your job, serving girl. Hermione bent to pick up the wad of parchment he had dropped in front of her. That was her job as Ron had explained it to her. She was surprised by the amount of imagination he'd shown concocting the scene. She shuddered a bit as her position left her bottom open to his attack. Hermione imagined the apron had been smuggled from home. Like every apron, it left her back and bottom exposed, particularly in her present position. But Ron only attacked with his eyes. Hermione was aware of them looking at her when she stooped. She retrieved the parchment and stood up to hand it to Ron. "I don't want that. In the bin," Ron smirked at her. This time when she turned, Ron's hand was on her bottom, giving it a squeeze. "That'a a cheeky wench," he said as she dropped the parchment in the bin. With little, Ron was doing much. Hermione had been skeptical when Ron showed her the costume. She was sure it was some lame personal fantasy that would be less thrilling for her. Ron showed the first glimmer of what was to come when he told her off for her attitude and demanded she put it on. It was in the attitude, she discovered. She felt it as she stripped off and put on her apron. Ron was watching her, not as an excited boyfriend, but as a predator. His eyes flicked up to her face wearing a leer, but for the most part he only stared at her body being exposed. This was slightly rude- and unsettling. Hermione felt her own feelings slide toward distaste when he wanted her to turn in front of him to give the full effect. She knew he would be ogling her bottom when her back was turned. Then the degrading comments: 'you're a pretty one', 'I'll wager you've got lots of boys', 'don't want to make the master angry, do we', accompanied by rude carress, a nipple tweaked. Hermione's distaste moved to irritation, but it was stirring a rawer emotion. As he gave her menial tasks, all involving exposing her behind the apron, Hermione felt herself entering into the mind of this serving girl. Her master was an entitled prat and she knew he was toying with her before he molested her. She began to dread and hunger for his touch at the same time. She had to admit it. Ron was carrying on with a flair she didn't believe possible. Not the least came from him remaining fully clothed while she capered nearly nude. Even the nearly part loomed as a masterstroke. The apron was a full one, looping up over her neck and providing the rumor of cover over her breasts while completely uncovering her in the rear. It served as the proof that less was more even to the one dressed in less. Hermione felt more displayed by having its inadequate cover taunting her with the idea she could hide behind it even as it betrayed her with the slightest movement. "Oh, sloppy me," Ron chortled from his perch. He was dropping crumbs on the leg of his jeans. Hermione took the opportunity to face him and hold the apron in place with her hands folded in front of herself. She was as covered as could be in that position. "Be a dear and clean that up, will you?" Ron smirked. He wasn't being very subtle, but Hermione thought that was the point. As she reached to sweep the crumbs off his pants, he dribbled a few more higher. Like some perverse version of Hansel and Gretel, his crumbs were leading her hand to his cock. That was a very evident bulge curving along his thigh. It was clear Ron was enjoying this play. When he had led her hand to it, he kept dropping the crumbs. "Now don't rush, do a good job," Ron told her. She looked up at him and saw a satisfied expression. She also saw, with a bit of a jolt, that his second motive in drawing her close was to look down the front of her apron, where her slightly inclined posture gave him a clear view of her hanging breasts. She felt a thrill at that. It was a dirty kind of shiver that she had been trapped in Ron's snare. Never mind that he was as familiar with her body as his face in the mirror, it was an illicit peek. And in the meantime he had coerced her hand into stroking his growing cock. She was impressed so far. "Now, while you're there," Ron said with no humor, "You know what to do." "No I don't...," Hermione decided to test him. "Sir." "Undo my pants then," Ron was not thrown off, "I'll talk you through it." "Pull now," he said when she had opened his pants, lifting his bottom to free his pants for her. Hermione found herself anxious to hear what Ron would instruct her to do. It was an eagerness like excitement to wait without knowing what he might direct her to do. He would be exposing himself in his choices, revealing his desires, and she would expose herself by showing him she was willing to do whatever he might want. "Now the underpants," Ron said, having seated himself again after Hermione dragged his pants to mid-thigh. He slid along the desk as he sat, dragging the back of his underpants half-way down his arse. Hermione was left to lift the front elastic and pull it down. Ron's underpants came easily off his groin and settled below his bollocks. Ron leaned back on his hands, offering his cock to her and said, "Touch it." Hermione reached out to wrap her hand around his cock. As her fingers curled, Ron stopped her. "Just touch it," he scolded, "Run your finger along it. Look at it. Memorize it. Think where I'm going to put it." She set it more upright than she found it and then did what Ron demanded, stroked her fingers along its curving surface. She watched herself do it, considering what Ron had promised to do to her. He was going to put it somewhere. Ron was thinking where he was going to put it as well. Her fingers aroused him quickly along with his own eagerness to attack Hermione. The apron was quite the same to him as it felt to Hermione: It was more than naked because there was the fiction of concealment which was less than no concealment at all. "Now kiss it- just kiss it. On the head," Ron directed. Hermione leaned forward to bestow the homage on Ron's bobbing cock. She had taken Ron's suggestion to heart and though she knew his body like he knew hers, was studying his cock, thinking of it pushing inside her. "Now you're going to bend over the desk with your hands and your elbows flat on it," Ron said, sitting up and making her move back. "But... sir, I don't feel like I should be doing this," Hermione said to test Ron as she moved into the position he demanded. "That's sweet," Ron swept it aside, "Now don't move your hands or elbows off the desk until I say you can." Hermione was shocked to feel Ron's hand. She had been noticing her position and not thinking about his intentions. If she had been, the side of his hand sliding between her labia would have been low on the list. She was very interested, but not very excited and she silently praised Ron for his manual stimulation. Combined with her arch-backed pose it made her feel servile and receptive as a cow. When Ron hooked one of his long thumbs under, she became a more receptive cow, moving her hips with the rhythm of his thumb along her clit. "You look well ready for something else now," Ron said and Hermione heard him spit. That struck her as funny, but before she could laugh Ron had wiped the head of his cock where his hand had been. She braced, but Ron was toying with her. He only began to push into her and stopped barely parting the gates. Her hips moved and Ron let her struggle to get more. Here she was acting the slut. Ron was in charge, she was to take her orders from him, and yet she was wiggling her bum at him to try and get more cock. It made Hermione feel even more randy and desperate for Ron to fuck her. "Changed your mind about whether you should, I see," Ron mocked her efforts. "I think you should ask me nicely for what you want." "I can't help it," Hermione answered. "I feel your... your thing there and I have to move. I don't want to, but it does it by itself." "Then you have a randy bum," Ron snickered. "Tell me what your randy bum wants." He was going to make her say it. If she wanted to get fucked, she'd have to say it. Hermione pondered how to ask. What part should she play? Was she the poor girl overcome by circumstance, forced to give in, or was she secretly lusty and forced to admit it? "Please, sir, I want you to go on," Hermione said. "I can't stand this. You have to help me." She knew she had hit a happy note when Ron replied, "Go on? Go on where? What do you want? Tell me clearly. Use the words." She tried to make it sound like they were dragged from her. It seemed that held some particular attraction for Ron. "Please, sir, put your cock in my cunt and fuck it," Hermione said, feeling a thrill and finding her own attraction to saying it bluntly in the fantasy they were weaving. Ron eased forward an inch. He let her feel the frustration of that. She responded by trying to wiggle him into a lust the would give them both relief. He paused long enough she doubted it was her encouragement, but then stopped his teasing and slid deeply into her. "Oh, I'll fuck you," he said. "I'll fuck you when you want it and when you don't. You're mine to fuck. You don't belong to you anymore. You belong to me and I'll do whatever I please to you." Ron punctuated his words with strong thrusts into her bottom. It was such a relief, Hermione found herself falling prey to his banter. It was his, and he should have it when he wanted. He should do what he wanted, have his way with her. It no longer had anything to do with Ron ordering her around. It may have been instrumental in bringing her to this point, but at the moment the most important thing was his cock driving into her with rhythmic sureness. However her attitude had been prepared, it was all down to letting Ron have her and drive her to heights she was trying to experience rather than imagine. He seemed to fall into the same mood. His words stopped in favor of renewed vigor attacking her rear. For some time there was only the sound of their gutteral breathing and Ron slapping smartly against her bottom. The restriction of her position had been evident since she put her elbows down and gingerly placed her hands flat. With Ron thrusting lustfully into her, she also found the liberation. In the same way her mind had been seduced into co-operation, her body was positioned for submission. It freed her to be the receptacle of Ron's fucking. She had only to keep her hands flat, her feet firm and experience the hard cock's invasion, the bob of her breasts as he plowed into her and sheen of excitement that covered her like the rising heat she felt as Ron plunged manfully on. She was quite lost in being the object of his lust when Ron went deep and did his work there. It was so familiar she had the sense Ron was on the brink, but Hermione let that pass as a stray thought in her haze. Even when the thrusts became jerking stabs and Ron finally came to rest buried to his furthest extent in her, Hermione basked in the glow. It was wonderfully exciting, if not climatic. She would lie to Ron, of course, if he asked. Boys didn't understand how it could be so good without orgasm. The insight struck her that it was because they worked so hard, so single-mindedly to reach climax that they missed the pleasure of the journey. She was, however, content. More than content, she was tingling with how completely Ron had managed to set the situation and then take advantage. She still felt obliged to serve his whim as she stood, gasping and goose-bumped with his cock buried in her. Ron stepped back. Hermione fancied she could feel the crawl of his eyes over her exposure, her spread pinkness in the aftermath of his invasion. She felt heat flood through her body, rushing down to her gaping cunt. "Now you know what to do," Ron said, not letting the game slip away. "May I take my hands off the desk?" Hermione asked rather than confess she didn't. "You'll have to, won't you?" Ron said without giving her a clue. She straightened up slowly, feeling some loss of the subserviance she felt holding the position. She tried harder to portray the attitude as she turned toward Ron with her eyes cast down. "I don't know what you want," she said softly when there was no prompt. "Down and lick it. Lick it, mind you- until it's clean," he said with such obvious joy that Hermione knew he was waiting for her to ask. No, it wasn't idiot child that she felt, it was more lost waif as she went to her knees. She felt every nuance of her situation strongly as she lifted his cock to run her tongue along its underside. Ron was making her emphasize her service by limiting her to this slow method of cleaning him off. But that was one small facet heaped on all the rest. Most obviously, she was on her knees licking their combined fluids from the cock that had just fucked her. More subtley, she was still in the apron that covered little and accentuated what it showed and she was unsure that this was the only task Ron had in store for her. She licked the sides of his cock. Finally, she let it hang and licked along the top side. Ron had left her to it with only sounds of pleasure to that point. "Now get right up there to the end," he said then. "Be sure to get right up in all the hairs. I was all the way to the hilt in your wet snatch and I don't want the smell lingering." A different Hermione might have punched him in the balls, but this Hermione understood his humiliating intent, even quivered a little at it. Yes, Ron, she thought to herself, I'll do whatever you say. I'll be a whore and a slut for you, if that's what you want. I'll do anything you say. You'll see what kind of girl I really am. As Hermione worried the skin where his cock met his belly, pushing pubic hair aside with her tongue, she felt something pressing up under her chin. Her slavish devotion was not only warming her with its wicked deviance, it was also working its miracle on Ron. "Now suck it," he said finally, voice low but betraying a strain. Hermione looked up at him as she took his cock in her mouth. She tried to keep her face clear of emotion so her eyes would be wide and bright as Ron looked down at her cock-filled face. She felt distinctly pitiful and degraded and wanted him to see it. Ron watched her without comment, except to say: no hands, when one of hers crept up to hold his cock for her to bob on it. She dropped the offending hand and moved more carefully up and down his cock. Ron waited patiently. "Now get up," he said after he had basked in her performance to his content. His cock had been hard enough from the time her mouth closed over it. She could only think he was enjoying watching her. This time she looked into his eyes. There was a twinkle. "Take off the apron," he instructed. Hermione felt the climate change. She untied the apron and took it off over her head. She let it drop to pool atop her bare feet. Now nothing but her toes were covered. Ron didn't look at her. At least he didn't ogle her revealed flesh. He was calm with determination. Hermione felt the purpose like a radiation from him. "Back up to the desk and sit on it," he said. As she stepped backward she was taken by the fact that Ron was still mostly dressed. His jeans hung at mid-thigh and his underpants were still at the rakish angle from halfway down his butt to under his testicles. Only his stiff-standing cock was naked. Her bottom touched the desk and she put her hands on it to lift herself onto it. She slid back a bit and waited. Ron looked at her smiling. She felt a wave of warmth that looking at her pleased him. "Lean back," he told her and stepped forward as she complied. "Now legs up," he said, standing over her. "Open them." Hermione struggled a bit to hold the position, assuring herself that Ron would fix her predicament presently. It was obvious she was to open herself for him to fuck her again. She felt less victimized laying there and more complicit. It was bold, brazen and scandalous. She couldn't wait for Ron to come to her and make outrageous love to her there on the desktop. He altered her feelings a bit. "Reach down and spread yourself open," he said. "Use both hands, one on either side." Hermione's hands hesitated a beat before sliding smoothly down between her legs and pulling at her flesh. It was both intimate and the opposite. Her fingers carressed herself in a familiar and comfortable way. And that touch was opening her in an exposure more intimate than nudity. "Now hold it open while I fuck you," Ron said crudely as he stepped forward. Hermione stared at the ceiling. It seemed to fit her fate as Ron summarily entered her and began to thrust without any pause. She no longer felt complicit in any way that approached equality. Her co-operation was merely compliance. She liked it. In a way he had not before, Ron had touched the nerve of dominating her. Before, it had been a tickle with her collaboration. Now he had reduced her to meat- meat offering itself for his use. Her nipples were harder than ever, tight sparkling spots on the surging mounds of her breasts as Ron drove into her. Her fingers dug into her own flesh with the confusing emotions of excitement at the touch and the lack of control. Ron emphasized this as she felt his groin push against her hands as his cock burrowed between them. His carnal parts were enforcing her service, pinning her hands in their immodest position as he took what her hands opened for him. "That's it then," Ron huffed as he thrust, "You've found your value. Mind you remember. This is the only reason I don't throw you out on the street." It was more for himself than Hermione. At least he seemed to gather resolve from his own words. Hermione had less interest in the fictional serving girl at the moment. She was the happy recipient of Ron's resolve and the strong thrusts of his eager cock. She was still touching herself and being fucked vigorously. That had become its own pleasurable world. She needed and, in truth, couldn't concentrate on anything else. It was quite as good as it ever had been and Hermione was only feeling the first fingers of lust poking at her desires. It was serendipitous then that Ron seemed just as immersed in his creation as she was divorced from it. He pounded into her with the ferocity of his role. Hermione's blood became a roaring in her ears as he carried on as if there was some height of sadism he needed to reach for release. Yes, oh yes, yes, yes, it was quite perfection as her climax narrowed her reality and she was left with the powerful slam of Ron's body against her. Hard as he wanted- hard as he could manage, it became confused with his measure of desire for her in the half-conscious wards of pleasure. The desire was wonderful. Her orgasm was wonderful. And dimly, outside the haze of passion, Ron was still stabbing rapidly and forcefully into her. She recovered her sense of place as if it was Ron's deep jerking commotion that had called her back. "Do I know what to do next?" she asked when Ron's eyes seemed to focus. She had been several beats premature in thinking Ron had come to his senses, at least to his senses in the reality they shared. As he looked at her gruffly, seeming to see who she was with some surprise, Hermione felt self-conscious about everything. She was suddenly aware her legs were heavy where she held them up and open for him. Her hands were touching herself in an inappropriate manner. Ron seemed annoyed with her. "Do what?" he asked thickly. "Do you want me to lick you clean again?" Hermione felt trapped into explaining since she had said something. "Yeah, that sounds good," a smile came over Ron's face at her suggestion. He seemed to have processed whatever needed processing by the time he stepped back to allow Hermione to get off the desk. The smile had drawn up into a smirk and he stood with his feet slightly spread and his fists on his hips. He again had the air of control. Hermione thought she should have waited as she again slipped to her knees in front of him. But as she licked Ron's cock, taking care he should have no criticism, she decided it was fitting. If it had lost its magic for her, which it had, Ron was enjoying it and he deserved some reward for his efforts. "Now put it away," Ron said after she had done bottom, sides and top. Hermione had to supress an urge to giggle as she tucked his penis in, pulled up his underpants and struggled to get his jeans back into place. It was like dressing a child and struck her as funny. "Now I'm dressed, but look at you," Ron said when she was finished. He was teasing her. As much as anything, it told her he was plain old Ron again. She hoppped up and smartly snatched up her clothes to dress. But even with plain old Ron, or perhaps even more so with him, she felt exposed as she pulled on her clothes. It was like she had been tricked into nakedness and Ron was tittilated and laughing at her predicament. It was a bit anticlimactic, but Hermione couldn't say what should have been instead. And what preceded was so unexpected that she wasn't going to criticize this ending. Ron had impressed her. She wasn't sure she could rent him out as an expert, but but he'd given it a good go. "Now was that what you had in mind?" Ron asked as they were leaving. "No- it was better than I hoped," Hermione said. "But still room for improvement." "Then you show me next time when it's your turn to do it to me," Ron said. Her turn? Hermione didn't know where he got that idea. "That's something you'd like?" Hermione asked. "You want me to boss you around like that?" "Doesn't sound that much different from normal, now that I think about it, but I thought you should have your chance," he said. "You know, get back for anything that happened." "I don't need to get back at you," Hermione said. "It was all wonderful. I'll do it if you want me to, but it should be because you really want it, not that you think you should." Hermione had Ginny, and occasionally Luna to take care of the things she'd demand of Ron. Her non-insertion-directed sensuality was fulfilled. And making Ron bark like a dog or follow her like a puppy held no appeal for her. They had just seemed to fall back into a rhythm when it was torn asunder by the events ending the year. [You know what happened at the end of sixth year. At least you should. This is no sop to those horrified by 'spoilers' It is, rather, a deliberate withholding to force anyone who doesn't know to consult the source.] The force behind preventing Draco from being brought to justice and interrupting his task became evident. Hermione no longer felt Draco had escaped, but felt her own, and Ginny's, part in sacrificing Pansy to a fate worse than they had imagined and for which she had no redress. Even Pansy didn't deserve that. The whipping? Probably. The casual rape by Draco? Certainly. But not the terror or the face of evil that was turned on her, making all the rest a horror beyond imagining. Or at least beyond most people's imagining. Hermione had her own taste to know how horrible it could be, though in the hands of a much more cunning torturer. It seemed a late date to be considering what was better forgotten, but Hermione had the memories unwillingly tweaked as she lay with her wrists and ankles tied close together behind her back. It had been her idea and she did not regret it, but neither did she know the memories it would stir. Draco, the brutal, the direct, the simple, had used pain on top of pain to drive Pansy to distraction. He was fury unceasing, sweeping Pansy away in the onslaught. Ron, the evil, had shown her pain- raw, brutal pain that made her wince in memory. Then he had eroded her will slowly with the threat of its return. As he did that, most effectively, he had ample time to torture her in other ways, insinuations, fearful doubts, all delivered while she writhed in fear and vulnerability. Even in harmless play-acting he had shown a disturbing understanding of callous disregard and entitlement. It was in him. The memories did nothing to quiet Hermione's pounding heart as she lay helpless and once again subject to Ron's disregard. "If you're going to do something, do it!" Hermione demanded. Waiting wasn't helping her prepare for whatever he had planned. He was only going to roll her on her back and fuck her, anyway. But her scoffing assurances to herself were not cancelling the feeling of danger that grew the longer she lay bound. What else was there? But she felt no calmer for not being able to guess what else there might be. "Make me," Ron said unkindly. He was supreme in his display of indifference. And he spent entirely too much time behind her, looking at her laying bound, helpless and naked on the floor. Hermione tried to turn her disquiet into irritation, but her active imagination would not allow itself to be turned from dire predictions of her fate. She'd admitted that any additional excitement from their little plays had been manufactured. Not in a bad sense of being feigned, but by effort of imagination. Since that was the point, they were successful, but she knew there was another level. She didn't want to be hurt- at least not very much, she'd learned that lesson. But there had to be another level of menace between agreed fantasy and a sadistic dungeon scene. She'd admitted helplessness- real helplessness- would be a way of finding that level. So she had made her own problem. Her problem with Ron was that he was warming to the role with more than a neophyte's enthusiasm. As he had shown under the curse, he had an instinctive understanding of the adage: When the masochist says 'beat me', the sadist says 'no'. He understood the power of threat over action. He was exercising that power over her. Not only was her range of imagination growing as he appeared briefly and then went out of sight, her helplessness was looming more and more central as her fears expanded to embrace ever more dire acts he might be planning. She reared up from his touch as if it was a branding iron pressed to her flesh. He snickered. It was only his hand stroking her bottom. She refused to be lulled. She was still tense when he pushed her onto her belly rather than her back and pried her knees apart. There was no way he could assault her that way. Her tied ankles would keep him too far away for any but a horse to possibly reach. Then she felt his hand sneak between her thighs. "Ron! What are you doing?" she asked sternly. He didn't respond. She was embarrassed by her outburst. It showed weakness and he would surely seize upon it. Her concern vanished when Ron touched her. No, this wasn't the way it should go. What was he doing down there? Of course she knew exactly what he was doing. He was stroking her pussy. And no matter how hostile or angry she tried to make herself, eventually he was going to win. There was no 'way for it to go', not from her position. That was the tyranny she had allowed herself to be caught in. Well, it won't be bloody easy, she set herself. And that only made it harder on her. Ron was happily content to manipulate, stroke, carress her for as long as it took. Her pelvis began to thump against the floor despite her efforts to remain still. Not allowing herself to think it good, Ron's fingers were irritating her into that motion. There was nothing she could do to protect herself. Ron was forcing the essential truth of her predicament in her, not face, but opposite end. "Noooooo!" she wailed like a torturee. There was no avoiding it. As certain as pain, Ron's tickling carresses broke through her resolve. Her body betrayed her with normal reaction. She was lubricating from the attention and her vulva was swelling in anticipation. It was dire only in being contrary to her intentions. Her body felt differently about Ron's ministrations. Like the rapist's fantasy that his victim comes to enjoy his assault, her body twisted and writhed first in protest but then in need. Hermione's resistance faded, bullied by Ron's tender but pervasive attention. She tired of fighting. She tired of trying to deny her body's desires. Feeling like the slut revealed, the libertine released, as seen by the self-excusing rapist, Hermione took only grim pleasure in Ron's mastery. It was deeper than the surface thought of rape. It was the idea of her control that Hermione felt being stripped away. Having fought that fight and lost, Hermione was forced into the torment of ecstasy. Somehow the shame drove it deep into every nerve and her resistance only raised the level when orgasm burst through and she cried out in its overwhelming grasp. She was shuddering, struggling. Not only every nerve, but every corpuscle, every strand of muscle was afire with the force of her climax. She howled, no longer able to express dismay or acceptance, only raw emotion. And Ron carried on. His fingers were inside her now. He forced them in and out. Her pelvis beat the floor. Her body fought its captive position and every twitch dragged her hard nipples across the floor with bursts of painful pleasure. There was no relenting and Hermione could not gather her wits from the first ecstasy as she endured the ultimatum of Ron's plunging fingers. Her thoughts, her observations, blew by like leaves in the wind as the inevitable motion inside her dragged her to the peak again. The sound was embarrassing as Ron's fingers sluiced wetly in and out. The suck and squish of her copiously lubricating pussy was an obscene soundtrack to her gasping in another climax. She was not ready. Aching thighs protested the spasms as she flexed and floundered in the grip of orgasm. "Ron! please!" she managed to gasp as he still did not relent. "Yes, you seem pleased," he answered diabollically. He continued. Three- four, she lost track of the times his fingers brought her to climax. As her mind went dull with the string of orgasms, her body turned to butter. She was only able to let the climb and fall drag her along as Ron pleasured her. "Now I'll have my way with you," Ron's voice broke into her dazed state as she was roused by his handling. He pulled her over, precariously placing her on her arms with her legs uncertain in the air. She looked up at him with dazed eyes, seeing him as another in a line of men who had been gang-raping her body. He was naked and his cock was not very hard. "Now I'm going to give you something bigger," he said as he squatted over her to rub his cock over her chest. Her nipples throbbed with the contact. Her body was not so spent that he could not arouse her reaction. Only her mind had gone into retreat as she watched as if watching some other person as Ron's cock stiffened with the contact. He pushed her knees apart and placed himself between them. It had the effect of raising her hips and making her feel even more open to him. He rubbed his erection in the mess of wetness he had urged from her. Hermione no longer felt defeat as Ron pushed into her. She only felt, and with attention she had not felt before, his cock open and stretch her. It felt so new and strangely welcome as he filled her. It seemed his cock was what she had been waiting for. It felt soothing and proper in some vague way when he pressed against her, fully sheathed. "You'll take it my way now- and like it," Ron threatened to no point. If she had been more aware, Hermione might have heard his intent to further dominate her. But his words seemed to come from far away and have no import. She only felt him pull back and drive deep into her again. If it was his way, then his way was her way. The long, hard thrusts were like salvation to her weary mind. They took her to the place where she had been beaten into compliance by pleasure, but masochistically she wanted to find that wonderful torture again. "How d'you like that, my little captive?" Ron grunted as the hard jabs accelerated. Again they were words without point, unless to encite himself. He had already reduced Hermione to stunned compliance. They might have stung if she had not already been reduced to admitting his cock, in its hard driving mastery was secretly her savior. She hung for long, aching moments on the crest as his stabbing cock threatened to strand her. She strained against him, wanting the release enough to fight the restraining ropes to find it. Then it burst over her on one deep thrust into her core. Ron stayed deep and jerked into her as much as thrust as she shivered in ecstasy. She cried out, a wail of triumph in her total defeat. The waves of chill and fire that flooded her were sent back like ripples colliding by Ron's short imperative jabs. Only when he drove deep and paused was she sent drifting on the silver surface of her pleasure while he swelled and shuddered inside her. It seemed all a dream. "Like to clean it off? You would, wouldn't you?" Hermione blinked rapidly at those words. Ron's cock was poised over her face. The past hours were still a jumble to be unravelled later, but Hermione's head was clearing. She looked up and scowled. "No need to be cute about it," Ron said. "Just suck off the slime." He pushed his cock at her mouth and she opened it to allow him to invade. It was again the horror of helplessness. Hermione felt all the proper disgust and misuse of sucking the cock that had invaded her. The point of the game had returned. Ron was quick to untie her and cover her shivering body. He was not quite solicitous, but observant of her comfort. Hermione still could not make the events arrange in any sensible order in her mind. "So-- was that good?" he asked finally. He was sitting unabashedly cross-legged, leaning back on his hands with an air of feigned disinterest while she huddled under his robe. The contrast only confused her thoughts more. "I think I came a lot," she said hesitantly. "My head is still spinning." "But it was okay?" he pressed, dropping his pretense of unconcern. "I didn't upset you?" Not as much as not letting it go, Hermione thought ungenerously, but her response was still meek. "I don't think so, not too much anyway," she ventured without wanting to asssess it objectively yet. However irritating it seemed, it was just right at the time, Hermione came to understand as she peeled away the meanings. There was no reason to doubt Ron's intent, but his concern at that moment made that clear and relieved her of having to assure herself. The lone mystery was how such ability to tap into the dark forces he could exhibit was so lacking in his every day demeanor. She didn't think it was possible, even having lived through its proof, that Ron had such urges in him. It came back to haunt her, like a prophetic ghost that gives the next day's lottery numbers. She and Ron had stolen some precious moments while Mrs. Weasley was out in the yard. They were laying, sated and happy, on Ron's narrow bed. "Sorry the bed's so small," Ron said with his usual defensiveness. "It's perfect, Ron," Hermione argued, squirming slightly rub the length of her naked body along his. "I want to be close like this." "Strange though," Ron said. "I've been thinking..." "That is strange," Hermione interrupted. "And not even in school." Ron pushed her. In a moment of madness, Hermione snatched up the pillow and struck back. Ron grabbed her wrists and something changed. The playful smile grew broader. His eyes got brighter. The mood was very different. Ron pushed her arms back and just stared for a moment. Hermione's taunt died in her throat. She wanted to say something but nothing came before Ron bent down and kissed her. And that seemed changed too. Ron mashed his lips on hers and forced her lips apart with his tongue. It was like an old bad habit, but Ron was purposeful and not clumsy. Hermione could feel the difference in the air. He climbed over her. His face loomed over hers filled with the same purpose as his kiss. Hermione stared back, unwilling to break the mood by speaking. She wasn't sure what his intent was. They had just had a go. He couldn't have recovered that quickly. She felt him push her legs wider. Still holding her wrists on either side of her head, she found out that he could. Ron moved into her with a press rather then a thrust. One long slide and he again took full possession of her. That was an exact description of his manner. Hermione didn't struggle. She found the thing to say. "Let me use my hands, please," she asked. Ron relaxed his grip and let her pull her hands from under his. He was already thrusting into her. Hermione reached up for him. "Yes, Ron. Oh yes, Ron"" Her feet tangled in the sheets. She fought them to move with Ron's insistent thrusting. She dug her fingers into his back and he responded with more vigor. He took her hard and fast. There was no hesitation as he rammed into her. Hermione finally kicked the sheets away to wrap her legs about him. Ron fucked her faster. "Ron. What was that?" she asked in a whisper when he had finished, holding her pressed to him, and then fallen on her. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I looked at you and... something told me it was right." "Well it was," she said happily. "I wasn't sure at first, but then it was just right." Whether it was the dire events engulfing them or simply Ron coming of age, Hermione did not dwell on discovering. It was enough- more than enough, nearly perfect that Ron had freed himself from his awe. Finally Hermione herself discovered from whence her own urges came. It was this new Ron, discovered in a pillow fight, that she had craved. Her fixes were fantasies that would force him to throw off his deference and throw himself into their mating with reckless abandon. And somewhere, some spark had finally ignited that let him free of all former flaws. Oh, sometimes it didn't hurt to play, but this new animal did not need that to bring her the total satisfaction. The Ron she craved, even without conscious knowledge, was emerging. Somehow his argumentative nature had turned to a better purpose. He had become bold enough to contradict her, put forth his own ideas. It was a bit irritating at other times, but in bed it was perfect. He demanded now, in a way Hermione found refreshing. He stood up for himself. It seemed on the eve of annihilation he had finally become the man she loved with all her heart. Of course, he still hadn't walked out on her. That would set him back a bit. And, of course, Harry being her first lover- her true lover, and Ginny not being around, would also bring up issues. But that's another story that hasn't happened quite yet. For now, each stolen moment becomes a dream of what should be, what can be. The perfect love, intense sex, with the rapidily approaching imperative to oppose the great evil in their world still a few moments away. It was better than making 11-year-olds cum in their underpants, at least. And she still had no interest at all in having anything up her arse. ### * curve, efus pitch, plate: baseball terms- An American sport involving nine players, no brooms, played on the ground, involving one ball, put into play with a bat. In this game a pitcher throws the ball, not trying to knock anything apart, but to pass through a designated area over the PLATE which the man with a bat is obligated to attempt to hit. To evade this attempt, the pitcher uses differing speeds and locations, including the CURVE, which drops as it enters the striking zone, and more rarely the EFUS PITCH, which is very slow and drops precipitously as it approaches the striker. As a variant, the pitcher will also throw the ball rapidly (FAST BALL) often at speeds approaching 160 kph to surprise the striker. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime, so fuck as many people as you can with it, because okay is for losers! Or go ahead- fuck one woman/man your whole life- your long, boring, healthy life- going on and on and on and on- until you shit in a bag and drool on your shirt because keeping you alive lets someone bleed off all the money you made in your life. Really, isn't that better than the risk you might have a short, exciting life and plunge more poon or take more dick than Solomon and his 600 concubines? Because, you know, you might die young and happy rather than really old and unaware where you are- and how fun is that? Make up your own fucking mind. Ignore alien orders. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *