Hermione Awakens

By She Cries

(My apologies to all the writers who waited so long for me to finish this one)

Hermione woke from a long, heated dream, flashes of being handled, passed from man to man through a crowd of faceless bodies, every inch of her being caressed gently, with hot, velvet fingertips. Her pulse throbbing in her veins she threw off the covers and sat up, panting, shocked to find a chill blast as her fifteen-year old sweat covered body was pelted with the icy night air.

"Where is my dressing gown" she thought to herself, pulling the sheets up to cover herself, but in the dark she could see only the dim outline of the window. Collecting her senses she recalled that she was alone in a spare dormitory in the Hogwarts dungeon.

Neville Longbottom had mis-aimed a spell he had been practicing in the Gryffindor common room and the Canary cream he had been trying to dispel had swollen to gargantuan heights. It was not a problem for Professor McGonnegal to disintegrate the great rolling masses of enchanted cream that kept covering students with yellow feathers at the slightest contact, but cleaning the common room from the mounds of custard that filled half of the Gryffindor dormitories would take several days, even with magic. Hermione grimaced at the thought of the house-elves being forced to labor at the task "Neville should have to clean it up by himself."

She pushed open her curtain, revealing the "window" she had remembered half-asleep-which was merely a painting of a lake view from one of the high towers, the moon shining fully over the sparkling water, a cool breeze flowing from the magical waters. She shivered, remembering that she had let the fire go out, insisting that no house elves be made to labor on her part.

This was also why she was sleeping alone. Her bunkmates would have nothing to do with Hermione's squeamishness, so she was forced to sleep alone, in an unheated dungeon apartment down the hall from the rest of the fourth year girls. "It's just as well" Hermione snorted "I won't have anything to do with slave labor." But guiltily she regretted the fading embers of the fire, there was no more wood to put on it, and the nearest stack was out in the hall.

Though she could see a thin seam of lantern light through the door to her chamber, she could hardly see anything on the floor of her chamber, much less the wood-pile or her wand, so she could relight the fire and go back to sleep.

A shiver overcame her for a moment, and she clutched her arms to her chest, startled by the touch of skin, pearls of sweat dripping between her tiny breasts, her pouting nipples erect and sensitive in the cold breath of the dungeons.

Shivering again, but not with the cold, she apprehensively ran her hands down under the covers, gathered at her waist.

Nothing. Not a stitch.

She felt around in bed, but she knew she would find nothing. Her bedclothes had vanished.

“Don’t panic. There’s no reason to be worried.” She told herself, wondering deep inside if she was only kidding herself.

Reaching down she tugged the blanket up, to wrap over her shoulders, but discovered that they wouldn’t come off the bed. She could wrap them around her, but no amount of force would get them to come away from the foot of the bed where they appeared to have been nailed in place.

“…or magicked.” She whispered aloud, wondering if this had anything to do with her vanishing nightgown.

Willfully she threw off the covers and slid out of the bed, gasping abruptly as the sudden icy chill of the cold, stone floor shot up through her legs, and the deep cold of the Winter night assaulted her on all sides. Gasping she stood her ground, arms clutched around her tightly until the shock had passed.

Her eyes had adjusted to the light, and in the dim, pale blue light of the moon-painting she made her way to the wardrobe, where she had thrown her haversack the night before, so she could get one of her school robes, her wand, and get to the bottom of everything.

“Well, you’re an attractive young thing.” A soft, yet piercing feminine voice floated across the room.

Hermione froze, her heart thumped in a sudden, painful leap against her breast, and the pit of her stomach seemed to fill with molten lead. Right in front of her stood a figure, equally nude, shivering, arms clutched as hers were, but a wry grin, and a cocked eyebrow appraised her invasively. She realized this was a reflection of herself.

Relief flooded over her, “Mirror, keep your comments to yourself.”

Her mirror image just smiled wider, “There’s no reason to be ashamed, a girl your age should count herself lucky to have a body like that.”

“I’m not interested in this discussion.” Hermione retorted then thinking for a moment added, “Where did you come from. There wasn’t a mirror on this wardrobe last night.”

“I’m a moon mirror. I only appear under the light of the moon, but I saw you.” Hermione’s reflection ran a probing hand down its ribs, sending a shiver at the real 14 year-old girl. “Ooh, Goosebumps.”

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, reached for the wardrobe handle, and realized that it wasn’t there. “How do I open the door.”

“You can’t. Not while I’m here.”

“Well, would you pardon me, I need to get a robe, I’m freezing.”

“I don’t have much control in that department, you need to turn on a light, but I wish you wouldn’t.”

Hermione, scowling, restrained herself from stomping her foot on the floor. “But I’m freezing! What happened to my nightgown?”

The mirror smiled, and Hermione thought she imagined a faint shade of crimson flicker across the mirror, “What do you expect when you sleep in a lovers’ bed?”

Hermione was dumbstruck, “A… A what?” she stammered out.

The mirror smiled at Hermione. She embarrassingly felt that it would reach out and pat her on the shoulder if it could.

“I was wondering why you were alone in there. There’s a cabinet behind you.”

Hermione turned and tried to see what the mirror was gesturing at in the gloom.

The mirror continued with a barely suppressed giggle, “Maybe there’s something in there.”

Hermione stumbled through the room until her hand fell on the cabinet, recessed into the stone wall she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. She opened the small door, and took a sharp breath as it swung open revealing a floor length opening in the wall.

“Is this whole room magical?”

“Only for young ladies.”

Hermione swung around, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Her mirror image batted it’s eyelashes innocently, “Oh, nothing. Oh, looks like just your size.”

“What?” Hermione asked, then following her reflection’s gaze she turned to the wall opening.

Revealed, almost glowing in its own light, was a long, shimmering, translucent robe, barely a wisp of fabric, and completely see-through. Her mouth fell open as she saw, as if worn by an invisible mannequin, a jet-black corset, strapless and waist deep floating under the robe. Equally surprising was a pair of silk panties, sheer with thin straps for sides, suspended underneath, only slightly less transparent than the robe.

“I’m not wearing this.”

“It’s quite warm, I’ve heard tell,” the mirror subtly prodded.

“Is there a torch in here?” Hermione spun around, refusing to look at the lingerie.

“There might be one out in the hall.”

Hermione cursed to herself. She couldn’t possibly go out there in the nude. Prefects and teachers were patrolling the halls, looking for students out of bed, not to mention Mr. Filch and his despicable cat, Mrs. Norris. Oh, if only she hadn’t had to put Crookshanks in the kennel for the move.

“You could always call a house-elf, I suppose.” The mirror tittered, giggling to itself.

Hermione scowled, “Shut up!” but a cold breeze stirred, and she shivered in spite of her attempts not to. “Well,” she thought, “I could always put on the robe. It’s better than being naked.”

But when she reached for the robe her hand passed right through it. She found her hand touching the rigid side of the corset, icy metal grommets running under her fingers like silver pearls.

“Why can’t I touch the robe?”

“One thing at a time, dearie. Everything in its proper place, and order.”

Hermione knew instinctively what this meant. First the underwear, then the robe. But that meant she would have to put on what were assuredly magical garments, and she had no reason to trust anything in this room.

But subtly, almost imperceptibly at first, she felt a cradle of warmth around her hand. She realized that where her fingers passed the intangible robe, they were not cold.

“That’s the spirit, dear-heart. Go ahead, it won’t hurt you.”

Hermione clenched her teeth, “Will you shut up!”

Her reflection only giggled in reply.

“If I’m going to do this, I might as well just do it.”

She hooked one finger under the panties and whatever spell was supporting them vanished, they fell limply in her fingers. Warmth cradled her numb fingertips. She had to turn them over four times to figure out what way they went on, but eventually concluded that they had no crotch pad, no seams, and the only difference between front and back was that the back was very slightly wider.

Sliding her legs into them Hermione felt an odd tingle rising up her spine, and the near ecstasy of warmth that seemed to radiate from the strange silken underwear. Hiking them up to cradle her young sex, a deep warmth penetrated her, a creeping tingle riding the back of her neck, and for a long moment she stood there mesmerized, until the icy night air found her legs, her back and arms, and she reached, with just a bit less apprehension for the corset.

She determined quickly that she would have to step into it, although it only covered her from waist to breast. Contact with the garment, however, gave no warm sensation, and no anticipation of… whatever it was, but she was determined to have the robe.

A glance at the mirror reminded her that she was not exactly alone, and she felt vulnerable and very small under her own leering gaze.

She stepped into the corset, but no tingles greeted her. She hiked it over her narrow hips, up past her waist, then, up to her chest, where to her surprise it began to tighten, constricting to her sides, forming the shape of her budding breasts, causing hot tingles through her hard, puffy nipples which seemed to cascade through her chest and down her spine.

Feeling the gaze of the mirror she suppressed a very satisfied sigh, and roughly grabbed at the robe, which fell into her hand, startling her even more than not being able to touch it had.

It was nearly weightless, like a spider web. The lightest thing she had ever held, and practically invisible. It took her no effort to find the sleeve, and she pulled it around her, and wondered for a moment if it had disintegrated around her, so little could she feel it, but the sudden, and abrupt glow of warmth that enveloped her left her no doubt. The mirror had not lied. Not about the heat at least.

Seeing herself now in the mirror (who was positively basking in the pleasure of the undergarments) she seemed to positively radiate light. No longer in a dim, gloomy chamber, she could see herself very clearly. Clad in a woman’s lingerie she could barely believe her eyes. With her recently shrunken teeth, a whole year without acne, and her newly budding breasts, it occurred to her for the first time that she was no longer a little girl.

“I’m going to knock Victor Krum’s socks off at the Yule Ball. Ron’ll be gnashing his teeth when he sees me. That’s what he gets for not asking me. Oh, I wish he was here now.”

A sudden horror grappled with her, and she realized the train of thoughts that were coursing through here.

“No!” She started pulling at the robe, “No way!”

A peal of laughter, like glass breaking erupted from her reflection, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you dearie.”

“And why not?” Hermione scrambled to find the opening down the front of the robe, but realized that she was only running her hands up and down her chest.

“Honey, once you’ve put them on, they won’t come off until you’ve spent the night in the lover’s bed.” Hermione stood agape, but the mirror went on, “Or you could…”

“Could what?” She did not want to be found in bed wearing this outfit in the morning when wake-up call came around.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of mentioning it.”

“Could what!?” Hermione pressed.

Her reflection looked up at her coyly, “Well, it involves a man.”

A long moment passed, where Hermione just stared at herself in the mirror. The she abruptly turned and started turning the room over.

“Where’s a light. I’ve had enough of listening to you. There’s got to be a light in here somewhere!”

Then she realized it, and kicking herself for the fool she’d been, she saw the crack of lamplight under the door to her room. She grinned at the mirror, saw her own face drop, but she felt the smile across her real lips. She took two long strides to the door and swung it open, light flooding the chamber and dazzling her.

The satisfaction was momentary though. The abrupt disappearance of the mirror served as little comfort as the eyes of Draco Malfoy and a sprightly, young second year Hufflepuff girl raked up and down her body, taking in the exotic apparel. It was clearly all Draco could do to keep from erupting in laughter.

The Hufflepuff girl tugged Draco’s sleeve, “Draco, what’s going on. Who is this?”

Draco sniggered violently, while Hermione stood in shock and horror, frozen with fear and shame.

“This is Potter’s favorite, Marcie, Hermione Granger. A little less pristine than we had all been led to believe, but what do you expect from a mudblood.”

The girl, Marcie, started giggling, “A mudblood? What’s she doing here? You said you had a stash of treats here.”

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off the budding curves of Hermione’s exposed skin, “I had no idea.”

Regaining her senses for a moment, Hermione stepped back and tried to slam the door shut, but some force held it open. Nothing she could do would budge it, and the effort brought a stifled cackle from Malfoy.

“You’re in Slitheryn territory now, Granger. We always get right of way down here.”

“Get out of here Malfoy,” Hermione stammered, “I’ll tell McGonnegal.”

“In that getup? I don’t think so.”

Marcie was tugging at Malfoy’s robes, “Draco, we’d better go.”

Draco didn’t look away from Hermione for a second, “Go then. I’m going to have some fun.” Grinning he advanced on Hermione, who retreated, terrified into the room.

“Draco.”

Malfoy turned on the small second year, “Stay or go. It’s your choice. Come on. We can have fun with the smartest girl in school.”

Hermione barked, “Draco, I’m warning you…”

Draco turned back to Hermione, his eyes aglow, his words like honey, “Why don’t you have a seat on the bed, and I’ll light a fire.”

Like a mist had fallen over her, Hermione found her willpower slipping. It seemed the most comfortable thing in the world, that luxurious bed. She felt the edges of a smile creeping onto her lips, and she turned, and took a step towards the bed.

But she felt something wrong. She knew there was something going on in her head, but a fire sounded so good, and that bed looked so inviting.

A hand touched her, just above the hip, on the open flesh under the corset, “It’s all right, Hermione,” she heard Draco’s honey voice in her ear, his hot breath on her neck, his hand sliding down, slipping easily under the gauzy fabric that covered her backside, fingertips running along the curve of her cheek, “You’re not half bad for a mudblood.”

But the veil seemed to shatter over her. Suddenly she realized what was happening, a suggestion spell, a trigger word, or phrase, not true mind-control, just enough to influence. Professor Moody had taught them how to fight this.

But she almost wished he hadn’t. Here she was, barely dressed, alone with Draco Malfoy, his hand in her underwear, a fingertip grazing over her most private place, and to make things worse, heat seemed to course through her entire body from his fingertips, the heat where he touched her was unbearable.

Draco seemed to realize this, and she felt his exploration hesitate, “What’s the matter, Granger? Afraid you might like it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” she knew she was in control, but she still didn’t move. Her pride was fighting inside of her to prove that he didn’t effect her, although she wanted desperately to scream, to slap his hand away, and run-run far away and hide herself, forever and ever.

“I’m talking about this,” and he gave her a little squeeze, a brief surge of pressure, and heat! Another hand crept its way up the side of her corset, lingering over her breast. “Heh, Marcie’s only a second year, but she’s got more than you.”

“She does not!” Hermione was irrationally defensive, but it irked her to be put second place to this Hufflepuff girl who could sink low enough to sneak out with Malfoy.

“Yeah she does, Show her Marcie.”

“Draco!” Marcie was still lingering back in the doorway. “I can’t!”

“Of course you can.” His lips still touched Hermione’s ear, sending shivers down her spine, the long forgotten tingle nuzzling at her neck, but she felt far from the sense of elation she had felt before, Draco touching her this way, not knowing how far she should fight him on this.

Draco went on, “Why don’t you light the fire, Marcie, and get comfortable.”

Marcie moved over to the fireplace, and cast a simple firespell. Warm, golden light flooded the room, its fierce heat bathing Hermione, masking, for just a moment the place where Draco had his hand.

“Marcie,” Draco went on, “Aren’t you hot in all that?”

Hermione recognized the suggestion in the voice, she almost felt the magic inside her and the heat under the corset, telling her to take it off, but she felt no compulsion this time, knowing that trick. Marcie however was unlacing her gown.

“You’re right, Draco, I am.”

Hermione grinned, “Stupid Hufflepuff” she thought, “Falling for a simple spell like that.”

Marcie slipped out of her gown, and Hermione saw that Draco had been right. No mere training bra, like she wore, this second-year wore a B-cup, her chest seeming out of proportion for her petite size.

“Weren’t you going to show Hermione that I’m right, Marcie.” Draco uttered, his every work like honey, his hand crept down an inch, probing in between Hermione’s narrow thighs.

“Cut it out.” Hermione mumbled, not wanting to interrupt the mesmerized girl in front of her as she slipped out of her bra, revealing perky but sizeable and rounded, adolescent breasts with very tiny nipples that Hermione could not help but envy. The exact opposite of her chest.

“Why don’t you admit you’re enjoying it Granger?”

And splinters of heat shot up through her legs, her whole body trying desperately to shudder, held in place only by Hermione’s will. She turned to her molester, feeling only slightly comforted now that the other girl in the room had on less than she did.

She saw Malfoy’s mouth open and close on hers, felt his hot breath and cold, narrow lips embrace her mouth. She turned away, but not before she felt his lips curl up in a smile, and he gave another good squeeze, and up above a finger slipped under the corset, jammed next to her nipple, which exploded in fire.

She gasped, a panting, raspy voice came out of her, “I’m not. This doesn’t have any effect on me.” If she couldn’t resist this what use would it be to fight off magic. She knew she had to prove she could fight it, but it was everything she could do to keep from bucking and heaving, much less control the panting and the heat under her skin where Draco was touching her.

“Draco,” Marcie chimed in weakly, “I thought you were going to spend time with me…” she now had her arms crossed uncomfortably under her chest, exaggerating the off-balance that her top-heaviness seemed to create thanks to her slender legs and waist, and complete lack of hips.

The distraction brought Hermione back from the brink, and the panting subsided, the heat curled away and she smugly felt that she had fought off the worst of the magics in the room without giving in to Malfoy.

“In a minute, Marcie.” Draco murmured, his hand prowling, somewhat clumsily, Hermione thought, the downy fuzz that had spread across her sex in the past couple of years, “Granger doesn’t want me to stop, do you?” he added looking at Hermione with a subtle jab up between the cleft of her lips.

Hermione couldn’t help sucking deeply, wondering if she was wet down there, like she got from time to time when she touched herself there, “Frankly Draco, I couldn’t care less.” She then turned on him, his hand popping out of her corset, twisting so his arm stretched around her, pulling his fingers away from her sex but not quite out of her panties. “And if you’re finished, I’d just assume you take your little strumpet and get out of here.”

Malfoy’s mouth fell open, and he found himself instinctively pulling his hand out of Hermione’s panties, hesitating only before taking a step back, instead keeping his face next to hers, almost kissing her.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.” Then glancing at Marcie who was staring intently at them from across the room, he added in a low voice, “The magic in this room won’t affect someone who doesn’t want it.”

Hermione responded, in the same low, voice, moving the bare fraction of an inch between them closer to his face, “Then I expect that that’s why it’s not having an effect on me.”

Malfoy scowled, then let a grin creep across his frown, “If you don’t want it then nothing I do will have an effect on you.”

Hermione sensed a trap in his words. Knew he was setting her up for something, and her insides churned with apprehension, but she had gone so far already she knew fiercely that if she backed down that Draco would believe he was right. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh don’t I?” Draco challenged, “Care to prove it?”

“Oh, you’d just love that wouldn’t you Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Marcie chimed in, “What’s going on? Can I put my gown back on, it’s very cold in here.”

Draco ignored the shivering twelve year old, “I admit I’d love to make you put your words where your mouth is. Admit it!” he barked, bumping her with his chest, “You love to talk and show off in class, but when the snap goes down you can’t seem to hit the center.”

Hermione took a sudden step away from Malfoy, thinking, “I can’t let him trick me on this. I know he’s up to something, but if I don’t rise to his challenge he’ll think he had me. How could I ever face him in classes afterwards.”

She turned back to him, her back against the blazing fire which bathed her backside in heat, outlining her slender body in a way that exaggerated all of her budding femininity, “What are you proposing, Draco?”

Draco, clearly taken by the figure she presented before the roaring fire hesitated as he looked her over. Hermione, suddenly conscious of the state of her dress-that Malfoy was the only person in the room fully dressed felt her nerve slipping. She felt her panties, loose on her hips, but resisted an urge to hike them up from where they had been pushed down, “by his hand.” The thought of his hand on her, under her panties, in between her legs made her stomach sink, hot, and turning, she realized how deeply he had invaded her. How much peril she was in, she and the Hufflepuff girl.

“A bet” Malfoy uttered, leering at her.

Hermione scowled, her nerve shaking, forming the words to spit in his face, when Marcie burst out, “I wish my nipples were as big as yours. Yours are much prettier.”

Hermione froze, Draco, looking at the second year and following her gaze to Hermione burst out laughing. Hermione’s breast was peeking out, for all its small size, crammed up by the corset, and her puffy nipple was sticking out over the top. She remembered Malfoy’s finger in there, her sudden turn, and tried clumsily to shove it back down.

“Want some help with that?” Draco muttered, the melodious overtones assimilating his voice.

“Stay back.” Hermione barked at his advance.

“What are you afraid of, Granger?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Too afraid to make a bet?”

Hermione scowled at him, shivering in spite of the heat of the fire, the warmth of the invisible robe. “I’m not afraid. What is this stupid bet anyway?” she spun around, hiking up the panties, and tucking her nipple away, wishing she could run to the wardrobe for her school robes without looking afraid.

“Simple. I bet I can prove that you like it” he took a step up to her, wrapping his arm around her waist, pushing himself up against her. Hermione felt something hard poking her in the backside.

“And how are you going to prove that?” she asked, forcing herself not to flinch, trying to steel herself to stop shaking.

She felt his lips on her ear, “You’ll tell me I’m right.”

“That’s it?” Hermione thought. “That’s too easy. There must be a trap.”

“And what happens when I win?” she said fighting the urge to slap his hand which was creeping past her bellybutton.

“I take the crecious curse so I can never tell anyone.”

That struck home, hard. Malfoy would assuredly run out and tell every Slitheryn what had happened, and she knew she could never live with the shame of that. Trap or not, she knew then and there that she would have to play along.

She put a hand over his just as it was about to slip down the front of her panties, “And what happens, hypothetically speaking, if I lose.”

Malfoy smiled. He knew exactly where he had Hermione. “That’s just part of the bet, isn’t it Granger?” He flicked his wrist and she moved her hand, chastised, and dexterously slipped his hand into her panties.

His fingers split her sex with coursing heat, his smooth, slender fingers gliding into her most private place. Flashes of heat, tingles of light cascaded up over her body. “Draco,” Hermione moaned, pressing her lips over his, her mouth wide. Even his groping tongue exhilarated her, his clumsy fingers trying to find her opening, his free hand mauling her little butt, it all sent a thrill though to the very core of her being.

“Do you want me to stop,” Draco asked, his tongue dripping slime over her ear. His finger found the spot between her legs, and slid in, just a bit.

“Please Draco, I’m a virgin.”

“Bull.” He pressed his hand harder, Pushing the finger so far up she could only whimper and drool, visions of his naked body lying atop her pounding in her chest. She felt flush, an incredible heat.

“It’s not fair.” She mumbled between kisses, showering his snarling grin with adoration. “You… I, It’s a spell. It’s just magic.”

“The spell only works on people who really want it.”

Hermione found the strength to push the boy away, but only just. She fell on the bed, her legs apart. The hufflepuff girl glared at her with vemon, but Hermione was astonished to see the girl had her hand in her panties, stroking gently, her breathing hardas he turned back to watch Malfoy take off his robes.

“Don’t believe me Granger?” He said undoing his tie, “Take off the outfit. You should be free of the curse by now.”

Hermione immediately grabbed for the robe. She could eel it again. Laying over he like a silk spiderweb. She wanted to tear it off, but some force resisted. A force completely like the dreamy lull that had led her into Malfoy’s arms.

“You like it don’t you.”

“Shut up.”

Malfoy kicked off his shoes, “If you’re afraid to take the bet, just say so. “I’ll just tell everyone my side of the story.”

Hermione frowned. Both with the trap he had her in and the thought of taking the outfit off. It would be so nice to just lay back and let the boy have her. “Maybe we could just…” No! The idea was too abhorrent. “Fine.” She declared, “But if I really want it then you won’t need these… These clothes to win.” She stood up and whipped the robe off.

Malfoy frowned for a moment, but he was smiling a second later, “Have it your way.” He pulled his shirt over his head, a skinny, pale waif of a man, Hermione longed to run her fingers over his taut chest. “If you can reject me I let you curse me to silence.”

Hermione shuffled away as he pressed into the bed, climbing up a little mountain of pillows and quilting. She shivered, but not because it was cold, the fire had taken care of that.

“Go ahead then,” Malfoy said, reaching behind Hermione. She heard a faint snap, and the corset came apart. “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to get those things off.” Draco leered at the girl, running his hands up her bare legs, his touch like fire.

“If I take them off I’ll be naked, Draco.”

“I can already see everything.” His fingers found her sex again. Again, Hermione didn’t resist, spreading her legs and letting him tickle her heat through the sheer panties. “It’s the only way you’ll know for sure.”

Hermione started to pull the corset away, then stopped, “Let me obviate you! If I win, I get to wipe this memory from your mind!” but she was panting hard. She knew she would think about this night for years and years, come what may.

“Crabbie and Goyle are gong to love it when I learn to use a pensieve and they can watch me taking their favorite little mudblood.” Malfoy grabbed Hermione by the knees and yanked her down, spread eagle on her back, slamming his bulge into her.

Hermione let her hands slide up onto his chest, moaning, “Darling, no.” But she was grinding against him, ecstatically aroused at the thought of her sex against his manhood. All modesty was lost and the corset fell to the floor. Immediately Draco took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them, feeling her nipples puff between his fingers before growing hard again, solid nubs that he took in his mouth, biting and licking voraciously.

His hands slid down to her waist and under her panties, grappling her bar bottom while she clutched him, pumping her groin harder than she’d ever pumped anything, “Make me cum, Draco.” Hermione thought, hardly daring to cry it out, “Make my body explode so I never have to wish Ron would—“

Malfoy was up, he pulled her panties off her toes, legs still in the air, her sex ablaze. Naked though the golden down on her sex she looked bare as a first year, though flush, spreading, the buds of her arousal splitting her lips, pink and glistening.

Malfoy’s cock was out. A bold shaft, smooth, like his wand, white like his hair, not as big as the guys in the magazines Parvati kept under her mattress. He slid his member against her sex, coating it in her arousal. He was trying to find her, but she was writhing under his touch. The tip slid too low and she felt as if a fist were forcing itself into her backside, but the intense feeling made her grapple her legs even as they slammed against the boy to reject him.

“I told you you wanted it.” Malfoy said, pressing his cock hard, unaware that his purchase was in the wrong spot. Hermione gasped in shock, but his slippery cock nestled itself against her, wedged tight. She gasped for air, trying to push him away but willing herself to relax—She knew instinctively that it would hurt less if she relaxed.

“Draco that’s—That’s not the right…” But she couldn’t say it, even as Draco slid his manhood another eighth of an inch inside her she could not put words to the fact that she was taking her mortal enemy inside her butt.

“Just relax and let it happen.”

Hermione took heed of his words and let him push her feet off his chest, his fingers gliding down her legs and cradling her thighs. He pushed again and she felt something give way, just a little something, and it was like a balloon inflating inside of her. “No. Stop!” She cried out, but the boy was lost in his own ecstasy and was pounding into her, suddenly free to do so as he slid past her tight little sphincter. She had seen a squash on the table in the Great Hall yesterday. It was as big as Ron’s head and it felt like that’s what was inside of her. She tried to fight him, but as she sank into the pillows she felt herself slipping away and letting go, giving into Draco’s manhood. She let the most incredible pleasure begin to cascade up from Malfoy’s pulsing little cock, each short thrust pushed up, stroking something… Something amazing.

Draco leaned over her and she tried to kiss him but he pushed her face aside, pumping, pumping. One hand reached up and groped her breast as Hermione’s orgasm faded away. ‘I’m making love to Draco Malfoy’ she thought consumed with the sudden need to poop. In the distance the faint echo of her ecstasy was rearing up, and she eyed that greedily and let the boy pound into her without objection. Hermione even wrapped her arms around Draco and squeezed him, drinking in his scent, his squeaky grunts, grinding herself against him.

‘The man who took my virginity.’ Hermione thought absently kissing the back of his neck, ‘Draco malfoy,’ as he pumped, pumped, pumped, and suddenly stopped.

He pushed himself up and looked at Hermione. Two lovers, his cock shriveling up inside her. She realized that he’d already cum. How long ago she had no idea. She had missed it entirely. She felt his cock sliding out of her slowly, awfully, disturbingly like a bowel movement. She was leaking something, but she didn’t care because he was out and she was left with the cold, open sensation you get when…. But the profound relief, the thrill of the orgasm, the numbing tingle that cascaded over her made even Malfoy look like an Angel descending from the clouds. She couldn’t help but smile at him.

Or perhaps that was the bed. “The bed is magic isn’t it?” She asked.

Malfoy was stroking his cock, “Hang on I can go again.” His eyes were shut, as if he needed to seek out some vision to thrill him.

“Some cue word, some spell on the sheets!” She scowled.

Malfoy just shook a hand at her, stoking himself harder.

“What’s the matter with you.” She asked sitting up. “I told you to stop. You lost the bet!”

Malfoy peered at her from one cracked eyelid, “You didn’t even try… Hang on.” He was pumping harder, his cock stretching and flopping when he pumped down, his free hand was groping Hermione, reaching for her breasts.

“Jesus Draco! Whatever, we don’t have to do it again—“

“Just lay there and keep your legs in the air!” Draco barked. Hermione cowed looked down and saw his cock go from flaccid to hard, swelling up before her eyes. She moved to sit up, scared of the boy, but he shoved her down. Heat went through her, the echo, that fading orgasm, she was scared now, and ashamed. She wanted to cover up, but his demand, and her own body’s desire compelled her to lay out for him.

This time he had no trouble finding her sex.

The feel of his cock enveloped in Hermione’s virgin sex was clearly exquisite nectar to the blonde bastard of Slytherin. He started to shudder almost as soon as Hermione felt him inside her. His eyes rolled back into his head, but his chest tightened and his arms dragged her closer to the edge of the bed where he impaled her completely, helpless before his dominating will.

“I own you,” he shuddered as he came inside her again. There was no denying it, no doubting the sensation. The boy was exploding inside her and all she felt was the searing invasion, a deep, painful humiliation, and a creeping, distant taste of the pleasure she’d felt when the boy had been at the other end.

“Yes.” She cried out, ashamed. “Draco!”

Hermione felt herself crying, knowing the boy was emptying himself into her. “I own you.” Draco said, his eyes far away as he glared at Hermione, loathing in his eyes.

“Yes Draco.” She murmured meekly, his cock still hard inside her. Pulsing, throbbing, so hot. So much heat

Draco’s eyes glazed as he slumped forward, drooling and babbling, “own you… mudblood…” He panted into her ear as she fought with the tears welling over her. “dirty little… mudblood whore…” His breathing grew shallow, Hermione still clung to her lover, sobbing silently, when she suddenly heard a soft, long snort. The boy was asleep.

Hermione thrust the boy from her with the strength of a Beater and Draco fell backwards onto the cold stone floor, his pants around his ankles. Hermione leapt off the bed and the floor shocked her to herself. The shame and pain was burnt to ashes by a white hot fire that grew in the center of her being. She saw the long, straight shape in the pile of Draco’s crumpled robes and dashed for it as the Slytherin laughed on the floor, mocking her shame and humiliation.

Draco’s smile faded as he realized the wand was leveled at him, but only for a moment.

“I took your virginity. You won’t ever get it back.”

Hermione felt her hand trembling. She knew the death curse, the torture curse, the imperious curse. She was the best witch of her generation.

“Obviate!”

Draco Malfoy stared blankly at the door in front of him, completely unaware as to why he was standing in front of it. It looked like one of the prefect apartments, but he wasn’t sure. Blinking, trying to remember where he was he quickly looked himself over, his clothes were a mess, his robe was half on, his drawers were all bunched up and his…

It burned like he had to pee or had been…

Horror ran through him. Where had he been? What had been doing this to him. He thought of that ghastly sixth year Slytherin girl flirting with him in potions, Porky Westerly, and wanted to vomit. He cast around for a door her knew and was off, running down the halls to the Potion master’s dungeon. Snape had always said he could use his office if he needed some time to study alone. He could just say…

Draco had no idea what time it was.

He ran and ran hard.

Hermione had escorted the Hufflepuff girl back to her rooms and retired herself to the lovers’ bed. She was sore and felt like the stretching ache would never go back to normal, but the compulsion to lay back and go to sleep was as strong as the need to blot the memory of the foul Slytherin from her mind.

‘One thing at a time.’ She thought as she cast her hands beneath the sheets, and a handsome blonde shape appeared in her mind’s eye. She frowned only for a moment before gasping, just a little. Her lips parting started to pant, her eyes screwed up tight.

The reflection in the mirror peered out through two sets of eyes, one with long, wild hair, the other blonde with ash eyes. They grinned meeting each others gaze for a moment before fading away.

Goognight