Chapter Text
Filled. Filled completely. Her body shaking, legs wrenched apart, screaming and sobbing as she begged for more.
More. More. It would never be too much. It would never be enough.
It seemed to grow exponentially larger with every inch he pushed in. Thicker. She could barely squeeze him into her, but he didn’t stop. He forced her to stretch. Forced her to fit him in. The stretch— oh— fuck— the stretch—
Hermione woke up in a sweat.
Her body ached. Her jaw, her shoulders, her abdomen. Stinging tension through her hips. Tightness in her thighs. Down her calves and into the arches of her feet. Her nipples raked against the inside of her t-shirt, goosebumps prickling her heat-stroked skin.
Her legs were shaking with need.
She rolled her lips together, listening quietly for sounds of any of the other 8th year girls stirring. There were none.
She couldn’t wrench her pyjama bottoms off herself fast enough.
Her hand was between her legs with a rapidity she was ashamed of. There was no time to stop and remember who she’d been dreaming about; her fingers were already between her folds, bearing down on her clit. She made hard, determined circles over herself. It was lovely, but that wasn’t what she needed.
She arched her back. Spread her legs. Pushed her fingers inside herself. Two. Then three. She huffed with frustration. Not enough. She manoeuvred her body to try and use two hands. She racked her brain for something she could use. Something nearby. Something— anything—
It wasn’t going to be enough.
Hermione sobbed silently into the air, cursing her slim, feminine fingers, before slipping them out of her and resigning herself to a consolation clitoral orgasm.
It was perfectly fine. Adequate, even.
But, as she pulled her pyjamas back on, slipping out of bed and making her way to the shower to clean herself up, she sighed.
It just wasn’t the same.
*
It was midnight when she finished her shower. 8th year classes included Astronomy at 1 a.m., and she already knew from the first month and a half that there wasn’t much point in trying to go back to sleep.
She had ways of dealing with this, at home. Ways of soothing it. Toys, mostly. Muggle ones. Some vibrated, some even pulsed. Some, she enchanted to fuck her without her having to move. But it still wasn’t enough.
She was always left wanting more.
She had spent hours researching and buying and trying out toys. Enchanting them to be slightly larger, or a little thicker, or to just a little bit harder. But they were wrong. They were all wrong. No matter what changes she made, they always had her on the edge of it, but she always needed just— a bit— more—
And then she was left disappointed.
What she wouldn’t give to have one of them now, though. She hadn’t even brought the damn toys with her. Her inbuilt sense of shame had told her to leave them at home. She was here to learn, not fuck herself stupid on a giant silicone cock. She’d thought she wouldn’t need them.
Oh, how badly she was wrong.
She adjusted her book bag over her shoulder, trying not to kick herself as she made her way down the dark corridor. Of course she would need them. But now, she’d properly sabotaged herself. It wasn’t like she could owl her elderly neighbour, ask them to break into her flat, rummage through a box of anatomically-gifted sex toys, wrap them up individually so that it wouldn’t be so obvious when the post arrived, and send them to her.
She had actually paused for a moment to consider the logistics before she realised she’d stopped walking.
Hermione scowled at herself. She was an idiot. She had been stupid to think she wouldn’t need them. Because she did need them. Her tiny orgasm was like a breath over a steaming mug of tea. It took the edge off for a moment, but ultimately, all it did was make her more thirsty.
She needed something—anything to cool her down.
She heard a creak to her left. Her head whipped around. She frowned.
Had that door always been…?
Hermione’s eyes went wide, as she realised she was in the seventh floor corridor.
The Room of Requirement.
She shook her head. Absolutely not. She could not use school facilities for something like that, no matter how urgent it felt. She wasn’t even sure the room wouldn’t tell on her, somehow. Tell on her, and have everyone find out about exactly what kind of enormous, thick appendage was enough to satisfy Hermione Granger.
Enormous and thick. Hard as steel. Pulsing. One that could fuck her hard, but still be easily controlled in case it became overwhelming. Though, she did want to be overwhelmed. She also didn’t want it to stop unless she commanded it to.
Could the room come up with something like that?
Did it even exist?
The realisation of the opportunity in front of her made her skin prickle with heat once more.
If it existed anywhere, it would exist in the Room of Requirement. The room was special. Its entire purpose was to give you exactly what you needed, and she needed this. Hermione had a little too much saliva under her tongue. She swallowed, hard.
She checked her watch. She had plenty of time until class, and it was the middle of the night. Most of the students in the class were Ravenclaws, and so were already most of the way up the tower. No one would be coming through here for a while. There was literally no reason she couldn’t look, at least.
She turned the handle, peered inside.
Behind the door was nothing particularly special. It just looked like another corridor. She took a single step into it, her step echoing off the floor.
And then, out of nowhere, she was forced to stop.
Her wrists thrust in front of her, and dragged her forward as if she were invisibly shackled. Her feet locked to the floor, cemented. The room shuddered and shifted as the seventh floor corridor’s wall collapsed around her.
Bricks moved like mechanisms; whirring and folding into a new position. She was bent in half as the bricks closed in on her. They re-formed, leaving a small hole that perfectly curved around her waist. It had built her into itself.
She was stuck.
Hermione gasped, trying to look back, but she couldn’t twist. Her head, arms and upper half were on one side of the wall, her lower half was stuck on the other side, and she couldn’t see anything past her waist. She was almost exactly halfway through the wall.
This wasn’t at all what she wanted.
Her wrists and ankles were released, but she wasn’t. She was completely captured, held in place around the waist. She wriggled for a moment to try and get free, her cheeks blushing something furious as she realised that this skirt was one of her shorter ones, and that her arse and knickers were now completely on display to anyone who happened to walk down the seventh floor corridor.
And that was the exact moment that footsteps began trudging down it.
She swore to herself. This was fine.
“Hello?” She called for help.
Whoever it was would help her. They would blast the wall, hopefully gently, and get her out of it.
Or, at least, that was what she’d expected, right up until the moment a large, warm hand ran up the back of her thigh.
She froze.
The hand was too large to be a woman’s. Far too large. Long, elegant fingers, yes, but they were thick. A man’s fingers. The skin felt smooth. Her skin broke into goosebumps, but the man the hand belonged to didn’t let up. Instead, he spoke.
“Room of requirement, you have truly outdone yourself.”
She didn’t recognise the voice. The room had— modulated it, somehow. He brushed the backs of his fingers down her inner thigh.
“Get your hand off me,” she called back.
The man did no such thing.
In fact, it was like he couldn’t hear her at all. His hand continued its path up the back of her thigh, taking a handful of her arse and giving her a hard squeeze. She wriggled away from it.
The voice whispered, almost in amazement. “This one looks just like her.”
Hermione froze.
Looked just like who?
She didn’t have a chance to answer. Because the next second, he was trailing his thumb down the centre of her fucking knickers.
She roared in protest, screaming about assault, cursing loudly and kicking her legs backwards to try and connect with him, but he was too fast and too coordinated. He chuckled.
“Spirited, too,” the dark voice. “You’re really spoiling me tonight.”
He pushed his thumb in against her arse, and she jerked in surprise. But he didn’t linger. He trailed down over the top of her underwear; a straight line down over her centre. He pressed in a little at her entrance, and continued his assault as he pushed his thumb between her folds. He parted them, and right at her apex, began circling her clitoris.
“You—” she gasped at the sudden rush of heat through her body. “Stop it!”
He did not. She kicked backwards again.
He spanked her arse. Hard.
Hermione was struck still, partly from shock, but mostly. Mostly.
From the fucking audacity.
She wriggled and kicked as hard as she could, every direction as she tried to connect with him. What kind of a man just came across a partially-exposed lower half of a woman and decided he was going to touch it?! Running his fingers over her as if he was going to make it feel nice for her as a consolation prize to being assaulted.
And who did he think he was, anyway? Spanking her like a naughty child?
She gasped.
And he’d just tricked her into normalising corporal punishment!
She kicked ten times harder.
He spanked her again, across the back of both thighs. Then he took hold of her hips. She tried to wriggle against them, but he held her still.
And, as he held her, he did something she didn’t expect.
He… soothed her.
A gentle, comforting shhhh as he placed his hand over the mark he’d left on her thighs.
It felt…
She shuddered.
Rather lovely.
The warmth against the sting sent pleasure flooding through her. Oh. This was why people liked being spanked. She could suddenly see the appeal. But before she could misbehave a little more, and draw another one out of him, he changed tactics.
His hand moved upward, and cupped her between her legs.
She arched, moaning into herself. She was sensitive from waking up so electrified, and only taking the edge off her arousal, so the warmth and size of his palm made her whimper.
It sent a pulse of wetness, right underneath his palm. Fuck.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he’d felt it. She hoped not. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel empowered to continue.
But he did. He did notice.
And, in a single moment, he’d pulled her underwear to the side. The cold air across her warm centre made her gasp.
“Look at her, she’s soaking,” he whispered to the Room of Requirement.
Hermione felt the gentle slide of a finger between her folds. Teasing her clit, slipping slowly towards her centre. He teased around her entrance, and she closed her eyes, humming softly.
She realised she was letting him touch her, and she kicked him again.
She got him.
It was one. Only one kick, and by her best summary, it was clean across the side of the ribs. He exhaled heavily. But he didn’t stop.
“Clever girl, she caught me off guard,” he said. She already knew he was talking to the Room. She didn’t stop kicking.
She heard an incantation, and then, her left foot was stuck to the floor. Her right one was lifted high. The fingers he’d used to tease her clit moved intrusively down her slit. He reached her entrance, and with absolutely no warning, pushed two inside her.
She jolted, letting out an enthused hum of pleasure, for a moment, forgetting that he was digitally penetrating her without her explicit verbal consent. It didn’t matter how good it felt. Or that her eyelids had begun to flutter shut as he added a third finger.
When she found out who it was, she was going to make their life hell.
He began gently pumping back and forth, coaxing more and more arousal out of somewhere beyond the depths of her soul. To her great shame, it was working. She’d forgotten how much deeper a man’s fingers could reach inside her. And this one had very large hands. She arched a little.
The pumping was rhythmic. Making her hum and moan as she began rocking her hips backwards to match it. Her eyes closed completely at the gentle stroking at a spot deep inside her that she herself had been unable to reach.
“You like that,” he said, with certainty. He seemed to be speaking to her, instead of the Room, now. “Don’t you, you pretty little swot?”
She nodded, moaning quietly again. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but the urge to be worthy of the praise had her feeling very agreeable. And she liked it. She liked it very much.
She froze. Her eyes snapped open. No. She did not. It was physically pleasurable, but she did not like it. This was not what she wanted when she’d asked the Room of Requirement for help— to be stuck in a wall, being fondled and prodded by a man who could very well be someone she absolutely would not allow to fondle and prod her in any other circumstance.
It suddenly occurred to Hermione that the stranger genuinely did not know she was real. And if that were the case, he would think her kicking was part of the game.
This could’ve been a friend. Maybe someone she’d never be able to look in the eye afterwards. Or… what if it was someone she hated? Someone she’d be horrified by? Like a professor.
Or a Slytherin.
She felt herself clench a little.
Somehow, the idea of it being someone particularly forbidden had her twitching with excitement. She decided she needed to check.
She angled herself as far sideways as she could, but she could only catch a glimpse through the gap. It looked like a student’s robes, but she couldn’t be sure. Her movement seemed to catch his attention, though. He removed his fingers. He shuffled behind her. She relaxed, but only for a moment. She heard him drop to his knees, moving halfway underneath her.
Her eyes widened.
No. He wouldn’t.
But, as it turned out, her audacious stranger absolutely fucking would. He parted her open with his thumbs, waiting a moment, as if admiring her. She squirmed again, though she wasn’t sure if it was from anticipation or discomfort from being spread open and stared at.
She closed her eyes. She waited.
And she squealed as she felt the warm, liquid slide of a tongue on her centre.
Hermione scrambled for purchase against the wall, but all she did was slip against the stones. She could only hold herself up, throwing her head back and moaning as he began teasing her clit with his tongue.
She’d never had it from this angle before, had a man behind her—underneath her while he licked her, and the sensation had her splitting at the seams. The angle meant she could feel all of it; every inch of his tongue as it made slow passes over her. Over her clit, flat and wide and gentle. Then back to her entrance, hard and firm and penetrating.
And he was messy.
He wasn’t just tasting her wetness, he was adding to it, his saliva coating her and making her wriggle against his face as she felt it drip down the back of her thigh. It felt— It felt—
Oh, God, it felt incredible.
His mouth moved off her, sinking a bite into her inner thigh, and she couldn’t help but flex them around his face. He moaned his approval into her skin. When he gave her his mouth again, he gave her his hands, too. Sliding dominantly up the back of her thighs and squeezing, hard. It only made her spread wider for him.
He wasn’t planning on getting her off like this, she could tell; he was enjoying exploring her too much. His tongue flicked over her clit, sucking gently at it and moaning as she wriggled against his face. He was devouring her, his lavish tongue drenching her in the mixture of the two of them.
Her foot was stuck to the floor, but she spread her legs as wide as she could, angling her hips wider. Her voice echoed off the stone, crying into the cold air as his hot breath sank into her. Her fingers curled against the wall. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her against his face.
She cried out.
He might not have been planning to make her come. But it was about to happen anyway.
Hermione stilled. The pleasure crested with every flick of his tongue, until finally, she couldn’t take it any more. She spread her legs apart, and pushed herself back against his mouth, giving in and rocking desperately against it.
He moaned.
His tongue worked into a frenzy, the opposite of what he should’ve done, but he thought this was for him. He opened wider, laving his tongue against her clit, his moan vibrating violently over her cunt. He held her against his face, rocking in time with her hips, as she ground harder against his tongue. And, with a final, vibrating moan from his throat, she came.
The orgasm was stronger than she expected, making her call out loudly as it quivered through her thighs. His lips moved over her, prolonging her with wet, open-mouthed kisses and demanding grinds as she came against his face. She was practically fucking his mouth, too overwhelmed with pleasure to be humiliated by it, she just took what she needed. Begged for it. He seemed more than willing to give it.
But, as usual, it wasn’t enough.
She came down from her orgasm, and felt even more empty than before. There was nothing inside her. Nothing to come around. She whimpered. His mouth slowed, easing off her. He clearly knew what he was doing, or at the very least, he was perceptive enough to realise she was sensitive. He kissed the back of her thighs, and she felt the loss of his warmth behind her.
“Could do that all day,” he chuckled.
Hermione blushed. Charmer. She rolled her eyes.
“But I won’t.”
Her ears pricked up, at the soft rustling behind her as he got to his feet. At the clinking of a belt. She exhaled heavily, knowing her fate.
His cock would likely be average. He was experienced, so possibly slightly above average. He’d push inside her, groaning over how tight she was. He’d fuck her frenetically for a few minutes, come on her arse, and then leave, without stretching and breaking her the way she wanted. Then, she would be two clitoral orgasms down for the day, still feeling needier than ever.
She heard him unzip.
He placed one hand on her hip as he teased the very tip of his cock over her clit. She was still pulsing and sensitive. He tapped it gently. Circled her. It felt lovely. But it had nothing on the feeling of being pushed inside of. When he finally dragged his tip down to her entrance, she tried not to get her hopes up.
He seemed confident, that was a plus. Perhaps the Room knew what it was doing, sticking her in the wall like this. Perhaps he was even somewhat big. It was unlikely, though. Even if he was big, he wouldn’t be big enough. She sighed.
She felt him at her entrance. He moved forward, pushing the very tip of his cock into her.
The head parted her. Just the very beginning of it. She anticipated the slip, the moment when his tip was fully inside her, and the rest was all length. She waited for it.
It didn’t happen.
He kept pushing forward, but that slip didn’t happen. She just felt herself being spread wider. God, he was actually rather thick. She laughed nervously. She parted her legs, making space, but still, he didn’t slip in.
She furrowed her brow.
His fingertips dug into her hip, holding her steady. He kept forcing his way in. Wider. Bigger. His tip pushed at her inner walls, forcing them to make room.
Her eye twitched a little. She gasped. But still, he did not slip inside her.
He was thicker than anything she’d ever taken, and he was only at the tip. He was stretching her entrance to its absolute limits.
And that— that thought— that he might be able to fill her completely—
She felt it in her throat, first, the moan that was building inside her. Her legs were already shaking, her fingers clawing the wall on her side. Stretch. Stretch. Hermione’s lower half went rigid, her legs straightening out as if struck frozen. Her hands clawed the wall, trying to stay upright.
His tip breached her fully. Her mouth fell open, and all she could do was–
“OooohhhhhhhhHHHHH!”
He was huge. He beat her biggest toy, and then some, but it wasn’t that that had her screaming on the other side of the wall.
It was the twitching.
He moved as he pushed into her, something her toys could not do. He was deliciously, intoxicatingly alive; his fingertips flexing on her hips as he held them still. She wriggled, and he grunted. She shivered, and he twitched. God, she was halfway to coming again, and all he’d done was start entering her.
She needed him deeper. If he was as significantly above the bell-curve in length as he was in thickness, she was going to find out who he was and fuck him four times a day for the rest of her life.
His grip settled on her hips as if he was about to drive himself into her. As if she was about to find out. He pushed in a little deeper. She shuddered with excitement. She spread wider.
She immediately complained, arching back and trying to wriggle backwards for more. He did not give it. He whispered something, and this time, when his tip pressed back against her entrance, his cock was drenched with sticky lubricant. She was already unconscionably wet, but as he pushed his tip back inside her, he did it with a little more urgency.
And then, her real excitement began.
He held her hips steady as he forced himself in, groaning loudly as he pushed.
“You’re so tight,” he whimpered.
He went deeper. She gasped at the width. His hand tightened silently on her hip. She stilled. He gave her a little more. He was—
Oh, Gods.
He was not going fast enough.
She tried to sink down onto him. He held back. A dark laugh caressed her from behind.
“Slow down,” he scolded. “Don’t be greedy.”
She whimpered, decisively greedily, twitching her hips in discontent. He didn’t relent.
If he wouldn’t stretch her out, she’d squeeze him to death.
She bit her lip, and squeezed her walls tightly around him. He groaned. And immediately, his open palm came down on her exposed upper thigh. She moaned, loudly. And she felt him leaning in.
“Be patient,” he scolded once more. “You can’t take it too fast, or it’ll hurt you. It’s too much.”
“It’s not too much,” she sobbed back, knowing he couldn’t hear her. “I can take it!”
She bucked back against him in protest. It made him sink another inch into her. She moaned. She wriggled back against him to express her contentment.
“You really want to take it all, don’t you?” he whispered, a sense of awe in his voice. “Are you sure? There’s a lot left to go.”
She stilled, silently asking the question, and he knew immediately. His hand reached underneath her, trailing the side of one fire-hot finger from her clitoris, and up her pelvis. Up, up, dancing on her skin. Higher. Higher.
Every millimetre higher he went, her excitement compounded tenfold. Her body began to contract and stretch out, as if preparing for it. Her arousal slicking his tip, and trickling down his length. But his fingers didn’t stop trailing. Bigger. Bigger. She willed him to keep going, and he did. Up, and up, and up, most of the way to her navel, where he drew a line with his thumb.
“To there. At least.”
Hermione’s mind went blank with need.
She dug her one free knee into the wall, and used the leverage to sink back onto him.
His voice echoed off the stone as he cried out, the wall between them shaking a little— he must’ve slammed his palm against it. She’d only taken him about another two inches. But she didn’t need his praise this time.
She could take him. She could take more.
And this realisation seemed to suddenly occur to him.
His long fingers curled over her arse, digging the tips into her hip bones as he held her steady. He gave her another inch. Then another. Then another.
And she broke.
The stretch was unlike anything she’d felt before, filling her completely, every single last fucking inch of her. She couldn’t have stretched more if she wanted to. She cried out into the cold, damp air, grateful for whatever soundproofing the room had provided her. Perhaps it had known she would need it. But she let her pleasure echo off the stones.
“More!” She screamed. “Fuck me— Give me all of it!”
She knew he had more to go. She could already feel the heat of his body nearing hers. And she knew that as soon as his thighs cupped the back of hers, she would be done for. He would draw back, and thrust in, stretching her tight to accommodate him, and she would come. She would come harder than she’d ever come before. She would squeeze him—she would try to squeeze him, but there would be no room for her to squeeze. Her walls would flutter. Would ache. Would push and drag and beg for him to relent, but he would show her no mercy. He would just continue to fill her. Over and over and over.
His thighs ghosted across the back of hers. Just for a moment, before he drew back out. About halfway. She panted, taking deep breaths as she placed her palms flat against her side of the wall.
He drove himself into her, his thighs collecting the back of her own as he forced his whole length inside her. But he didn’t stop to let her adjust. No. He immediately drew back out, slamming himself back into her again.
He drew back out, the pressure of his thick length coaxing every inch of her insides into clenching. As he stretched her to her absolute limit. She was losing feeling in her legs. She was losing control of her mouth, stuttering sounds that made no sense as they dripped from her mouth and into existence.
He slammed into her. Over and over and over. Again and again. Stretch. Stretch. Stretch. Wider. Deeper. Take more, her body screamed. Take more. Take it all. Take it– Take it–
“Oh God—you can take it all!” He sobbed.
And she came. Violently.
Hermione made no sound. She took no breaths. Her fingers splayed on the wall, sinking into the stone. She was ivy, crawling through the cracks and strangling herself with vines as the orgasm she’d clawed for began tightening around her body. Her legs. Her thighs. Her breasts, and her throat. It sucked the breath from her lungs. It delved deep into her cunt and constricted her from the inside. Tethering her to him, as he pumped himself into her over and over.
She could hear him crying out, but it was so far away, the world around her crumbling as reality fell to dust between her fingers. He was swearing. Cursing. Begging and sobbing over the constriction around his cock, but she couldn’t let him go. Her body couldn’t. It wouldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t even stop herself, fucking herself backwards onto his cock to take all of him at once. Bodies slapping together. He groaned. His hips began stuttering. Jolting. She realised he was about to come, and her body began begging for it. She began picturing him jerking into her frantically as searing hot pulses began filling her insides. Coming. Coming inside her. Fucking her even fuller of him than she’d begged for. Than she’d imagined was possible. Yes. Yes. More. Take it all.
She screamed as she peaked, arching her back to spread wide for him, and he cut her hips down onto his. Slamming himself all the way in. Coating himself in her warmth. She was begging for it. Her body still searing through its orgasm. Dragging him deeper, squeezing him tight. Begging for him to come inside her—
And then she heard footsteps.
He swore, and swiftly pulled out before he could finish, leaving her empty. Completely empty. She cried out for him, writhing and begging, but it was no use. She was suddenly dragged forward, tumbling headfirst into the Room of Requirement.
The room was now a loo, which, while she needed one to clean up the mixture of his lubricating spell and her satisfied wetness, wasn’t what she wanted right now. She wanted him. She cleaned herself up as quickly as possible, and darted out into the corridor. He would wait for her. Surely, he would wait for her. Even though she knew that her mystery man thought she was a fabrication, surely, he would be curious?
But, as she shut the door to the Room of Requirement, and turned into the corridor, the only people around were two Hufflepuff girls she’d never spoken to. They quietly chatted as they made their way toward the Astronomy tower.
Hermione smoothed her hair, trying not to reek of sex. She smiled at them.
“You didn’t see a boy come through here just now, did you?” she asked, very quietly.
They shook their heads.
She smiled again.
Fuck.
Draco hid behind the statue, hand over his mouth to hide his panting. Two Hufflepuff girls stopped to look at something, then continued down the corridor towards him. They must’ve been in Astronomy, too. He’d follow after them soon.
Once he’d bloody calmed down.
He winced with every movement. He’d barely had time to shove himself back into his trousers, let alone do them up. So now, he was standing, back to the wall, belt open, extremely sizeable erection holding the waistband of his underwear about two inches away from his body. Gods, he wanted to skip class completely. He’d never been this hard in his life, and every punch of his heartbeat sent an aching pulse of pain into his balls. Cutting himself off was agony. He’d been so fucking close.
But even so, he had a half-smile on his face
How had the room known?
Granger’s perfect, perky little arse had been tormenting him for years. He’d always found it frustrating that a girl so annoying could simultaneously be so attractive. But then 8th year started. She came back for the new year, and she wasn’t a pretty little waifish thing anymore. And she certainly wasn’t a girl. She was—
She was fucking delicious.
She’d filled out. Came back from the war with the body of a woman, all curves and softness and pouty lips. And his body had taken notice of her. He found his need to immediately sink his teeth into her had become rather and incredibly urgent.
Sink his tongue into. Cock into.
And now, he’d done both.
Watching himself fuck the magically-created lower-half of Hermione Granger had been even more wondrous than he’d imagined. She had taken all of him. It was a feat for her to take it. The handful of women he’d slept with had unfortunately not been so accommodating of his size. But he’d been interrupted before he could find out how good it felt for him to come inside her.
He wondered, if he was very specific in wording his needs next time, if he might be able to manifest the entirety of Granger. He would so very much love to hear what she sounded like when she moaned. To strip her completely naked and have her on her back with her legs over his shoulders. Watching her tits bounce, and, if he was lucky, and his fantasies really were to come true, to angle himself just so and figure out if he could see a bulge move across her belly as he fucked her. She would scream his name and have multiple orgasms, all over him, and then tell him she thought he was very handsome.
And then he would absolutely fill her with come.
It was enough to make him want to wrap his hand around his cock and finish the job.
But he didn’t. Firstly, because he had class to get to, and secondly, because there was a statue right in front of him and it would be a bit weird.
But it would be sweeter anyway, when he eventually went back and finished the job inside her.
He smoothed himself out. Counted backwards from 100, thought of Filch cleaning the inside of a cauldron, and clenched and unclenched his jaw, hands, and toes. Eventually, the incredibly obvious bulge in his trousers went away. He ran a hand through his hair and made sure his clothes were straight. He couldn’t have anyone knowing what he’d been up to.
Once he was presentable, he made his way up to the astronomy tower.
It was boring. The class was unbelievably boring. But he completed it. He finished their notes, duplicating them and handing a set to his Astronomy partner.
Pansy was staring across the room, deep in thought.
“What?” he asked.
“Hermione. Don’t you think she looks a little…”
Draco followed her gaze. Her hair was a bit of a mess, her clothes a little more rumpled than usual, but, as usual, she looked in orders of magnitude more beautiful than any other girl in the room. Her cheeks were tinged a bit pink, and she had this dreamy, far-off look in her eyes. She looked a little sleepy.
She looked fucking stunning.
“I’d say she’s only marginally more dishevelled than usual. What of it?”
“I wasn’t going to say she looks dishevelled,” Pansy said, cocking an eyebrow. “I was going to say she looks… relaxed.”
Draco looked up at her again. There was a small smile in the corner of her mouth. She sighed happily every now and again, packing her things slowly into her bag.
“It might be my gay little brain projecting my horror that she’s straight again,” Pansy leaned in closer. “But to me, it looks like she’s just been good-and-thoroughly fucked.”
An annoying level of jealousy settled over Draco’s stomach, and he swallowed hard.
It was insane, really. The real Hermione Granger probably didn’t taste or feel one quarter as good as the Room had told him she did. It was his fantasy, after all. But he still didn’t like the idea of it being someone else.
Which lucky fuck— shit, no, that made him sound interested.
“Who’d fuck Granger?” he said, dismissively.
“Who indeed, hmm, Draco?” Pansy looked down her nose at him. “You seem to forget that I was there when you drunkenly confessed to Theo and Blaise that you think she’s the prettiest girl in the entire school. And that was long before she grew an arse.”
He cursed his cheeks for flushing bright pink.
She frowned. “And, rude, by the way. I was standing right there. You could’ve thrown me a ‘well, other than Pans’.” She scoffed, then she sighed, and looked back at Granger with a smirk. “Anyway, I’m going to ask her who it was.”
“What?” Draco said, sternly.
Pansy smiled innocently. “Just a chat between friends.”
“You’re not friends,” he spat, hiding the nervous laugh that was behind it.
“In fact, we are,” Pansy grinned. “We sit together in Herbology. She’s actually rather funny. And she’s been wonderfully helpful in floating the idea of me to the Weasley girl.”
When Granger eventually finished packing her things from her desk, she rose from the table gingerly. She seemed to almost have a limp in her step. Draco frowned.
Odd.
Pansy pursed her lips to stop herself from laughing. She immediately rose from her seat, and followed after Granger.
Draco waited until the rest of the class had cleared out, making a point of tidying his things just so and packing them ever-so-carefully into his bag. Then, casually and not-at-all-intentionally, he relaxed for a moment against the inside of the classroom door.
He shouldn’t have listened. Eavesdropping on a private conversation between the two girls was incredibly impolite. Besides, if Pansy was right, he wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to listen in on. If he overheard that Potter or McLaggen or the boy Weasley was making Granger come on a regular basis, he already knew it was going to make him extremely angry. That would inevitably lead to cursing the lot of them at breakfast, regardless of which one of them it actually was.
In fact, he might do that anyway, just to be sure.
He could barely hear the girls, their voices low and quiet as they whispered to each other, but as the corridor cleared of students, he began to hear them more clearly.
“Just tell me,” Pansy said, her voice teasing.
“Pansy, no, it’s embarrassing!”
“What’s embarrassing about having the best orgasm of your life?” Pansy snickered. “I’d be shouting it from the bloody owlery. I’m not going to judge. I just want to know who it was!”
Granger hesitated. And not for a short while. For a long while. Draco swallowed, hard.
Angrily hard.
He pressed firmly against the stone, leaning in.
“That’s just it,” Granger said, quietly. “I don’t actually know!”
Draco furrowed his brow.
Pansy spoke louder. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Granger made a shame-adjacent noise, and lowered her voice even further.
“It was the Room of Requirement,” she said. “I was thinking about sex, and I walked by it, and it grabbed me and stuck me in the wall. Whoever it was just appeared out of nowhere, made me come, and disappeared!”
Draco clapped a hand over his mouth to stop his gasp.
It was him.
He’d fucked Granger.
He—
If Draco had been looking at himself, he would’ve watched himself go deathly, deathly pale. He would’ve watched his hand drop from his face.
And then, he would’ve watched himself break into a grin so wide it threatened to split him apart.
He’d fucked Granger.
Well, not to completion. But he’d had his cock in her. He’d tasted her. He’d spanked her. Oh— what fucking joy, what a fucking happy day.
He had had sex with Hermione Granger.
And—he had to stifle his gasp—that meant—
That meant she was real. She actually tasted like that. She could take him. Hermione Granger was able to take every single inch of his cock. It was proof. They were made for each other, and eventually, she would realise that and fall desperately in love with him.
And not only that, he’d made her come, hard.
Best orgasm of her life, she called it.
Draco threw both fists in the air, then changed his mind and began punching the air in front of him excitedly.
Pansy gasped. “I’m sorry, it stuck you in the wall?!”
Granger breathed sharply. “Yes.”
“So you couldn’t see him? Could you hear him? Surely you recognised his voice.”
“It was modulated, somehow. I could hear every word he was saying, but he couldn’t hear me.”
And Draco’s balloon of euphoria suddenly deflated.
He couldn’t hear her. Meaning… she might’ve been telling him to stop. And if she’d been telling him to stop… and he… hadn’t.
Shit.
He stopped himself from stamping his foot in rage.
Shit, shit, shit, fucking god damn fucking shit and piss.
An extremely annoying and frustratingly strong sense of guilt caught him by the throat. He had taken liberties with her. And now, every bit of euphoria he had about having finally fucked Hermione Granger went immediately out the window as he realised that most women didn’t want to date men who took liberties with them.
His chances, as it now stood, of convincing her that she was in love with him and that they should ride off into the sunset on a tandem broom while he sank his giant cock into her repeatedly, were getting rather slim.
He had to say something. He had to do something.
He had to apologise.
Gods damnit.
“So, what are you going to do?” Pansy whispered.
And then— then— Granger did something he didn’t expect. She sighed. And she said:
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know how to contact him.”
Draco’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open. Contact him?
“Contact him?” Pansy laughed quietly. Then, her voice lowered. “For what purpose I wonder?”
Pansy was asking exactly the questions he needed her to ask. Draco silently made a mental note to buy her an extremely expensive gift for no reason, for asking the questions he so desperately wanted answered. Chanel. That was her current favourite. He pushed his face up against the cold stone tiles once more.
“You don’t understand. It’s way too much information, I’m sorry, but he was the first man who’s ever been… big enough for me.” Granger spoke ever-so quietly. “I need him.”
Pansy laughed softly. “And here I thought you’d be the kind of girl to demand a please and thank you and an explicit agreement affirming mutual consent. You really are desperate for him, aren’t you?”
Granger sighed. “I am. I just need him to fuck me again. He didn’t even finish.”
Draco’s cock was immediately hard at the word fuck falling out of Granger’s sweet mouth. Oh, it was music. Music to his ears. And cock. Just— whole body music. Fuck.
“Oh, look at you, such a generous lover.” Pansy giggled. “What a lucky boy.”
Granger sighed deeply. “Believe me, Pans, it’s me that’s the lucky one. I just need to find him.”
Draco dragged his teeth along his lower lip, silently praising whatever magical being had blessed him. Had someone slipped Felix Felicis in his tea? Fuck. FUCK!
He almost let out a squeal of delight, but he remembered himself quickly.
Besides, Pansy did it for him. She squealed with excitement. “Oh, this is brilliant. What are you going to do? Same time, same place?”
Granger giggled. “I suppose that’s all I can do. I’ll just have to be there. Same time, same place. Sit in the Room of Requirement and hope he shows up.”
And Draco’s stomach flipped a million times in a row.
Why wait?
He could open the door right now, and announce proudly to Granger that it was him that had given her such a wonderful and mind-bending orgasm. He was the man who had fucked her with his enormous cock. And yes, he very much would like to finish, how very kind of her?
He imagined the look on her face. She would swoon and smile her beautiful, pretty smile at him, and tell him he was handsome and beg him to take her right then and there.
Pansy cleared her throat again.
“Well, I’m happy for you. I just hope it turns out to be someone you like.”
Hermione laughed. “God, I know. Imagine if it turned out to be, like, Malfoy or something?”
Pansy paused for a moment. He heard her throw back her head and laugh.
Well. There would be no Chanel for Pansy.
He pursed his lips angrily as the two girls fell about giggling.
“Gods, you and Draco? People would lose their minds.”
Hermione laughed. “I’m sorry, but not even a nine-inch dick makes up for that personality.”
Draco’s mouth fell open. He was offended.
How dare she?
How could she possibly dislike his personality? He was a delight to be around. He always made an effort to talk to her, and smile in her direction, and compliment her when she looked nice.
He was about to call her rude.
And then, he thought for longer than a moment, and suddenly wanted to die.
Because Draco had realised that he may, accidentally, have done all that in his head, while glaring pointedly at her and being noticeably silent in her presence at all times.
And now, if he were to suddenly start being outwardly nice to her, and she found out that it were he with the nine-inch cock, she might conclude that he had only changed his opinion of her because he’d found out that she could take every last goddamn inch of him and had the most delicious, perfect, golden cunt that a man could begin to imagine, and therefore may actually be rather offended.
Ah.
He had to talk to her. He needed to talk to her.
Pansy and Granger began walking away from the door, quietly chatting. He waited until their footsteps muffled, and then, he slipped out of the classroom, moving as silently after them as he could. Pansy stopped at the loo. Granger waved her farewell, and continued back towards the 8th year dorms.
Malfoy pounced.
“Granger!” he hissed, as quietly as he could.
She froze, her head whipping over her shoulder. Her hair moved in slow motion, and for a moment, he was dazed.
He stood in front of her, and simply… stared.
He was a lot taller than her, but he didn’t mind looking down. Good Gods, she was beautiful. Olive-skin, soft and lush, in the way that he knew she’d melt into liquid gold with a few minutes of the right lighting. Her eyes— Merlin, they were stunning. So dark, and giving nothing away. And her lips— the sharp dip of her cupid’s bow drawing his gaze like an arrow through his heart. They looked so soft. It suddenly seemed otherworldly levels of unfair that he’d been inside her, but he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to kiss her.
Perhaps he could just…
Oh. She was looking at him. Then, she realised who it was, and stared back.
He cleared his throat, reaching to take her arm so he could guide her into an alcove, and she recoiled from him. She looked over his shoulder, down the corridor.
“Where did you come from?”
“Astronomy classroom,” he replied, trying to smile at her. “I heard what you said, and—”
“You were eavesdropping?” Her mouth fell open. She paled. “How much did you hear?”
“Well, most of—”
“Including…?”
“Yes, and it’s—”
She slapped him clean across the face. And then he was properly dazed.
He went weak in his knees. His hand rose to his cheek, the sting of skin against skin making him see stars. He much preferred it when it was their thighs that were slapping together, rather than her hand versus his face. Gods, it hurt almost as much as the last time she slapped him.
He let out a dark groan, trying to fill himself not to find her outburst incredibly sexy.
He failed.
He looked up at her, panting, trying desperately not to get hard again.
“Fuck, Granger!” he hissed, bent cleanly in half as he clutched his face.
“How dare you listen in on a private conversation!” She hissed back, completely red in the cheeks. “You absolute cockroach of a man!”
But then, she threaded her fingers into his hair.
She twisted them, wrenching his head back and practically holding him steady, as she pushed him up against a wall. She stepped in, sneering at him.
“If you say a word to anyone—” she glared. “I will end you. I want your word. Do you hear me, Malfoy?”
Well, he was hard again now. He swallowed.
“You have it. I give you my word.”
Granger froze, face pale. Then her brow furrowed. “What— why was that so easy? Why did you agree so quickly?” She glared, thoroughly confused. She let go of his hair. She was suspicious. He did not like that she considered him untrustworthy, however appropriate her reaction may have been.
He cleared his throat.
“I won’t say anything,” he said. “I just heard you say that you needed—” No, that wasn’t the right approach. “I could—” No, he didn’t want to spook her.
He cleared his throat again, looking her directly in the eyes.
“I only need a few minutes. But if you let me try, I think I can—”
Explain, he tried to say.
But, as Granger pulled out her wand with eyes full of rage, he realised extremely quickly that it might have sounded just the tiniest bit like a proposition.
Actually, it sounded exactly like a proposition, and he was exactly a fucking idiot.
She cast Petrificus Totalus wordlessly.
Gods, she was so brilliant.
Draco sank to the stone steps, motionless. Granger leaned in, staring into his frozen gaze.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” she hissed.
Then she turned on her heel, and stormed back down the corridor.
Fuck, he thought, his face remaining perfectly stiff.
It was becoming rather clear that she was not his biggest fan. And that was a problem. But it was one that could be solved.
He just had to go back to the Room of Requirement, at the same time the following week, and clear up the misunderstanding.
He even already knew what he would ask.
I need to talk to Hermione Granger.
He just needed to talk to her. He also badly needed to come.
No!
He would’ve slapped himself, but he could not move.
He just needed to talk to her.
That was it.
He needed to talk to her.