The Sweat of a Gladiator
Chapter 6: Role play
By canoncansodoff
Author Notes:
This chapter contains a self-contained fairly explicit written description of rough naughty role-play. What kind of play? Well, spanking, of course. Readers who are offended at the notion should skip ahead (word search "closet exhibitionist" and go from there). Readers who are excited at the notion should fasten their seat belts (or use them on the passenger next to them, as case may be). Readers who are both offended and excited at the idea ought to have their hypocritical self-righteousness spanked out of them (although I'd accept their writing of a review as alternative penance).
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc. etc.
Harry entered the tent somewhat tentatively. He discovered that the main living area had been transfigured into a close approximation of Headmistress McGonagall's old office…the one she used when she was still the Gryffindor Head of House. There was a desk, high-backed chair, a blackboard and bookshelf. A set of professor's robes were draped over the chair. The only major difference seemed to be Hermione's bed, which had been moved out into the room and off to one side.
Oh…and the manacles that were hanging from the middle of the ceiling…they were new. So were the canes and switches that were mounted on a wall rack behind the desk. Yes, Harry would have definitely remembered those had they been in Minerva's office.
Hermione was nowhere to be found, but as Harry spied a piece of parchment on the desk, next to a glass and opened bottle of firewhiskey. He could identify her handwriting at a distance, and upside down. He picked it up and began to read.
Dear Harry,
If you haven't already figured things out, this is a role-playing game called “Head of House and Hermione.” You need to pretend to be Head of my Hogwarts House, and I'll pretend to be a naughty student that needs to be disciplined for her behavior. Preferably with me bent over your knee and with your hand spanking my bum, but we've left you some choices. Tonks says that part of the excitement for her is not knowing for sure what Remus has planned each time they play this game. You probably didn't want to know that, but I thought it might overcome your fears about hurting me, or this being something horrible and aberrant.
I also have chosen a “safe word”…it's “chewing gum.” Oh, that's right, you probably don't know about safe words…that's a coded signal that I'll use if I want you to stop whatever it is that you're doing. So if I start crying out and beg you, saying“Stop, stop please,” I really don't want you to stop. If I do, then instead of “stop” I'll say “chewing gum.” Get it?
Okay, so…. I'm a bit nervous about this, but we need to do this as homework, right? Oh, and we need to do it for Ron. He owes me big time. Just try and relax, maybe have a little fun, and remember how much I care about you and trust you. I mean, I really do. The firewhiskey might help with the relaxing bit…it burns the back of your throat, but the second one goes down easier than the first.
Whenever you're ready, just call out, “You may enter, Miss Granger.”
Love,
Hermione
P.S. Please do not get upset if spanking me gets Mr. Phoenix flying. I won't think less of you. This is perfectly normal, actually… and apparently one of the more popular ways for couples to spice up their sex lives. Not that we need any spice (ha - ha). Really, Harry…I won't be upset with you in the least.
P.P.S. Please, please don't be upset with me if I'm the one that gets sexually excited by this game. I said earlier that I really didn't think that it would turn me on, but after talking about it with Tonks, and setting all this up…now, I'm not so sure. In fact, my knickers would be moist right now… if I were wearing any.
“Sweet Mother of Merlin,” Harry exclaimed. He sat the parchment down onto the desk and poured himself a stiff drink, which he quickly slammed against the back of his throat.
She was right about the burn.
Putting the glass down, Harry reached over and grabbed the robes. His costume, apparently. Harry snaked his hands through the sleeves as he thought about what was supposed to happen beyond that first line.
He hadn't a clue, other than the spanking part. But then, when had that ever stopped him from running headlong and half-cocked into danger before?
Harry put his hands on his hips, tried to scowl, and called out, “You may enter, Miss Granger.”
Hermione walked in wearing every schoolboy's fantasy of what a slutty schoolgirl's uniform should look like. White shirt about three sizes too small, plaid skirt about twelve inches too short, thin white socks and Mary Janes. No bra to constrain the nipples that were already standing at attention. She had her arms behind her back and her eyes looking down at the ground.
Harry was a little conflicted about her appearance. While it had gotten the reaction out of Mr. Phoenix that she probably had expected, Harry wasn't so sure that he liked the costume…the slutty schoolgirl look was too close to the smart schoolgirl look Hermione had shown him for the past seven years. It was a bit cartoonish, and even distracting.
But there was a cause to rally around, wasn't there lads?
“Miss Granger,” Harry said in his deepest, most authoritarian voice, “do you know why you have received this detention?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Why don't you tell me then, and we'll see how closely your story matches what your instructor said.”
“Erm, yes Professor,” she replied. “I was given detention for daydreaming in class.”
“What?” Harry asked. “You…daydreaming in class? How scandalous.”
“Yes, Professor. I agree. Won't happen again, Professor.”
“Well, we'll make sure of that last bit, Miss Granger,” Harry replied.
“Yes, Professor.”
“So tell me, Miss Granger, what were you daydreaming about?”
“Excuse me, Professor?”
“The subject of your daydreams, Miss Granger…what was so important that it could displace the efforts of our teaching staff from residing uppermost in that brain of yours.”
Hermione paused for a moment before smiling. “My boyfriend's cock, Professor.”
“What did you say, Miss Granger?”
“Harry Potter's cock, Professor…that is what I was daydreaming about.”
“And why is that, Miss Granger?”
“Because it's so damn big, Professor.”
“Language, Miss Granger!” Harry admonished, though not without a smile. She was good at being bad.
“So, Miss Granger, just what do you think that the punishment for daydreaming should be?”
“Erm…lines, Professor?”
“Lines? Is that all? Come now, Miss Granger…although… it might just be a good start.” Harry pointed towards the wall. “To the blackboard, Miss Granger.”
Hermione looked a bit confused at this wrinkle, but obeyed the order.
“Now, you shall write ten times on the blackboard, `I will not dream of Harry's huge cock during class'.”
Hermione snorted.
“Oh, you think that's funny?” Harry asked.
“No, Professor…sorry Professor.”
Hermione turned and reached down to pick up a piece of chalk. As she did so, Harry noticed that her ridiculously short skirt rode up a bit…just enough to expose the spot where bum met thigh. This got Harry (and Mr. Phoenix) rather excited, which he thought a bit odd. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen the whole thing before. But then, maybe it was the teasing part that was providing the excitement.
It was then that Harry decided to have a little more fun with this homework assignment
As Hermione began to write out the first line, Harry took out his wand and reduced the size of the blackboard. When he was finished, it was the same width, but was only eighteen inches high.
Hermione she stopped in mid-sentence and looked over her shoulder with an unvoiced question in her eyes.
“Is there a problem, Miss Granger?”
“Erm, no…no problem, Professor.”
“Then do not stop again, or it will be far worse than lines for you.”
Hermione turned back around with a slight shrug and started to write again. Harry then cast a hovering spell that allowed him to slowly move the entire blackboard down along the wall, towards the floor. As the board moved, Hermione had to move as well, bending over in order to keep writing in a straight line. This, of course, was the whole point, as it forced the skirt to rise up higher and higher, until it proved that Hermione had indeed left her knickers behind in the bedroom.
When the board dropped below waist level Hermione stopped writing, stood up straight and turned around to face Harry.
“Miss Granger, do you dare ignore my warnings?”
“No Professor, I just was wondering if you wish me to do lines on my knees.”
Harry thought for a moment. “No, Miss Granger,” he said with an evil grin, “You will write your lines while standing up.” Harry then dropped the blackboard all the way to the floor with a satisfying bang.
Hermione jumped at the noise behind her and arched an eyebrow. But she said nothing as she slowly turned around and looked down at the board's new location. As Harry expected, the board's new location forced her not just to bend at the waist, but to spread her legs apart and bend her knees as well. In this position, Harry was provided a full view of not only Hermione's naked bum, but her wide-open roost.
It was quite breathtaking, actually, for this was a perspective that he'd never before enjoyed. Harry thought back to that first day on the beach, when, in almost the same position, he had spied a few of her pubic hairs. That area, in between front and back, was now clean-shaven; when Harry had asked earlier about it, Hermione had called it a “Brazilian cut.”
Harry followed that strip of white skin up from her roost and into the valley between Hermione's cheeks. The strip disappeared under the hem of her skirt, where it should have widened out into Harry's favorite triangle of skin. Wishing a complete view, Harry stepped forward and placed the side of his wand against Hermione's bum (which caused her to jump again). He then slowly drew it upwards until he was able to flip the hem of her skirt up above her waist.
Harry stepped back to admire his handiwork, and noted with satisfaction that she wasn't kidding when she had written about moistening imaginary knickers.
He decided that it was time for some more mischief.
“Are you wet, Miss Granger?”
Hermione stopped writing and turned to face Harry contritely, with downcast eyes and hands in front of her skirt.
“Yes, Professor…sorry, Professor.”
“Is it your intention to drip all over my office floor?”
“No Professor.”
“Then I should think that you would want to dry yourself.”
Hermione softly snorted, then reached towards the desk for her wand.
“Oh no, Miss Granger, not with your wand…you will use that quill that's sitting next to it.”
Hermione looked tentatively over at the quill Harry had alluded to. It sported an oversized pink feather, some two feet long and six inches wide. Most impractical for writing, but Tonks had set it there with the comment that the sensation of the ticklish plumage on a freshly-spanked bum was quite electrifying. That Harry seemed to be putting the cart before the horse wasn't his fault… he didn't have a script to work off of. So she decided to stay in character and go with this turn of events.
As she picked up the quill she asked, “And how should I dry myself with this, Professor?”
Harry chuckled. “And you're supposed to be the smartest witch in your generation?”
Hermione's eyes sparkled as she cocked her head slightly as she offered the quill to Harry. “Do you want to dry me, Professor?”
Harry's mind raced at her question, but he'd had far too many wet dreams and scandalous thoughts about Hermione not to know exactly what he wanted her to do.
“No, Miss Granger, you will stand in front of my desk and dry yourself.”
Hermione's eyes locked with Harry's and for a moment he was afraid that he'd hear her say the code word. But instead, he watched breathlessly as she walked towards him, spread her legs to shoulder width, and lowered the quill so that the feather was pointing back between her knees. She then slowly…oh, so slowly…dragged it up her left thigh until the quill stem touched the hem of her skirt. After a moment's pause, she continued the quill's journey until the feather made contact with crotch. Harry couldn't see this connection, as her skirt was draped over each side of the quill. But her sharp intake of breath left no doubt that the feather had found its mark.
Harry was torn between watching the look on Hermione's face and watching the quill, as she began to pull it back and forth between her legs. He was also in a bit of pain, as his erection had gotten trapped awkwardly within his trousers. When he reached down to readjust, Hermione's eyes followed his hand and smiled. It was then that Harry realized that she might be just as excited about this play as he was. A bit of guilt tried to force its way into Harry's consciousness, but his lustful feelings beat it back vigorously. Time enough to worry later, he thought to himself, after this play's curtain had come down.
It was time for more mischief. He smiled as he asked, “Do you think your efforts are adequate, Miss Granger?”
In between slightly ragged breaths, Hermione quipped, “If the goal is teasing my clit, then most definitely.”
Harry shook his head. “Such impertinence, Miss Granger. You goal is to dry yourself, not diddle yourself…and you would do well to keep your mind to that task.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Do you take pride in your work, Miss Granger?” Harry asked.
“Yes Professor.”
“Do you think you are presently in a position to visually monitor your efforts, Miss Granger?”
Hermione paused, then looked down at her skirt. She wasn't quite sure she liked where this was going.
“No, Professor.”
“Then I shall provide you with the proper means to do so.”
Harry pointed his wand towards the lavatory and called out “Accio Mirror.”
He pocketed his wand as the rectangular mirror that sat over their bathroom sink came flying out and into Harry's hands. Harry turned the mirror on its side, and held it in front of his belly, with the mirror's base perched on top of his trouser tent.
Hermione looked down at the mirror as it sat on top of Harry's hard-on, then looked back up into his eyes. Harry once again wondered if he had overreached. But then Hermione said, “Professor, I believe that I have need of your desk to take advantage of your assistance.”
Harry smiled, then nodded his head. Hermione responded by walking backwards until her bum hit the desk. She then placed her hands on the edge and pushed herself up into a sitting position and scooted back. She closed her legs and pulled her knees up to her chest, so that her heels were almost touching her bum.
“Miss Granger?”
“Yes Professor.”
“You will look at me when you address me, young lady.”
Knowing what that meant, Hermione let go over her knees and, with more confidence then she had expected to find within herself, slowly spread her legs open until Harry could see both sets of lips.
Harry let out an out-of-character gasp at the sight before him. Neither one moved for five or six seconds; Harry was too busy being excited at the show, and Hermione was too busy being excited at providing it. It was Hermione that blinked, when she reached down to pick up the quill. Harry watched as she turned her gaze towards the mirror (or was it towards Mr. Phoenix?…it was hard for him to tell).
“Erm, Professor, would you please tilt the mirror down a bit for me.”
Harry doubted that he could stay in character if he said anything just then, so he simply did as she asked. He then watched Hermione watch herself, as she began to tease her roost with the feather. When Hermione flipped the quill around and began rubbing the back of the tip against her nub, Harry almost lost it. Mr. Phoenix ached for freedom and some rubbing of its own, but Harry was a little afraid that if he did that he'd be breaking character and the story would end. As a compromise, he started to discretely scrape the bottom edge of the mirror against the top of his trouser-covered cock.
The phrase “once-in-a-lifetime” sprung to mind as Harry watched Hermione masturbate in front of him. Merlin, he hoped not. But just in case it was…
“Miss Granger, please evaluate your efforts to dry yourself.”
Hermione stopped her twiddling, and smirked.
“Sorry, Professor, but my efforts appear to be counterproductive.”
“I agree. Perhaps…. a different piece of office equipment would be more effective.”
Hermione looked around on the desktop. “I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't see any other office equipment.”
“That's because you saw fit to bring it into the bedroom.” Harry reached down to the desk and picked up Hermione's wand. Flipping it half-way around, he offered the butt-end to her. “Why don't you summon the stapler, Miss Granger?”
Hermione eyes went wide, wondering what in hell she had unleashed when she had suggested this game. But thinking “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she set down the quill, grabbed her wand, and did as she was told to do. A few seconds later Mr. Phoenix's ebony alter ego came flying out of the bedroom and into her hand.
Hermione grabbed the transfigured stapler at its base and brought it up towards her mouth. She smiled, then opened her lips and traced down the full length with her tongue.
“Wetting that stapler with your tongue won't make it dry any better, Miss Granger.”
Hermione smiled. “I'm sorry, Professor, but I assumed that you wanted me to dry both inside and out.”
“You are correct.”
“Then I thought a bit of moisture might be necessary for it to gain entrance.”
Harry smiled. “Miss Granger, from my perspective, you suffer no lack of moisture within the area in question.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Hermione brought the rod down in between her legs, and pointed it towards her crotch. With her eyes focused on Harry's, she then brought it back until it made contact and began rubbing in a clockwise motion. She closed her eyes as she thrust her hips upwards against the point of attack. When she opened her eyes back up, Harry saw fire and resolve.
Hermione changed from light small circles to firmer circles, and then to a top-to-bottom rub. After three times up and down, she stopped with the phallus poised at her entrance. Hermione gave Harry's tent the once over, then peered up at his face and gave a look of askance.
Harry's heart was racing, his mind was reeling…she was so incredibly beautiful, and he was so incredibly aroused. And that she trusted him so much to put herself in such an exposed and vulnerable position…..
Harry wanted to tell her then…right then…just how much he cared for her.
He didn't, though, because that's not something a professor was supposed to say to a student.
But Hermione knew that look on her face, and called him on it.
“What?” she asked.
“Erm, nothing, Miss Granger.”
“Oh yes it was…you wanted to say something.”
Harry paused, vacillating between truth and the game. He answered somewhere in between.
“What I wanted to tell you, Miss Granger, were three words that would be inappropriate if spoken by a professor to a student.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows along with her hopes.
“Three words, Professor?”
“Yes, Miss Granger.”
“Can you give me a hint, Professor?”
“Erm…no.”
“Starts with `I' and ends with `U'?”
Harry smiled. “Maybe.”
That, apparently, was the correct answer. Hermione's face broke out into a wide grin, as she squeezed her eyes shut, brought her shoulders up towards her ears and let out a “Squee!”
The squeal didn't last as long, however, for at the very same moment she rammed the transfigured stapler up and in.
It wasn't cute. Couldn't call it pretty at all. Harry thought Hermione's movements would be far better described as ferocious, or insistent, or hungry. Particularly when her other hand came in to play.
Harry was horny as hell at that point, but still attentive enough to be impressed with her coordination. Both hands working different motions …kind of like that trick where you're supposed to rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.
He leaned the mirror against the side of the desk. With her eyes tightly shut, her head thrown back, and guttural sounds coming out from her throat she wasn't paying much attention to it. Besides, that left both of his hands free to do as they wished.
He reached out to touch her knee, but then remembered why they'd been playing this game. Were they still playing it? Did he still want to play it? Not really, but there was a purpose to this game, and if they stopped now they'd have ignored that purpose. Had a lot of smutty fun along the way, sure…but still have ignored the whole point.
Harry noticed that Hermione was beginning to hold her breath for longer and longer periods of time. He hadn't witnessed this phenomenon enough times to have any confidence in a pattern, but he did remember hearing the very same thing happening earlier in the day (he'd have seen it then as well, except that his face was buried in his work). It happened just a minute or so before…
He quickly tried to assess the situation. Did she still want to be spanked? Probably not, but did she want to do this again? Merlin, he hoped so. Maybe she wanted to finish herself off, and then get spanked? Sort of like the anti-cuddle? Harry doubted that. Besides, if she was going to get excited by getting spanked, that would just bring her off even better, right? He decided that he better say something that at least gave her an option.
“Erm…Miss Granger?”
Hermione opened her eyes, stopped her hands, and let out that breath she was holding so that she could respond.
“Yes, Professor?” she said, in a rather impatient tone.
“Erm…it appears that you are trying to delay the, erm…application of your…well, your disciplinary action. Is that your intent?”
Hermione breathed a few ragged breaths while she thought about it.
“No, Professor,” she finally replied. “I imagine that you should take care of that application before I take care of myself.”
Harry nodded, then removed his robes, which he threw over onto the bed. He then walked over to the desk chair, moved it in front of Hermione, and sat down. “Very well, Miss Granger…off the desk and over my knee.”
She thought about whether she wanted the ebony phoenix along for the ride. It sounded like a fun idea, but it might have made it difficult to balance on his lap, so she reluctantly withdrew the stapler from its cozy home and laid it down. She then scooted off the desk and walked to Harry's side. After flattening the front of her skirt with her hands, she leaned down onto Harry's lap.
Hermione found it hard to find her balance, as Harry's lap was rather pointy. Harry “helped” by reaching over her back and grabbing hold of her breast, with thumb and index finger tight on her nipple. He then placed the other hand on the back of her bare thigh, and slid it up until he could flip the skirt hem up and expose her bare bum. He noticed that as he did this that Hermione was squirming around on his lap, in an apparent effort to get his hardness right where she needed direct pressure the most.
He was polite enough to wait for her to find just the right spot. As he waited, he caressed one of her cheeks with his hand, and thought about what he was going to do. It had been great fun up until this point, but there really hadn't been any pain inflicted. Unless you counted pain of embarrassment, and Hermione had amazingly displayed little of that. What he really wanted to do was sod the spanking and start practicing a sweaty shag, but maybe Hermione was going to like this. Heck, if Susan did, and Tonks did…
Hermione interrupted his thoughts. “I'm ready, Professor.”
Harry raised his hand and thought about how hard and fast he needed to bring it down. This was supposed to be simulating a spanking hex, and not a tickle hex, or a groping hex. He decided on something that he imagined would sting if applied to his own cheek.
“Smack!”
He struck hard enough for his hand to sting a bit himself, and when he raised it back up he saw a pink mark that he'd left behind. He looked up at her head. Hermione did nothing and said nothing. She lay there still, with her head down. Didn't make a sound, actually, as she was holding her breath.
Without hearing the code word, Harry applied the same treatment to the other cheek.
Hermione remained quiet, but spread her legs and squirmed about on Harry's hard-on. He waited until she stopped squirming. He didn't mind…he had a beautiful view of his favorite triangle of skin.
Thinking that maybe he should try something different, he applied two slightly harder smacks, one right after the other. Hermione let out the deep breath, panted shallowly while she was squirming, then took in another breath.
Harry did the same thing three times in succession. Two sharp smacks, wait for her to rub herself on him, then repeat. Hermione didn't say anything, or cry out in pain, or beg him to stop.
Harry gave her two more smacks…the hardest ones yet, bringing him to an even ten (he'd been counting). The last one was kind of an exclamation point that evoked a sharp cry.
“Aaaaah!”
Harry froze, the sound bringing home to him the idea that he might be hurting her. Her cry also ended whatever enjoyment Harry had taken from watching her bum wiggle about, and from her roost rubbing against Mr. Phoenix. He looked down at the red marks he'd left on her skin and lost his erection.
Hermione must have realized he was going soft, for the smaller and softer he got, the harder she pressed against him, as if searching for the right friction. When she realized that she was vainly chasing after a ghost, she let out a soft chuckle, shook her head in disbelief, and grinned ruefully.
“Chewing Gum.”
Hermione twisted around to look up at Harry only to find tears in his eyes.
“Hey, Harry, stop that,” she quickly said. “It's okay…I'm okay, really.”
Harry shook his head. “Hermione, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so….”
“Stop it, Harry,” Hermione scolded. “You did exactly what I told you to do…you did nothing wrong.” She then reached up to corral his head into an embrace. “We found out what we needed to find out. You don't get sexually excited when you spank me, and I find getting spanked more of a distraction than a turn-on.”
She rocked back off of his lap and onto her feet. Her momentum pushed her backside up against the front of the desk, which caused her to jump away from it. Putting both hands behind herself, she yelled, “Bugger, that hurts!” She then very gingerly hobbled around to the back of the desk, pulled open one of the drawers, and pulled out the jar of healing salve that Tonks had strategically pre-positioned. She walked back to Harry, twisted off the lid, and handed him the jar. Hermione then bent over Harry's knee and resumed her position on his lap.
“Harry, please,” she told him. “Quit worrying, pull up my skirt, and make my boo-boo's feel better.”
Harry followed orders, and began to enjoy the sensation of rubbing the salve on her bum. It brought him back to that beach (funny how often that was happening to him). As he applied the topical lotion, he asked, “So it was a distraction, huh?”
“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “I was so close to an orgasm when you started, but rather than bring it to me quicker or harder, the spanking took me off focus.”
“So it was counterproductive, like that feather, huh?”
“Guess so.” Hermione then shook her head. “You and that feather…where did you ever develop that typed of inspired lechery?”
“Either inherited from Sirius or heard it from Seamus, I imagine,” Harry said with a grin that Hermione couldn't see.
“Is that so?” Hermione replied. “I tried to get back with the program by wiggling in between whacks, but that wasn't going anywhere, and then you lost your erection and I figured what's the point?”
He nodded. “Makes sense to me.” He then asked. “So getting spanked isn't a sexual turn-on for you?”
“No.”
“So that means we'll have to shag to get that sweat?”
“Yeah…I hope you don't mind.”
Harry laughed. “Oh, don't worry…I'll muddle through it somehow.”
“You better plan on doing more than that, Harry Potter.”
Harry laughed again. The redness in her cheeks was gone and the lotion completely absorbed by her skin, but Harry was still rubbing. “So explain something for me, Hermione,” he asked. “You weren't turned on by the actual spanking, but you were plenty turned on before then, at the thought of getting spanked, weren't you?”
“Yes and no,” Hermione replied. “I was pretty revved up before the swatting began, but it had nothing to do with the anticipation of getting spanked.”
“Really?” Harry asked. “Why is that?”
Rather than answer that question, Hermione reached back and stopped Harry's rubbing. She then got up to her feet, and hopped back up onto the desk so that she was facing him. She then reached over to grab the transfigured stapler and began to drag it up an inner thigh.
“Because, Harry,” she cooed, “I discovered today that I'm not a submissive masochist.”
“I see….then what exactly are you then?”
Hermione smiled as she pulled up her skirt and flashed him.
“I'm a closet exhibitionist.”
oo00OO00oo
Harry Potter didn't enjoy his third shower of the day nearly as much as the second. Hermione had washed separately, as they lived in a three bedroom/two bath tent.
The alone time did give him the chance to suss out where things stood. On one level, things were simple. Hermione didn't like getting spanked, and he didn't like spanking her. Therefore, they needed to shag in order to get the sweat they'd promised in exchange for the antidote. But right after that surface level there was so much more to consider.
Like Hermione's confession of exhibitionism. And the sight of her masturbating for him. Not just for him, but with him, if you considered the fact that the transfigured stapler was a full-scale model of his cock. Under other circumstances, these kind of thoughts would have led to his own masturbatory acts…but she had milked him for a fourth time that day after he helped her finish off her second, and any more attention paid to Mr. Phoenix would likely rub his skin raw.
“Now that's a symptom that I wouldn't want to ask Poppy to address,” he thought to himself, as he finished rinsing off, then toweled and dressed. Harry found her back in the “office,” dressed in a medium-length skirt and jumper. She was on her mobile talking to her mum; when she saw him enter, Hermione smiled and gave him a “just one minute more” signal. Harry nodded in reply, and then used the time to transform the play office furniture back into original forms.
“Yeah, Mum,” Hermione said into her phone, “eight-thirty tomorrow morning will work just fine…no Mum, we can get there on our own…'we' as in Harry and me, Mum.” She rolled her eyes. “No, Mum we're not joined at the hip.”
“That can be arranged, though, Mrs. Granger,” Harry called out.
“Ssshhh, Harry,” Hermione scolded. “Stay over tonight?” she said into the mobile. “Well, I'll check with Harry, but I'm sure that'll be fine, just so long as you keep Daddy on a short leash.” She smiled at her mum's response. “Well then, make it even shorter than normal…see you soon…me too…bye.”
Hermione ended her call, pocketed her cell phone, and sighed. “Mum sends her love and congratulations.”
“Congratulations about what?”
“About us, silly.”
Harry furrowed his eyebrows a bit. After all of their naughty fun over the past few hours he'd be hard pressed not to think of Hermione as his girlfriend, but they hadn't officially discussed it yet.
“About us in what way?” he asked cautiously.
Hermione smiled. “Why about our engagement, of course.”
“What?”
She walked up and gave him a quick kiss, then brought him into a bearhug embrace. “Our engagement, Harry,” she replied, as she pressed the side of her head to his chest. “Surely you realize that I wouldn't have done any of that in front of you without planning on marriage?”
Harry looked down at the top of her head with a gobsmacked expression, then shook his head. “You're having me on, aren't you? Let me see your face.”
He thought he heard the quietest of snorts from her, and when she kept her head buried he leaned back and gently turned her chin towards him with his hand. “Hermione?”
She looked up at him with a serious expression that she held for all of two seconds, before breaking out into giggles. “Gotcha, Harry!”
He joined in the laughter. “You are becoming a very silly girl, Hermione,” he mock admonished.
She tamed the giggles down into a broad smile. “I am, and I blame it all on you.”
Harry locked her back up into a bear hug and mused. He had, in fact, spent time in the shower wondering what his this all meant and where it was going. One of the paths his mind had traipsed down did involve Hermione and a white wedding gown. He thought it silly to even think about discussing this so soon after they had gone physical in their relationship, but maybe he could probe her feelings within this silly and disarming environment?
“You do realize, Hermione,” he said, “that silly girls have been known to marry on short notice.”
Hermione waited a beat to respond, then replied, “Yeah, guess you're right…but usually not unless their silly boyfriends have proposed to them.”
He chuckled. “So am I your silly boyfriend, now?”
Hermione moved her hands down to his bum and gave a good squeeze. “More sexy then silly, but nobody's perfect.”
Harry smiled and his eyes lit up. He snaked a hand up into her hair and gently twisted her head so that he could press his lips up against her ear.
“So if that's the case,” he asked, “will you be my girlfriend?”
She responded by squeezing his bum even harder, and pulling him even closer. With a smile he couldn't see through the tangle of her hair, she nodded and said, “Yes.”
Harry reached back, grabbed her groping hands with his, and stepped back so that he could look into her eyes. “Great,” he replied. “So now that the boyfriend part is established, would I still need to be silly in order to propose marriage?”
She looked at him with an expression he thought was both lovely and loving, and nodded. “You would indeed be silly if you proposed marriage right now…we've got enough on our plate.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don't know, maybe getting our first sweaty shag out of the way and getting that hag off of our backs?”
Harry smiled. “You know, Hermione, your dad might think it better to reverse that order and marry before the first shag.”
She gave his hands a squeeze and stepped into another kiss before letting his hands go in a “time to change topics” gesture. “Oh, I'm sure that Daddy would think that…but you can ask him yourself if you're still uncertain. We're staying over tonight.”
Harry nodded. “Guessed as much from your phone call…so what's planned for tomorrow morning?”
Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head, in an “I can't believe she did that” look.
“Mum scheduled an appointment for me with her gynecologist.”
“Huh?”
“Gynecologist, Harry…you know, a woman's doctor?”
“Yeah, I know what a gynecologist is, I was more wondering why your mum would do that.”
“Probably because her daughter is now a sexually active female,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly. “She was worried that it was a `close the barn door after the horse left' situation, but thought better late than never.”
“But you haven't opened your barn door for my horse yet, have you?”
“Oh, nice, Harry…your pet nicknames are so endearing.”
Harry laughed. “Hey, it was your Muggle metaphor, not mine….so did you tell her that Mr. Phoenix hasn't perched on your roost yet?”
“Not in those exact words, you git,” she replied, “but yes, I did. She was very happy.”
“But you did tell her that we'd still have to, right?”
“Erm, sure, Harry…I wasn't going to lie to her. She was happy that we didn't have to rush into it...now that I can visit the doctor before we shag, and we'll had some additional birth control options.”
“Oh…I see. So Mr. Phoenix might not have to wear an overcoat?”
Hermione laughed. “Maybe not…might still be a good idea if it desensitizes and slows you down, though.”
Harry nodded. “So when did you tell them that we'd be over?”
“Not until late tonight…eight or nine o'clock. We still have that meeting at Hogwarts to go to.”
“Think that you'll still want to work on the spell-spanking calculations?”
“Not really,” Hermione replied with a smile. She stepped forward and grabbed his crotch. “I'd rather spend the time working on your control.”
Harry pulled her into another embrace, trapping her hand between their bodies. Reaching behind her, he snaked a hand up under her skirt. His eyes went wide when he realized that the bum he just grabbed was bare.
“You know that I'm not going to have any control at all if you start to run around without knickers.”
Hermione gave Mr. Phoenix a playful squeeze, then leaned up and whispered into Harry's ear.
“Who says that I've only just started?”
oo00OO00oo
Harry and Hermione apparated to the gates of Hogwarts with a shared overnight bag shrunk-down and pocketed in his trousers. He had insisted that she pack a pair of knickers for propriety's sake (even if she had no plans on wearing them). This manifestation of her recent self-discovery was the topic of conversation as they walked up the path towards the castle.
“Hermione,” Harry asked, as they walked hand-in-hand, “What exactly is a closet exhibitionist?”
She laughed. “Does sound rather oxymoronic, doesn't it?”
“Doesn't sound moronic to me at all.”
“No, Harry…oxymoronic. Two words strung together that contradict each other…like `jumbo shrimp,' or `military intelligence,' or…”
“Or a brave Slytherin?”
“Yeah.”
“Let's start with the exhibitionist part…you get excited showing your bits off in public?”
“Erm…not necessarily…right now I just know that I get excited at the thought of showing my bits off in public to you. The closet part means that I've kept it hidden.”
“To everyone else besides me?”
“Yeah.”
Harry smiled, thinking back to Montenegro. “So you got off on showing your titties on the beach, but only because I was seeing them, and not all the other blokes that were ogling you?”
“Oh, Harry…you don't need to overstate things. You were the only one ogling me on that beach.”
Harry shook his head. “I disagree. You have lovely titties, Hermione, and I caught more than a few blokes perving on you when they walked by our towels.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…it was even more obvious when you were turned over on your front…they didn't have to worry about you catching them staring at the way your thong lifts and separates your bum cheeks.”
“Hmmm…funny you never told me this while we were there.”
Harry paused for a moment. “Maybe I was afraid that if I did that you'd cover up more. Besides, it did seem that you were enjoying the attention.”
“I was enjoying your attention, Harry,” Hermione replied. “Hard not to miss just how poorly your speedo concealed your erection.”
Harry thought for a moment. “So tell me, Hermione…if you knew I was turned on by your bathing costume, why were you so self-conscious this morning? Why did I have to throw out that wizard's oath to convince you that I found you sexually exciting?”
Hermione sighed and shook her head. “Different time, different place, I guess.”
“I don't understand.”
“Well…it's like this, Harry,” she replied. “I thought that you liked what you saw on the beach, but I wasn't completely certain. There were other women that were wearing even less than I was, and it might have been them, or just the whole environment…that place and time.”
She gave his hand a reassuring hand squeeze and continued. “It was on that beach that I realized I fancied you…realized that I probably always have fancied you, despite Ron and everything. I was hoping that you felt the same way, but you never really said anything about it after we came back to England.”
“Yeah, I know,” Harry replied. “I wanted to in the worst way, but I was afraid what might happen if you didn't feel the same way, and it was right after you and Ron split and that was awkward…”
“I understand, Harry, no need to apologize,” Hermione said. “I was just saying that to explain why all of the self-doubts and insecurities came back that I thought I'd left behind in Montenegro with the other beach babes. I started thinking that you fancying me and my thong was just a dream.”
“So when you went topless this morning in your mum's office…”
“I was afraid of finding out for sure that it was a dream.”
Harry stopped walking and pulled her into a hug. “Oh, Hermione,” he said. “I so sorry that you had any doubts.”
“It's okay, Harry, really.”
He pulled apart and started to walk again. “Glad to hear you say `other beach babes,' though,” he said.
“Why's that?”
“Because it implies that you recognize yourself as one.”
Hermione snorted. “Yeah, you’re right….it does.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Just remember that you're my beach babe now.”
“But we aren't at the beach, are we?”
They'd reached the front steps, and Harry paused before starting the climb.
“Then you'll just have to be my `Gryffindor Sex Goddess'.”
Hermione giggled.
“Hey, now,” Harry admonished. “No giggling…you got an image to maintain inside.”
Hermione frowned. “What…I can't show my newfound wild and crazy side inside the castle?”
“Nope.”
Hermione looked around and over her shoulder. With nobody in sight, she turned to Harry, grabbed her skirt's hemline, and flashed him a view of her Brazilian cut.
“Then I guess I'll have to just show it outside.”
Harry let out a breath that contained bits of exasperation and sexual frustration.
“Let's go, Minx,” he warned, “before Mr. Phoenix decides to warm your roost.”
oo00OO00oo
Harry was surprised to find that the levels of sexual energy and frustration were only slightly lower within the infirmary's walls. With the danger to Ron's life past, his parents had returned to home and work, and Madame Pomfrey had turned her attention to the needs of her other patients. It was therefore only Luna that was at Ron's bedside, with half-drawn curtains that shielded them from the other's view. Luna sported a odd facial expression that combined a serene smile with lust-filled, hawk-like eyes, ready to pounce on its prey. Ron looked more like prey than predator, with wide-eyes that darted towards the point where Luna had slipped a hand underneath his sheets.
“Harry…Hermione,” Ron said nervously, “How nice of you to visit.” He glanced at Luna, expecting that she'd remove her hand from his upper thigh now that they had company.
His expectations weren't met in time to avoid their notice, causing Hermione and Harry to share Luna's smile.
“How is your patient, doing, Luna?” Harry asked.
“Oh, he's recovering quite nicely,” she replied. “He's had three in a row without losing consciousness.”
Hermione smirked. “Three what in a row, Luna?”
Ron, being terribly embarrassed, interrupted, “Erm…Luna's been looking after my blood flow issues.”
“Looks like she's causing those issues rather than looking after them,” Hermione quipped.
Harry looked around the edge of the privacy curtain towards Poppy, who was busy fixing a wheeze gone wild on two second-years. “So has Poppy approved of your treatment methods, Nurse Luna?”
“Oooh, `Nurse Luna', that sounds like a fun game.” She then asked Ron, “So do you want to play doctor?”
Ron smiled weakly and shook his head. “Maybe another time, Luna.”
It was all Hermione could do not to laugh out loud and draw Madame Pomfrey's attention towards them. “Letting Luna grope you in the infirmary, Ronald?” she asked with mock admonishment. “My, my…and to think that you were so scandalized by my beach attire last summer.”
Ron let out a grunt, allowing Luna to answer for him. “Ronald has matured a lot since this summertime, Hermione…I'd like to think that I've rubbed off on him.”
“More like rubbed him off, I'd wager,” Harry said cheekily, earning a punch in the arm from his girlfriend.
“Well,” Luna replied brightly, “things have worked out since then for all of us, haven't they?”
Hermione smiled, and after looking over towards Poppy and her patients gave Harry an unexpected kiss.
“Yes, they certainly have.”
“Oy, you two…not in front of me,” Ron whined.
“Oh grow up, Ronald,” Hermione said sweetly, “and be glad that it's Luna that will be watching us shag and not you.”
Ron choked rather violently in reply, which brought Madame Pomfrey's attention to them. She briskly walked over before Hermione could elaborate, and stood by Ron's side with a curt look and pursed lips.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, do I need to ask you to leave my patient alone?” she asked.
“No, Madame Pomfrey…sorry, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry replied.
“And what brought about this coughing spell?”
Harry and Hermione looked at each other before Hermione replied, “I said something relating to the deal we made with the hag to save his life.”
“Hmmmph,” Poppy replied, one eyebrow raised. “You should now that his condition is frail enough without you providing him that kind of excitement.”
“Sorry, Madame Pomfrey.”
Poppy looked down at Ron. “Mr. Weasley, I believe that it's time for you to get some rest. Do you think that you can sleep on your own, or has your imagination been sparked so brightly that you require some `Dreamless Sleep'?”
Ron smiled. “I think I can manage on my own, thanks.”
Poppy nodded. “Come along, then, you three,” she said. Torn between wanting to insure her patient wasn't disturbed and wanting to provide her patient some privacy, Poppy turned her back and walked away, hoping that the three wouldn't be far behind.
With the nurse's back turned, Luna leaned over and forced Ron's mouth open with her tongue. After a moderately intensive kiss, she rose up and looked at Ron's face.
“Promise you'll dream of me, Ronald?” she asked.
He gave her a rueful smile. “Would be bloody impossible not to, Luv.”