Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Married Quarters
Saturday, September 23rd, 1995
1:00 PM.
In the midst of all the changes in his life since the night of the Third Task, Harry would have to say that he hadn't expected this afternoon's surprise. He wasn't surprised to see Hermione at the door to the Married Quarters, but it was a bit strange to see her in school robes on a Saturday afternoon. Closing the door behind them, he led Hermione to the lounge, which was empty since the rest of the family was out enjoying Hogsmeade. Before he could question her attire, Hermione surprised him by opening her robes and letting them drop to the floor, showing him that she was, other than her shoes and stockings, completely naked, and hairless between her legs.
After a brief conversation, making sure that Hermione understood what she was offering, he grinned and told her that she could start by showing him what she could do with her mouth.
Hermione smiled happily, reaching for his trousers, she opened the button and, moving closer, gripped the zipper tongue with her lips and pulled the zipper down, letting him breathe. She stared in wonder at his size, and, though she tried not to, couldn't help compare what Harry had versus what Ron had, and Ron unfortunately, came up very short.
Reaching through the opening of his briefs, she wrapped her hand around his throbbing shaft, wanting to lick the pre-cum seeping out of the top of his cock. Giving in to the temptation, she ran her tongue over the bulb, pausing when the seed rested on her tongue, amazed at the tingle she felt as his magic spread through her mouth. She remembered what she had heard Pansy telling Daphne, and knew that when she swallowed his cum, he would spoil her for any other man.
Opening her mouth, she took the head of his cock in her mouth, taking him as far as she could, hitting the back of her throat, before she pulled back, sucking eagerly and using her hands as more of his cock came through her lips.
"Good girl," Harry murmured, running his fingers through her hair. You're doing well so far, my nasty little girl. Now show me how much you want to serve me. I only let nasty girls serve me. Are you sure you're nasty enough?"
Harry almost laughed at the way Hermione's arousal spiked each time he used the term 'nasty girl'. His gift was telling him clearly that he was giving her exactly what she needed, and he was looking forward to helping her fulfill all of her other fantasies.
Hermoine didn't answer, verbally anyway, she just eagerly leaned in, her mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him again. She took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip, her lips stretching to accommodate his length. Harry groaned, his hands gripping her hair, guiding her movements. She could feel him growing harder, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
"Take it all," he commanded, pushing her head down. Hermione complied, her nose pressing against his stomach as she took him deep into her throat. She could feel him hit the back of her throat, her gag reflex kicking in, but she held on, her body trembling with the effort.
"Fuck, Hermione," Harry growled, his hips thrusting forward. "You're such a good little slut. Swallow it all, my pet."
Hermione could feel the heat building, the pressure in her body increasing. She could taste his precum, salty and sweet, and she knew he was close. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue working furiously, her lips tight around his shaft.
"Come for me, Harry," she moaned, her voice muffled by his cock. "Fill my mouth with your cum."
With a final thrust, Harry groaned, his body tensing as he came. Hermione felt him pulse in her mouth, his hot cum filling her throat. She swallowed, her body shuddering as she felt the last of his release. She easily swallowed his first jolt, and the second, but the third burst overwhelmed her, so she pulled back, freeing his cock from her mouth. Closing her eyes, she pointed his cock at her face and stroked him, once, twice, three times, and with a loud groan, she felt the ropes of cum landing on her face.
It was then that his magic hit her core, and with a cry, Hermione fell back onto the carpeting as the most powerful orgasm of her life roared through her body, and she was on a journey to her happy place. This was more than being happy at getting all 'Outstandings' on her end-of-year exams, or even the thought of repeating the feat with her OWLs; both of them paled in comparison to the avalanche of ecstasy filling every inch of her body. It was a miracle she stayed conscious, but she did, and gathered his cum on her fingers and sucked them clean, doing it several times until she was clean enough, and then she was able to start licking him clean.
"You are my nasty little girl, aren't you, deliberately letting your master cum all over your face. Do you think I should put a collar and a lead around your throat and take you, dressed just as you are, to Dinner, showing the whole school that you are my nasty girl? I will, you know, I'm proud and pleased that you are giving yourself to me, and you can hold your head up high, knowing that nobody will dare say anything to you, or about you, because you belong to me."
Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was like he had been reading her private journal, and it was all she could do to stay quiet when she really wanted to shout 'Yes' at the top of her voice.
"Well, we could save that for our graduation, you and the other girls who asked me to claim them, we could make all the students jealous, the guys because they want you, and the girls because they want me to treat them the same way. Think about that as we do our Prefects Rounds."
Hermione couldn't speak even if she wanted to, but she managed to nod in response.
"Good girl," Harry praised, his voice hoarse. "Now, it's time for me to claim you."
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She could feel the wetness between her legs, her body already primed for him. Harry pulled her up, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her nipples.
"Turn around," he commanded. Hermione complied, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt Harry's hands on her hips, his fingers tracing the curve of her ass. She could feel his cock, hard and ready, pressing against her.
"Bend over," he said, his voice low. Hermione bent at the waist, her feet on the carpet, and her hands gripping the back of the couch. She could feel the cool air on her exposed pussy, her body shivering with anticipation.
Harry's hands ran over her ass, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheeks. She could feel him positioning himself, his cock pressing against her entrance. She took a deep breath, her body tensing as he pushed inside her.
"Relax, Hermione," Harry murmured, his hands gripping her hips. "Take it all."
Hermione did as he commanded, her body relaxing as he filled her. She could feel him stretching her, her body adjusting to his size. He began to move, his hips thrusting against hers, his cock sliding in and out of her.
"God, you're so tight," Harry groaned, his breath coming in short gasps. "Your pussy feels so good."
Hermione's body was still trembling with the aftershocks of her climax from swallowing his magic. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she felt him filling her. She did her best to move with him, but his fingers were still playing with her, tracing the curves of her pussy and clit, sending shivers of pleasure through her. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to tease her, how to drive her wild.
Harry's fingers slipped inside her, his thumb rubbing against her clit. Hermione gasped, her body tensing as waves of pleasure washed over her. She could feel herself nearing the edge, her body trembling as she fought to hold back her orgasm.
"Please, Harry," she begged, her voice filled with desperation. "Let me come. I need to come."
Harry's fingers slipped out of her, leaving her feeling empty and desperate. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and desire. Harry smiled, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek.
"You're so beautiful when you're like this," he murmured, his voice low. "So desperate, so needy. I love it."
Hermione's body shivered at his words, her pussy aching for his touch. Harry's fingers slipped back inside her, his thumb rubbing against her clit again. Hermione could feel herself nearing the edge, her body tensing as she fought to hold back her orgasm.
She was almost crying in frustration, needing release, but knowing that it was Harry's decision, that was one of the lessons she learned from the paperback books that she locked in her nightstand. But she moaned, "Please, please, Harry, let me cum, I need to cum!"
Harry chuckled, his fingers slowing down. "Not yet, Hermione. You're not ready yet." He continued to tease her, his fingers circling her clit, his touch light and gentle. Hermione could feel her body responding, her hips moving against his hand as she tried to coax him to give her what she needed.
Harry's fingers slipped out of her, briefly leaving her feeling empty and desperate. But she could feel his cock sliding back inside her, and filling her.
Hermione could feel the pleasure building, her body tensing as he hit a spot deep inside her. She could feel her orgasm approaching, her body shuddering as she neared the edge.
"Come for me, Hermione," Harry commanded, his voice low. "Come all over my cock."
With a final thrust, Hermione came, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over her. She could feel Harry's cock pulsing inside her, his own orgasm ripping through him.
"Fuck, Hermione," Harry groaned, his body trembling. "You're incredible."
Hermione could feel him pulling out of her, his cum dripping down her thighs. She turned around, her body still shaking from her orgasm.
"Now, it's time for your arse," he murmured, his voice low. "I want to feel you take my cock in your arse."
#
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Library
Saturday, September 23rd, 1995
After Dinner
The afternoon had been nothing short of a revelation. Harry had exceeded every fantasy, and the quiet, secret pleasure of discovering a new, thrilling side to herself with other girls had left a soft, lingering warmth. Despite this dizzying new reality, Hermione found herself gravitating to a familiar comfort after Dinner: the library. It was a bit of a surprise to discover that Professor McGonagall had already arranged for her trunk and all her personal belongings to be moved into the Married Quarters, but Hermione was grateful. She hadn't been looking forward to having Lavender as her only roommate; she wouldn't ever get a moment's peace from the questions!
With that concern taken care of, she could focus on the research she was doing for Harry with a clear head. The plan was to research the wizarding families Harry was now responsible for, but it was just as much about settling her mind with the rustle of old pages and the scent of aged parchment.
She had just settled in, books on pure-blood genealogy stacked high and her notepad ready, when she heard a voice so utterly out of place it made her pause. It was Ron's. Instead of his usual grumbling about enforced study, he was speaking with a focused, serious tone, asking someone to review an essay. That alone was so un-Ron-like she had to investigate.
Casting a subtle Notice-Me-Not charm over her workspace, she slipped from her chair and moved quietly between the towering shelves. His distinctive red hair was easy to spot across the next aisle. She moved closer, peering through a gap in the books, and saw him sitting with his back to her, an array of thick tomes spread out before him.
Even more intriguing, she recognized the girl sitting opposite him. Su Li, from their Ancient Runes class. They weren't close, but Hermione knew her to be intelligent and focused. Why would she be helping Ron? It didn't take long to find the answer. When Su spoke, her voice was a crisp, no-nonsense echo of Molly Weasley. "No, Ronald, you can't just throw that word in there. Go back and check the definition." To her astonishment, Ron simply nodded and obediently turned a page. Hermione had to bite her lip to suppress a laugh. It seemed Ron had finally found someone to give him the firm guidance he'd always needed. Good for him. Smiling to herself, she quietly retreated to her seat.
She worked for another hour, lost in the intricate family trees of the wizarding world. It wasn't until she was gathering her things to leave, stacking her books on a cart, that she realized her quiet exit had been a failure. Lying neatly folded on her notepad was a small piece of parchment. Opening it, she read a familiar, elegant script:
'Next time, come over and say hello. It's very rude to spy on other people, and if it happens again, I'll talk to your Sir about allowing me to discipline you.'
The note was unsigned, but the handwriting was unmistakable. It was Su Li's. The last line hit her like a physical blow. The simple words sent a shockwave through her body, a jolt that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a sudden, overwhelming heat that pooled low in her stomach. She scooped up her books and fled the library, making a frantic beeline for the nearest ladies' toilet to splash cold water on her flushed face and calm her racing heart. She spent a good fifteen minutes there, adjusting her makeup and trying to compose herself, praying no one would see her frazzled state on the way to her dorm.
#
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Married Quarters
Saturday, September 23rd, 1995
After Dinner
The evening started with a palpable sense of anticipation, all thanks to Pansy, who had been bubbling over with excitement ever since returning from Hogsmeade. Her energy was so infectious that it was hard for anyone else to focus. Harry, recognizing her restlessness, deliberately drew out Dinner, amused by the way she was bouncing like Dobby on a sugar rush. Susan shared his grin, clearly understanding what he was doing.
The meal was finally over, and the group, except for Hermione, who made a beeline to the library, followed Harry to the Married Quarters. Once the door was closed behind them, they all relaxed, and Harry reflected that, even in the short time they had been living in these rooms, it already felt more like home than the dorms, and certainly more than his time at the Dursleys!
Naturally, he enjoyed how the girls chose to relax, since both Pansy and the Patil twins were most comfortable in their skin. Susan chose to wear a t-shirt and sleep shorts as she sat next to Harry on the couch. When they were all comfortable, Pansy took her familiar place on the plush rug in front of Harry, where she sat poised and waiting, a tight knot of anticipation coiled in her shoulders, ready to burst with whatever news she had been holding back. The room's quiet hum was filled with her unspoken plea: Okay, I'm ready. Now listen.
"Okay, Pansy, what's got you so worked up?" Harry asked, unable to wait any longer. "You look like you're about to explode."
Her news was a bombshell. She'd overheard a tense conversation in a dark hallway at the Three Broomsticks between Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco. Pansy gleefully described how Narcissa scolded Draco for his behavior, telling him he was still acting as if his father, Lucius, were alive and powerful. Fearing this arrogance would make him an easy target in a duel he couldn't possibly win, Narcissa declared that Draco was being pulled from Hogwarts for at least the rest of the year, if not until his NEWTs.
The revelation was met with a chorus of cheers and laughter. There would be no tears shed for the absence of the Malfoy heir, as he had managed to make himself universally unpopular with his peers.
With the latest news shared, the group shifted gears from camaraderie to responsibility. The girls went to their rooms to gather books and notes for their homework. Harry, meanwhile, settled in with a ledger from the newest of the Potter-Longbottom Alliance Vaults, a vault he was happy to see was growing with donations dedicated to providing Wolfsbane Potion for those in need. He was mildly surprised at the names of those who donated, considering that several of the families were firmly part of the Traditionalist Bloc on the Wizengamot, but since many of the families had also had their family head lose his magic the night of the Third Task, they may want to be seen to have changed. Harry didn't really care that much, as long as the donations kept flowing in. A surprise packet of letters was included with the ledger, and the first one, from a Muggle-born wizard, contained a list of questions that should have been answered before they even got on the Express. Finding some of the questions insightful and new, Harry added them to a list for Penelope to research, indicating his quiet and steady commitment to helping others.
#
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Private Bedroom
Friday, September 29th, 1995
After Dinner
Susan had been looking forward to tonight all week. On Monday, she, along with Hannah, Harry, and Neville, had met in their shared common area to establish an agreement for her and Hannah to spend regular, uninterrupted time together. Harry and Neville had readily agreed, but the key point of contention was ensuring complete privacy for the two women. Once their husbands managed to convince each other that neither had a desire to see the other man's wife naked, the rest of the discussion went smoothly. They secured one night a week of their choice to spend together.
Susan didn't bother to mention that Harry had a family Pensieve, and she knew that Neville had one as well, so it was just a matter of dropping a few selected memories in the basin to give their husband their own personal dirty dream! She and Hannah had discussed it when it was clear that both of them would be marrying before September 1st, and the two of them had agreed that they didn't have a problem with either Harry or Neville watching the memory, but that was the limit. Neither of them was tempted to jump the fence, or each other's husband, but both of them knew quite well that a wet pussy makes for bad judgment, so why ask for trouble?
She didn't know how he did it, but somehow, Harry managed to get Hogwarts to add a new bedroom between their quarters and Neville's. The room was decorated to suit the tastes of both Susan and Hannah.
Looking at it logically, Susan had a hard time understanding why she was so excited about tonight. It wasn't as if she and Hannah didn't spend time together several times a day during classes and meals. She certainly wasn't lacking the touch of a woman, and she knew that there were a few girls who enjoyed Hannah's talented tongue. And in her own family, Pansy was always willing to demonstrate her skills, and even Hermione, who Susan always joked only cared about things she could learn from a book, would eagerly kneel and lift Susan's skirt with just a look. Susan mused that if Hermione had learned how to perform oral sex from a book, she'd love to know what bookstore the former Gryffindor shopped at.
At six o'clock sharp, the alarm chimed. After a passionate kiss with her husband, Susan went through the door leading to their private room. Inside, she smiled at the sight of Hannah, completely naked, kneeling by the bed with her hands behind her back, pressing her breasts out and begging for attention. With a glance, Susan noted that Hannah was perfectly groomed and that a plug was stretching her arse.
Moving in front of her kneeling lover, Susan removed her robes and sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs in an open invitation. Hannah immediately began to lap at Susan's hairless pussy like a kitten drinking milk, marking the beginning of a very enjoyable evening.
#
Three Broomsticks Pub
Private Room
Hogsmeade
Saturday, October 14th, 1995
Penelope was waiting quietly in the bar section, sipping a heated cider against the chill wind blowing outside. She had been waiting for about 10 minutes, mostly because she was so anxious to see her Master again, and it would be nice to see Hermione again; they hadn't had a chance to talk much after they were cured of the petrification, and they had started moving toward a friendship before the basilisk's reflection caught them.
The sound of the door opening and the student's laughter drew her gaze toward the entrance, and she smiled, seeing Master walking through the door, with Hermione right behind him. He saw her right away, and the two worked their way through the crowd to her. Seeing the mug of cider and smiling at the aroma, Master got Madame Rosmerta's attention and ordered three more mugs. Rosmerta brought the mugs over, and there was a key on the tray as well.
"These are refill mugs. Once you are empty, put the mug back on the tray, and it will refill. And the key is for Room 217, the private meeting room you had requested."
Heading toward the stairs, Penny noticed that she wasn't the only one who had noticed the woman's firm rear and breasts that moved freely under her tunic. She caught Hermione watching the woman, and even Master spared her an appreciative look. Penny wondered at the faint smile she could see from slightly to the side, until she saw the mirror that was at the top of the stairs, giving Rosmerta an excellent view of the three following her.
Since she didn't seem offended, Penny continued enjoying the view. Arriving at the door to Room 217, Rosmerta slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. Setting the tray on the table, she smirked and said, "I saw you enjoying the view, and if any, or all three of you want a better look, stop by sometime about closing time, it'll be worth the visit."
Penny managed to keep from blushing, but Hermione's face was as red as Percy's hair. Master just grinned at Rosmerta and said, "I'm sure it will be, and if nothing else, we can plan on stopping in around Yule."
"I'll be looking forward to it, especially since a very close friend of mine of mine told me about a certain collection of yours, and I'll be happy to add to it."
Penny wasn't certain exactly what that was all about, other than it was referring to Master's cupboard of different women's knickers, but Master appeared very surprised that Rosmerta mentioned it; he recovered quickly. "That sounds like a conversation I would like to discuss with both of you, so I'll be dropping her a note fairly soon. And I would be pleased to add your donation to the collection."
With that, Rosmerta leaned over, letting the neck of her tunic fall forward, giving the three of them a terrific view of her unfettered breasts, and while they weren't as large as Amelia's, they were certainly nicely sized, and Penny really wanted to suck on Rosmerta's nipples. Sadly, she straightened up and, with a grin and a wink, left the room and shut the door behind her.
After a few seconds of silence, Master said, "Okay, that was unexpected, but we are here for a reason, so let's get started."
Taking their seats, Master started things off by handing Penny the list of questions that were forwarded to him from Gringotts. She scanned the questions, and several of them were already included, and a couple had already been answered. The rest were added to the main list that Penny carried in a secure binder to be researched.
Taking out the pages of questions that were already answered, Penny handed copies to Master and Hermione to read. There were a couple of exclamations of 'So that's why?' by both Hermione and Master, who were shaking their head at some of the basic information that nobody bothered to tell them.
It took about 2 hours to go over everything that they had put together for the initial printing of the book. Master said, "Okay, I think we've hit a good enough amount of information for this edition. We don't want to overload people so they don't remember anything."
Looking at Penny, he asked,
"If we put a cutoff for submitted questions on November 1st, will that give you enough time to do the research by early December? I'm planning on having Hermione, as well as a few purebloods, helping to write up the answers, so you won't have to worry about rushing through the writing process. I'm hoping to have enough printed by the Yule holiday to give all the Muggle-born and raised students currently at Hogwarts, and then arrange to have a copy included in the information package for new students."
Penny nodded, "With the help to write up the information, I don't think there would be a problem with meeting your target dates. But I had another idea I'd like to get your opinion on," Master looked at her curiously, but nodded, so she continued,
"These books are an excellent resource for basic knowledge, but without some reason to remember things, they might be read once and forgotten. What I was thinking was a series of children's or teen novels about Merlin and Morganna, other historical figures in the Wizarding World, and include a couple of the questions and answers as part of the story, making it entertaining enough to re-read would help the younger students to absorb the information before getting on the Hogwarts Express the first time."
There was no response at first, so she looked up, almost afraid to see the rejection in Master's expression, only to feel relief wash over her at the pleased smile on his face and the excitement on Hermione's face.
"That's a fantastic idea, as long as you don't use 'the Boy Who Lived' as one of the subjects of the book, those things are so damned embarrassing, and if Lockhart weren't permanently confined to the Janus Thickey Ward, I'd be suing him and his publishers for every galleon they made off those books!"
He stopped, gave an embarrassed grin, "Sorry, I'm still angry that nobody who had the authority put a stop to those books. They gave young kids a fake picture of me, and when I wasn't riding a dragon to school, the readers were disappointed."
Hermione spoke up, asking, "Are you planning to write all of the books, or are you looking for different writers?"
Penny half shrugged, "I hadn't thought that far in advance, but it seems to make sense to have something like 'Mills & Boon' where there is a standard formula for the books, written by multiple authors. I don't know if you remember the 'Nancy Drew' series that used to be published in England; there were more than 100 of the books, all written under a specific author name, but multiple authors wrote the books, using the same pen name. Something like that would, if you'll pardon the descent into Lockhart Land, build a 'brand' and people would follow the brand, buying and reading each new book, and as they got older, passing them on to their children."
Master chuckled, "If that was not planning far in advance, it sounds like an excellent idea, and what I'll do is write to my account manager, and set up an appointment for you to discuss the basic idea. He can judge whether the idea is feasible, and if so, what it would cost to get started. I don't think the novels should be affiliated with the Alliance, but that's a minor detail."
With that, the business portion of the meeting was over, and without a word, the door locked and privacy wards went up all around the room, and the room warmed up to a comfortable temperature. Standing up, Penelope and Hermione stripped to the skin while the table was transformed into a comfortable-looking bed.
Master and Hermione barely made it back to Hogwarts in time for Dinner, but they were wearing smiles that Double Potions couldn't erase.
#
The Granger Home
Summercrest Crescent,
Crawley
Thursday, October 19th, 1995
The red glow of the clock on her nightstand scorched the darkness, each slashing numeral burning into Monica's skull. She lifted her chin, blinked twice, and forced her eyes to focus: 11:00. A low curse slipped from her lips--more a rasp than a word--vanishing into the hush of her bedroom. An hour of trying to decipher the British Dental Journal sat piled on her stomach like dead weight. The pages, thick with jargon and microscopic diagrams, blurred into an impenetrable fog. She knew, somewhere behind her fogged-up mind, that the new endodontic technique it described could revolutionize her practice. But the words might as well have been Sanskrit.
Apathy draped itself over her like wet wool, and she remembered exactly when the chill had settled in--when Richard had collapsed suddenly, the heart attack had happened with no warning, and he probably didn't have a chance to realize what was happening before he died. He'd been the dream behind the practice: their names side by side on the sign, the waiting room walls painted Sage Green (his idea), the mint sugar-free candies in delicate glass dishes on the counter. Together, they'd sketched plans for graduation day, for the late-summer wedding, for clients who'd become friends. Now the hum of the autoclave, the reassuring heft of her mandibular rongeur, even the grateful smiles of her patients rang hollow. In the back of her mind, the notion of selling the practice whispered its seduction--soft, insistent, impossible to ignore.
But what then? She pictured days of aimless lounging on a sun-bleached patio, her hands empty, her calendar blank. The thought bored her to the bone. She was thirty-eight--too young for idle retirement, too entrenched to start a new career without feeling like a fraud. Still, the idea of slipping back into student life--late-night library sessions, the scratch of a fresh pencil on spiral paper, the nervous thrill of raising her hand in a lecture hall--flared in her chest. Maybe she could find a new calling, a spark to replace the one Richard had carried for them both.
And new faces. Monica's skin ached for touch. Her loneliness was a physical craving, like hunger gnawing in her gut. She wanted someone to see her, to run their hand over her spine and remind her she was still flesh and blood. She imagined the mattress trembling beneath someone's weight, her hair plastered to damp skin, the electricity of shuddering release. No shame flickered through her--only desire.
She knew Richard would have wanted better for her. He would have cheered her on: "Find your joy again," he'd say, forcing that crooked grin she missed so much. He would have urged her to be whole. And if wholeness meant admitting her body's needs, then she would. A future with both peace and passion, she insisted, was hers to imagine.
Passion. With Richard--and even during those late-night gatherings when other couples joined them--it had roared like wildfire. Silk sheets writhed, gasps tumbled over polished moans, and the air crackled so fiercely it felt as if the walls would ignite. She missed that inferno. Wanted it. The ache settled into her bones every night.
Her mind drifted to the night she'd heard Hermione through the bedroom vent--tiny muffled gasps and exhortations to a fantasy Master to give her what she craved. Monica was fairly certain that it was her friend Harry that she had been dreaming about, especially after the evening of wine and conversation the night she got home for the Summer Holiday. Hearing her daughter describe what she had heard in the ladies between the other two girls, and Hermione's reaction, made Monica rush from the table and get into the powder room so she could get some relief. Hermione's knowing grin told her mother she knew exactly what Monica was feeling. But the important question is, had Hermione taken the step and approached Harry? She was almost certain that Harry would not have rejected her, but had he left her satisfied?
If he had left Hermione satisfied, Monica would raise the subject of joining them. From what she had said over the holiday, Harry already had at least three women as part of his family, four if Hermione had joined him, so her daughter was, at least, open to the idea of sharing with another girl. And while it might be a bit different if Harry wanted her to have sex with Hermione, it should be delightfully nasty, and as far as Monica was concerned, vanilla is for ice cream, Tabasco sauce is the ticket for naked times, hot and spicy! She could broach the subject of her relationship with Harry casually. And if Harry had accepted Hermione, she could tell her daughter that she wasn't quite as sneaky as she thought, "You know, I heard everything through the grille," she'd say, voice gentle as a caress. "And, we knew from the first night that you were watching us with your mirrors. It just made things more exciting, your father knowing you were watching him and I shagging other people, and seeing me with my tongue inside your various 'aunts'...well, let's just say it inspired Richard beyond belief." She'd let Hermione squirm, then propose sharing Harry. After all, Monica had glimpsed him once--towel slung over muscular shoulders, lap of white cloth barely concealing the prize beneath. That flash had lodged in her imagination, blossomed into endless fantasies. Perhaps it was time to reclaim that part of herself. Still thinking, Monica drifted off to sleep.
Morning arrived with a shriek, her alarm slicing through the quiet. She slapped the snooze button, rolled onto her back, and let the day's weight settle heavily on her chest. The desperate, feverish longings of the night receded like a dream at dawn, leaving only a dull, familiar ache. On autopilot, she kicked off the covers, stepped into the shower, and let hot water sluice over her spine. In the kitchen, the aroma of strong black coffee curled into her nostrils, bitter and promising. She snapped on her crisp white lab coat--once a second skin, now a stiff reminder of obligations.
At the practice, the scent of disinfectant and a hint of spearmint hung in the air. Claire, her receptionist with bouncing auburn hair and a voice that could power a generator, chirped, "Good morning, Dr. Granger!" Monica lifted the corners of her mouth into a pale imitation of a smile. The day unfolded in routine: the metallic click of instruments, the whirr of the drill, the tiny ping of a mirror catching overhead light. Her hands moved with ingrained precision, but her mind drifted across empty fields and winding pathways, searching for any signpost to point her forward.
Her trance shattered when she sat down with Mrs. Gable, a sweet-voiced widow of seventy-eight whose hair was the color of pigeon feathers. As Monica probed and polished, Mrs. Gable reminisced through the rubber dam. "After Charles died, I thought I'd just wilt away in my garden," she said, voice crackling around the instrument. "But my neighbor, sweet Judith, dragged me to a pottery class. My first bowl looked like a drunken armadillo--but I kept at it. Now I'm glazing plates for my grandkids at Christmas, and I've made real friends." She laughed, a warm, husky sound that filled the sterile room with sunlight.
Monica paused over the polisher, the absurd image of a drunken armadillo bowl blooming in her mind. She finished Mrs. Gable's exam, offered her a gentle smile, and watched the older woman shuffle away, clutching her purse. The office felt too quiet, too empty, but for the first time today, tears pricked Monica's eyes. She laughed through them, cried through them--an odd, liberating mix.
Before locking up, she sank into her office chair and stared at the framed wedding photo on her desk: Richard in his tux, Monica in her lace-trimmed gown, sun streaming through the chapel window. His grin was so alive it hurt. She realized, with startling clarity, that he wouldn't want her to languish here in this half-life. He'd want her to find her own version of a "drunken armadillo" bowl.
She rose and grabbed the morning's Crawley and Horley Observer from the rack. Flipping to the classifieds, she traced the words "Adult Education" with her finger. French conversation, advanced coding, creative writing--and, yes, two pottery classes at the community center. She circled the listings, her pulse drumming in her ears. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. She wasn't selling the practice today--but she was planting the first seeds of something entirely her own.
Monica folded the fresh Observer under her arm and eased her silver sedan into the churn of afternoon traffic. The late afternoon sun baked the dashboard, warming the patterned vinyl beneath her palm. Brake lights shimmered ahead like embers. Half her attention was on the road, while the rest was thinking about the different options available to give her something to focus on. A curious thrill tickled her chest, the same buzz she'd felt the night she knelt before Richard for the first time.
At home, she swung into the gravel drive, cut the engine, and pressed her palm into the key fob--doors clicked shut. Inside, she punched in the alarm code with quiet precision so the monitoring service wouldn't blare. In the kitchen, she tossed olive oil into a hot skillet; onions hissed as she chopped carrots and zucchini for a quick stir-fry. The aroma of garlic curled through the air.
Cradling a steaming bowl in one hand and the Observer's classified section in the other, she slipped into her glass-paneled home office. She flipped the fluorescent lamp on, watching motes drift in the shaft of light, then pressed the computer's power button. The machine whirred to life, the vintage dial-up screech echoing like a distant train. She leaned forward, tapping through the local community center's website: watercolor classes, yoga for beginners, creative writing workshops. Each listing she jotted down with her favorite blue biro on a crisp notepad, the pen's gentle scratch matching her racing pulse.
Suddenly, a tickle scraped the inside of her nostril. Before she could reach for a tissue, she let out a sharp sneeze. The biro flew from her hand, clattering against the hardwood floor on the far side of the room.
"Damn it," she muttered, swiveling her chair. As she rose, fingertips grazing the desk edge, a faint spark flickered across her palm. She froze. The pen quivered, then lifted--hovering mid-air as if caught in an invisible updraft--before drifting back into her outstretched hand. Monica's grip tightened. In that instant, a gauzy veil seemed to tear apart in her mind.
Childhood images flooded back: the living room shrouded in fog, her parents' faces etched with fear as they refused a stern witch in emerald robes--Professor McGonagall--when young Hermione first summoned sparks from her fingertips. She saw the shouted arguments in the hallway, the hastily packed trunks, her own wild curls brushing against posters of mythical creatures. Then a man in a charcoal suit, jaw clenched, raised a slender black wand at her face. The crack of magic--sharp as a whip--echoed in her ears.
Monica jolted forward, her breath rattling in her throat. "Son of a bitch!" she hissed, voice trembling with rage. She stalked to the wall and yanked down a framed photograph of an older couple--her parents--frozen in forced smiles. With all her strength, she hurled it against the hardwood. The glass exploded outward in a constellation of shards, the frame splintering.
She stared at the broken pieces but didn't notice the glittering debris underfoot. "So that's why you bastards stopped visiting," she whispered, lips pressed thin. "When Hermione showed her magic, you couldn't even tell Richard or me. We were tearing our hair out, watching our baby bolt across the yard chasing fireflies that weren't there--what if we'd known? A single word could've saved us years of fear, but you wouldn't say it."
Her voice softened to a venomous sigh. "Well, you didn't want a witch in the family. Fine. As of now, you're both dead to me."
She scooped the frame and photo into the trash can, splinters biting at her palms, then swept the glittering glass into a dustpan. When the last shard was gone, she sank back into her chair, heart thudding against her ribs. She uncapped her biro, set the notepad before her, and let her fingers steady. "Now," she murmured, "I need to write to Hermione. Tell her what I found--and ask her for books. Yes, I'm older than the usual Hogwarts firstie, but I've got magic, and I refuse to leave it buried."
Hearing a soft 'prek' from the window behind her, Monica turned with a smile, "Hello Hedwig, how's the smartest owl in the UK this evening?"
She would almost swear that the snowy owl puffed up in pride before dropping the letter in front of her. "Thank you, Hedwig, you know where the kibble and water are. Can you wait for me to reply? I've got some news of my own to tell Hermione."
Hedwig bobbed her head agreeably and flew to the owl perch that was reserved for her use, and after a quick bite and a drink, she settled down to wait.
Opening the letter, she quickly scanned it for the main points, the ones she needed to respond to first, before re-reading the missive slowly. Her lips quirked into a grin when she read about the approach to Harry, and then Hermione went into explicit detail about exactly what Harry had her doing, and what she experienced. Her grin widened at the enthusiastic way Hermione described her first buggering, but it won't be the last, from the way her daughter was writing!
Without even realizing it, Monica had unhooked her skirt and pulled down the zipper, letting her work her hand into her knickers, slipping her fingers into her quim and pumping slowly. She worked herself right to the edge before backing off, until Hermione described what happened when the rest of Harry's family showed up, how she was still naked, and had to crawl to each of the witches and use her mouth to make them cum. It was the first time she had played with another girl, and she enjoyed it.
That was enough, the climax that had been building since she started reading, finally crashed over her, leaving her shuddering in pleasure, and her nipples hard and tight enough to tear through her blouse.
Finishing her reading, Monica grinned, "Well, I can see my letter just got a lot more interesting.
She tested the pen to make sure it had plenty of ink and began:
"Dear Hermione,
I hope you're sitting down, because I've got some incredible news... "
#
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Great Hall
Saturday, October 21st, 1995
Breakfast
Hermione's gaze snapped upward at the fierce flutter of wings. Hedwig's snow white feathers were easily seen as she banked sharply and dove toward the long, oak table. Hermione's hand shot out for the cream-colored envelope tied to Hedwig's leg, but the bird let out a soft, triumphant hoot and hopped just beyond her reach. Crinkling parchment and the faint scrape of talons on wood filled the hush of the early morning Great Hall.
A sudden snort of laughter drew Hermione's eye to Harry. He leaned back on his bench, eyes laughing. "Honestly, Hermione," he teased, not paying attention to the rest of the family listening intently, "you've known Hedwig all these years. She only does this when she wants bacon. No crunchy goodness, no letter."
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard her bushy hair trembled. She slipped off her robes, revealing the crisp white collar of her blouse, and reached for the silver platter near her elbow. The bacon lay in a haphazard stack, steam curling from each sizzling edge. She plucked off three glistening strips and held them out. Hedwig's amber eyes locked onto the prize. With a decisive flap, the owl snatched the bacon, crunched each bite, and at last allowed Hermione to untie the ribbon.
She unfolded the letter and smiled at the neat, looping handwriting. But as she scanned deeper lines, her lips flattened. Her cheeks lost color, and her eyes narrowed into slits of cold anger. Harry's hand landed gently on her forearm. "What is it, Hermione? Bad news from home?"
Hermione turned to him, voice low and tight. "Not bad--outrageous. My grandparents." She thrust the letter toward him. "You read it. I'm going to see Professor McGonagall."
Before Harry could question her further, she was on her feet and pulling her robes on before heading toward the staff table. It was unfortunate that she was so caught up in her anger that she neglected to read the rest of the letter. If she had, it might have saved her from an extremely uncomfortable conversation. But, she had returned the Time Turner at the end of her Third Year, and the Tardis only existed on the telly, so she had no way to go back in time to change her actions, as much as she might like to very soon.
Professors paused mid-conversation as she approached. Taking a steadying breath, she said quietly. "Professor McGonagall--would you mind casting a privacy charm? There's... something I need to discuss confidentially."
Minerva McGonagall arched an eyebrow, then lifted her wand. In a soft, clipped tone, she intoned, "Concealo Parietum," and a subtle, amber glow traced invisible barriers around them. Hermione exhaled with relief.
"Do you recall," Hermione began, smoothing her robes, "a Muggle-born student named Monica Olifson--whose parents refused Hogwarts, called it... 'the spawn of Satan,' even splashed holy water?"
McGonagall's stern face softened as she retrieved ancient memories. "Ah, yes. I remember their reaction--far more vitriolic than usual reluctance. That outburst stood out."
Hermione's throat tightened. She pictured her grandparents' cottage, their cross-stitched doilies proclaiming faith above the mantle. "My mother's maiden name was Olifson," she said. "Last night she wrote that she triggered accidental magic--enough to shatter the Ministry's memory charms."
A low gasp escaped McGonagall. She clasped the edge of the table. "Preposterous... and yet, if true, it marks her as a remarkably powerful witch. The Ministry's wards are formidable."
"I'd like to help her learn properly," Hermione continued, her voice trembling with determination. "Could you recommend basic textbooks? Perhaps arrange for her to be measured for a wand over the Yule holidays?"
McGonagall retrieved a quill and a scrap of parchment, jotting down titles--some standard, others obscure but still in print. She pressed the list into Hermione's hand. "These will set a firm foundation. I'll see to it."
Hermione bowed again, heart pounding with gratitude, then turned back to her seat. Harry was waiting, leaning forward, a curious crease between his brows. In his hand was her letter--or part of it--edges smeared with wax.
"Hermione," he said quietly, "did you read beyond page one before you gave this to me?"
She blinked, uncertain. "I... I only saw the opening. I had to speak with Professor McGonagall. Why?"
He offered the rest of the parchment with a half-smile. "Read for yourself. Then...I think we need to talk." Her pulse thundered as she accepted the letter, knowing the real conversation was just beginning.
The second half of the letter was less a message and more a confession--somehow frantic and shameless at once. Monica's script grew erratic in places, the ink pressed nearly through the parchment. She recounted, in disarming detail, the aftermath of her accidental magic: the rush that followed, the electric shivers in her nerves, and the sensation that her entire body had become a tuning fork for something new and dangerous. "I've always known there was a missing piece," her mother wrote, "and now that I have it, I want to use it, Hermione. I want to catch up on all those forbidden years."
The next lines made Hermione's cheeks flame so hotly she was sure her hair would ignite:
"I don't know why I'm sharing this, except that you're my daughter, and you always take the truth bravely. After Richard died, I tried to bury myself in routine, but nothing filled the emptiness. Now, this part may embarrass you, but your dad and I knew from the first time you were watching. And do you know what that did? It 'inspired' your father to pull out all the stops, knowing that you were watching as he fucked different women, and other men had me, before playing with their wives. None of us woke up early that next morning, and we were very glad that we had installed several showers with massaging shower-heads to relax our strained muscles.
"I'm writing because, even before our 'enlightening' conversation when you came home for the summer, I was well aware that we shared certain desires. I know that because one night when sleep was nowhere to be found, I happened to hear some interesting things through the air vent above my bed. I'm not going to repeat what I heard, only to say that I seriously doubt that I would find that language in any of the Mills and Boon catalogue.
"I'll admit that the whole 'multiple wives' requirements interest me, and I'm curious which family you will be joining, and what position in the family. That does bring up a rather delicate question, but I have to ask, I know it's been almost a month, are you still happy? Do all the other wives and other positions get along, because I can remember how cliques can form, and they can be brutal to anyone who isn't part of their group. Hopefully, they have found a way to avoid that in the Magical World, so you don't have to experience a repeat of your primary school days.
"I guess I'm rambling, but I'm trying to work up my nerve. Oh, Sod it! Would you be willing to ask Harry if he has room in his family for one more? You can tell him about my kinks, since we share them, and, since you know I enjoy the taste and touch of another woman, I may as well say it outright, that if Harry wishes it, I would have no qualms about taking you to bed.
Now that I have either shocked you or, more likely, gotten you excited from the sheer nastiness of the idea, I'm going to end this letter, because Hedwig is looking impatient. Please write back as soon as you get a chance, let me know what you and Harry decide."
All my love, and more
Mum
#
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Married Quarters
Saturday, October 21st, 1995
After the Last Scene
Harry's calm in the face of such an unusual request kept the rest of the family from being nervous, although they were very curious to find out what prompted Hermione to approach Professor McGonagall. It was clear that the questions wouldn't be answered in the middle of the Great Hall, so it was with the unconscious poise of a trained general that he ushered his wives and concubines--Hermione, Pansy, Parvati, Padma, and Susan--out of the bustling Great Hall and into the relative privacy of their shared common room. The space, though decorated in Gryffindor House colors, included areas decorated with Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin colors and filled with the cozy aroma of tea and old parchment, making an extremely comfortable place to sit and talk.
The moment the door swung shut and the wards chimed softly to signal their isolation, a transformation swept through the witches around him. Hermione, eyes still blazing with adrenaline and nerves, stripped off her robe with a single, decisive gesture, followed quickly by Pansy, who practically vibrated out of her Slytherin-green jumper, and Parvati and Padma, whose twin elegance was matched only by the practiced, fluid synchrony with which they undressed. Susan, who was clearly the Senior Wife, simply because the other women all submitted to her, second only to Harry. After she changed into her casual clothes, Susan sat down next to Harry and looked at Hermione expectantly.
Harry relaxed in his usual seat on the sofa, waiting until every eye was on him. He didn't need to clear his throat or raise his voice; the gravity of the moment pulled everyone's attention into a single point. He let the silence linger, knowing that anticipation could be as potent as any spell.
"Hermione received an extremely surprising letter from her mother this morning," Harry finally said, voice pitched low and level. "I'll let her explain what was so surprising, and then we can discuss it as a family."
Hermione, standing at the center of the room, seemed lit from within by some ineffable spark. She took a moment to smooth her wild hair and gather herself before speaking, her words tumbling out in a rush.
"It's Monica, my mum," she began, looking first to Parvati, then to Padma and Pansy, seeing their nods of understanding, before finally turning to Harry and Susan. "The letter--well, she's always been a bit of a free thinker, but so was daddy, and there were several roaring arguments with my Grandparents, because they had some extreme religious beliefs and did not approve of how mum lived her life. Well, in the letter Mum wrote, she had something happen that was supposed to be impossible. I'm not sure what triggered it, but she summoned a biro, a pen, from across the room back into her hand. As soon as she wrapped her hand around the pin, every one of the memory charms the Ministry put on her was ripped to shreds!
Parvati let out a soft, awed whistle. "That's... major, Hermione. I thought Muggleborn blocks were permanent."
"They are supposed to be, from what I've heard. But if that were the only thing the letter included, we wouldn't need this meeting. You see, Mum, and my Dad too, had very little in the way of inhibitions. They wore the mask of a proper, upright citizen whenever they were around anybody who wasn't close to them, but they had regular parties, with several 'aunts' and 'uncles' that took place in the basement room that I was not allowed in. They called it the Playroom, and since I wasn't permitted to know what happened behind the doors, I had to know! It took some maneuvering, but I put together a series of mirrors that gave me a clear view of the entire playroom. I'm sure you can guess what I saw, but just in case, all of the couples were naked, and the wives were using their mouths on the men, but none of them were with their husbands. When the women finished, the four of them moved to the center of the room and formed a daisy chain, and it was the first time I'd even considered that women could do that with each other.
"They seemed to have these parties every month or so, but after Dad died, the parties stopped, and I could tell that Monica was struggling, but I thought it was just missing Dad. That was part of it, but what she also missed was being pounded like a polyjuice whore at the end of Knockturn Alley. She didn't use exactly that description, but I doubt most of you have ever heard of Lisle Street.
Well, Monica and I have always had an honest relationship, and when I arrived from the Express last term, the two of us had a conversation about what had happened last year, and then things got steamy. I told her about what I'd heard of a conversation in the Three Broomsticks ladies, between Pansy and Daphne. This was the afternoon after you approached Harry with an interesting offer. I'm sure you remember that conversation, don't you, Pansy? I'd already told Harry what I heard, the afternoon he claimed me, so he said that I could talk about it if I wanted to, but just in the family.
"Which brings us to the meat of the letter. She had just been going through the motions of living, but it was just a facade. But now that she's released her magic, she's found something that makes her feel alive again. And she's very, very interested in the idea of joining a magical family--our kind of family. She even asked if there was room for her here, and... she was quite explicit about what she'd be willing to do. With all of us. Including me."
This last confession landed like a thunderclap. The twins' and Pansy's jaws dropped, and Susan gave a low whistle of surprise.
After some irrelevant questions and comments from Pansy and the twins, Susan spoke up.
"It might be difficult to integrate someone who hasn't had a formal magical education. Especially as your mother, Hermione. There are records of whose magic was bound, and if anybody in the Ministry discovered that she had broken through, well, we wouldn't get a moment's peace, the Unspeakables and other offices in the Ministry would insist on investigating, and who knows how long that would go on."
Hermione nodded, "I was aware that it would raise questions, that's why I asked Professor McGonagall to put up Privacy Charms before discussing that part of the letter. She gave me her word that she would keep quiet about the conversation."
"Well, we can probably trust McGonagall, but I'm concerned about Dumbledore. He may not have malicious intentions, but he is always trying to squeeze out any information that other people want kept private. He seems to feel that he's the only one wise enough to have secrets."
There really wasn't anything they could say about that, so Harry just nodded to Hermione, saying, "Go ahead, Hermione, finish the letter."
Hermione nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Harry. The most important part--well, after all of that--is that she wants to belong somewhere. And she specifically asked if I would be comfortable with her joining our family, even knowing what that might entail. She was... surprisingly open about the prospect of intimacy with me, and with all of you. She said, and I quote, that she'd have 'no qualms about taking me to bed,' if it meant being accepted."
A stunned silence followed, broken only by the thrum of magical wards and the soft, involuntary moans from Parvati and Pansy. It was a moment before anyone could articulate a response--not because the idea was unthinkable, but rather the opposite: it was almost too natural, too consistent with the raw, boundary-pushing energy of the family Harry had assembled.
Parvati grabbed her sister's hand and squeezed, her eyes shining with mischief. "We're absolutely going to have a sleepover with your mum, Hermione. It's only fair. She sounds incredible."
Hermione rolled her eyes in amused exasperation before Susan spoke up, "Assuming we are agreeing to Monica joining us, one person who absolutely needs to know what happened, not just because Amelia is part of the family, but in her position at the Ministry, she has the clout to derail any official interest in any of us, including Monica."
The conversation could have spiraled into the theoretical, but Harry brought it sharply back to the personal.
"Thank you for your thoughts, ladies. Now, Hermione, I need you to answer the real question: Would you be comfortable with your mother joining our family, knowing exactly what it means? There's no shame in saying no, but I need to hear it from you directly."
Hermione closed her eyes for a long, meditative moment, her breathing deepening as she considered her answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was unwavering.
"Actually, the question isn't all that surprising. Considering what I've seen of Parvati and Padma, and Susan and Amelia, and even the way Pansy and I interact... this family has redefined what love and loyalty mean to me. I was half-considering asking you to approach Monica myself. So, yes, knowing that I would be intimate with Monica--I have no problem with the idea. And, frankly, if Monica joins us, I'll get to spend more time with her. For both personal and academic reasons: I want to study how she broke the magical block, and I'd love to teach her how to control it."
Harry's smile was a warm sunrise. "Thank you, Hermione. Now, I'm putting the question to the group. I'll contact Amelia and Penny as well, but do any of you have any objections to bringing Monica into the family? I realize that, other than Hermione and me, you don't know her, but we do have the family Pensieve. If you'd like, you could watch Hermione's and my memories."
There was a long, thoughtful silence, broken only by the crackle of logs in the ornate fireplace. Parvati and Padma exchanged a look of pure, unalloyed excitement, while Pansy seemed to be actively restraining herself from a victory dance.
Susan took a slow breath and spoke first. "I'm enjoying the new closeness with Amelia, and I don't have any concerns about Monica fitting in. If anything, I'm curious to see the memories. I think she could be an asset--emotionally and magically."
Pansy and the twins nodded agreement, their eyes already alight with plans of initiation and seduction.
It took a few minutes more, with Harry making suggestions on what to include in the letter, and she could work on it after Dinner. Hermione didn't even have to wonder why there would be a delay in returning to the letter. She knew that she was expected to show her appreciation, first to Harry and Susan, and then other girls. Licking her lips in excitement, she went to her knees and crawled over to Harry.
She was busy until almost the time for Dinner.