The Graduation Orgy à la Slytherin

Title: The Graduation Orgy à la Slytherin
Author: Serpentlady
Disclaimer: I own nothing, make no money, everything is Rowling’s.
Pairing: Hermione/Crabbe/Goyle
Rating: R
Warnings: there are conotations of non-consentual acts, if you don\'t like it, don\'t read it.
Word Count: 1876


It was a tradition among the seventh years at Hogwarts to hold an inter-house party the weekend after NEWT exams. This year was no exception. Usually the Slytherins hosted it, as everyone knew that they had the best parties. Somehow or other, they had learned of the Room of Requirement, and planned on using this place for the party. The staff knew about the tradition, but not about the darker side of it. On the surface, it was a very long party, stretching from Friday night to Sunday afternoon. But everyone who attended knew that it was a mixture rave and orgy. Anyone who stayed overnight knew what they were in for.

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in her head girl’s room, trying to figure out what they were going to wear. Ron’s outfit had already been decided on: plain black dress pants, leather boots, and a royal blue button-down shirt. The vibrant colour went well with his hair, which had dulled to a deeper auburn shade. He and Hermione were attempting to figure out what Harry should wear. They knew that Harry was seeing someone, but they didn’t know who. They wanted him to look his best, so they were taking their time to find the best ensemble for him. So far they were agreed on black leather pants. They fit his ass like a second skin and barely covered all the important bits they were so low-cut. Hermione had enchanted his eyes so that he no longer needed glasses. They were having words on what type and colour of shirt he should wear. Finally, they just gave up and settled on a plain white wife-beater, knowing it would mould perfectly to his body.

Now came the part the boys were looking forward to, picking Hermione’s clothes. They knew she planned on hooking up with someone, so they began with underwear. After spending so much time indoors studying, Hermione’s skin was pale as milk. They chose lacy violet coloured underwear, a matching bra and thong set. They tamed her hair with a cocktail of enchantments and potions until it was sleek and smooth. Now she looked sexy as hell, and the two found themselves looking at her in a new light.

Harry was the first to shake it off. He began conjuring dresses and such, trying to figure out the best cut and style for her. Over time, Hermione had become a woman, and with the trials of war, she was a physically fit one, with muscles and a tight, firm body. He finally came across a miniskirt he thought would look smashing on her, and when she tried it on, she was a knockout. It was a micromini that barely covered her ass and as tight as shrink wrap. It was in black PVC and made her look like she had been dipped in India Ink.

In regards to a shirt, the boys argued back and forth, until Hermione finally settled it by putting on a handkerchief. She copied a style she had seen American girls wearing on the telly by taking a plain black handkerchief and folding it in half on the diagonal and then tying it around herself. Once it was on, she took the bra off.

The jaws of the two boys fell open. Their friend was a bombshell, a sex kitten, a temptress of the highest degree. Both were embarrassed to find their bodies reacting to a girl they thought of as a sister. All they could do was sit and stare as she went about trying on pair after pair of shoes. Hermione finally settled on a pair that made the boys drool, literally. They were thigh-high black latex heels that reminded them of a stripper they had seen at a club.

And with that, the well dressed trio made their way to the Room of Requirement. Crabbe and Goyle were standing guard outside the doors, looking tough in jeans and plain black tshirts. The two of them had filled out as well, their bodies showing signs of dedication to physical fitness in the breadth of their shoulders and span of their biceps. They let the three through without argument, especially when they saw Hermione. Harry could see the predatory hunger in their eyes as they watched her enter, deciding to warn his friend about their probable intentions. Too late, she was lost to the crowd, swallowed up by the heaving monster of dancing bodies.

Making her way through the crowd, collecting stares and lustful looks, Hermione went to the bar to get a stiff drink. It had been a long time since she had been this exposed in public. She managed to down three shots of vodka in less than two minutes. A warm voice in her ear whispered, “Better slow down there, Granger. Wouldn’t want to pass out before all the fun begins would you?” She turned to come face to face with none other than Draco Malfoy. He gave her a lazy wink before moving off into the crowd. In this place, she didn’t know what to make of his behaviour. Surely he didn’t want to fuck her? Just in case, she ordered another shot.

The next person to approach her was none other than Pansy Parkinson, dressed as scantily as possible in what appeared to be a matching chainmail bra and g-string. The other dark haired girl stood close behind Hermione, her nearly exposed breasts brushing up against her back. With one hand, she grabbed the slightly inebriated Hermione by the ass, using her other hand to turn her head to kiss her. And so the night began.

Hermione danced, gyrated, and ground against any body that came her way, kissing and groping the night away. Eventually, she managed to find herself sandwiched between the muscular bodies of Crabbe and Goyle. The two may not have measured up in the IQ department, but in her slightly drunken state, they more than made up for it with brawn. She rather liked the feeling of being surrounded by their strength.

Hermione was experiencing the world in flashes of colour and light, quick snapshots of the environment around her that were barely comprehensible to her drink sodden mind. The feel of hands on her hips, a chest against hers, lips on her ear, fingers at her breast, then a corridor, the feeling of a soft bed under her back... and then nothing but oblivion.

She awoke lying curled up on a bed, with Crabbe and Goyle lying at her feet, watching her. “Hello there. We thought you might never wake up. We have been waiting.” By this time, most of the drink had worn off, and her inhibitions came roaring to life. Hermione found herself to be acutely uncomfortable to be alone in a room, with a bed, with two of the men she considered to be enemies. As if reading her thoughts, Goyle spoke, easing her fears somewhat: “We won’t rape you. We like it when a girl is willing. That’s why we didn’t take you when you we asleep. We don’t want a cold fish to lie under us and not move.” It was strange hearing him speak for the both of them, as if they were one entity sharing two bodies, like a collective mind.

“I’m sorry, but I would like to leave now.” Hermione scooted herself off of the bed and began walking to the door, exerting all her will not to run. When drunk, she may have been willing to fuck them, but not sober.

“You cannot go... at least not until we get a goodbye kiss.” Crabbe had a rather Slytherinesque smile on his face. He was lying across the foot of the bed, Goyle cuddled to his chest, lounging at his ease.

Hermione smiled back, but felt that it was more a feral bearing of teeth. He emotions were out of control, fear at the possibility of rape, relief at getting off so easy, shame at getting so drunk to allow herself to consider the possibility of fucking the two of them. She walked to them on legs that didn’t wobble, knees that didn’t shake.

She leant her face to Crabbe, whispering her breath across his cheek. She cupped his face gently in one hand and pressed her lips to his softly. If she had led them on to thinking that she was going to fuck them, the least she could do was apologise with a kiss. Her tongue flicked out in a quick, wet teasing line before she pulled away. There was a glazed look in his eyes, a look filled with lust, desire, and strangely enough, wistfulness.

She turned her face to Goyle’s, and was about to lay her lips on his as she had with Crabbe, but her tangled his fingers in her hair, drawing her mouth down to his. He took control of the kiss, directing her mouth in how to move. It was he who thrust his tongue into her mouth before pulling away, and she was the one with glazed and lustful eyes.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to stay with us?” His hand was still in her hair, holding her bent over and nose to nose with him. The only place she could look was his eyes. She had never noticed how much emotion there was in his eyes. All anyone usually saw was confusion. It occurred to Hermione that neither of them had probably ever let any of their peers get as close to them as they had allowed her. She found the answer in his eyes: no, she was the only one and forever would be.

“I’ll stay.” Call her a bleeding heart, but she couldn’t let herself crush them, though they had once been her enemies. She saw the need in his eyes, and could not refuse. She closed her eyes when she felt herself being pulled into their embrace.

They may not have been the most intelligent in the common sense of the word, but Hermione found that they were not stupid. They had trouble understanding theories, but practical things they understood, show them and they could do it. They were people who learned through their hands and not their eyes or ears. And it was through their hands that she came to know them. Their hands were everywhere on her, touching and caressing, teasing and soothing, pinching and tickling. She felt their fingers, their palms, their lips and tongues all over her, and Hermione felt as if she were being worshipped, and that she was.

The two Slytherins had worshipped her from afar, but had never dared to disobey Malfoy’s unspoke edict against her. She was a mudblood and therefore inferior and unworthy of attention. But they had watched, and they had worshipped, as she answered every question she was asked correctly, as she researched, as she learned, as she received the highest marks and honours ever awarded to a student. And they had wanted her for their own, a fire of intellect to warm themselves at, to wonder at and fear.

And now they had her, and they were never going to let her go, no matter her wishes on the subject. And so she stayed, forever more.

The End