Chapter Text
Ron Weasley had decided: this was going to be his year.
The kiss in the Chamber of Secrets during the Battle still burned in his memory.
To him, it had meant everything.
They were finally on the same page.
After years of dancing around each other, it was their time.
He started small, with thoughtful gestures he thought she’d appreciate.
He saved her favorite seat in the Great Hall.
He brought her extra toast with marmalade during breakfast because he remembered how she liked it.
After Herbology class, he walked beside her back to the castle, hands in his pockets.
“You know,” he said casually, bumping her shoulder lightly, “after everything that happened in the Chamber… I’ve been thinking about us a lot. How we just… fit, yeah?”
Hermione gave him a soft, careful smile. “Ron, that was adrenaline. I was so relieved we were alive.”
The leaves had turned fiery when he tried again.
They were studying in the common room late one night, just the two of them left by the fire.
Ron had found her favorite honeydukes chocolate in Hogsmeade and gave them to her just because.
When she thanked him, he leaned in a little closer.
But she just popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth and went back to reading.
November brought a Gryffindor victory party after a Quidditch match.
Ron had played brilliantly, and the common room was loud and cheerfull.
He found Hermione tucked in a corner with a book and brought her a butterbeer.
“Dance with me?” he asked, offering his hand.
When she declined politely, he sat with her instead.
Every so often he’d slip in little reminders about how they’d always been a team.
Right before the Christmas Holidays, he left a small gift outside her dorm door: a beautiful quill that changed ink colors.
When she found him later to thank him, he worked up the courage to asked her out again.
Hermione sighed, looking genuinely pained. “Ron, please. I’ve told you how I feel. You’re one of my best friends. That’s it.”
The new term of the school year brought colder days and Ron’s advances grew a touch more persistent.
He started showing up outside her classrooms to walk her to the next one.
Offering to carry her books.
One evening in the common room he reminded her not so subtley:
“Remember how you used to fancy me? Sixth year and all that? I was stupid not to see it then. But I see you now, Hermione. Really see you.”
She turned him down again, kinder than he deserved, explaining once more that her feelings had changed. Ron listened, nodded, and told himself she just needed time.
She was playing hard to get.
By march he followed her more often, always making it look casual.
He’d catch her after Prefect rounds, offering to walk her back.
Every one of her rejections was met with the same underlying belief: she didn’t really mean it.
She was just toying with him.
She still wanted him.
Now it was mid-april and Ron watched Hermione slip back into the Gryffindor Tower late one night.
He waited a few minutes, then followed her up the stairs to her dorm, firewhisky from the party still burning in his veins and months of hope and rejection pushing him forward.
This time, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Hermione's relationship with Draco started in the most predictable way possible: an argument.
Late one night in the library, they clashed over an old book they both needed for an essay.
Voices rose, tempers flared, and then—without warning—Draco had her pinned against the shelves of the Restricted Section, kissing her like he wanted to devour her whole.
It was angry and desperate and so, soooo good.
They fucked right there, fast and filthy, her skirt shoved up, his hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her moans.
It happened again three nights later.
And again the week after that.
By mid-September they were properly sneaking around.
Stolen moments in abandoned classrooms, heated kisses behind suits of armor, and one very risky night in the dungeons where he bent her over a potions desk and fucked her so thoroughly she couldn’t walk straight the next day.
The beginning of their relationship was an explosive mixture of pure adrenaline and years of unresolved tension.
He had a filthy mouth and loved to tease her but he was also strangely tender.
With time their relationship evolved.
They started falling for each other.
They started trusting each other.
This was becoming more than just sex!
In late October Draco's confession changed everything.
They’d snuck out to the Shrieking Shack during a Hogsmeade weekend, warded the room, and spent hours exploring each other without rushing.
He’d licked her slowly, thoroughly, until she was shaking and begging.
When she finally came down from her third orgasm, Draco crawled up her body.
“I need to tell you something, love,” he said. “I became an Animagus over the summer. I can take the form of a silver serpent. And I… I have this fantasy.”
Hermione’s brows rose higher and higher as he described just how depraved this fantasy was.
How he wanted to shift.
How he wanted to show her his serpent form.
How he wanted to slide into her cunt as a snake.
And stay there.
Fully inside her.
She stared at him for a long moment, equal parts shocked and horrified. “You want to what? Draco, that’s… that’s deranged. You want to crawl inside me?”
He chuckled softly, tracing a finger down her stomach.
“I want to be deeper inside you than anyone before. Curled up in that tight, perfect cunt of yours. I want to feel you flutter around me while you go about your day like nothing’s happening.”
His eyes darkened.
“Tell me it doesn’t turn you on even a little, love. I can see you clenching just thinking about it.”
She did clench.
The idea was filthy.
And invasive.
And wrong.
But the longer she sat with it, the more her initial shock melted into curious intrigue.
The taboo of it.
The sheer intimacy.
It was kind of hot, really.
That night, after a lot of nervous laughter and careful conversation, she agreed.
Draco transformed in front of her— a sleek, graceful serpent appeared; it's beautiful silver scales shimmering in the low light.
When he slid up her thigh and nudged at her entrance, Hermione’s heart hammered wildly.
“Merlin, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whispered, thighs trembling as she parted them wider.
The first push was strange.
The snake felt cool, smooth and thick.
She gasped sharply as he stretched her open, coiling deeper until he filled her completely.
The sensation was overwhelming.
The pressure of the snake inside her, it's subtle movements, the feeling of something alive inside her most intimate place.
It all felt so utterly depraved.
And yet so sinfully good!
She felt full in a way she’d never experienced, every shift of the snake inside her sending sparks through her nerves.
For the first few minutes she just breathed through it, adjusting, half-laughing at how ridiculous and erotic it felt.
Then Draco really began to move.
Her head fell back, a broken moan escaping her lips.
“Fuck… Draco…”
By the time he finally slid out of her, shifted back and fucked her with his human cock, she was soaking wet and desperate, coming harder than she ever had.
The fantasy had unlocked something in her.
After that night, the snake became a regular part of their secret games.
They kept sneaking around the castle—stolen fucks in the Astronomy Tower, passionate nights in empty corridors—but the real thrill came when they realized her dorm room was the perfect sanctuary.
One cold November evening, they'd been snogging in a hidden alcove for a while already, he whispered against her lips, “Wouldn't you like to spend the night together, love? You could smuggle me into your dorm… inside you.”
The idea was dangerously appealing.
That was the first time she walked through the Gryffindor common room with him curled deep inside her cunt.
Her heart was pounding, her thighs were slick with arousal.
She was trying her absolute best to keep her face neutral while Draco swirled subtly with every step she took.
The taboo was just so intoxicating— the filthy knowledge that her secret lover was hidden inside her while she smiled at her friends.
By the time she reached her dorm she was feral.
He shifted back, pinned her to the bed, and they fucked for hours.
They did it again the next week.
And the week after.
They used their nights together to fuck, to laugh, to talk and to cuddle.
Hermione's dorm room became their private safe space.
By December it had become their favorite ritual.
Draco would transform somewhere safe, slide into her soaked cunt and she would walk him through the castle to her room.
The way he moved inside her was the ultimate turn-on and the perfect foreplay.
Moonlight spilled through the arched windows as Draco pressed Hermione against the wall of the Astronomy Tower.
“Love,” he murmured, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
His fingers trailed down her side, slipping beneath her skirt to stroke her already-damp knickers.
“I’ve been hard all evening thinking about this. Let me Slytherin' to that perfect, tight cunt of your.” He kissed her slowly. “Ready for me to slip in, love?”
Hermione laughed softly at his little Slytherin wordplay. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You adore it,” he whispered, nipping her bottom lip before stepping back.
With a soft shimmer of his body folded in on itself and the silver serpent coiled at her feet.
Hermione parted her thighs as the serpent glided up her legs, her breath catching as he nudged beneath her knickers and pushed inside her in one smooth, stretching glide.
The fullness was immediate and overwhelming.
She gasped, her head falling back against the stone.
Her right hand instinctively pressed low on her belly where she could feel the faint, intimate bulge of him settling deep inside her.
The common room was alive with the comfortable murmur of eighth-years when Hermione entered.
The fire crackled merrily, casting flickering golden light across the tapestries and worn armchairs.
Harry and Ginny sat curled together on a sofa near the girls’ staircase, sharing quiet laughter over mugs of butterbeer.
“‘Mione!” Ginny called, waving her over with a bright grin. “You’re back late. Everything alright? You look a little… flushed.”
Hermione paused beside them, forcing a calm smile even as heat bloomed low in her core.
Inside her, Draco began to move teasingly.
Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Just a long session in the library,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “Transfiguration notes went longer than expected.”
Harry eyed her with mild concern. “You’ve been vanishing a lot lately. Sure you’re not burning yourself out?”
Draco twisted deliberately deeper at that moment, spiraling sinuously, the thickest part of his body pressing and stroking right against her g-spot.
Hermione’s breath hitched.
A fresh rush of slick trickled warmly into her knickers.
The forbidden thrill of standing here chatting with her best friends while her secret lover was fully hidden inside her cunt, moving, teasing, fucking her from within with no one the wiser—sent a dark, electric wave of arousal through her.
It felt so erotic, so intimately filthy.
“I’m fine, really,” she said, cheeks warming. “Just tired. I’ll head up to my room.”
Ginny gave her one last concerned look. “Just don’t study all night again.”
As Hermione turned toward the staircase, Draco intensified his teasing.
He pulsed rhythmically inside her, thickening and relaxing in waves, dragging his smooth belly over that perfect spot with every step she took up the spiral stairs.
The sensation was maddening—alien yet deeply sexy, the cool scales contrasting with her burning heat.
Each movement reminded her of all the other nights she’d smuggled him this way: walking these same steps with him curled secretly in her pussy.
By the time she reached her private dorm door, her thighs were slick, her clit aching, and she was dangerously close to the edge.
She slipped inside, closing the heavy oak door behind her with a soft click.
She leaned back against the door, eyes fluttering shut, one hand slipping under her skirt to press against her soaked knickers as Draco continued his slow, tormenting dance inside her.
“Draco… you’re going to ruin me before we even start,” she whispered breathlessly.
The door suddenly burst open behind her, shoving her forward into the room.
Ron pushed in after her, his cheeks flushed from firewhisky, his eyes dark with determination and longing.
“Hermione. We need to talk .... About us.”
“Ron, no—” she started, trying to pull away, but he was already on her.
His big hands grabbed her waist, yanking her back against his chest.
“Stop pretending,” he muttered thickly. “I know you want this. You’ve been giving me signals. Acting distant but looking at me like that.”
One hand shoved roughly under her skirt, fingers plunging into her knickers.
He groaned loudly when he felt how drenched she was.
“Fuck… you’re absolutely soaked. You like it rough, huh? My desperate little slag. Knew you want me, too.”
“Ron, stop—please, you don’t understand!”
He didn’t listen.
He pushed her face-down onto her bed, flipping her skirt up to her waist and ripping her knickers off.
The sound of his belt and zipper filled the room.
His hard cock nudged against her entrance, sliding through her slick folds, and he thrust into her hard.
For one horrifying second, Hermione felt the brutal stretch of him forcing his way in.
Then Draco struck like lightning.
Ron’s pained scream tore through the room.
He staggered backward, yanking his cock free of her body.
The silver serpent stayed firmly latched onto the head of his cock, it's fangs buried deep into the sensitive flesh.
Blood trickled down Ron’s shaft as he stared in horror at the impossible sight: the snake that had clearly just been buried inside Hermione’s cunt was now savagely biting his cock!
His eyes rolled back, his face contorted in excruciating pain, and then he collapsed in a twitching heap on the floor.
The serpent released Ron’s cock with an angry hiss.
Then transformation began.
Scales melted into smooth pale skin.
The coils lengthened and reshaped until Draco Malfoy stood in the serpents place.
He tried for his usual smirk, wanting to lighten the mood.
“Well, love… I suppose you could say I just almost deepthroated Weasley.”
But the joke fell flat.
Hermione was shaking, eyes wide, breath coming in uneven.
The shock and violation of the moment crashed over her.
Draco’s expression softened immediately.
He climbed onto the bed and pulled her gently into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
“Shh, love. I’ve got you,” he whispered, stroking her hair with soothing fingers. “You’re safe now. He’s out cold. Breathe with me. In… and out.”
He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, holding her close.
“I’m so sorry. He had no right. I’ll always protect you.”