A Hogwarts Christmas Sex Adventure

Another chapter. Hope you enjoy. I don\'t mean to beg, but reviews boost my ego and mak wri write faster. *whistles innocently* Right, blatant attempt at blackmail over and done with. Here we go:

Daya

*

Let us peer into the murky corridors of Hogwarts.

As we do so, our gaze falls upon the confident figure striding towards the Gryffindor Common room, in a very determined manner.

Ah yes, we recognise this figure. She is older than perhaps you are familiar with, and has grown into quite the young woman. Chestnut hair tangles down her back, deep coffee eyes have dark circles underneath them, and yes, if you were to get closer to her, you would be able to smell… mandrake root. Well, you can’t have everything.

So let us lean closer, and watch as she passes. Perhaps, if we are quiet, we may be able to sneak into the common room with her. She is, of course, our Hogwart’s Head Girl, Hermione Granger.

*

Hogwarts was awash with sugar. Am sure that anybody will recognise that sugar causes far more chaos than alcohol. At least with alcohol, people eventually go to sleep.

Well, that was the Head Girl’s reasoning. Hermione was in a foul mood, so foul, she was about ready to start confiscating Christmas sweets and deducting points if people so much as wished her a Merry Christmas.

Merry her arse. Viktor was away, and was decidedly shifty about his whereabouts. Therefore Hermione could only imagine he was shacked up with a Veela somewhere, doing all sorts of interesting things with her long blonde hair. Apparently, for teasing value, thick curly chestnut hair just didn’t cut it. Neither did any woman that had hips. If Viktor mentioned once more that she could do with joining him on one of his morning runs, she would have served his balls to him for breakfast. Women had curves. Veelas and supermodels didn’t. It was as simple as that.

Admittedly, Hermione had slightly more curves than she would have liked at the moment. A bitterly cold winter combined with an almost dependant need for the House Elves special hot chocolate (Hermione’s principles went out of the window after the first sip) served with real chocolate, marshmallows and even more real chocolate, had led to her school s get getting a bit snug. Thank Merlin for magic, and the ability to being able to expand her waistband with the flick of her wand.

To be fair, it wasn’t just Viktor that was upsetting her at the moments. Her absence from the family home for majority of the last seven years had led to her parents rediscovering their early passion. Therefore they would be spending Christmas on a cruise, and she would be at the bitterly cold Hogwarts, without even an international Quidditch player with a sexy accent to keep her warm. At this rate, she would be depending on Ron.

She shuddered at the thought. A drunken snog with Ron in the sixth year had led to her making the decision that she would never attempt that again. If he was a sloppy in bed as he was at kissing, well, the bed would be awash with his saliva. The image wasn’t a pleasant one. Ah, speak of a red haired devil and he would appear. Walking through the portrait (password, ‘Christmas Cracker’) her first sight was Ron frantically waving a piece of parchment around.

‘Hey, ‘Mione, you’re staying for Christmas aren’t you?’

She unwound the red and gold scarf from round her throat and wondered how long’d g’d get in Azkaban if she throttled Ron with it.

‘Yes, I am. Pray tell me what delightful entertainment we’re getting this year?’

‘How did you know?’ Ron’s face fell as he lost the opportunity to share his news. Hermione decided it was like kicking a puppy. Only far more satisfying.

‘Because Snape has had a face like a slapped arse on him all day, and a temper to match, in the manner that can only mean Dumbledore has done something to upset him, Christmas is approaching, so am guessing that Dumbledore is organising something for that, and I heard McGonagall talking about some festivity with Hooch. Therefore when you wave parchment at me and ask if I’m staying for Christmas, can only guess that it might involve some form of entertainment.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, indeed.’ Hermione sighed. ‘Go on then, tell me.’

She collapsed into an armchair and pulled a bar of Honeydukes chocolate from her bag. She might as well stuff her face as she listened.

‘It’s another ball.’

‘So soon after the Yule?’

‘Yup. This is a special one on Christmas Eve for all students not returning home.’

Now this was interesting. Hermione had had a vague idea that there were more students remaining here than usual, but to actually hold a ball was an odd idea. ‘Will the teachers be going?’

‘Flitwick says so.’

‘Christ. No wonder Snape was foul today. He removed ten points from Neville for quivering.’

‘Miserable greasy git. Why doesn’t he pick on someone his own size?’

Why indeed? Hermione wondered. Because she was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone as tall or as deliciously built as Severus Snape. And Neville, while having grown into a reasonably attractive young man, was in no way in Snape’s league.

Hermione choked on her chocolate. Since when did Snape have a league? This was getting serious.

It had been at the beginning of her sixth year, that Hermione, suffering long absences from Viktor, had begun to notice just how long her potions master’s fingers were. This immediately lead to some inappropriate thoughts involving wondering how other parts of his anatomy measured up to his fingers, and a slightly distracted state for the next eighteen months any time she was in the presence of his Darkness.

Of course, she knew he thought of her as nothing but a know it all, but by Merlin, there were a few things she knew that she would like to teach him…

‘Mione? Mione? You in there?’

Having someone knocking on the side of your head was not a pleasant way to be interrupted from your own private fantasies.

‘What?’ she snapped at Ron.

‘I was just wondering if you were going?’

‘Yeah, of course I am. What else am I going to do?’

She had a few ideas in her mind, but she thought that if she repeated them to Ron he might faint. Especially the one involving Severus Snape, her school uniform and a cane, definitely arousing, despite lacking in originality.

‘Bloody hell, ‘Mione. I was only asking. You really need to get laid.’ Ron was attempting to be scathing. Coming from the most famous virgin at Hogwarts, it was far more amusing than hurtful.

‘Sorry, was just wondering where Harry is.’ She attempted to be apologetic, but in reality her mind was wandering. Straight down to the dungeons…

‘Oh, I’m not sure. I think he might be in the library. You know, he’s spending an awful lot of time down there. Do you think there might be something wrong with him?’

‘Doubtful. Perhaps, unlike you, he’s realised that his NEWTs are in a manner of months, and has started revising.’

‘As you said, they are months away. I have plenty of time to revise.’

‘Of course you have. And you’ll be begging me to help come Easter.’

‘Have I ever not?’

‘Nope. Not in six years. Be grateful I’m your friend, Ron, if I was your enemy, I could be very cruel indeed.’

Hermione was gratified to see a flicker of doubt on Ron’s face. She did enjoy teasing him. In fact the Hermione that had returned to Hogwarts in her Sixth year had not only teased Ron, but frequently scared Ron. And Hermione knew this was all down to having breasts. Harry didn’t have breasts, therefore Ron was confused that Hermione did. It had certainly put a confusing light on their friendship for a while. Gender didn’t come into Ron’s concepts of friendship, but unfortunately, in the case of Hermione’s breasts, it had been unavoidable. They weren’t big, they weren’t small, they were just there, and to Ron, they were terrifying. So terrifying, he felt the need to stare at them often just in case they did something he wasn’t expecting.

Well… it could be the reason he was staring at them. Somehow, Hermione doubted it.

‘Hey, do you want to play chess?’ Ron asked eagerly. Everything Ron did was eager. Not for the first time did Hermione wonder if Ron had any Irish Red Setter blood in him. It would explain so much. The same vacant expression, the red colouring, the eagerness, it all boiled down to years of inbreeding.

‘No, thanks, I think I’m just going to go for a bath and then bed. Snape was a bastard today, and I don’t think I’ll ever get the smell of mandrake root out of my hair.’

‘Oh, right. Ok. Was just wondering.’

For a moment Hermione nearly relented, then decided against it. Although the Common room was quiet, there were one or two other Gryffindors in there that could probably be persuaded to join Ron in a game of chess. That’s if the sugar ever wore off.

There was a groan from the corner of the room, a strange splurging noise, and a splattering upon the floor. A first year, one hand still holding onto a mince pie looked around in surprise, and then announced ‘I don’t feel well.’

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was time for her bath.

*

The Head Girl/Boy’s bathroom was a classic example of Roman architecture. Not that anybody ever noticed, or was smart enough to realise. Hermione usually revelled in the privilege of being allowed to use this room, but today she was distracted. Slipping into the water, she lay on her back, and floated dreamily through the bubbles.

Did the room really have to be so large? Ever since she had gotten access to here, she had always thought how delicious it would be to share a bath with someone. However, she didn’t quite fancy sharing with Draco, the headboy, despite his slightly improved temperament. Andbe hbe honest, she didn’t want a boy. Although she did want a Slytherin.

There was a certain person who could ‘slither in’ to her any time he wanted. Severus Snape, bastard extraordinaire. Hermione shivered at the thought of allowing the Potion’s Master to share her bath. How positively exquisite would it be to lie here while he traced the length of her body with his tongue.

The problem was…

Well…

Oh for fucks sake, the man thought she was an irritating know it all.

Which of course she was, but it wasn’t really very fair of him to hold it against her.

There were other far more interesting things she wanted him to hold against her…

With a frustrated cry she pounded the water. Even her attempts to get detention failed miserably. Slipping the wrong ingredient into a sleeping potion had not, as she had hoped, caused a huge explosion that would wipe out the classroom. She had hoped this might be enough to land her in detention. Instead she had accidentally discovered a cure for the common cold, and was now being hailed as a hero. Of course, no one would believe she hadn’t meant to. Especially Snape. Who now hated her more than ever. Wanker.

Now she just had to persuade him to look at her twice. Low cut blouses teamed with lacy bras hadn’t worked. Neither had the thigh high leather boots. (Although Ron had left a trail of drool behind him as he had followed her aimlessly around the school.) Was the man capable of feeling sexual feelings (she ignored her lower abdomen which screamed ‘He better bloody be able to!’), or was he a cold fish? Not if the rumours about him and Hooch were to be believed.

She would have one opportunity to have her wicked way with him. The Christmas Ball. Get him on his own somewhere and insist that he took her to bed. Or just took her. She wasn’t fussy. It was just a matter of getting him to cooperate.

She sat up suddenly. Somewhere in the back of her twisted mind, there was a plan forming. (Yes, Hermione had a twisted mind, she became aware of that the moment she found Snape attractive. Sort of a cathartic experience one could say.) Swirling her fingers through the thick bubbles, she realised that she would have to be careful. And first thing tomorrow morning, she was asking Harry for his invisibility cloak.