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Chapter 17 (A Sweet Innocent Hufflepuff), Chapter 18 (I don't need a Solution, Do I?), Chapter 19 (Wand Up, Knickers Down), Chapter 20 (Professor Garlick's Private Tutoring), Chapter 21 (Between Greenhouse Shadows and Hospital Light), Chapter 22 (The Price of Loyalty), Chapter 23 (Crossing The Red Line), and Chapter 24 (The Price of Justice) are already available for Patrons.
The common room was quiet, bathed in the amber glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. Most of the Gryffindors had retired for the night, leaving only a few stragglers scattered about in various corners, reading or finishing their homework. Hermione sat curled up in one of the armchairs, a Potions textbook propped open on her lap. Her quill twitched absently in her hand, but her mind was far from the text in front of her.
When Harry appeared from the portrait hole, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a bit lost in thought, Hermione perked up. She quickly set her book aside, sensing the familiar furrow in his brow. She knew that look all too well—it was the same one he wore every time he came back from one of his private lessons with Dumbledore.
"Harry," Hermione called softly, drawing his attention.
He turned toward her, offering a tired but genuine smile. "Hey, Hermione. You're still up?"
She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Come sit. You look like you've got something on your mind."
Harry hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room and dropped into the chair with a weary sigh. His green eyes, normally so vibrant, seemed dimmer in the low light, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of worry as she studied him.
"Dumbledore lesson tonight?" she asked gently.
Harry nodded, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Yeah."
"Did he show you another memory?" she prompted, leaning forward slightly. She couldn't help herself; her curiosity about these lessons had been building since Harry first mentioned them. Whatever Dumbledore was showing Harry, it had to be important—critical, even. But Harry had been vague so far, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he was keeping things to himself.
He gave a small nod. "Yeah, it was... it was Tom Riddle again. Dumbledore showed me the memory of the first time he ever met him."
Hermione's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. "Tom Riddle's first meeting with Dumbledore?" she echoed. "What happened?"
Harry leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the fire as he spoke. "It was when Riddle was a kid—before Hogwarts. He was in some orphanage. Dumbledore went to meet him to tell him about magic, about being a wizard." Harry paused, his jaw tightening slightly. "He was already... off, even back then."
"Off?" Hermione pressed.
Harry nodded grimly. "There was this... coldness about him. He talked about controlling other kids, making them hurt. And he wasn't even sorry about it, Hermione. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He was... proud of it."
Hermione frowned deeply, her brows knitting together. "That's..." She trailed off, unable to find the right word. Terrifying? Horrible? Unsettling didn't even begin to cover it. "What did Dumbledore say to him?"
Harry's lips quirked into a humorless smile. "Tried to scare him straight, I think. Dumbledore made it clear that Hogwarts had rules and that using magic to hurt people wasn't going to fly. But I don't think it made a difference. Riddle was already—" He hesitated, searching for the right word. "Dumbledore called him 'self-sufficient,' but I think he meant dangerous."
Hermione's mind raced as she processed this. The idea of Voldemort as a child—already manipulative, already cruel—was chilling. "Why is Dumbledore showing you these memories, Harry? What's the purpose of it all?"
Harry looked at her, his expression serious. "He thinks it'll help me defeat him—Voldemort. He said understanding who Tom Riddle was might give me the key to figuring out how to stop him for good."
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes darting down to her lap as she considered this. It made sense, in a way. Knowledge was power, after all, and Dumbledore was nothing if not methodical in his approach. Still, it worried her to see Harry bearing this burden alone.
"You look exhausted," she said softly, her voice laced with concern. "Are you sure you're okay with all of this? With what Dumbledore's asking of you?"
Harry gave her a small, lopsided grin. "I'll be fine, Hermione. Don't worry about me."
Hermione didn't look convinced, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her mind still churning over everything Harry had said. She wanted to help him, to do something to ease the weight on his shoulders.
"Why are you telling me all of this?" she asked after a moment, glancing at him curiously. "Not that I mind, of course, but..."
Harry smiled at her, the kind of warm, genuine smile that reminded her why he was such a good friend. "Because I need one of the most brilliant mind to help me figure it all out. That's you, Hermione."
Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head slightly, embarrassed but pleased. "Oh, Harry..."
"I mean it," he said firmly. "If anyone can make sense of all this, it's you. I trust you."
Hermione felt a rush of warmth in her chest at his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. "That means a lot."
Harry nodded. "So, what do you think? About the memory? Does anything stand out to you?"
She frowned thoughtfully, turning the details over in her mind. "Not yet," she admitted. "But I'm sure Dumbledore's building up to something. There has to be more. Maybe something about how Riddle learned to use his powers or the way he—" She stopped herself, not wanting to speculate too much without more information. "You'll have to tell me more after the next lesson."
Harry smiled again, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I will."
There was a brief pause, the crackle of the fire filling the silence. Then Harry looked at her more closely, his brow furrowing slightly. "What about you?" he asked, his voice gentle. "Is everything okay? You've seemed... distracted lately."
Hermione's stomach twisted. For a moment, she considered telling him everything—her having a cock now, the confusing whirlwind of emotions and desires she'd been grappling with. But the thought of Harry's reaction stopped her. Would he understand? Or would it change the way he looked at her forever?
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm fine," she said, her voice a little too quick, a little too high-pitched. "Really."
Harry didn't look convinced. He tilted his head, studying her carefully, but he didn't push. Instead, he said, "If you ever want to talk about anything—anything at all—you know you can tell me, right?"
Hermione's throat tightened, and she nodded, touched by his kindness. "Thank you, Harry."
Hermione didn't share her secret that night, she felt a little less alone knowing Harry was there for her.
For a moment, the two of them sat in comfortable silence, the soft crackling of the fire filling the space between them.
But Hermione couldn't help herself. Her mind was still whirring with thoughts, and curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at Harry, who was staring into the fire with a small, contemplative smile on his face.
"So," Hermione began, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. "Have you... uh, given much thought to anyone catching your eye? You know, in terms of..." Her cheeks colored faintly as she struggled to find the right words. "A girl you might fancy?"
Harry chuckled at the unexpected question, turning his head to look at her. "Hermione, since when are you interested in my love life?"
She rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile. "I'm not interested interested, Harry. I'm just... curious. You've been through a lot, and, well, maybe it'd be nice for you to have someone special."
Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded her with a small, knowing grin. "All right, fine. If you must know..." He hesitated for dramatic effect, then said, "Ginny."
The knot in Hermione's stomach tightened so suddenly it felt like someone had reached inside her and pulled it taut. She froze, her smile faltering for the briefest of moments. Harry didn't seem to notice; he was looking down at his hands, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
"Ginny," Hermione repeated, her voice just a little too even.
"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, she's... great, isn't she? Funny, smart, brave. And, well, she's—" He stopped himself, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You probably don't want to hear me go on about this."
Hermione forced a small laugh, though it sounded hollow to her ears. "No, no. It's... nice. I'm glad you've found someone you like."
But inside, her thoughts were spiraling out of control. Ginny. Of course, it was Ginny. It made sense—Ginny had fancied Harry for ages, hadn't she? And now that Ginny had grown more confident, more beautiful, it was no wonder Harry had noticed her. But what about everything that had happened between her and Ginny? The kisses they had, Hermione could still remember the way Ginny had sneaked into her shower, where she had sucked her cock.
Was Hermione supposed to just tell Harry about that? The very idea sent a wave of panic crashing over her. She could already imagine how the conversation would go. Harry's shock, his confusion, the awkwardness that would follow. And yet, wasn't it unfair to let him pursue Ginny without knowing? Hermione didn't even know what Ginny wanted. Did Ginny see what they had as something real, or was it all just fun? Something casual between friends?
Hermione bit her lip, her chest tightening at the thought. Ginny still fancied Harry. Hermione knew that much. She'd seen the way Ginny looked at him during Quidditch practice, the way she smiled at his jokes. If Ginny and Harry started dating... would Ginny just act like what had happened between her and Hermione never existed? Would she brush it off as a phase, a bit of harmless fun?
Hermione's stomach churned, and her mind raced with questions she couldn't answer. She felt her throat tighten, and she stared into the fire, her vision unfocused.
"Hermione? You okay?"
Hermione almost squealed, jolting in her seat as she whipped her head toward him. "What?" she blurted, her voice higher-pitched than she'd intended.
Harry was leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "You spaced out for a minute there," he said slowly. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I—I'm fine!" Hermione said quickly, though her voice wavered slightly. She forced herself to sit up straighter, trying to appear composed. "I was just... thinking about all the homework I have to do. You know, Arithmancy, Potions, Transfiguration..." She trailed off, inwardly wincing at how unconvincing she sounded.
Harry gave her a long, searching look, his green eyes sharp despite the exhaustion etched into his features. He didn't say anything for a moment, but Hermione could tell he didn't believe her.
"If you say so," he said at last, his tone neutral. But there was a softness in his voice that made Hermione's chest ache. "Just... if there's something bothering you, you can tell me, you know? I mean it."
Hermione's throat tightened again, and for a moment, she considered telling him the truth. But the words caught in her throat, and she could only nod. "Thanks, Harry. That means a lot."
He smiled at her, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that familiar, reassuring way. Then he stood, stretching his arms over his head. "I think I'm going to head to bed. Long day tomorrow, yeah?"
Hermione nodded again, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight, Hermione," he said, his voice warm as he turned and made his way toward the boys' staircase.
As the sound of his footsteps faded, Hermione sank back into her chair, staring into the fire as her thoughts swirled like the embers dancing in the hearth. She pressed her lips together, trying to steady the knot of emotions tightening in her chest. The kiss with Susan, her feelings for Ginny, the secrets she was keeping from Harry—it was all too much.
Tomorrow
The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air, mingling with the faint floral perfume clinging to Susan's skin. The dim lanterns overhead cast a soft glow over the rows of towering bookshelves, their flickering light stretching shadows long and thin across the wooden floors. The library was nearly empty—just the two of them, tucked away in a secluded corner, seated at one of the long oak tables.
Hermione tried—Merlin, she really tried—to focus on what Susan was saying. Something about legal precedents in Wizengamot trials, the way certain laws had loopholes that could be exploited for the sake of justice. But gods, Hermione couldn't care less about justice right now.
Not when Susan was sitting so close, her uniform blouse straining against the swell of her chest, the top two buttons left undone, revealing the soft valley of her cleavage. Hermione's eyes flickered downward before she could stop herself. How the hell did those poor buttons hold on for dear life? And her lips—those red, plush lips that had kissed Hermione just last night, fleeting and sweet, leaving her aching for more.
What would it feel like to have those lips wrapped around her cock? The thought came unbidden, hot and heavy, sinking deep into her gut.
She swallowed hard, shifting in her seat, trying to ignore the slow, insistent throb between her legs.
"...and that's why the legal definitions regarding magical creature rights are so convoluted," Susan finished, setting her quill down with a sigh. She turned, catching Hermione's gaze. "You didn't hear a word of that, did you?"
Hermione's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "I—uh..."
Susan giggled, tilting her head, her golden-red curls spilling over her shoulder. "You're blushing, Granger."
Hermione felt the heat crawl up her neck. "I'm not blushing."
Susan's smile widened. "You are. And you've been staring."
Shit.
"I wasn't staring," Hermione tried weakly, dragging her gaze up to meet Susan's eyes instead of her cleavage.
Susan hummed, unconvinced. Then, with a deliberate slowness, she leaned in slightly, resting her chin on her palm. "What's on your pretty little mind?" she asked, her voice dropping to something softer, silkier.
Hermione swallowed, her brain scrambling for an excuse—anything other than the truth, which was currently flashing images of Susan's mouth stretched around her cock, her tongue dragging along the underside, her eyes looking up in glassy submission—
Fuck.
"I was just...thinking about what you said," Hermione tried. "About, um...law."
Susan arched a delicate brow, her lips twitching. "Law?"
"Yes."
"What about it?"
"Um." Hermione's brain blanked. "The...uh. Loopholes?"
Susan stared for a moment before a slow, knowing grin curled her lips. "Hermione."
Hermione clenched her thighs together.
Susan glanced around the library—empty, silent except for the occasional distant shuffle of books being reshelved by enchanted carts. Then, with a wicked glint in her eye, she leaned in even closer, until her breath was warm against Hermione's cheek. "I think I know what you were thinking about."
"What?" She barely asked her voice a whisper.
"This," she whispered.
Then she kissed her.
It was soft at first, a teasing brush of lips, a gentle press, but the moment Hermione's brain caught up, she was kissing her back, need surging hot and urgent. Their lips moved together, slow but insistent, and Hermione's hands twitched at her sides, aching to touch—gods, to feel the weight of Susan's breasts in her palms, to squeeze and knead and hear Susan gasp into her mouth.
Susan sighed against her lips, parting them just enough for Hermione to taste her—sweet, like honey and something deeper, something addicting. Hermione groaned softly, her hand moving on its own, brushing against Susan's waist, feeling the soft curve of her body beneath the crisp uniform fabric.
The heat was unbearable. Hermione could already feel herself thickening beneath her robes, her cock pressing against the tight fabric of her underwear. Fuck. She had to stop—Susan didn't know.
But Susan didn't seem to care about stopping. She was the one deepening the kiss now, her fingers threading into Hermione's hair, her body inching closer, until Hermione could feel the soft press of her breasts against her own.
Hermione was dizzy, burning, her cock throbbing against the confines of her clothes. If Susan so much as shifted in her lap, she'd feel it—she'd know.
Reluctantly, Hermione pulled back, panting softly, her forehead resting against Susan's.
"We—we shouldn't," she stammered, her voice hoarse.
Susan licked her lips—those lips Hermione had been fantasizing about all afternoon. "Why not?" she murmured, her fingers playing absently with a lock of Hermione's hair.
Hermione exhaled sharply, fighting to get a grip on herself. "Because...because we're in the library."
Susan grinned. "Oh, so if we were somewhere else, you wouldn't be stopping?"
Damn her.
"I—" Hermione shut her mouth, because she didn't have a good answer.
Susan giggled, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of Hermione's mouth. "You're cute when you're flustered," she teased.
Hermione groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Susan—"
"I know," Susan cut in, voice amused. "I'll behave. For now."
Hermione wasn't sure if she believed her.
As Susan pulled back fully, smoothing her skirt, Hermione forced herself to take deep, steady breaths, willing the ache between her legs to subside.
She was so fucking screwed.
Hermione looked back at the book she should be reading, but the words might as well had been a different language for all she understood.
She knew she should be paying attention to the book in front of her, but how could she? Susan was sitting so close. The way her blouse strained against her ample chest, the buttons holding on for dear life, was nothing short of hypnotic.
Susan had caught her staring. That much was obvious.
She tilted her head, her auburn curls spilling over her shoulder, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips. "Hermione," she murmured, her voice teasing, silk-soft, "what do you like most about me?"
Hermione's throat went dry.
Her cock throbbed, stiffening beneath her robes, the fabric suddenly unbearably tight. Gods, why did Susan have to ask that? Hermione willed herself to think of something safe—her intelligence? Her kindness? Anything but the sinful curve of her lips or the way her breasts practically begged to be touched.
But her mouth betrayed her.
"Your lips," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Susan's smirk widened, slow and sensual, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Mmm, is that so?" She dragged a manicured nail along the edge of an open book absentmindedly. "Not my legs? Or my hair?" She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against Hermione's cheek. "Surely, my breasts are worth looking at, aren't they?"
Hermione's brain short-circuited. Her lips parted, then closed. Then parted again. She had no idea how to respond, and Susan knew it.
Susan giggled, a sultry little sound that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. Then, ever so slowly, she slid her chair closer—wood scraping softly against the floor—until their knees were touching. Her fingers, warm and soft, wrapped around Hermione's wrist, guiding her hand forward, and before Hermione could react, she was pressing Hermione's palm against the swell of her breast.
Hermione gasped.
The heat of Susan's body seeped through the fabric of her blouse, her softness molding against Hermione's fingers. Her breasts were so full, so heavy in her hand, and Hermione couldn't help but squeeze—just a little, just to see how they felt.
"Mmm," Susan hummed appreciatively. "That feels nice..." She pressed Hermione's hand more firmly against her. "They're all yours to enjoy..."
Hermione's cock twitched, aching against her robes, growing impossibly hard as she felt the weight of Susan's breast in her palm. She had touched breasts before—Ginny's, Luna's, even Professor Sinistra's—but Susan's were different. They spilled over her fingers, so soft and warm, perfect.
Susan exhaled a shaky breath, her lashes fluttering. "Mmm, you like them, don't you?"
Hermione could barely speak. She nodded, her fingers flexing against the curve of Susan's breast, her thumb brushing over the barely-there outline of her nipple beneath the fabric.
Susan moaned again, leaning closer until their lips were a breath apart. "You can enjoy them as much as you want," she murmured, before capturing Hermione's lips in a slow, heated kiss.
Hermione groaned against her mouth, her hand tightening instinctively on Susan's breast, kneading it, rolling the soft flesh between her fingers. Susan arched into her touch, parting her lips, allowing Hermione to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met, sliding together in a slow, teasing dance, tasting and exploring.
Hermione felt lightheaded, drowning in the sensation of Susan's mouth and the softness beneath her fingers. She massaged Susan's breast more boldly now, squeezing, testing the weight of it, rubbing her palm over her nipple until she felt it stiffen through the fabric.
Susan gasped into her mouth, a breathy, needy sound that made Hermione's cock throb painfully.
"You're such a tease," Hermione whispered against her lips, voice rough with want.
Susan giggled, her fingers tangling in Hermione's hair, tugging lightly. "And you're easy to tease."
Hermione groaned, her free hand gripping Susan's waist, pulling her even closer. The heat of Susan's body pressed against her own, making it impossible to ignore the way her cock strained against her robes.
The library was so quiet—too quiet. If anyone walked past, they'd hear Susan's soft little moans, the wet sounds of their kisses, the rustle of fabric as Hermione touched her, as Susan arched into her hands.
Hermione didn't care.
She wanted more.
Susan's blouse was too much of an obstacle. Hermione's fingers itched to unbutton it, to slip beneath the fabric and feel her properly. But before she could, Susan broke the kiss, her lips glossy, her cheeks flushed, her breath uneven. Susan stood up and sat on Hermione's lap, kissing her again, as they pulled out they breathed heavily.
Her gaze flickered downward—just for a second, just enough for Hermione to realize that Susan had felt the hardness pressing against her thigh.
The air between them felt thick, heavy, like honey dripping from a spoon, stretching unbearably before finally falling.
Susan was still perched in Hermione's lap, her fingers absently tracing patterns along the Gryffindor's wrist. Her full lips were curved into a knowing smirk, her copper hair spilling over her shoulder, catching the dim library light in mesmerizing waves.
Hermione wasn't nervous—not anymore. How could she be, when Susan was looking at her like that?
"You're being awfully quiet, Hermione," Susan purred, tilting her head. "Lost in thought again?"
Hermione's lips quirked. "Something like that."
Susan shifted slightly, and fuck—Hermione felt the press of her thigh, warm even through layers of fabric, right against the aching hardness trapped beneath her robes. She sucked in a sharp breath as a jolt of pleasure ran through her, her cock twitching insistently.
Susan felt it.
Her eyes widened, just slightly, and for a second, confusion flitted across her face. Then realization struck, and her smirk returned in full force.
"Oh," she breathed, tilting her hips just a little—just enough to apply pressure.
Hermione exhaled harshly through her nose, her fingers tightening against Susan's waist.
Susan licked her lips, eyes flicking downward before returning to Hermione's face. "Well," she mused, "that's unexpected."
Hermione hummed, pressing back against Susan, relishing the way Susan's breath hitched ever so slightly. "Not disappointed, are you?"
Susan giggled, her fingers dragging up Hermione's arm in a slow, teasing glide. "Disappointed?" She leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of Hermione's ear as she whispered, "Granger, I think I just got a whole lot more interested."
A shiver ran through Hermione's spine, her cock throbbing in agreement.
Susan pulled back just enough to meet Hermione's gaze again, her expression laced with mischief. "You've been hiding something very interesting from me, haven't you?"
Hermione smirked. "Maybe."
Susan's nails scraped lightly along Hermione's sleeve. "How long were you planning to keep this a secret?"
Hermione shrugged, fingers skimming along the curve of Susan's hip. "Until you noticed, apparently."
Susan bit her lip, her eyes dark with amusement and something else—something deeper, more curious. Hungry. "Well, now that I have noticed..." She shifted again, pressing more firmly against Hermione's length, and—Merlin's fucking beard—it was almost too much.
Hermione groaned, her grip on Susan's waist tightening.
Susan grinned. "Mmm, you like that?"
Hermione exhaled sharply. "You know I do."
Susan giggled, and before Hermione could react, she leaned in close again, brushing her lips against Hermione's in a kiss that was all tease—soft, fleeting, infuriatingly brief.
Hermione growled low in her throat. "You're playing with fire, Bones."
Susan pulled back, her gaze dropping pointedly to Hermione's lap. "Oh, I know. And I'm wondering just how hot it burns."
Hermione chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Why don't you find out?"
Susan's smirk deepened. "Oh, I intend to."
Slowly, deliberately, she moved back, sliding from Hermione's lap and settling between her parted legs, kneeling on the wooden floor of the library. Her hands ghosted over Hermione's thighs, her nails lightly scraping against the fabric of her robes as she pushed them up inch by inch.
Hermione's breath came shallow and uneven, anticipation curling deep in her belly.
Susan took her time. Her fingers trailed up Hermione's legs, feather-light, teasing, testing. She traced slow circles on Hermione's inner thigh, her nails scratching just enough to send a shudder through her.
"You're shaking," Susan noted, smirking.
Hermione shot her a look. "You're taking your time."
Susan hummed in amusement. "Good things come to those who wait, Granger."
Hermione huffed, but before she could retort, Susan's fingers brushed over the waistband of her trousers.
She paused, glancing up. "May I?"
Hermione's stomach tightened. She could see the anticipation in Susan's eyes, the barely restrained curiosity.
Instead of answering, Hermione reached down herself, tugging the fabric open, her cock straining desperately against her underwear.
Susan exhaled slowly. "Damn."
Then, with a single movement, Hermione freed herself.
Her cock sprang out, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening.
And in the most unbelievably perfect moment of timing, it bounced upward—
—and smacked Susan right across the cheek.
A stunned silence followed.
Hermione froze. Susan froze. The entire world seemed to freeze.
Susan blinked.
Hermione's heart stopped.
Then Susan—Merlin help her—laughed.
Not a giggle. Not a chuckle. Full-on, breathless, body-shaking laughter.
She brought her hand up to her cheek, where a faintly red mark was forming from the impact. "Did you—" She gasped between laughs. "Did your cock just slap me?"
Hermione groaned, covering her face with both hands. "Fuck's sake."
Susan collapsed against Hermione's lap, still giggling. "Oh, Granger," she sighed dramatically, "you're packing, and you nearly knocked me out with it. That's got to be the single greatest thing that's ever happened to me."
Hermione groaned again. "Kill me now."
Susan grinned wickedly, sitting back up. "Oh, no, no. No dying allowed." Her fingers trailed up Hermione's thigh again, this time far more deliberate. "We're just getting started."
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