Hermione was rigid, her hands clutching the sheets as if they were her only anchor to reality. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, not daring to look at me; she knew I was naked before her, and the shame was suffocating. In any other circumstance, she might have endured it, but here, with her lungs forgetting how to breathe, modesty overwhelmed her.
Her expression—that mix of terror and surrender—was heartbreakingly tender. Seeing this Hermione, so far removed from her usual academic confidence, provoked a kind of ecstasy in me.
"D-do you know exactly what to do?" she asked in a whisper, opening her eyes a mere millimeter before sealing them again upon encountering my body.
I smiled at her ingenuity and kissed her again. The contact of our lips seemed to be the only thing capable of momentarily pulling her out of her paralysis, relaxing her shoulders and flushing her cheeks.
"Just let yourself go," I asked, as my hands began to explore her skin.
Though her instinct urged her to resist, I did not stop my advance. An electric current of new sensations began to overwhelm her as my kisses traveled along her mouth, her neck, her collarbone, and her chest, where she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan. My hand descended slowly, stroking the silk of her thighs until reaching her intimacy.
I moved slowly, my hand rhythmically rubbing her clitoris, while I fought the urge to ask if she had ever masturbated or explored herself. But I couldn't. She was Hermione Granger; the girl my past self, in another life, could only ever idealize. This was real and far too important for me to turn into something "dirty." In a way, it felt as significant as my own first time.
She was so tense I could hear her teeth chattering. She wasn't ready for this, regardless of her having said yes. But I couldn't hold back anymore, and neither could she. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, overwhelmed by the situation.
I positioned myself over her and rubbed the tip of my penis against her labia, sharing a mutual heat that made her shudder. It was imminent.
And then...
It happened!
Or rather, it didn't...
There was no fluid union, no virginal cry of pain followed by a warm embrace. Not because she didn't want to, and certainly not because there were no whimpers of pain.
Hermione was... incredibly tight. The tension had locked her down completely; her muscles were so clenched they refused to give way. I could have forced my way in, but that would have only ended in a painful tear and turned the moment into a carnage.
I tried several times, stopping whenever I noticed her suffering. I dedicated myself to whispering sweet words, kissing and caressing her with extreme delicacy, trying to get her to lower her guard. But she remained there, eyes closed, simply waiting for it all to be over. It was an odyssey of patience. Bit by bit, I managed to advance, but not without effort and without her feeling every millimeter as a painful invasion. Even I felt the ache of her involuntary pressure; her internal walls seemed to want to expel me.
Finally, I managed to enter far enough. Hermione sobbed loudly as virginal blood seeped between our union, staining the whiteness of the sheets. I began to move with extreme slowness, measuring every thrust so as not to aggravate her pain, making sure to kiss her constantly to make it more bearable.
I continued with slow thrusts while she sobbed, clinging to me with desperate strength. It was evident I was causing her more pain than anything else—an inevitable consequence of the tension accumulated from her brush with death and the fact that she wasn't truly ready for this.
Without attempting to give her an orgasm—which, without my skills, would have been a physiological miracle—and without trying to last a second longer, I reached the end. I pushed one last time, seeking maximum depth, which wrenched a contained howl of pain from her as I fired my semen against her cervix. Despite the chaos of sensations inside her, I felt Hermione shudder as she perceived me coming inside her.
I withdrew slowly. She let out an almost physical sigh of relief as she felt the foreign body leave her being, though the sobs and whimpers persisted.
I paused to observe the scene: my penis stained with her blood, her vulva dripping with my semen, her skin covered in sweat, and her face soaked in tears. I sighed. I had done it. I had deflowered Hermione Granger, the longing of my childhood... I had had sex with her! But reality was far from being as "magical" as one would expect.
I collapsed at her side and pulled her into my embrace. She let out a small whimper as she was moved, her crotch still throbbing with pain.
"It hurts..." she murmured through tears.
"I know, shhh... it's okay. It'll pass," I replied, stroking her with genuine tenderness.
I could have used magic to heal her wound, but just as I chose for the act to be natural, I decided not to erase the traces of what we had done. Not yet.
Once the effort was over, exhaustion helped her regain some calm. Although it was hard for her to move and she was flooded by a mix of shame and complexity regarding what had happened, she also experienced a strange sense of fulfillment and peace. Finally, she could speak without losing her breath.
"It was true... that it hurts... it hurt a lot," she commented, feeling her own body and inevitably associating that pain with sex.
"The first time is supposed to be difficult for women," I explained softly, "but in your case, it was worse than it should have been. You were too tense and you weren't ready. In reality, this should feel very good, it's just... it wasn't the right moment." I sighed, half-regretting the haste.
"I... I really wanted to do it," she said anxiously, looking at me with piteous eyes.
She feared I would think it was her fault for rushing or that I had been displeased by the result. At this moment, Hermione was a crystal on the verge of breaking, extremely susceptible.
"It's okay, I believe you. Besides, they always say the first time is a disaster; I suppose they're right sometimes," I added with a small laugh, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "I promise you, next time..."
"Next time?" she shuddered, the pain still too present to imagine a repeat.
The idea of doing it again deeply uncomfortable her; her instinct was to refuse, to see it as something unnecessary and harmful. But then she looked at me. She knew that for men, sex is something pleasurable, and she didn't want to reject me directly. She understood that a relationship was based on giving and receiving, and even if it hurt, she didn't want to disappoint me. In her mind, a resigned image began to form: sex was something pleasurable for me, but a chore she had to fulfill out of affection. She felt she could endure it just to make me happy... but in the distant future, when she was truly ready.
"Let's wait... to do it again," she said, trying to sound confident, as if she weren't in disagreement. She believed that in a few years she could prepare herself psychologically and learn to cope.
"Silly," I said gently, giving her a small tap on the forehead. "Sex isn't like that. I assure you it doesn't always feel this bad. It was just a difficult first time. Next time I'll make sure it's different; I don't even need to seek my own pleasure if you aren't ready." I gave her a playful look, trying to dispel those incorrect ideas. "You just have to relax. We'll get better with time, trust me."
Hermione huddled closer, unable to move much due to the persistent sting in her crotch, but my relaxed attitude seemed to have an effect. Though the fear was still there, a part of her wanted to believe me; she wanted to think the pain wouldn't be a constant and that one day she could experience this with freedom. She didn't think it would end up being something truly pleasurable as I proposed, but something she could easily handle. After all, she already knew I was a pervert; that I'd want to repeat it was a certainty.
"Alright... but... let's wait a bit, okay?" she asked, still reluctant to relive the experience.
"Agreed, I wasn't planning on lunging at you immediately. There's no rush. We've already crossed the line; there will be other times... but for now, I can afford to wait," I replied with a smirk. She hid her face in my chest, overwhelmed by reality.
Hermione didn't know what her life would be like now; she had already done "it"!
Her mind began firing questions in bursts: Would the others notice? Would her parents know? How was she supposed to walk or look at people from now on? But before entering a panic spiral, she became aware of her surroundings.
"Where are we?" she finally asked, observing the room.
"In the Room of Requirement. I brought you here the instant you were attacked. No one knows where you are, so rest. I already sent a message to the girls letting them know you're with me and telling them to cover for us." I stroked her hair, enjoying the sensation of her calmed breath against my skin. The atmosphere, once charged with agony, now felt strangely pleasant.
"That's right! How did you get here so fast? Weren't you in Brazil? Is this the clone you left to watch over us?" The questions began to rain down, perhaps as a mechanism to stop thinking about what we had just done.
"Something like that... Actually, as soon as I felt you were in danger, I brought my real body to save you," I said with playful arrogance. "Do you think a simple clone could have done what we did... turning you into a full woman?"
Hermione turned red as a tomato and gave me a weak punch on the arm, but the movement revived the pain and she ended up sobbing again, forcing me to console her.
"So... did you leave Brazil? What happened with Hannah? Won't you get in trouble when they find out?" she asked, though her eyes shone with a mix of relief and satisfaction. Knowing I had returned from another continent just for her reaffirmed her decision to surrender herself, despite the physical pain.
"I'll be fine. Hannah is fine too; in fact, she'll have plenty to tell you all when you see her," I smiled. Surely Hannah would be relieved the orgies were over now that I had matters to attend to here.
"What happened in Brazil?" she insisted, with that insatiable curiosity that characterized her. "Dumbledore mentioned things were complicated."
"Don't ask yet; there will be time for stories when the moment is right. Now rest, you need to recover. We have work to do," I said, visualizing in my inventory the replica of the cursed diary I bought from the Merchant, conveniently hexed by Ismelda as an extra.
"What work?" she asked, alert.
"We have to deal with the Heir of Slytherin once and for all," I replied with a cold smile before kissing her.
"That's right! He is—" Hermione tried to sit up, remembering everything at once.
"Easy," I stopped her gently before she hurt herself. "Recover first. Then we'll go to the girls and finish this game. I have a couple of things to prepare first, so take your time."
Hermione nodded, accepting my orders without complaint. In truth, she was in a hurry to recover, mostly because she didn't want the rest of the group to discover what had happened between us—she wanted to make sure no one noticed anything different about her.
"Could you get me a pain potion or...?" she began to ask timidly.
"Nope," I refused quickly with a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Better to recover naturally. This is an important process for every girl..."