Leave Notes On My Pillow

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Memoirs In Your Eyes
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Bursting. Overflowing. Torrential waves of auburn and chocolate ringlets splashed across her back. Turning around and reaching for the shower lever, she brought the bathroom to silence. Quiet finally reverberated off the walls, pressing into her ears and combing over her skin. She could see without burning, hear without pounding, and feel without the unfailing ripple of nausea sizzling her throat.

The migraine had faded, and now she could make her way down to her friends, professors, and a feast worth crying for. Her last year. The last first entrance into the Great Hall, it’s vastness still chilling her to the…well, amazing her to the agog look on her face and the rigid stature of her back.

The last time, and how wonderful it would be. She was on top, received the ultimate recognition for the long hours spent in the library during the term, and in her room during the summer months. But she was not done, and in a big way this was just the beginning.

After destroying the monster who had plagued the Wizarding World for decades, the villain who had personally terrorized her, haunted her, and had his…cronies drop by to stretch out the pain even longer, Hermione Granger had a new lease on life. It was frightening still, unsettling even, the notion that it was over, for her and the world.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it had felt for Harry. To be free for the first time in his entire life. But she did know how it ended, and she did know that she helped him in a way that no one else could. Not the fatherly support of Arthur or Sirius, not the romantic “distraction” of Ginny or Cho. Not even the brotherly addiction to Quidditch and Ron. It was so much more, what they had.

She could sense him. She could sense him sensing her. His usual expectant nature, imploring her for confirmation of her well-being. After almost an hour, she finally obliged.


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It’s more quiet than usual. Hermione Granger was suspicious of the uncanny lack of clattering and clanking, chattering and shouts to pass this and that. Before even pushing open the door though, she knew all eyes were on her. “Here goes,” she whispered to herself, attempting to boost her confidence.

Cccrrreeeaaaakkkk!!! All eyes were on her, as if—“—Head Girl, Hermione Granger!” Applause erupted like a volcano, booming from the base of the head table, and waving down the benches towards her. Almost everyone had stood up, regarding her with the respect one would give to Dumbledore.

She beamed, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of appreciation, but proud. So filled with pride that she could hardly release the stiffening breath of…. fear? Stress? That sweet intake of knowledge that she was most significant. That prideful gasp was short lived though, as a humble smile crept upon her face.

“Please, come get your badge so we can release the students to their Houses,” the pointed voice of Professor McGonagall dictated.

Hermione wasted no time and hastened to the front of the enormous dining room. Dark brown orbs managed to jump towards emerald green ones for a moment before twitching to the steel grey knives of Draco Malfoy, currently piercing her body through her eyes.

Sigh, “Hello, Malfoy. Congratulations.” She had joined the blond wizard next to the professor. He slightly nodded, not paying any particular amount of attention to anything. He only moved to take the innately glowing badge of honor and achievement from the Headmistress, his gaze never leaving her face. Or what seemed like her face.

The applause that had died down slightly for a moment rose to the previous volume with renewed vigor. Their heroine, a savior of similar appraisal to The Boy Who Lived had accepted her Head Girl badge, and held it up for all to see.


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I’ve never seen that look on her face, thought Harry when the large door was pushed open. So happy, so fulfilled.

Even before the Quidditch stadium-like wave had reached him, he rose at her arrival. An inkling of relief trickled over him, a shared gasp held them together in time, and a little more than a smidgen of arousal clawed at him when her gaze briefly met his.

They had made it, together, and he had never contemplated what that entailed. He was with Ginny now, or rather, attempting to understand the newest set of feelings he was having.

He had already experienced pain, literal and emotional along with so many more dreadful things. The fluffy emotions he so rarely had the luxury of indulging in were suddenly now thrust upon him by the youngest Weasley, joyous and loving…

He pounded his palms together, not full of joy and love for his endeared, but for his Hermione. He heard a wolf whistle followed by a “Yeah, ‘Mione!” that could have only come from Ron Weasley. He soon after heard a soft spoken “Oi, sorry…” Lavender Brown had probably put him in his place again. Bloody abusive woman.


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Oh…woah. Blaise’s mouth was agape as he watched their new Head Girl enter at McGonagall’s timely introduction. “She grew tits!” he remarked loudly to Pansy, his voice raising so she could hear him over the noise. The dark haired witch who was seated next to him unaccustomedly stood up, as had most of the other Slytherin, to her surprise.

“They can’t be that great, she clearly already went through her sorry excuse for puberty. Someone simply cannot grow breasts over a single summer…” her words were spoken on deaf ears as most of the males in her house were focused on those nonexistent breasts. And that neatly cinched waist, and those firm hips… A “huh” escaped Pansy’s lips.

“See something you like?” asked Blaise, smirking knowingly, never diverting his eyes from the sight before him. If I can see them so clearly now, under all of those layers of robes and clothes… Blaise had quickly become close to panting, his cock twitching the tiniest bit at the smell of new meat. Then he recalled that she, newly gorgeous Granger was Muggleborn. His father would not have minded his bachelor-like tendencies, bedding many females himself during his Hogwarts days. But he had never lain with anyone of less than half magical blood. And even after his fathers’ death, Blaise strived to please him. He pried his eyes away to look at Pansy. She, he and Draco had become a sort of Silver Trio over the years. And even the quickest glance at her told him Pansy was thirsty…for what, he did not know yet.


~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~


Maybe I can sneak a quick look. Ronald feared the wrath of his girlfriend. He feared everything about her actually. There was little he could do to appease Lavender Brown, and looking at another woman certainly never worked in his favor. But then again, she is my best friend…sort of.

As a sharp intake of breath whooshed into his lungs, he almost choked on…well, air. He turned it into a whistle without thinking, then quickly tried to patch that up with a boast of friendly support. They had been through a lot as well, but shortly after the War he became reacquainted with his all-too-possessive girlfriend and never had the time or courage to seek Hermione out. And now he wished he had.

It looks so…firm. He recalled when they had been together, and although it was a short-lived fling, he had gotten a taste. And now he wanted to have the whole bit, with his hands squeezing her bum while he did it.

His daydream was interrupted though when a sharp “Ron!” stole his attention. He had looked for too long and as one to wear his emotions not only on his sleeve, but also on his face and in his eyes, and on the electronic flashing message board apparently attached to the front of his trousers.

That wrath was once again directed at him. Oh you’ve really fudged it up this time.


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It’s as if she’s grown an extra foot in the legs or something. Awfully too much skin stared blatantly at the eager Hufflepuff as he tried to remain calm unlike everyone else in the school. He easily blocked out the catcalls and clapping that surrounded him, remaining seated and staying focused on the skirt, those bare legs, and the stockings.

The skirt he could push up around her waist, the legs he could spread out before him, and the stockings… he wanted to arouse her, tempt her, and then slowly peel down the offending cloth to expose what he had never seen before. Her calves. And after admiring them, touching them as he had only dreamed, he would move on to her feet.

The things I plan on doing to those feet…


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Perfect. Just perfect. Draco groaned inwardly. Granger had to go and get pretty.

He had known there would only be one option for Head Girl, knew long ago that unless by some sick trick of his mind that she was brought down a notch, Her-Muggleborn-Granger would be making this grand entrance someday. And it appeared as if that day had surely arrived.

He had understood and accepted her terrifying brilliance, but never gave up trying to match her for the sake of his father. His only shot at besting her now was on the upcoming NEWTs. Slim chance there.

Now he had to live with her, after virtually becoming the sole keeper of his own Manor, along with a slew of Malfoy homes, moving in with someone else in such a juvenile setting was depressing. Moving in with a girl, this specific one a hero to the universe, was downright ridiculous!

But as she came closer, his heart beat uncharacteristically. He heard Weaselbee’s shout, the look in his eyes. He saw Blaise with Pansy, the look in their eyes. And he observed a knowing glance from Potter slide to everyone’s new point of interest.

What is everyone staring at? Oh. The cascade of silk framing her face flushed around her shoulders, glowing facets of gold and brown. A play with the lighting would have given the illusion that it had been cut during over break. But as she neared it was obvious that the still riotous curls stretched near her hips. Did she just say something? He wondered briefly. He wanted to pull on it. Slide his hands up her spine, leaving one to cup the back of her neck, and the other to weave into the mane of softness, gripping the lot of it and yanking her head backwards as he ravished her neck.

Stop it! He mentally slapped himself. I’m looking for a wife, not a Gryffindor virgin. And yet he couldn’t look away. He took his badge without averting his eyes toward the Headmistress. How ever he thought he’d manage this final term without even running his hands through it… He knew he couldn’t, but gods, if he desired her, he would make sure the seductress had to suffer too…

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