Hello, AMagicWriter here. I'm happy to publish a new Chapter of Hermione Granger and the Potion of Perilous Pleasure
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"Alright, Lavender Brown," Parvati announced, bouncing onto Lavender's bed. "Spill. Every. Detail."
Lavender pulled her covers up to her chin, blonde curls splaying across her pillow in what would have been an artistic arrangement if not for the mutinous set of her jaw. "There's nothing to tell."
"Nothing to tell?" Parvati's voice climbed an octave. "Ron looked like someone hexed his bits off when he came back. That's not nothing."
From her bed, Hermione watched the gathering crowd. Ginny perched cross-legged on her own mattress, wearing an old Quidditch jersey that had definitely belonged to Harry at some point—the way it hung off one shoulder was decidedly un-Ginny-like in its sizing. The two other sixth-years, Kellah and Fay, had abandoned their own beds to cluster around Lavender's, creating an impromptu tribunal of pajama-clad prosecutors.
"Maybe someone did hex his bits off," Lavender muttered. "Would serve him right."
"Ooh, that bad?" Kellah leaned forward, dark braids swinging. "What did he do, propose marriage?"
"Worse," Lavender said darkly.
Hermione's cock twitched with inappropriate interest at the way Lavender's nightgown had slipped down one shoulder. She pressed her thighs together, grateful for the heavy blanket that concealed her body's rebellion. The movement made her parchment crinkle, drawing attention.
"Hermione agrees it was worse," Parvati declared. "Look at her face."
"I haven't said anything," Hermione protested.
"Your eyebrows are very expressive," Ginny observed. "They're doing that thing where they try to meet in the middle. That's your 'Ron's being an idiot' face."
"I have a specific face for that?"
"We all do," Fay said. "It's a survival mechanism."
"Fine!" Lavender threw up her hands, nearly smacking Parvati in the process. "You want to know what happened? We went to the Three Broomsticks. He spent twenty minutes explaining Quidditch statistics. Not even interesting statistics—batting averages for Keepers in the 1970s."
"Thrilling," Kellah deadpanned.
"Then he ordered food and spent another twenty minutes describing the optimal way to eat fish and chips. Apparently there's a whole system involving vinegar distribution."
"Of course there is," Hermione heard herself say. "Ron's got a system for everything involving food. I once watched him create a flowchart for sandwich construction."
"A flowchart?" Ginny looked torn between horror and familiar resignation.
"Color-coded by ingredient compatibility," Hermione confirmed. "He laminated it."
The room dissolved into giggles. Even Lavender's mouth twitched.
"So I'm trying to change the subject," Lavender continued once they'd recovered. "I ask about his interests outside Quidditch. He looks at me like I've asked him to explain Arithmancy in Mermish."
"To be fair," Ginny said, "Ron's interests outside Quidditch mostly involve eating and chess."
"And Hermione," Parvati added with a sly look. "Remember when he spent all of fourth year following her around like a lost Crup?"
Hermione's cheeks heated. "That was about the Yule Ball. Ancient history."
"That was two years ago," Ginny quickly added with a smirk.
"Anyway," Lavender said loudly, "I'm trying to salvage this disaster. I lean forward a bit, you know, give him an opening for actual conversation." She demonstrated, nightgown gaping slightly. "And do you know what he says?"
They waited with bated breath.
"'Cor, Lavender, your tits look amazing in that jumper.'"
The silence that followed was profound. Somewhere in the castle, a ghost probably felt the collective feminine horror and fled to another dimension.
"He didn't," Fay whispered.
"Oh, he did." Lavender's voice could have frozen the lake. "Loud enough for the next table to hear. Some third-year Ravenclaws actually applauded."
"I'm going to kill him," Ginny announced. "Slowly. With a spoon."
"Get in line," Parvati said. "Lavender gets first dibs."
"But wait," Kellah said. "That's when you slapped him?"
"No." Lavender's eyes narrowed. "That's when he tried to kiss me outside. Just lunged like some sort of ginger octopus."
"The true crime," Hermione murmured, earning a sharp look from Lavender that made her stomach flip.
"When I pushed him back and told him off about boundaries, he said—and I quote—'But you were giving me signals!'"
"What signals?" Ginny asked, looking genuinely baffled.
"Apparently existing with breasts in his vicinity counts as a signal," Lavender said.
"I could have told you he had the emotional range of a teaspoon," Parvati said, shaking her head. "Remember when he asked McGonagall if she was wearing a new hat? During our O.W.L.s?"
"He means well," Ginny said halfheartedly. "He's just an idiot. A complete, total, irredeemable idiot who I'm absolutely going to hex at breakfast, but he means well."
"Does he though?" Hermione found herself asking. "Because meaning well implies thinking about other people's feelings. When was the last time Ron did that without someone spelling it out in small words?"
"Tuesday," Ginny said immediately. "He saved me the last chocolate éclair."
"That's not emotional intelligence, that's survival instinct," Kellah pointed out. "You would have murdered him otherwise."
"True," Ginny conceded.
"You know what the worst part was?" Lavender's voice had gone quiet. "He seemed genuinely confused when I got angry. Like he couldn't understand what he'd done wrong."
The mood shifted, humor fading into something more uncomfortable. They'd all dealt with boys who couldn't read a room, who interpreted basic friendliness as invitation. The fact that it was Ron—awkward, generally harmless Ron—somehow made it worse.
"At least you got a good slap in," Fay offered. "I heard it from the street."
"Very satisfying," Lavender agreed. "His face made the exact same expression as when he fails a Potions exam."
"Open-mouthed confusion with a hint of personal betrayal?" Hermione guessed.
"Exactly!" Lavender pointed at her. "You've seen it too."
"We've all seen it," Parvati said. "It's his default expression in most classes."
"'Hermione, how could you let me fail?'" Hermione pitched her voice in a passable Ron impression. "'I copied most of your answers!'"
"'But I changed them slightly!'" Ginny continued, matching the tone. "'I wrote "very dead" instead of "deceased"!'"
The room exploded in laughter again. Hermione caught Lavender watching her. She shifted, adjusting her blanket.
"Right," Parvati announced once they'd calmed. "I think we can all agree—Ron Weasley: sweet but hopeless."
"Hopeless is generous," Kellah said.
"Speaking of hopeless," Fay yawned, "I've got double Potions tomorrow. Slughorn's been on about Felix Felicis for weeks."
The gathering began to disperse, girls drifting back to their own beds with final whispered comments. Ginny paused by Hermione's bed.
"Good impression," she said quietly. "Though you forgot his tendency to spit when he's indignant."
"I was being kind," Hermione replied.
"You? Kind?" Ginny's grin was sharp. "Must be the influence of all that time with Luna. She's rubbing off on you."
The words were innocent. The tone was not. Ginny sauntered away before Hermione could formulate a response, leaving her flushed and aching beneath her blankets.
.
.
Hermione's quill moved in steady strokes across the parchment. The dormitory had fallen silent save for Parvati's occasional snore and the whisper of pages turning. Her wandlight created a small bubble of brightness in the darkness, just enough to work by without disturbing anyone.
The essay was nearly complete—an analysis of weather-related runes in Anglo-Saxon agricultural texts that Professor Babbling would probably praise as "thorough" while secretly meaning "excessive." But Hermione couldn't help the three extra inches of commentary on regional variations. Knowledge demanded completeness.
Her cock had finally settled into quiescence after the earlier gathering, though the memory of Lavender's nightgown sliding off her shoulder threatened to rekindle interest. Hermione forced her attention back to the distinction between the runes for "rain" and "tears of the sky"—ancient wizards had been surprisingly poetic about precipitation.
The footsteps were soft enough that she almost missed them, bare feet on wood muffled the sound. Hermione's hand stilled on her quill. The curtains around her bed parted slightly, revealing blonde curls and worried blue eyes.
"Can I come in?" Lavender whispered, barely louder than breathing.
Hermione nodded, shifting to make room on the bed. Her parchments crinkled with the movement, and she hastily organized them into a pile, hyperaware of how the motion made her blanket slip. Lavender slid through the curtains like silk, her nightgown—pale blue, not the cream one from earlier.
"Couldn't sleep?" Hermione asked, keeping her voice equally low.
"Something like that." Lavender settled cross-legged at the foot of the bed. "How was your date?"
"It wasn't a date." The correction came automatically. "Luna and Susan and I just explored the shops. Tried on terrible hats. Discussed Viking economic theory."
"Viking economic theory?" A smile ghosted across Lavender's face.
"Apparently their rune-stones contain extensive complaints about inflation in the goat cheese market."
"Of course they do." Lavender plucked at a loose thread on the blanket. "Sounds more interesting than Quidditch statistics."
"Most things are," Hermione agreed, then caught herself. "Sorry. I know he's—"
"An idiot?" Lavender supplied. "It's fine. Parvati was right. I should have known better and Ron is just...still immature."
Silence stretched between them, and Hermione looked at Lavender's face, her beauty, her hair color, and her lips.
"The thing is," Lavender said suddenly, "the kiss itself wasn't even the worst part."
Hermione waited, quill forgotten in her hand.
"It was that it was wrong. Not just the consent thing—though that was awful—but wrong in a bigger way." Lavender looked up, meeting Hermione's eyes directly. "It wasn't who I wanted to be kissing."
Hermione was not sure what to say to that. "Lavender—"
"That night at the party," Lavender continued, words tumbling faster now. "When we kissed during truth or dare. I know we were drunk. I know it was just a game. But I haven't stopped thinking about it."
"It was just—" Hermione's voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat. "We'd had firewhiskey. Party atmosphere. These things happen."
"Do they?" Lavender shifted closer, the movement making her nightgown ride up her thighs. "Because I've been to lots of parties. Played lots of games. Never spent weeks afterward wondering what someone's lips taste like when there's no alcohol involved."
Hermione's cock stirred to attention with alarming speed. She pressed her thighs together, praying the movement wasn't obvious. "I don't think—"
"Could we try again?" The question came out in a rush. "We're both sober and it means something? When it's not for anyone else's entertainment?"
Lavender's eyes were very blue in the wandlight. Very blue and very close. When had she moved nearer? Hermione could map the faint freckles across her nose, could see the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.
"Okay," Hermione heard herself whisper.
Lavender's lips were gentle against hers, tasting faintly of mint tea and something sweeter. For a moment, they simply breathed together, sharing air and warmth.
Then Lavender made a small sound—half sigh, half plea—and everything shifted.
Hermione's hands found their way into Lavender's hair without conscious thought, fingers threading through silk-soft strands that smelled of vanilla. The gentle press of lips became something hungrier as Lavender parted her mouth, inviting Hermione deeper. Their tongues met in a slow slide that sent heat racing down Hermione's spine, pooling low in her belly where her cock throbbed insistently against her pajama bottoms.
"Mmm," Lavender hummed against her mouth, the vibration traveling through Hermione like lightning. She shifted closer, practically climbing into Hermione's lap, her weight settling across Hermione's thighs in a way that made rational thought scatter like startled pixies.
The kiss deepened, Hermione's usual careful control slipping as Lavender's fingers traced patterns on her shoulders through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt. When they finally broke apart for air, Lavender's lips were already swollen, pink and inviting in the wandlight.
"Better than firewhiskey," Lavender whispered, her breath warm against Hermione's cheek.
"Much better," Hermione agreed, then captured her mouth again before second thoughts could intrude. This kiss was different—confident where the first had been questioning. Hermione nipped gently at Lavender's bottom lip, earning a gasp that went straight to her cock.
Her hands slid from Lavender's hair to her shoulders, then lower, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone exposed by the nightgown's wide neckline. Lavender arched into the touch, a wordless plea for more that Hermione was helpless to deny.
"Is this—" Hermione started to ask, but Lavender silenced her with another kiss.
"Yes," she breathed between kisses. "Whatever you're asking, yes."
Permission granted, Hermione let her mouth wander from Lavender's lips to her jaw, mapping the soft skin with lips and tongue. The angle was awkward with Lavender in her lap, but when she found that spot just below Lavender's ear that made her whole body shiver, awkward became irrelevant.
"Oh," Lavender sighed, tilting her head to give Hermione better access. Her hips rolled slightly, an unconscious movement that pressed her more firmly against Hermione's lap.
Hermione's hands moved without permission, sliding down to cup Lavender's breasts through the thin silk of her nightgown. They filled her palms perfectly. Lavender's nipples hardened immediately under her touch, visible peaks through the fabric that begged for attention.
"Hermione," Lavender gasped as Hermione's thumbs brushed over those peaks, her whole body trembling. "That feels—oh Merlin—"
The sound went straight to Hermione's cock, making it throb almost painfully. She was so hard it hurt, nine inches straining against cotton that felt far too restrictive. Without thinking, she shifted her hips, seeking pressure, relief, anything—
Lavender pressed down at the same moment, grinding against what she clearly expected to be soft curves. The friction was electric, making them both gasp, but then Lavender froze.
"Why does it feel like you have a..." Her blue eyes went wide, words trailing off as her brain caught up with what her body was telling her.
"...cock?" Hermione finished in a voice barely above a whisper. Her heart hammered against her ribs, arousal warring with sudden terror. This wasn't how she'd wanted—
"Can I see?" Lavender questioned with an eager expression.
Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice. With shaking hands, she lifted her hips just enough to push down her pajama bottoms. Her cock sprang free immediately, nine thick inches standing proud.
Lavender's intake of breath was sharp in the quiet dormitory. For a long moment, she simply stared, taking in every detail—the impressive length, the pronounced veins, the way it twitched slightly under her gaze.
"It's beautiful," she finally breathed, wonder clear in her voice. "How—? When—?"
"Since start of term. I've been hiding it."
"All this time?" Lavender's fingers hovered near but not quite touching, as if asking permission. "That must have been..."
"Difficult," Hermione admitted. "Especially around—" She cut herself off, but Lavender's knowing look said she'd heard the unfinished thought anyway.
"Can I...?" Lavender's tongue darted out to wet her lips, the gesture making Hermione's cock twitch visibly.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," Lavender interrupted, already shifting position. "I've been wondering what you taste like for weeks. Just... not quite like this."
She settled between Hermione's spread thighs. This close, Hermione could see the flush spreading down her neck, the way her pupils had blown wide with arousal. When Lavender wrapped one hand around the base—her fingers couldn't quite meet around the girth—Hermione had to bite her lip to stay quiet.
"So warm," Lavender murmured, seemingly to herself. Her breath ghosted over the sensitive head, making Hermione's hips jerk involuntarily. "And so hard..."
She leaned closer, pink tongue extending to catch the bead of precum at the tip. The first contact was electric—just the briefest touch, but it shot through Hermione like Fiendfyre. Then Lavender's lips parted, taking just the head into the wet heat of her mouth, and Hermione let out a loud moan of pleasure.
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