Room of Requirement

Christmas Eve morning finally approached. She slept late in her Head Girl’s quarters, dreaming naughtily of the evening she knew was ahead of her. She was awoken, finally, by a loud knock on her door.

“Are you decent, ‘Mione?” Without waiting for a reply, Ginny, Harry, and Ron barged in, giggling.

“Blimey, ‘Mione, where’d those come from?” Ron said, ogling Hermione’s newfound, massive breasts in her threadbare t-shirt. Harry elbowed him, laughing, and the three sat on her bed, giggling.

They all talked for an hour or so, and then exchanged gifts. Harry and Ron, in a rare display of sentimentality, made her a scrapbook detailing their Hogwarts days. On the cover was a picture of them as first years, Harry and Ron with their arms around her. Ron-in-the-picture’s hand moved above her head in a “rabbit ears” sign, and she swatted it away, laughing. Hermione didn’t actually say thank you, her tears were enough, although it did embarrass the boys somewhat. Ginny gave her a leather-bound, gilt-edged edition of the Kama Sutra.

The boys went to the common room for a game of chess, and Ginny and Hermione set to getting ready in Hermione’s chambers. They bathed and shaved and waxed, powdered and lotioned, spritzed and sprayed. Hermione donned a lovely ornate bra and light slip. She and Ginny sat around in their robes. They took turns, straightening each other’s hair, and then applying makeup. They finally wound flowers into their hair, and donned their dresses. It was nearly time.

Hermione looked into the mirror and gasped. She couldn’t believe it was her wedding day. Before her stood a woman, a fully grown, adult woman. She could feel the actual transition. Hermione looked as if she’d just stepped out of a J.W. Waterhouse painting. Her long, thick hair hung straight and heavy down her back, reaching her waist now that she’d ironed the curl out. The skin on her face was perfect, light and flawless, as if it had been airbrushed. Ginny’s makeup application was deft, undetectable. Her cheeks flushed slightly, soft and pink, and her lips were very glossy and natural. Her eyes were rimmed in soft gold, her thick, black lashes (false, but beautiful) curled coquettishly. A crown of Stephanotis rested on her head, and she was covered with a very sheer piece of fabric, her veil, which reached her fingertips. Her pregnancy, nearly twenty weeks, was now fully obvious, rounding gracefully under the empire waist of her dress.

A knock sounded on her door. “Mum! Dad!” Hermione’s mother embraced her daughter, laughing through tears. Mr. Granger hugged his daughter, and they headed downstairs. As the bride was not “given away” in a wizarding ceremony, they took their seats. Professor McGonagall walked over to her, and ushered her aside. “Severus has been inside for a while, he wanted to make sure he didn’t see you before the ceremony.” Her eyes misted. “You look amazing, dear. Severus is very lucky- as are you. You’re in for somewhat of a treat, I daresay.” Minerva walked into the Great Hall, leaving Hermione alone in the hallway. Soon, she heard the first strains of Pachelbel’s canon, and she opened the door.

She held her breath. Severus stood at the end of the aisle, and he looked back at her. She had never seen anyone so handsome in her entire life. His hair was immaculate, shining in the softly lit hall. He wore a black jacket and vest, a charcoal-colored button down shirt, and a silver tie. And... dear Lord. In place of pants, he wore a charcoal-colored kilt, a black codpiece, and charcoal socks with black flashers. She’d never been so proud before in her life. This handsome, intelligent, mysterious man was in love with her. They were having babies together. That feeling of warmth and contentment spread over her again, and they said their vows in front of the crowd before them.

As they walked back down the aisle, newly wed, he scooped her into his arms. “I love you, Hermione,” he said.

“I love you, too, Severus.”

“What do you say we go get rid of this awkward rope?” he asked her, gesturing to where their wrists were bound, and she grinned back shyly. He ducked into the first door he saw, a classroom. He sat her gingerly on the desk and lifted her thick skirts.

“We don’t have much time, as they’re going to miss us back at the reception. I’m sure your undergarments are complic-“ he stopped, realizing that there was a distinctive lack of undergarment to be difficult to remove. After being introduced to constant sex, the last few weeks of celibacy were hell. He instantly stiffened under his kilt.

“And what about you, darling? Is it true what they say?” She reached her hand under his kilt, and got a handful of hot, rock hard flesh, thereby answering her question. She lifted her skirts further, and he entered her. She lay back, moaning, and he pounded into hmurmmurmuring her name disjointedly, his thrusts breaking the rhythm of his smooth voice.

She opened her eyes. Severus stared back at her, unmitigated lust naked in his eyes. She gasped and came, scratching her fingernails into his bare bottom, pulling him deeper into her. Her roughness brought him off as well, and he released three and a half weeks of frustration into her, filling her with his hot, thick liquids. She smiled and kissed him. She pointed her wand at her thighs and muttered an incantation.

“Can’t spoil my lovely dress, can I?” They joined their party, which, although small, was in full swing. Hot spiced wine was flowing freely, and the festivities stretched on late into the night. Hermione fell asleep on a chair in the corner around two thirty, her hand draped protectively over her tummy.

She woke about fifteen minutes later, to an odd fluttering sensation. She thought she had a stomachache, but she felt it again on the other side. Awareness dawned on her, and she ran to Severus, placing his hand on the swell of her belly.

“Oh, my God,” he said, feeling the first fluttering movements of his unborn children. They said their goodnights and hurried off to bed. Hermione, after all, was sleeping for three, now.