Hermione lay flat on her back in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, staring into the dark red velvet canopy just inches above her face. The curtains trapped the warmth inside her four-poster, making the air heavy. Sweat clung to her temples; the pillow was already damp. She rolled onto her side, then her stomach, then back again, the sheets twisting around her slim legs. Her curls stuck to her damp neck and cheeks, frizzing at the roots. A fine sheen of sweat coated her upper lip, the heat building no matter how often she kicked the blanket off.
Every witch around her slept in slow, steady breaths. Small rustles came from under distant covers, but Hermione felt wired under her own. Her heart beat too fast. Her chest lifted with every shallow breath. The cotton of her nightshirt clung to her skin, damp and tight across her small, growing curves.
She kept remembering the unforgettable obscene scene.
She saw a naked Harry on top of a naked Professor Black, thrusting with raw, hungry force. She could not be mistaken. She knew the wild tangle of his dark hair anywhere. Bellatrix's long pale legs had been spread wide, toes curling into the sheets each time he drove deeper.
Hermione pressed her thighs together, but the pressure only sharpened the memory.
Then she saw the second woman. Her idol. The idol of nearly every Muggleborn witch. Lily Potter, the mother of the Boy Who Lived. She had been there beside them. Naked. Her red hair loose and wild over her shoulders. Her hand moving fast between her legs as she watched the pair on the bed. Her breath came quick, her chest rising sharply. Hermione still saw the moment Lily climaxed in silence, her whole body shaking, thighs quivering as she watched her own son fill Bellatrix again and again.
Hermione's curls clung to her cheeks and neck, damp with sweat. The air inside the drawn curtains was thick, stale, too warm. Her skin felt tacky. She shifted, and the pillow stuck to her shoulder. Her nightshirt clung beneath her breasts and lower back, soaked through.
The bed sheets were damp beneath her, the heat between her thighs unbearable now. A throb rose up through her belly, sharp and pulsing. Her hips lifted before she could stop them, searching for pressure.
Her panties were soaked. The fabric clung like a second skin, warm and tight between her thighs. She pressed her legs together, trying to hold the feeling back, but the friction only sent a jolt up her spine and dragged a sharp breath through her teeth.
She pushed the blanket up to her ribs. Her hand hovered, then rested on her stomach. Her skin burned under her palm. She hesitated. Her fingers drifted lower, instinct guiding her.
Her fingertips brushed the damp cotton, and her breath caught. The heat beneath was worse than she'd imagined. Her whole body felt like it was waiting for something she didn't fully understand.
Her mother had given her the talk last year, as she was going to live in a hostel away from home. She had said it was normal to touch herself, but only when she felt ready. Hermione had nodded, too embarrassed to ask questions. She had always thought of herself as a good, innocent girl who loved to study.
Then Harry had saved her from the troll that Halloween night, just like in those Boy Who Lived books. After that, things changed.
She had started having dreams about him, strange and warm and frighteningly vivid. A few nights, she touched herself through her knickers, whispering his name, imagining he was holding her or brushing her hair aside. Since then, she had touched herself while thinking about him more than once. But the guilt afterward made it impossible to meet his eyes for a week.
But now Harry was having sex. Real sex. With a professor. Under his mother's watch. In his mother's bed.
Instead of feeling scandalised, Hermione felt jealous. Not because Harry was having sex. Because Harry was having sex with someone else.
A quiet huff escaped her throat.
She hooked one finger under the waistband and eased the fabric aside until warm air touched her bare, wet skin. The change in temperature made her hips twitch. She covered her mouth with one hand, afraid of even the smallest sound.
Her other hand eagerly dipped down.
The first touch found the source of wetness immediately. Not a light sheen but a full, slick coating that spread across her fingertips at once. She almost whimpered. Her thighs tightened, then opened again as she tried to keep her breathing steady.
She guided the slick upward. Her clit pulsed beneath her touch. When she brushed it, her whole body jerked in a small, sharp tremor that made the mattress creak. She froze and listened. Thankfully, no one stirred.
She let her fingers rub her slit, teasing the swollen walls just beneath her clit. Each pass coaxes more slick out of it. The motion was small and controlled, the kind she used when she had to stay silent.
The wet sound of her fingers moving filled the quiet space around her bed. She swallowed and pressed her palm harder against her mouth.
Her hips lifted into her own hand. Her thighs loosened under the blanket, opening without thought. Her toes curled against the sheets. Her fingertip slid up through her folds, gliding easily now. Each stroke spread more warm and slippery slick across her folds, wetting her fingers to the knuckle.
She circled higher now, tracing the top of her slit until her fingertip brushed her clit. The contact made her stomach jolt.
She moved her fingers lower, parting herself gently. Her entrance clung to the touch, soft and wet. She dipped her middle finger just inside, enough to feel the tight pull of heat around it. Her breath caught. She withdrew and pushed her slick back up over her clit, spreading it in smooth, steady circles.
Her hips rocked in small, careful rolls. Her body knew exactly where she wanted pressure, and her hand followed, patient and deliberate. Every stroke landed cleanly. Every pass made her clit throb harder.
She imagined Harry. His mouth on her throat. His hands are pinning her hips. His breath against her ear. The thought made her clench around nothing.
Her back arched. Her curls spilled across the pillow. She rubbed her clit faster now, a hint of desperation in every motion. Each tiny circle sent a sharp, bright jolt through her core, feeding the pressure that had been building since the moment the fantasy took shape.
She bit the edge of the blanket, desperate to stay quiet.
Her free hand slid up her stomach and cupped her breast through the nightshirt. She pinched gently. Her nipple was already hard, sensitive to the slightest touch. The feeling dragged a sound from her, "Oh...Harry~"
Her fingers sped up. Her hips rolled against her hand. Slick dripped onto the sheets from her knuckles. She buried her face deeper into the blanket.
"I… I'm gonna..." she breathed, voice barely audible, desperate to hold it in.
Her climax hit her all at once. Her legs clamped around her wrist. Her back lifted from the bed. A sharp, muffled cry spilled into the blanket as she came, trembling violently, thighs shaking with every pulse.
Still, she kept rubbing through it, small, frantic circles that pushed her higher before dropping her down again. Her pussy clenched hard, then fluttered in softer waves that made her gasp against the pillow.
When the tremors faded, she collapsed into the mattress. Her curls stuck to her cheeks. Her panties clung to her body in a soaked patch she could feel even without touching.
Her fingers glistened in the dim light. Slick covered her palm, sticky and warm.
"I cannot believe this. I did that while thinking about them," she whispered, voice barely audible.
Her face burned with orgasmic shame. She wiped her hand low on the sheet, streaking slick into the cotton. Her fingers were still sticky. She didn't look at them. She just dragged her panties back into place, the fabric damp and clinging. Her thighs still trembled from aftershocks of pleasure. The blanket peeled off her skin with a faint sound, and she sat up slowly, careful not to let the bed creak beneath her weight.
Her breath shook as she pulled it in through her nose, held it, let it go to calm down. Her curls clung to her neck and cheeks. The air inside the curtains was thick with the scent of sweat and sex.
She reached toward the nightstand. Her fingers hadn't stopped trembling. They closed around her wand.
Tempus.
The numbers flared in soft blue light above the tip.
4:03 AM.
It was early morning; the sky outside was still dark. Most of the castle lay in a deep, enchanted sleep.
She sat motionless for a moment, spine straight, curls sticking to her neck. Her chest rose and fell in shallow waves. Her nipples pressed sharply against the inside of her nightshirt. Her slit throbbed faintly from all the rubbing, the raw edge of pleasure still pulsing under her clothes. Her panties clung to her in a soaked patch that stuck and shifted with every small movement.
She didn't move until her heartbeat slowed enough for her to hear her own thoughts again.
And when it did, everything came back at once.
The memory of what she had seen and what she had been doing.
She had watched Harry, her Harry, fucking Professor Black with animalistic hunger. She had seen Bellatrix writhing beneath him. And Professor Potter's fingers were working furiously between her legs as she came while watching her son breed another witch.
She had lain in her bed for hours, trying to sleep, pretending it had not happened. She desperately hoped everything was just a bad dream, that Harry, her friend, wasn't fucking their professor in his mother's room.
And worst of all, the way it made Hermione aroused. The way it lodged in her so deeply, she hadn't even realized she was touching herself until she was already too far to stop. That wasn't normal. That wasn't her. And it wasn't right.
She needed answers. At least one reason that could make this bizarre night make sense.
And she needed to warn Professor Lily about Pansy. About the look she gave when she left. That knowing smile and unspoken threat made her uneasy. Plus, she was in Slytherin.
Hermione pushed the blanket fully aside. Cold air hit the inside of her thighs and made her gasp. Her skin prickled with chill. The wet patch between her legs felt colder now. She reached for her robe and pulled it tight around her, the fabric soft but doing little to warm her flushed skin. Her feet slipped into her worn slippers with a quiet shuffle.
None of the girls stirred. The dorm stayed silent as she crept past the others' beds and pulled the curtain open. Parvati's arm was flung loosely over the side of her bed, her bangles glinting faintly in the low light. Lavender slept on her back, mouth parted, snoring softly.
Hermione crept forward as she exited her dorms, careful not to wake anyone. The common room lay empty. A few low embers glowed in the fireplace, casting dim orange patterns across the stone floor. The air was cool and smelled faintly of ash and parchment.
Her steps were quick, sharp. Her hair brushed her neck as she moved. Her mind outran her feet. Every second that passed added more urgency to the coil tightening in her chest.
Down the stairs, through the long seventh-floor corridor, arches rising overhead like ancient ribs. Her shadow flickered across the worn smooth by a thousand years of footsteps. Her focus didn't waver. The torches hissed faintly against the walls, enchanted blue flames flickering behind iron sconces.
She didn't pause. Not even when she passed the hallway that would lead toward the library several floors below. Her heart beat harder the closer she got to the second floor.
She turned the last corner. The corridor was dim and still.
Only the soft hiss of a nearby torch guttering in its bracket. Professor Potter's door stood at the far end. Hermione slowed and stopped two feet from the door.
Her pulse thundered in her ears now. Her breath caught. She stared at the wooden door, suddenly unsure.
What if he was in there?
What if she walked in and saw naked Harry inside Professor Black, or worse, inside....
She shook her head sharply. Her curls brushed her cheek.
She didn't need to see anything. She didn't want to.
She just needed answers. She had to warn Professor Lily of what Pansy had seen. Someone had to tell her that there was a perfectly reasonable magical explanation for everything she'd witnessed.
Hermione swallowed and gathered her courage like armor, drawing in a breath so tight it made her ribs ache. Her fingers clenched the robe at her waist.
She reminded herself that she was a Gryffindor. Her hand hovered a moment, then curled into a fist.
She knocked.
The knock rang out, louder than she intended in the dead of night. Thank Merlin, the corridor was empty. If someone like Peeves had shown up, it would've been chaos. Cold from the flagstones crept through her slippers, settling in her toes as she waited.
Nothing.
No shift. No creak. No sound of anyone waking up behind the door.
She almost turned away. But she lifted her hand again and knocked a second time, a bit softer this time.
A pause.
Then the faintest stir of sound. A rustle of blankets. The drag of fabric. Bare feet touching stone. Slow, sleepy steps moving toward her. A thin spill of lamplight slipped under the door, warming the floor at her feet.
It opened wider.
Lily Potter stood barefoot in the doorway, the lamplight behind her casting a warm amber glow around her figure. Her nightgown clung to her curves, deep green and thin‑strapped, falling loose at the shoulders. One strap had slipped down her arm, resting against the pale skin there. The fabric cinched softly at her waist, dipped at her chest, then dropped in a straight line to her knees.
Her red hair was unbrushed, falling in loose waves over one side of her face. A few strands clung to her collarbone. Her skin carried the faint flush of sleep, her eyelids heavy as she blinked into the corridor light. She tilted her head slightly, eyes adjusting, and found Hermione standing there in the dim corridor.
She didn't speak at first.
"Miss Granger?" she asked, her voice low, scratchy with sleep. "What are you doing here?"
She glanced toward the wall-mounted clock inside the room, then back at the girl standing on her threshold. "It's four in the morning."
"I'm sorry for the hour," Hermione said meekly. "But I need to speak with you. It really can't wait."
Lily looked at her for a moment longer, then opened the door wider.
"Come in."
Hermione stepped inside. The quarters were warm and dimly lit, and a weird scent still lingered. Books were stacked neatly on the desk, a closed file beside a half-full teacup. The couch cushions were untouched. Behind a half-pulled curtain, the bed was rumpled, the sheets drawn back and still creased with the shape of a body.
Her eyes swept the space quickly.
Harry wasn't here. She exhaled without meaning to, some tight part of her chest releasing. But it came with a smaller, sharper ache. She didn't know if it was relief or disappointment.
"Sit, if you like," Lily said.
But she didn't sit. She stayed standing, just inside the doorway, fingers tightening on her robe sash.
Lily crossed the room and sat down in one of the cushioned chairs by the hearth, legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded in her lap. When she looked up, her expression was alert and composed now just like a professor now.
"Tell me what's going on."
Hermione's mouth felt dry. She took a step forward, then stopped.
"I... saw you," she said, her voice catching. "Last night. With Harry. And Professor Black."
Lily didn't flinch. Her tone didn't shift.
"That was a private matter."
"I wasn't alone," Hermione added quickly. "Pansy saw it too."
Lily's brows lifted as she asked, "How?"
Hermione hesitated, then glanced away. "We... looked through the keyhole."
The pause that followed stretched long.
Lily's jaw tensed. She looked toward the fire, then back again. Her tone came cool, edged with something harder. "You spied on a professor's quarters?"
"I didn't mean to... really," Hermione said, the words tumbling out too fast. "Professor Black had kept Harry after dueling class. I was looking for him for ages. I just—" she faltered. "I got curious. I thought I heard something, and Pansy... she sneaked up behind me. I didn't even know she was there."
Lily tilted her head, voice flatter now, "So she caught you watching."
Hermione's shoulders folded in. She stared at the carpet. Her hands were shaking.
"Miss Granger," Lily said. "That's a serious breach of trust."
"I know," Hermione whispered. Her voice cracked on the last word.
Lily's gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then she sighed and leaned back.
"You saw something you weren't meant to. But you're here. So ask what you came to ask."
Hermione's voice was small. "Why didn't you stop her?"
Lily looked at her without blinking. "Because there was nothing to stop."
"She was touching him," Hermione said. "And he didn't even try to pull away from her. You just... lay there and watched."
Lily's voice wavered a bit, "First of all, it was Harry doing the touching. Quite a lot of it."
Hermione shook her head. "He's changed. He looks at her like… like he's under a spell. And she is a professor plus you're…" her throat tightened, "…his mother."
Lily's expression shifted, just slightly. Something behind her eyes tensed.
"She was."
"Then why—"
"Because this isn't the Muggle world, Hermione," Lily said softly. "Harry isn't just a student. He's the heir to an ancient house. That makes him a political figure. He needs allies in the Wizengamot."
"And Bellatrix?" Hermione asked.
"Professor Black is part of the house of Black," Lily said. "She is bound to it, and she has to do everything she has to save it. Her family magiks compels her to do it."
Hermione's mouth opened, then closed again. She knew she needed a good reason to ignore the taboo around it but…
Lily continued, her tone gentler now.
"I know what you're feeling. I was the same when I found out. But you need to understand that sex, in the magical world, isn't always about romance. It can be for rituals, inheritance, and contract. Sometimes all at once."
Hermione looked away.
"And Pansy?"
"You don't have to worry about her," Lily said. "She's clever, but careless. She saw something she doesn't understand and thinks it gives her leverage. She'll try to use it. But she's playing a game she isn't equipped to win."
Hermione's throat felt tight. "I just didn't…" she said.
Lily folded her hands in her lap and looked up from the armchair as Hermione hesitated just inside the threshold. "Why were you looking for Harry in the first place?"
Hermione blinked. "I just… I thought he might be here."
Lily's brows lifted slightly. She was still seated, legs crossed at the ankle. "You thought he might be here?" she repeated, her voice warm but edged with quiet curiosity. "And what made you think to check my quarters?"
Hermione hesitated, then exhaled softly. "I used Point Me."
Lily tilted her head. "A tracking charm?"
"I just wanted to talk to him," Hermione said quickly. "He didn't return to the Slytherin common room. I was waiting for him in the dungeons."
"So you cast a spell to find him." Lily's voice stayed soft, but her eyes sharpened. "Were you stalking my son, Miss Granger?"
Hermione flushed. "No… I mean… I was just worried about him."
Lily regarded her in silence for a long moment. "And the charm led you here."
Hermione nodded, then looked down. "I didn't expect… this."
Lily's tone shifted slightly lighter, but no less direct. "No. I imagine you didn't."
Lily rose from the armchair, silk nightgown brushing her ankles as she crossed the room. Her bare feet made no sound on the polished stone. She stopped in front of Hermione, close enough for Hermione to feel the warmth radiating off her.
"You're not very good at hiding affection, Hermione."
Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor.
Lily's voice softened. "You like him."
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again, then nodded slightly, eyes shimmering.
Lily gave a faint smile. "That isn't a crime. It's very… sweet, actually."
Hermione swallowed. "He's different," she said quietly. "Since he saved... But he's still… Harry. And I don't think he sees me that way."
"Maybe not yet," Lily murmured, brushing a lock of hair back from Hermione's cheek. "But he could."
Hermione shivered at the touch. "Would you like me to teach you how to make him notice?"
Hermione's breath caught. She met Lily's gaze, uncertain and overwhelmed, but she didn't pull away.
"Harry is a young man now," Lily continued softly. "And you've stopped being an innocent little girl, haven't you? You've been thinking about him in ways you don't dare say aloud, haven't you?"
Hermione's cheeks darkened. She nodded once.
Lily's gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again. "You've been touching yourself, thinking of him before coming here."
Hermione flinched, but Lily leaned closer, voice low and steady. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. But next time, change your knickers before leaving your room. That little scent trail you're dripping? The castle has many with strong noses. Even your Head of House. I imagine Professor McGonagall would be very disappointed."
Hermione's hands flew instinctively to her sides. "I didn't— I didn't know—"
"Now you do," Lily said calmly. "Come here."
She stepped behind Hermione and eased her forward, guiding her two steps deeper into the room, away from the open doorway. With one foot, she kicked the door shut behind them. Lily's arms wrapped around her waist, her cheek resting lightly against Hermione's shoulder. The fabric between them was thin. Lily's hands slid up in a slow, measured glide, fingers brushing the sides of Hermione's breasts.
"You've never read Witch Weekly, have you?" Lily murmured. "They sell potions brewed from mandrake root and lunar extract. They coax growth, make your rack soft, full, and very responsive. You'll feel the difference. I'll give you a vial... but the massage matters more."
Hermione trembled. "W-why are you… undressing me?"
"Because," Lily whispered, her mouth brushing Hermione's ear, "I'm teaching you the massage technique."
She eased Hermione's robe off her shoulders, guiding it down her arms until it dropped to the floor. Her breath warmed the spot behind Hermione's ear as she reached for the hem of the nightshirt next. Her fingers moved with practiced gentleness, sliding the loose fabric up Hermione's thighs and over her hips, peeling it slowly upward.
Hermione stood frozen, arms at her sides, lips parted in uncertainty. A flush rose across her chest and neck, the soft swell of her breasts fully exposed now.
"Relax," Lily whispered, fingers brushing the underside of one breast. "This part matters more than you'd think."
The nightshirt slipped over her head and joined the robe on the floor.
Lily's hands didn't stop. She rested them on Hermione's waist, then slowly moved upward, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Hermione tensed. Her back arched slightly. Her nipples stiffened, brushing against Lily's palms.
"You're sensitive," Lily noted softly, approvingly. "That's good. Harry will like that."
Hermione gasped.
"You want him to touch you here, don't you?" Lily asked, hands smoothing upward, cupping her fully now.
"You really think he…"
Lily's thumbs circled her nipples slowly. "Your panties already answered your doubts."
Hermione shuddered. "What?"
Lily stepped in closer, her own breasts pressing softly against Hermione's bare back.
"You're soaked," she whispered. "Much more than when you came in."
Her hand slid down the girl's front, over the slight tremble of her belly, until it settled between her legs. A single finger traced the damp cotton stretched across Hermione's cunt.
The fabric was damp, warm, and sticky.
Hermione whimpered as her thighs squeezed shut.
She eased Hermione's panties down slowly, exposing the glossy wetness smeared across her inner thighs. The cotton clung for a moment, sticking between the lips of her pussy, then peeled away with a quiet wet sound.
Lily brought the fabric up, inspected the wet patch, then dropped it atop the robe and nightshirt.
"We'll start with breast massage," she said, pressing forward again, her hips aligning flush to Hermione's backside.
One hand reached around, cradling Hermione's left breast. The other hand rose, fingers tilting lazily. A small glass vial slipped free from the cabinet and glided into her palm, summoned without a sound. Inside, the potion swirled slowly and gold, thick as honey, catching the low firelight.
Lily uncorked it with her teeth.
"This will help them grow," she said softly. "It works best when someone you love applies it to your breasts. Often. Gently. Here… let me show you."
She poured a few warm drops into her palm and rubbed both hands together.
Then she began.
Her hands moved in slow circles with soft pressure. She lifted, kneaded, and smoothed the potion across Hermione's bare chest, working the oil into her skin with the steady rhythm of someone who had done this many times before. Each motion tugged and stretched, drawing heat to the surface, coaxing blood flow and sensation until the soft flesh responded. Hermione's breathing grew shallow. Her nipples swelled, flushed, and slick beneath Lily's touch.
From behind, Lily watched the pink bloom rise along the girl's throat.
"Didn't you ever wonder why Lavender Brown and Susan Bones have been getting so much attention lately?" she murmured.
Hermione whimpered. "Why does it feel so...?"
"So good?" Lily finished for her, leaning in to press a kiss just below her ear. "Because your body's never been touched by someone who actually knows what it needs."
Lily's hand stayed firm on Hermione's boob, thumb grazing one stiff nipple while her fingers pinched the other. Each twist earned a flinch, a breathless gasp, then a shudder. Hermione had leaned back against her completely, hips tilted, legs parted. Nothing was covering her right now. Her bare cunt pressed warm and wet into Lily's palm as the older woman stroked lower, unhurried.
"Were you disappointed Harry wasn't here?" Lily murmured near her ear. "Were you hoping Harry would do this instead of me?"
Hermione whimpered, voice shaking. "I didn't think…"
"But you hoped he'd still be here." Lily's tone didn't soften. "That's why you came straight from your bed, still wet from touching yourself. Hoping he'd finish what you started."
Her fingers slipped through slick warmth, stroking once along the parted lips. She gathered it, slow and firm, then slid her middle finger inside. Hermione gasped, her back twitching against Lily's chest.
"Harry likes girls who moan," Lily said, voice lower now. "Tight, needy girls who soak the sheets and forget how to speak. Just moan and enjoy it."
Hermione trembled. "Nnh… I…"
Lily smiled and pressed deeper. Her other hand pinched again, rolling Hermione's nipple until her voice cracked. "You don't even know how to grip yet."
She stilled her fingers, keeping them buried inside. The stretch was shallow, teasing.
"Now, clench your cunt around my fingers. Tighten it and show me."
Hermione gave a choked moan. "Like this~"
Lily felt the flutter. She gave a small hum of approval.
"Again. Hold it this time."
Hermione's thighs trembled. "Oh fuck—it's—so much—"
"Keep squeezing. Grip and let go. Don't think. Just let it happen."
Her fingers began to move again, curling up and dragging slick on every retreat. Hermione's moans rose louder, drawn straight from her chest.
"Harry would bugger me just like this… ahh… deeper—"
"Yes. And he'd want this pussy to grip him tight the whole time. You don't come here soaked like that unless you're ready to crawl into his bed."
Hermione's moans broke into gasps. "I want to… please—"
"You'll get your release soon."
Lily twisted her nipple again and pressed her thumb to Hermione's clit, her middle finger still lodged inside the slick warmth of her cunt. Hermione almost screamed, head falling back, thighs quivering.
"That's better," Lily murmured. "You're ready."
Hermione turned her head, flushed and panting. "Ready for what?"
"To earn your reward." Lily's voice was calm now, assured. "You're an accomplice now. That means knowing what to say and what not to."
She kissed the edge of Hermione's jaw, then stepped away, guiding her gently with a firm touch at the hip. Her hand lingered on Hermione's arse, then landed with a sharp smack. The sound cracked through the room.
Hermione gasped. "Ah~~"
Lily smiled. "That's better."
"Get on the bed. Lie back."
Hermione moved without speaking, her breath unsteady. She lowered herself to the mattress, legs still parted. Lily followed, coaxing them wider with her palms. The inner thighs opened slowly, skin flushed and glistening, the folds wet and pink.
"Wider," Lily said softly. "You'd let anyone look between your legs if they promised to pleasure you right."
Hermione flushed. "That's not true…"
But her thighs parted anyway. Her hands gripped the sheets, and the room filled with the thick, fishy scent of arousal.
Lily knelt between her legs and leaned in. Her breath warmed Hermione's cunt before her mouth touched. The first lick was warm and slow. The second was firmer, a steady drag from opening to clit that left Hermione gasping.
Lily didn't stop. She licked again, savoring the taste, the heat, the twitch of muscle when her tongue found the right spot.
Hermione's voice shook. "Please… don't stop… It feels so good."
"You couldn't stop me if you tried," Lily said. "And you won't want to."
She flattened her tongue and circled the clit, then pulled back and sucked gently, drawing the bud into her mouth. Hermione's hips jerked. Her breath caught with a sharp cry, thighs tightening around Lily's head.
"Oh no… I'm cumming."
Lily moaned into her cunny, the vibration setting off the final break. Hermione's back arched off the bed. Her cunt clenched and pulsed around nothing, wet heat gushing against Lily's tongue. She shook violently, one heel dragging across the sheets, her voice dissolving into broken gasps.
Lily stayed there. She swallowed her love juices with fervor. Her tongue teased the swollen folds, cleaned what was still leaking. Hermione twitched with each lick.
"It's so sensitive," Hermione gasped.
Lily kissed her inner thigh and pressed one last lick to the still-throbbing clit.
"You asked for this," she whispered. "And I don't waste a drop."
Hermione lay still, chest heaving, flushed from throat to cheekbone.
Lily rose, lips wet and glistening. She licked them clean with a slow swipe of her tongue, eyes never leaving Hermione.
"You'll do what I say now," she said, brushing damp curls from her face. "In return, I'll arrange something nice. A night alone with Harry."
Hermione blinked, dazed. "Anything…"
Lily smiled, pleased. "Good. Then you're my student from now on. And we're going to have so much fun."
The sound of clapping hit both of them at once.
Lily's eyes narrowed as she turned toward it.
As she realized that she hadn't locked the door. For a heartbeat, she hoped that it was Bellatrix. But she was disappointed.
The last clap echoed against the stone as a figure leaned into view.
Hermione tensed on the bed, legs still parted on the bed, slick and flushed and bare. She flinched as the final clap landed. Her thighs twitched. She scrambled to pull her legs together, face going pale.
Pansy Parkinson leaned against the doorframe, one brow lifted, arms folded. She wore an old green jumper and tight black shorts, one leg hitched high on the thigh. Her hair was half tied, the rest falling loose around her face in soft curls. Her grin was sharp and full of teeth.
"Well, well," Pansy drawled. "And here I thought I was the only one who couldn't sleep when Potter came back to the dorms, too tired to speak. Turns out goody-two-shoes Granger needed a midnight lesson in obedience."
Hermione tried to speak. Nothing came out. Her hands clutched at the sheets, too late to cover anything.
Lily didn't look startled. Her gaze was steady, mouth calm, eyes measuring.
Pansy took one slow step into the room, letting the silence stretch.
"You know," she said, her tone almost idle, "I always suspected the mudblood would squirm for approval, but I didn't think she'd be this desperate. Teacher's pet… in every sense."
Hermione's mouth parted. "I am not!"
Pansy cut her off with a smirk. "Oh, save it. I was hoping you'd be here. Lady Potter always did have a soft spot for filthy blood. Makes sense, she'd want a little pet for her son. Not the first time a Gryffindor witch bent the knee for Potter, is it?"
Lily summoned her wand from her wand holster. Her robes whispered as she stepped between them.
"You're out of line, Miss Parkinson," Lily said.
Pansy shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong."
Lily's gaze narrowed. "I expected you to be sneaking into Harry's bed by now."
Pansy's smirk deepened. "Please. I find men far too much trouble. Messy, loud, always expecting praise. Women know how to keep quiet… and finish the job."
She stepped farther into the room, eyes drifting toward the bed. Hermione was still on her back, legs drawn together now, face flushed, trying not to meet Pansy's gaze.
Pansy tilted her head. "Since Granger's already been rewarded…" Her voice turned lazy. "I trust mine won't take long."
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Thanks for sticking with the ride so far!
The story is building toward a true harem path. Daphne, Tracey, Hermione, and even Mrs. Greengrass are planned additions. But first, Pansy takes the stage as she blackmails Lily and her new student in the next chapter.... It will get freaky.
You can share your suggestions for any kinks in the comments.
Read Chapter 5 Dawn of Degradation and 5,842 words ahead now on P*treon.c*m/OmniNymph or buy it from my K*-fi shop at k*-fi.c*m/omninymph.