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Chapter 19 (Wand Up, Knickers Down), Chapter 20 (Professor Garlick's Private Tutoring), Chapter 21 (Between Greenhouse Shadows and Hospital Light), Chapter 22 (The Price of Loyalty), Chapter 23 (Crossing The Red Line), Chapter 24 (The Price of Justice), Chapter 25 (Professors and Puppeteers), and Chapter 26 (The Flesh Is Merciful) are already available for Patrons.
The Hogwarts library was a cathedral of silence in the early morning, its towering shelves casting long shadows under the weak light filtering through high, dusty windows. Hermione Granger stood alone at the study carrel, her wild curls still mussed from yesterday's escapade, a faint flush lingering on her cheeks. The air smelled of old parchment and ink, but beneath it, she swore she caught a whiff of Susan Bones' lavender perfume—or maybe that was just her imagination, stubbornly replaying the Hufflepuff's wicked grin.
She waved her wand with a muttered "Tergeo," wiping away a stray smudge of... something from the table's edge. Her mind raced faster than a Firebolt, Susan's words from yesterday before looping like a broken record: "Is it possible someone cursed you?" Hermione's fingers paused mid-swipe, hovering over the wood. A curse. Not once in three weeks had she considered it—not through all the frantic library searches for reversal spells, not through the endless nights of staring at her new, nine-inch addition in the dormitory mirror, half in horror, half in... well, something else.
"Stupid," she hissed under her breath, shoving a stack of books aside with more force than necessary. They thudded softly, earning a sharp "Shh!" from Madam Pince somewhere in the stacks. Hermione winced, then turned to the night of the potion accident. She could picture it vaguely: hunched over a cauldron in this very library, brewing something fiddly for Snape—when someone might have cursed her when she wasn't looking.
Her analytical side roared to life. She darted to a nearby shelf, fingers skimming spines until she yanked out Curses Moste Foul and Potions of Pernicious Power. Plopping them on the carrel, she flipped through pages with a fervor that would've made Ron roll his eyes. A passage in Curses Moste Foul stopped her cold: "Transmutative Hexes may induce physical alterations, oft permanent, through potion or incantation, requiring intent of the caster..." Her breath hitched. Intent. Someone's intent. She jammed a scrap of parchment between the pages, her resolve hardening. She'd retrace every step from that night—starting now.
"Granger, you're up early. Plotting world domination or just dusting for fun?"
Hermione jolted, spinning to find Susan Bones leaning against a bookshelf, her auburn hair catching the dawn light like molten copper. Her tie was crooked, her blouse untucked, and that impish smirk was back, all rosy cheeks and knowing eyes. Hermione's heart did an awkward little flip, and she felt a twitch below her waist she pointedly ignored.
"Susan!" she whisper-shouted, clutching Curses Moste Foul to her chest like a shield. "What are you doing here? It's barely sunrise!"
Susan sauntered closer, hips swaying with a confidence that made Hermione's mouth dry. "Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about our... study session." She dragged out the last word, her voice dripping with mischief. "You tidying up the crime scene, or are you actually studying this time?"
Hermione's cheeks flamed. "I'm—I'm researching. Your bloody curse idea's got me paranoid now, thanks very much."
Susan giggled, peering over Hermione's shoulder at the open book. "Ooh, Transmutative Hexes. Sounds kinky. Think someone hexed you into a sex god just for fun?"
"Susan!" Hermione spluttered, shoving the book shut. "This is serious! If someone did this—" She gestured vaguely at her lap, then regretted it as Susan's gaze flicked downward, amused. "—I need to know who and why."
Susan stepped closer, her lavender scent wrapping around Hermione like a spell. "You'll figure it out, genius. You always do." She brushed a curl from Hermione's face, her touch lingering. "But maybe relax a little first, yeah? You're wound tighter than a gnome in a Gringotts vault."
Hermione's protest died as Susan's lips brushed hers—soft, quick, and electric. She melted into it for a heartbeat before pulling back, flustered but smiling. "Fine. We'll figure it out together. But no distracting me."
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"Anything yet?" Susan asked, twirling a quill between her fingers, her tone teasing as she leaned forward, giving Hermione an eyeful of soft, pale skin. "Or are you too busy picturing me bent over this table again?"
Hermione's quill jerked, leaving an ink blotch on her notes. "Susan!" she hissed, her cheeks flaming as she glanced around, half-expecting Madam Pince to swoop down like a vulture. "Keep your voice down! And no, nothing yet—focus, will you?"
Susan grinned, unrepentant, and propped her elbows on the table, pushing her chest out further. "Oh, I'm focused, Granger. Focused on how you moaned my name last night when I had that gorgeous cock of yours down my throat." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief. "Remember how you begged me to ride you harder?"
Hermione's breath hitched, her thighs squeezing together under the table as heat flooded her core—and cock stood up as if wanting to greet Susan. "Merlin's beard, Susan, we're supposed to be researching!" she snapped, shoving Hexes and Their Hidden Hands between them like a shield. "This—this Transmutative Hex section mentions physical changes, but nothing specific about... well, you know."
"Cock growth?" Susan supplied cheerfully. She giggled, leaning closer, her blouse gaping to reveal a lacy bra edge. "Come on, say it. I bet it's fun rattling around in that big brain of yours."
Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands, her curls tumbling forward. "You're impossible," she muttered, but a reluctant smile tugged her lips. She flipped a page, scanning text about potion-based curses. "There's something here about intent altering outcomes, but no spell matches—a green glow, sudden onset, no incantation. It's maddening!"
Susan reached over, plucking the book from Hermione's grasp and setting it aside. "Maddening, huh?" she purred, her fingers brushing Hermione's wrist, lingering there. "Like how I drove you mad yesterday? You thrusting into my mouth, all desperate and sweaty, cumming so hard you nearly broke the chair?" She mimed a shudder, her cleavage jiggling slightly, and Hermione's eyes betrayed her, flicking down before snapping back up.
"Stop it," Hermione said, her voice cracking as her cock twitched under her robes, traitorously awake. "We're not finding anything, and you're not helping!"
Susan pouted, then slid around the table to sit beside Hermione, her thigh pressing warm against hers. "Fine, serious time," she said, though her hand rested high on Hermione's leg, dangerously close to trouble. "Are you even trying to change back? Or do you secretly love being Hogwarts' sexiest witch?"
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, fish-like, her mind a jumble. She stared at Susan's expectant face—flushed, pretty, infuriatingly distracting—and finally exhaled. "In the beginning, I wanted nothing more than to change back," she admitted, her voice low, raw. "I spent days panicking, scouring books, hating it. Then... I got used to it. And now—" She swallowed, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Now I quite like it, okay? The confidence, the—the everything. But a part of me still thinks I should go back to how things were."
Susan's teasing smirk softened, her eyes searching Hermione's. Without a word, she leaned in, capturing Hermione's lips in a kiss—slow, deep, tasting of honey and mischief. Hermione melted into it, her hands sliding to Susan's waist as their tongues tangled, a soft moan escaping her. Susan's fingers curled into Hermione's curls, tugging lightly, and the library faded, leaving just the heat of their mouths, the press of their bodies.
When they parted, breathless, Susan rested her forehead against Hermione's, her voice a warm murmur. "Cock or no cock, you're still gorgeous, Hermione Granger. Brilliant, bossy, and bloody irresistible." She grinned, nipping Hermione's lower lip. "I'd shag you either way, just so you know."
Hermione laughed, a shaky, delighted sound, her tension easing. "You're ridiculous," she said, shoving Susan playfully, though her hand lingered on her arm. "But... thanks. Let's keep looking—properly this time."
Susan winked, scooting back but keeping her blouse tantalizingly unbuttoned. "No promises I won't distract you again, love. You're too fun to fluster."
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Hermione sat in the main hall, her nose buried in Potions of Pernicious Power, still chasing the elusive curse that had reshaped her life. Ink stained her fingers, and her curls were a wild halo from hours of frustrated page-turning with Susan earlier. The faint ache of Susan's teasing kisses lingered, but her focus snapped up as Harry Potter dropped into the chair across from her, his glasses askew and his expression grim.
"Hermione," he said, leaning in, his voice low enough to dodge Ron's ears, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. "We need to talk about Malfoy."
She arched a brow, closing the book with a soft thud that sent a puff of dust swirling. "What's he done now? Sneered at someone's blood status? It's hardly breaking news, Harry."
He shook his head, his messy hair flopping into his eyes. "Not that. I saw him in Hogsmeade—slipping out of The Three Broomsticks, looking like he'd hexed his own shadow if it followed him. He's up to something—heavy stuff, not just his usual prat routine."
Hermione's stomach tightened, her mind flashing to the green vial from her potion accident—could it connect? She leaned closer, the table's edge digging into her ribs. "What do you think he's after?"
"Dunno," Harry admitted, his green eyes narrowing. "But he's been disappearing—empty classrooms, odd hours. Last night, I caught him muttering near the seventh floor, twitchy as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I reckon he's using the Room of Requirement."
Her analytical gears whirred, clicking into place. "The Room... that'd explain why we can't pin him down. It hides what you need—perfect for whatever he's plotting." She tapped her quill against her chin, ink flecking her cheek. "We need to catch him in the act, see what he's got."
Harry grinned, a spark of mischief lighting his face. "Exactly. Tonight, after dinner. We'll use the Cloak, tail him from the Great Hall. You in?"
"Obviously," she said, her tone dry but her pulse quickening. "But we can't just bumble in like first-years—well, you can't. We need a signal if he bolts, and a backup if the Room locks us out." She fished a Galleon from her pocket, its edge charmed from their DA days. "This'll heat up if I spot him first. You've got yours?"
He patted his robes, nodding. "Still works. Good thinking." He paused, glancing around—Ron was now arguing with Dean about the Cannons' latest loss—then lowered his voice further. "You've been off, Hermione. Distracted. Sure you're up for this?"
Her breath caught, guilt prickling her skin. Distracted—Merlin, if he only knew. The pulsing secret between her legs—she shoved it all down, forcing a tight smile. "I'm fine, Harry. Just... swamped with research. Curse stuff." Not a lie, technically.
He studied her, skepticism etched in his frown, but he let it slide. "Alright. Meet me by the portrait hole after pudding—bring your wand and that brain of yours. We'll get him."
"Always do," she quipped, though her grin felt brittle. Harry clapped her shoulder and headed off, leaving her alone with her books and a simmering unease. She flipped Potions open again, but her eyes glazed over the text.
Eventually, Hermione decided that she wasn't in the mood to read and reminded herself that she needed to have a talk with Ginny. She still wasn't sure what Ginny felt for her. Was it love? Lust? She had no idea, but she wanted to know and maybe now would be a good chance to hear it from her own mouth.
The Gryffindor common room buzzed. Hermione lingered near the portrait hole, her arms crossed tight over her chest, pretending to read Advanced Rune Translation while her eyes kept darting to the far corner. There, Ginny Weasley sprawled on a threadbare couch, her red hair a fiery halo against the cushions, laughing at something Harry had just said. Harry— awkward, adorable Harry—grinned back, his shy glances lingering on Ginny's freckled face a beat too long. Hermione's stomach twisted, a sour cocktail of jealousy and confusion bubbling up. Harry's late-night confession from the common room still echoed in her skull: "I fancy Ginny." And here she was, watching it unfold, when she'd had Ginny's lips on her own skin, her hands on her—
"Bloody hell," Hermione muttered, snapping her book shut with a thunk that made Neville jump two seats over. She couldn't watch this anymore. Shoving the tome under her arm, she marched across the room. "Ginny. A word."
Ginny's head tilted, her brown eyes narrowing as she caught Hermione's tone—sharp, edged with something dangerous. "What's up, Hermione?" she asked, casual as you please, but there was a glint in her gaze, a challenge. Harry blinked between them, he didn't know what it was, but he could tell it was important. The common room's din faded as Hermione jerked her head toward a shadowed alcove near the stairs, her jaw tight.
"Now," Hermione said, not waiting for a reply. She strode to the alcove, the stone wall cool against her back as she turned to face Ginny, who followed with a swagger that set Hermione's teeth on edge. The space was cramped, draped in a tattered tapestry of Godric Gryffindor slaying a wyvern, the air thick with the scent of old wool and simmering tension.
"What's your problem, Granger?" Ginny crossed her arms, mirroring Hermione's stance, her Quidditch-toned frame radiating defiance. "You've been glaring daggers all afternoon. Spit it out."
Hermione's fingers clenched around her book, knuckles whitening. "Where do we stand, Ginny? Because last I checked, we—" She faltered, heat creeping up her neck as flashes of their past encounters—showers, carriages—flooded her mind. "—we've been more than friends. And now Harry's mooning over you like a lovesick Crup, and you're just... laughing with him?"
Ginny's laugh was sharp, a blade slicing through the air. "Oh, Merlin's beard, Hermione. Jealous, are you? Harry's sweet, yeah, I like him. But don't think you've got a leash on me because we've shagged a few times." Her voice dropped, low and taunting. "You don't own me."
The words hit like a Bludger to the chest, igniting something feral in Hermione. "I never said I did!" she snapped, stepping closer, their breaths mingling. "But you can't just—pretend it's nothing. Not with me. Not after—" She cut off, her pulse hammering as Ginny's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with something that wasn't just anger.
"After what?" Ginny hissed, closing the gap until their noses nearly brushed. "After you fucked me senseless? After I sucked you off behind the stadium? You think that gives you rights?" Her hand shot out, shoving Hermione hard against the wall, the tapestry rustling as Hermione's back hit stone. Before Hermione could retort, Ginny's lips crashed into hers—fierce, bruising, all teeth and heat, during it, she used a Notice Me Not Spell.
Hermione groaned into the kiss, her book slipping to the floor with a thud as her hands tangled in Ginny's hair, pulling her closer. It was a fight, a claim, a mess of want and fury. Ginny's fingers clawed at Hermione's robes, yanking them open with a rip of fabric, her breath hot against Hermione's throat. "You don't get to own me," Ginny growled, nipping at Hermione's collarbone, "but I'll take you anyway."
"Ginny—" Hermione's protest dissolved into a gasp as Ginny dropped to her knees, her hands deftly unfastening Hermione's trousers. The cool air hit her skin, then Ginny's warm fingers wrapped around her cock—nine inches, thick and pulsing, already hard from the sheer intensity of their clash. Ginny's eyes flicked up, wicked and possessive, before she leaned in, her tongue darting out to tease the tip.
"Fuck," Hermione hissed, her head thudding back against the wall as Ginny's mouth closed around her, wet and tight and relentless. The common room's noise faded to a dull roar beyond the tapestry, drowned out by the slick, obscene sounds of Ginny's lips working her length. She sucked with urgency, one hand gripping Hermione's thigh, nails digging in, the other stroking what her mouth couldn't take. Hermione's hips bucked, chasing the heat, the pressure, the raw edge of Ginny's defiance.
"You—can't—just—" Hermione panted, incoherent, her fingers twisting in Ginny's hair as pleasure coiled tight in her gut. Ginny hummed, the vibration sending a jolt up Hermione's spine, and then she took her deeper, throat relaxing, nose brushing Hermione's curls. "Merlin, Ginny, you're—"
Ginny pulled back just enough to whisper, her voice rough, "Shut up and cum for me." Then she dove back in, sucking hard, possessive, her tongue swirling along the underside until Hermione's control snapped. With a choked cry—muffled by her own bitten lip—she spilled into Ginny's mouth, hot and thick, her hips jerking as Ginny swallowed every drop, her eyes locked on Hermione's, daring her to look away.
When it was over, Ginny rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her smirk triumphant but her cheeks flushed. Hermione sagged against the wall, breathless, her trousers still open, robes askew. "We're not done talking," she rasped, voice wrecked.
Ginny shrugged, already turning away. "Maybe not. But I've got Quidditch." She stormed off, her footsteps sharp against the stone, leaving Hermione alone in the alcove, the tapestry swaying slightly in her wake. Her cock twitched, still half-hard, and she groaned, sliding a hand over her face. She'd wanted clarity, but all she'd gotten was Ginny's fire—and a gnawing question: was she losing control of her desires, or was she just starting to crave the chaos?
The common room's chatter filtered back to her, a distant hum of normalcy she couldn't face. Not now, not with her heart pounding and her mind a tangle of Ginny's lips, Susan's theory, and the green vial haunting her thoughts. She needed air—space—something to steady her. Luna. The thought of her odd, serene friend flickered like a Lumos in the dark. Hermione tugged her robes shut, her fingers trembling as she fastened her trousers, and slipped out of the alcove, dodging Parvati's curious glance as she headed for the portrait hole.
The Fat Lady tutted as Hermione muttered the password—"Lion's Roar"—and swung open, letting her spill into the shadowed corridors. Her boots clicked against the flagstones, the castle's chill seeping through her robes as she climbed, her breath puffing in the dim light. Past snoring portraits and flickering torches, she made for the Astronomy Tower, each step a shaky bid to outrun the storm Ginny had left churning inside her. The day's chaos—Susan's curse idea, Ginny's fierce claim, her own spiraling confusion—clung like damp parchment, and she needed Luna's strange calm to peel it away.
The Astronomy Tower loomed against the evening sky, its stone silhouette jagged under a canopy of stars that glittered like spilled Galleons. Hermione climbed the spiral stairs, her breath puffing in the cool air, her robes swishing softly with each step. The day's chaos—Susan's curse theory, Ginny's fiery lips, the ache of her own confusion—clung to her like damp parchment. She needed Luna, her odd serenity, her way of making the world feel less heavy.
At the tower's peak, Luna Lovegood sat cross-legged on the stone floor, her pale blonde hair glowing faintly in the starlight, a pair of mismatched socks peeking out from her boots. She tilted her head back, gazing at the constellations through a pair of Spectrespecs, their swirling lenses casting tiny rainbows across her cheeks. A telescope lay abandoned beside her, dwarfed by a pile of crumpled Quibbler pages fluttering in the breeze.
"Luna?" Hermione's voice was soft, tentative, as she stepped into the open air. The wind carried the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine from the grounds below, mingling with the earthy tang of old stone.
Luna turned, her wide, silvery eyes blinking slowly, as if waking from a dream. "Oh, Hermione. I thought you might come. The stars said someone was feeling twisty tonight." She patted the floor beside her, her radish earrings swaying. "Sit. The Plimpies are dancing with Venus—it's quite lovely."
Hermione managed a small smile, sinking down beside her. The stone was cold through her robes, grounding her as she hugged her knees. "I'm... a mess, Luna. Susan thinks someone cursed me—made this happen." She gestured vaguely at her lap, her cheeks flushing. "And Ginny—she's with Harry now, maybe, but we—Merlin, I don't know what I'm doing anymore."
Luna tilted her head, pulling off her Spectrespecs to study Hermione with that unnerving, unblinking stare. "A curse, hmm? Could be a Wrackspurt's gift, you know. They love sneaking into clever heads and leaving surprises." Her lips twitched, a playful jab, but then her expression softened, thoughtful. "Or maybe a potion with intent. Something to make you feel more—more alive, more you. Whoever brewed it, they must've wanted you to bloom in funny ways."
Hermione blinked, her analytical mind latching onto the idea. "Intent? You think—" She paused, frowning. "You don't think it's malicious?"
Luna shrugged, her voice airy. "Not everything strange is bad. Sometimes it's just... strange." She shifted, then, with a fluid grace that caught Hermione off guard, straddled her lap, her knees pressing into the stone on either side. Her hands cupped Hermione's face, cool and gentle, and she leaned in, kissing her softly. It was a feather-light brush of lips, tasting faintly of peppermint and starlight, and Hermione melted into it, her hands sliding to Luna's waist.
"Luna," Hermione murmured against her mouth, her breath hitching as Luna's fingers trailed down her neck, unfastening her robes with a dreamer's patience. The night air kissed her skin as Luna tugged her trousers open, freeing her cock—hard already, pulsing under Luna's serene gaze.
"You're beautiful like this," Luna whispered, her voice a melody as she lifted her skirt, revealing pale thighs and no knickers beneath. She sank down slowly, guiding Hermione inside her, her warmth enveloping her inch by inch. Hermione gasped, her head tipping back against the tower's edge, the stars blurring above as Luna began to move—gentle, rhythmic, a dance under the cosmos.
"Merlin," Hermione breathed, her hands gripping Luna's hips as she rocked, the friction slow and deliberate, building a quiet intensity. Luna's hair swayed like a curtain, brushing Hermione's shoulders, and her soft moans mingled with the wind's sigh. It wasn't frantic like Ginny, not teasing like Susan—just Luna, pure and strange and perfect.
"See?" Luna giggled, her pace quickening slightly, her inner walls tightening around Hermione. "Cosmic balance. You give, I take, the stars hum along." She leaned down, kissing Hermione again, deeper this time, her tongue a fleeting tease. Hermione's hips bucked, chasing the sensation, and the pressure coiled tight in her core.
"Luna—I'm—" Hermione's warning dissolved into a low moan as she came, spilling inside Luna with a shudder that rippled through her entire body. Luna hummed, riding her through it, her own breath catching as she trembled, a soft climax washing over her. She didn't stop until Hermione was spent, then slumped against her, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the night air.
They stayed like that, cuddling under the stars, Luna's arms draped around Hermione's shoulders. The tower's edge pressed into Hermione's back, but she didn't care—Luna's warmth was a balm, her heartbeat a steady anchor. "Whoever did this," Luna whispered, her voice a thread of silver, "they didn't expect you to shine so bright. You're more than their magic, Hermione."
Hermione's chest tightened, a flicker of hope sparking amid her uncertainty. She tightened her hold on Luna, burying her face in her hair. "You're ridiculous," she murmured, fondness softening the words. "But... thank you."
Luna just smiled, nuzzling closer, and for a moment, the weight of curses and tangled hearts lifted, leaving only the stars and the strange, quiet peace of the girl in her arms.
Luna smiled, nuzzling closer, her mismatched socks brushing Hermione's legs. "Stay a little longer," she murmured dreamily, "the stars are still humming." But Hermione's mind was already shifting, Luna's words stirring a restless energy. That green vial, Draco's furtive moves—her curse might have answers lurking in the castle's shadows. She pressed a kiss to Luna's temple, reluctant but resolute. "I can't," she whispered. "Harry's waiting. We've got a plan."
Luna pulled back, her silvery eyes glinting with understanding. "Be careful, then. Wrackspurts love a busy mind." Hermione chuckled, adjusting her robes as she stood, her legs wobbly from their encounter. She cast a quick Scourgify to tidy herself, the cool air sharpening her senses as she descended the spiral stairs. The tower's peace faded with each step, replaced by the weight of her mission with Harry. She slipped through a side passage, her wand drawn, her heart thudding—not just from Luna's touch but from the hunt ahead. The castle's corridors loomed dark as she hurried to meet Harry, the plan to tail Draco pulling her back into the fray.
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The Hogwarts corridors stretched dark and silent under the cloak of night, their stone walls slick with dampness from the autumn chill seeping through the castle. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting jittery shadows that danced like specters across the flagstones. Hermione Granger crept alongside Harry Potter, her wand tip glowing faintly with a whispered "Lumos," just enough to keep their footing sure.
"Keep your head down," Harry muttered, his voice barely audible over the soft scuff of their shoes. He tugged his Invisibility Cloak tighter around them, though it strained to cover their lanky teenage frames these days. His green eyes glinted with that stubborn determination Hermione knew too well, the kind that had dragged them through troll fights and basilisk lairs. "I saw him heading this way after dinner—looked shifty, even for him."
Hermione nodded, her curls brushing the cloak's edge as she strained to hear beyond their muffled steps. "Shifty's his default setting," she whispered back, a dry edge to her tone. "But that Knockturn Alley bit you mentioned—it's got me thinking. If he's up to something..." Her words trailed off as a faint noise—a scuffle, a clink—echoed from around the corner near the seventh-floor tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his troll ballet.
They froze, pressing against the wall, the rough stone biting into Hermione's shoulder through her robes. Harry's elbow jabbed her ribs as he squinted ahead, and then—there he was. Draco Malfoy slipped into view, his platinum hair catching the torchlight like a beacon, his black robes swishing with a practiced swagger. In his pale hand, he clutched a small vial, its contents glowing a sickly, luminescent green, swirling like liquid emerald caught in a storm.
"Shh!" He yanked her down as Draco glanced back, his sharp features taut with paranoia, gray eyes darting like a ferret's. Satisfied he was alone, he turned to the blank stretch of wall напротив the tapestry—the Room of Requirement. Hermione's pulse raced as he paced three times, muttering under his breath, the words lost to the distance. The wall shimmered, a door materializing with a groan of ancient magic, and Draco slipped inside, the vial's glow winking out as the door sealed behind him.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, shoving the cloak off as they straightened. "He's using the Room. That's not good, Hermione."
Hermione's mind whirred, her investigative drive roaring to life like a stoked furnace. "Maybe," she said, her voice tight, "but that green—it's too close to what happened to me. What if he's—"
"We need to get in there," Harry said, already stepping toward the wall, wand raised. "Confront him now."
"No!" Hermione grabbed his sleeve, yanking him back. "We can't just barge in—he'll bolt, or worse. We need proof, Harry. A plan." Her tone softened, practical. "Let's watch him, figure out what he's doing. Then we'll nail him."
Harry huffed, running a hand through his messy hair, but he nodded. "Fine. You're right, as usual." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her—really looked, his eyes searching her face. "You've been my rock through all this, Hermione. I don't say it enough. Thanks."
Her throat tightened, guilt twisting like a knife in her gut. She forced a smile, but it wobbled. Harry's confession about Ginny still stung, a raw ache she couldn't shake. She thought of the showers—Ginny's hands on her, water sluicing over their skin, Hermione's vulnerability laid bare as Ginny teased her, kissed her, took her apart. It had felt real, not just fun, not just a game. But now, with Harry's shy glances and Ginny's fire, what did it mean? Was she just a fling to Ginny, a thrill to burn off before something steadier with him?
"Hermione?" Harry's voice cut through her spiral, his brow furrowing. "Something's wrong. What is it?"
She froze, her hand twitching toward her wand as if it could shield her secrets. For a wild moment, she imagined spilling it all—"Harry, I've got a cock because, well, maybe Malfoy, and I've been shagging half the girls in this castle, and I don't know who I am anymore." The words clawed at her throat, desperate to escape, but she swallowed them down, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong," she said, her voice too bright, too brittle. "Just... tired. Long day."
Harry's eyes narrowed, skepticism etched into every line of his face. "Rubbish," he said flatly. "You're a terrible liar, you know that? But fine—keep your secrets. Just... don't shut me out, yeah?"
"I won't," she lied again, softer this time, her chest aching as they turned back toward the Gryffindor tower. The corridor stretched empty behind them, the Room of Requirement's door a silent taunt. She vowed to confront Draco soon—alone, if she had to. If he'd cursed her, she'd make him pay.
Her mind went to her cock, since Susan gave her the idea that she migth have been cursed, she wondered if there was a way after all to return back, or maybe, this wasn't a problem that needed a solution. She was happy like this, she liked the feeling. Did she really need to return back to how things were?
But if Draco had done something to her, she would still curse him.
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