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Inspiration for this fic, taken from Chapter 12, Silver and Opals (pp. 243-244 in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince [U.S. edition]):


“Harry, that’s three of my little suppers you’ve missed now!” said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. “It won’t do, m’boy, I’m determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don’t you?”


“Yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “they’re really —”


“So why don’t you come along, Harry?” demanded Slughorn.


“Well, I’ve had Quidditch practice, Professor,” said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.


“Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all this hard work!” said Slughorn. “But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can’t possibly want to practice in this weather. …”


“I can’t, Professor, I’ve got — er — an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”


“Unlucky again!” cried Slughorn dramatically. “Ah, well… you can’t evade me forever, Harry!”


And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.


“I can’t believe you’ve wriggled out of another one,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “They’re not that bad, you know… They’re even quite fun sometimes…”




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 (One and One and One)


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The nerves in Hermione’s stomach were fluttering uneasily as she took a seat around a large circular table in Slughorn’s office. Slughorn himself, Pyrus Cresswell, the Carrow twins, Melinda Bobbin, Marcus Belby, Virginia Bagnold, Blaise Zabini, and Cormac McLaggen were all spread evenly amongst it. Although she knew all of their names, there were only two people who were familiar – if only via proximity rather than direct association: McLaggen and Zabini. 


Silently, she cursed Harry for scheduling Quidditch practice at this exact time on this exact date. She knew he disliked the idea of the Slug Club but, if he had any decency as her friend, he wouldn’t have left her alone in this, taking Ginny with him. If either of them were there, she wouldn’t have felt nervous at all.


Her only current solace was that the appetisers were good. The puff pastry crumbled and melted in her mouth, mixing deliciously with the spinach filling on the inside. 


Sitting next to her was, of course, McLaggen, who was speaking. He was boastful as always, going on and on about playing Quidditch with Ludo Bagman and Vasily Dimitrov. The mention of Vasily made her think of Viktor – the two were best mates and shared a flat in Bulgaria. Amid eating another cheesy puff pastry-d appetiser, she heard Viktor’s name and a question being directed at her.


“You dated Krum, didn’t you?” McLaggen asked, looking down at her and raising a curious eyebrow.


“Erm – yeah.” Hermione nodded, reaching for her goblet of Butterbeer; nothing was served out of its original container and even the cutlery was dripping with opulence.


Slughorn, naturally, capitalized on her admission. “How wonderful! Are you still seeing Viktor Krum then?”


She set her goblet back down onto the table and picked up her jewel encrusted dinner fork. “No, but we write each other occasionally. He’s always very busy, especially during the season.” Unlike McLaggen, she wasn’t going to endlessly talk about it and name-drop left and right.


However, Slughorn just had to go into a story of how he once had an affair with the captain of the Falmouth Falcons in his youth. During the long-winded soliloquy, Blaise Zabini – who was seated across from her – stared at her oddly and she started to wonder if she had food on her face.


Hermione took another sip of her Butterbeer and tried to discreetly check her reflection using the back of a spoon, spotting nothing. She pulled the cloth napkin from her lap to wipe around her lips anyway, just in case. Zabini’s gaze was a bit unnerving.


“…I heard your mother does a lot of travelling there!” Slughorn interrupted Zabini’s staring, for which Hermione was thankful.


“Spain? Of course, she’s Antonio’s muse,” Zabini answered dutifully, straight and to the point.


Hermione’s brows furrowed. How in the world did they get on the topic of Spain?


With a gleeful glint, Slughorn’s eyes grew wide. “That wouldn’t be Antonio Cerdas – the famous artist?”


When Zabini nodded, Slughorn had a field day, sparking random conversation after random conversation. She had to hand it to old Sluggy – he had a strange way of being able to start at one end of the table with a conversation and end at the other side, somehow involving everyone. The topics flowed from one into the next, person to person. It was a bit like watching an orchestra under the conductor’s baton. Hermione felt a bit like the harp at the back while McLaggen was the soloist’s violin.


With Slughorn’s direction, it was easy to spot the self-important people. The professor obsessively doted upon them. Virginia Bagnold, a fourth year Hufflepuff, was another self-important braggart; her grandmother was the once Minister of Magic and was mentioned at every chance. Melinda Bobbin told them every detail about her own potions experiments in her father’s lab. They owned a large chain of apothecaries so that was to be expected.


Yet, the lack of boasting on Zabini’s part was surprising – Hermione had expected him to be far more arrogant when brought into the spotlight; but, if anything, he was the absolute definition of aloof. And, Merlin, he was staring at her again. Did she have spinach stuck in her teeth?


Then she realized she was asked another question and she looked up at Slughorn, trying to remember what it was. Oh, yes, what did her parents do for a living? She had completely lost track of the conversation once Bagnold started speaking.


“They’re dentists. It’s a bit like a Healer that specializes in fixing teeth, which is rather hard to do without magic,” Hermione said, fiddling with the napkin in her lap.


“That must be fascinating,” Slughorn replied, pouring himself another goblet full of mead. “How is it that they fix teeth then?”


“With drills and various tools,” she answered, but then she remembered that they would have no idea what a drill was, which prompted her to further explain, “Drills are little devices that have a metal tip that spins very fast. It can make holes and chip away hard materials like bone and hard plaque. When you get a cavity, you go in to the dentist and they drill into the decayed area to scrape it all away. This leaves a big hole so – afterward – they fill it up and it’s as good as new.”


“Sounds like torture,” Zabini drawled from across the table.


“It’s not that bad,” she countered, turning toward him. “They numb it first before doing it so you can’t feel it much.”


A smirk pulled at Zabini’s lips. “‘Much’ being the operative word.”


His quip caused a laugh to spread around the table and Slughorn utilized the topic of Healers to ask Pyrus Cresswell about his aunt, who wrote a series of books on magical healing. Under the table, she felt McLaggen’s knee bump against hers and she could have sworn that he was farther away from her when the dinner party started.


Crossing her legs, she scooted over on her seat and focused on the main course, which was a scrumptious mushroom quiche with a side of delicately spiced heritco verts. The accompanying wine-based sauce was swirled artfully across the silver plate and served not only as a part of the meal, but also an artistic garnish.


“Beautiful,” Hermione heard McLaggen mutter and glanced over to see him running a bite of his quiche through the intricately swirled sauce.


“Yes, it is,” she replied back, under her breath. “I almost hate to ruin it.”


Out of the corner of her eye she could see McLaggen’s sly smile. “I was referring to you, but I suppose the sauce is delicious too.”


Hermione sighed, shaking her head. She should have seen it coming, the way he sidled up to her slowly – without her notice – moving everything toward her, including himself. Why McLaggen had recently taken a liking to her, she had no idea.


“Aren’t you supposed to be over there?” she softly asked. “Closer to Melinda?”


“Nah. I’d rather be right here,” he responded quietly, not disturbing the conversation that Slughorn was now having with Pyrus Cresswell and Hestia Carrow. “Melinda doesn’t smell nearly as good as you do, Granger.”


McLaggen inhaled deeply through his nose and Hermione glared at him, shifting as far away as she could on the seat of her chair. Zabini’s eyes bored into her from across the table and she chanced a glance up at him. One of his perfectly manicured brows rose and his lips curled in amusement.


Great, now they had an audience.


McLaggen’s fingers brushed along the side of her thigh, over her skirt, in a way that could’ve probably been confused as an accident, but Hermione knew better and smacked his hand away. Her other hand was using her fork to viciously stab at her quiche.


“I always knew you’d be feisty,” McLaggen commented, licking up the leftover sauce on the tines of his fork.


Next Slug Club meeting, she vowed that she was going to make sure she didn’t get a seat next to McLaggen.


Hermione pursed her lips, spearing a few plump, green hericot verts. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”


“Because you’re embarrassed to admit it?” McLaggen swiped his finger across the swirled pattern of sauce on his plate and languidly sucked it off, staring across the table toward Zabini.


Bravo. He found the audience.


“No. Because it doesn’t deserve a response,” she scathingly hissed, her eyes narrowed. “And you’re being very inappropriate.” 


“Your hair gets a bit wild when you’re angry.” She felt McLaggen tug at a bushy lock of it behind her back. “I like that. It’s sexy.”


“Would you please stop accosting me? I’m trying to enjoy my dinner,” Hermione said through her teeth.


And Zabini was still watching them with his dark, unfathomable eyes; his elbow was resting on the top of the table and his fingers were curled along the side of his impeccably sculpted face.


She was going to blame this on Harry. It was all his fault that this was happening.


“Come on, Granger,” McLaggen said in a coaxing manner. “You can’t hate me thatmuch.”


“Keep touching me and you’ll be reduced to loathing on my ‘hate meter’ any second now.” She took another bite of her quiche and downed it with Butterbeer.


McLaggen chuckled faintly. “I think I’m making Zabini jealous,” he said, placing his palm on her knee under the table and stroking her skin with his fingers.


“I really doubt that.” When she pinched the back of his hand hard, McLaggen quickly removed it. “He’s amused by the new entertainment.”


“No, he’s jealous – he fancies you, you know.”


Hermione turned her head to glare at him doubtfully. “That’s preposterous. We’ve barely ever spoken to each other.”


“You don’t need to speak to someone to find them attractive, Granger. We’ve only exchanged a few sentences in the past and look at where we are now.”


“Yes, with you molesting me under the table.” She stabbed her fork at her heritco verts. “You’re lucky that I’m too polite to hex you at the moment – I know some very fitting spells.”


That only made McLaggen’s grin widen. “You should meet with us after Slughorn lets us out.”


Hermione’s brows furrowed and she paused mid-bite, almost dropping her fork. “What?


“Me and Zabini,” he elaborated and she itched to correct his grammar, but refrained because the subject matter was too bloody perplexing to process. “There’s an abandoned classroom not far from here – room seven-oh-two.”


“Why in Merlin’s name would I do that?”


“You know you want to,” McLaggen replied lowly. “That, and you want to hex me, which I’ll fully allow if you show up. I’m sure Zabini’ll know how to counter it; he’s almost as much of a book snogger as you are.”


Hermione glanced over at Zabini, who was looking incredibly innocent – too innocent. “Calling me a ‘book snogger’ is not a way to get into my good graces, McLaggen,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.


“Call me Cormac,” he said, topping off his goblet of Butterbeer. “I’ve always wanted to hear that name on your lips.”


‘Presumptuous arrogant bastard’ was more likely.


Hermione exhaled sharply, retorting, “In your dreams.”


“Heard it enough in those – reality is far more satisfying.”


Grinding her teeth together in annoyance, she sucked in a deep calming breath through her nose. “You know Marietta Edgecomb?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject and recovering from her irritation with a devious smile.


McLaggen nodded, the centre of his forehead creasing in confusion.


“I was the one who permanently hexed the word ‘SNEAK’ onto her forehead and, if you don’t want that to happen to you – possibly with the word ‘BASTARD’ – I suggest that you shut up,” she threatened quietly, feeling very pleased with herself.


“Anything you want, Granger,” he replied, holding up his hands in defeat and moving away from her a few inches.


It allowed her some personal breathing space, at last. And bloody Zabini was stillstaring, but he looked intrigued now. She wondered if he did an amplification spell on his hearing to eavesdrop on their conversation, because it seemed as if he had, judging by his expression.


She knew for certain when Zabini’s smirk broadened and he winked at her before averting his gaze, jumping into Professor Slughorn’s discussion about Graff’s Phase Theory of Potions Development.


Hermione had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t having some extremely bizarre dream.




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Curiosity tended to kill the cat, but chance favoured the prepared mind.


Now, where was room seven-hundred-and-two…?


Hermione clutched her wand tightly in her hand and stalked through the corridors, her modest court shoes clicking lightly against the stone floors. Various hexes and curses flew about her brain – she still wasn’t sure which one she’d use first when the time came.


Six-ninety-eight, six-ninety-nine


Around the corner and three doors down, she found her destination and she paused outside the entrance. The door was ajar, but only by a millimeter – enough to push it open easily but not enough to see anything behind it. She dithered in front of it, unsure.


There wasn’t a sound coming from the inside – if anything, it was too silent, and the air had the weighty feel of a silencing charm if she concentrated hard enough. McLaggen was most likely in there already, probably waiting to spring his trap for her because, honestly? McLaggen and Zabini? They didn’t seem very familiar. Even if Zabini winked at her, it was incredibly unlikely that he was a part of this.


Making sure her wand was at the ready, Hermione pushed the door open and her brows rose and her jaw dropped.


Every expectation she had completely flew out the window.


Oh, Zabini was there alright.


The dark Slytherin boy had McLaggen bowed backwards and pinned down to an ancient teacher’s desk by his wrists. Their cloaks laid forgotten at their feet and their shirts were unbuttoned, their ties just barely hanging on to their necks. His tall, lithe figure was pressed up against McLaggen’s equally tall, but stalwart physique, their dark and light skin tones contrasting.


Zabini’s mouth maneuvered against McLaggen’s, open wide, their kiss fierce and intense; even through the dim light of a Lumos Maxima hanging over them, Hermione could see their tongues slipping along each other in an aggressive duel.


And the moaning.


A deep tremble of arousal shot through her.


This was possibly the most erotic thing that she had ever seen or heard.


“Shut the door, would you, Granger?” Zabini asked calmly after he pulled his mouth away from McLaggen’s for a brief moment. McLaggen stared at her with a look of lust-filled surprise as Zabini moved lower, kissing over McLaggen’s strong jaw and muscular neck.


Snapped out of her gawking trance, Hermione entered the room fully and pressed the door shut behind her. “Right…” she trailed off, shifting on her feet and fiddling with her wand. “Er – what’s this all about?”


“We want you to join us,” McLaggen said breathlessly and Zabini’s hand moved from McLaggen’s wrist to grip his blonde hair and tug his head back, causing McLaggen to groan.


“I think you’ve done enough speaking for the night, McLaggen,” Zabini muttered threateningly, his swollen lips twisting into a smirk.


The Slytherin boy turned his head toward her and nodded to a chair seated in their direction, suggesting that she take a seat. Hermione moved toward it, but paused, resting her hand over the high wooden back.


“What did he mean by that, exactly?” she asked, her brows furrowed, her mind not quite wrapping around the entire idea. She needed an explanation – clarity. This had to be some sort of trick.


“I apologize for his eagerness,” Zabini replied, taking out his wand and strapping McLaggen down to the desk with magic.


He was spread out, his arms splayed to each corner and his thighs wide apart, every joint attached to the angles of the desk. His back laid flat against the top and his arse was perched on the edge, the fabric of his trousers on the verge of ripping at the centre from being pulled taut. It almost seemed cruel but McLaggen appeared to thoroughly enjoy the harsh treatment.


Zabini continued, staring straight at her, “He has issues with controlling his urges.” His fingers traced over the straining bulge in McLaggen’s trousers as he addressed him. “Don’t you?”


The blonde nodded, obediently keeping his lips sealed. It was astonishing; usually it took a lot to shut him up. One simple direction from Zabini told her exactly who was the one in charge in their… relationship?


“That didn’t answer my question,” Hermione intoned, crossing her arms over her chest. She was staring at the bulge in McLaggen’s trousers that grew under the languid stroking of Zabini’s hand. It felt so bloody wrong to watch, but she couldn’t stop herself. 


“Patience,” Zabini said in a sibilant whisper, his nimble fingers undoing McLaggen’s belt and opening the strained zipper.


Dipping under the waistband of McLaggen’s boxers, Zabini’s hand grasped around McLaggen’s turgid cock, pulling it out and shifting the elastic waistband to sit under the weighty swell of McLaggen’s balls. He trailed a finger along the large vein on the underside, making it twitch slightly. McLaggen bit his lip in response.


“We discussed having you join us on numerous occasions,” Zabini explained evenly, wrapping his hand around the base of McLaggen’s cock and stroking in hard upward motions. McLaggen’s abs tensed and a heady groan built up in his throat. “Various fantasies – they always make him come the hardest – and I’ve entertained the occasional thought of it as well. Who wouldn’t want to see what Hermione Granger – the Gryffindor swot – is made of? But the opportunity of turning fantasy into reality was always unlikely. That is, until now.”


Zabini stopped stroking, moving his fingers to the exposed head of McLaggen’s cock. He pressed his thumb against the tip and rubbed hard. The blonde Gryffindor inhaled sharply, his hips writhing as much as they could against the restraints.


Zabini’s words caused a flush to spread up Hermione’s neck and she considered them carefully, so many questions rushing through her mind. “I – erm – you… what do you want me to do? And how long have you been doing this for? I didn’t even know you were… ahm… what exactly are you doing with each other?” The questions poured out of her and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.


A quiet laugh bubbled up from Zabini’s lips. “We’re just fooling around. It’s a great way of letting out… frustrations,” he drawled. “And I assure you that you wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could sit there and watch if you like; or you can join in – McLaggen’s very fun to tease –”


He demonstrated this by ghosting his fingers along the Gryffindor boy’s cock, making him moan in desperation. “– you could even sit on his face and let him lick your cunt while I fuck him.” A drop of precome leaked from the tip of McLaggen’s cock, reacting to the dirty words, and Zabini grinned like the cat that caught the canary. “That’s one of his favourite fantasies.”


Hermione sat heavily in the chair, shifting her robe off to help abate the heated flush that was starting to cover her entire body. “I’ll… I don’t know.” She shrugged, swallowing thickly. A very small part of her felt like she should leave but, at the same time, she didn’t think she could move toward that bloody door. What did she really have to lose anyway?


“I’ll… watch? I don’t think I’d…”


Be comfortable enough to join you, even though that would probably cover half of my own fantasies.


“Interesting choice. Anything in particular that you want to see?” Zabini drawled, raising an eyebrow. His hands moved to the parted crotch of McLaggen’s trousers, tugging sharply at the corners and ripping them down his legs. The shirt was next, torn upward and trapping McLaggen’s arms.


The Gryffindor boy laid there, his body completely exposed – looking thoroughly ravished – shreds of clothes just barely clinging to him. His muscles were bulging underneath his lightly tanned skin, tense from being pulled in every direction and strapped down to the desk. There was a smattering of curly blonde hair across his chest, leading downward toward his abs, and thickening below his navel and above his rather generous cock.


It wasn’t fair for someone so egotistical and arrogant to be that attractive.


“Do you give each other… head? Fallatio?” Hermione asked, tilting her head curiously.


Zabini hummed in confirmation, the corners of his lips curving upward. “Fallatio – how proper. Are you asking me to suck his cock?”


Her eyes widened and a pleasured throb settled at her centre, coursing through her in a wave of heat. “Yes,” she replied a little breathlessly and McLaggen moaned in anticipation.


Zabini’s salacious grin widened, his eyes appraising her. “I will if you tell me to.”


Her mouth dropped open a little and her stomach tightened thrillingly. “Will you do it?”


“I told you to tell me what you want – not ask me.” Zabini arched a suggestive eyebrow. “Be exact. If there’s one thing you excel at, it’s definitely exactitude.”


Merlin, she loved it when people used words that were rarely used.


He really wanted her to say it, didn’t he?


Her stomach was quivering in excitement from it all. She wanted to say it, but it wasn’t normal for her to say these types of things, which made her hesitate for a moment.


She thought the words over and over and, as she said it, the sentence felt foreign once it came out of her mouth: “I want you to suck his cock.”


Blood rushed through her body in an long wave of heat, turning her head light. And the looks on Zabini and McLaggen’s faces after she said it… Her insides clenched pleasurably.


“Anything you want, Granger,” Zabini purred lowly, making her briefly recall McLaggen’s use of the same phrase earlier. But that was nothing like this.


Her train of thought stopped the moment Zabini moved. With agonizing patience, he shed his tie and shrugged off his shirt, revealing his dark velvety skin and loosely defined form – less bulky and softer than McLaggen’s muscled physique. It was artistic and almost as if he was sculpted out of creamy milk chocolate. Zabini kept his trousers on and his lengthy limbs shifted as he kneeled in between McLaggen’s thighs, his long fingers reaching forward to fondle his balls.


Hermione could barely breathe through the anticipation.


Slowly, Zabini’s lips wrapped around McLaggen’s shaft, sinking down, inch by inch, until he had his nose buried against the thatch of curls surrounding his cock. It was as if he didn’t even know what a gag reflex was and she stared transfixed, vaguely jealous at his skill. Zabini bobbed his head, making lewd sucking noises on the way up and humming on the way down. The noises were a thing that always got to her – very few things turned her on more than moans, grunts, panting, skin slapping, and wet sounds of sex.


From where she was sitting, she could clearly hear McLaggen’s erratic inhalations; his husky groans echoed off the walls, loud and unabashed.


Pulling away with a wet ‘pop’, Zabini’s tongue swept across the tip of McLaggen’s cock and he asked, “You like that she’s watching this, don’t you?”


Fuck, yes,” the Gryffindor boy moaned and Zabini’s hand moved up to pull down the foreskin before he sucked hard around the overly exposed head and shaft.


Visibly scraping his teeth lightly over the tip, Zabini indomitably responded, “No one gave you permission to talk.” His mouth slid back over McLaggen’s cock, engulfing him fully, his throat struggling against the thick length as he swallowed around him. He was sucking in earnest now, bobbing his head even faster.


Hermione’s hands gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from reaching down to relieve the ache pulsing through her tender clit. Her knickers, she could feel, were soaked through already, probably leaving an embarrassing damp spot on the back of her skirt. She was tempted to join them, like Zabini said; contemplating the thought of tugging off her ruined pants, crawling up onto the desk, and rubbing her quim all over McLaggen’s plump, moaning lips.  


That would certainly relieve the ache, which she was trying to quell by shifting in her seat.


Just as she was sure McLaggen was going to come straight down Zabini’s throat, Zabini pulled away with a smirk, clicking his tongue in disapproval.


Fuck.” McLaggen let out an exasperated growl, thrashing against his bindings.


“Not yet, my greedy little Gryffindor.” Zabini lightly twisted his fingers over the tip of McLaggen’s cock. “I think it’s time for you to show Granger what a good cock sucker you are.”


Zabini tugged his wand out of his back pocket, and with a sharp wave and a twist, McLaggen was hoisted up off of the desk to his feet, letting out a soft startled moan. Another flick of the wand made the invisible bindings around McLaggen’s wrists trap them together behind his back, like a pair of handcuffs.


“On your knees,” Zabini ordered, gripping the top of McLaggen’s head by his hair and pressing him down to kneel onto the floor.


In a fluid motion, the dark Slytherin unbuckled his trousers, unzipping them languidly and pulling his long, hard cock out. The engorged head swiped across McLaggen’s lips and the blonde lapped at it with his tongue.


“Open your mouth,” Zabini voiced gruffly, “stick out your tongue. Good.” Using McLaggen’s hair to guide him, he pulled McLaggen’s mouth over his cock, forcing him to bob his head as the Gryffindor sucked slowly. Zabini let out a long moan, turning toward Hermione to trail his eyes over her while he guided McLaggen’s movements, forcing him to take every inch of his cock into his mouth and holding him there until McLaggen writhed, choking.


Yes, this was definitely the most erotic thing she had ever seen. Hermione crossed her legs, unable to draw her eyes away from it; they felt slightly dry from not blinking nearly enough.


“I think Granger’s enjoying our little show,” Zabini panted, biting his lip and staring down at the blonde head bobbing back and forth over his cock. McLaggen moaned around him, bobbing deeper, his lips wrapped tightly around Zabini’s shaft.


“Use your tongue,” Zabini muttered, his voice darkening with arousal. “Swirl it - yes. Like that. Want her to see how you make me come?”


At McLaggen’s answering groan, Zabini tugged the Gryffindor boy’s head back and thrust his hips forward, sinking his cock down into McLaggen’s mouth.




His wandhand gripped the edge of the desk while his other fisted at McLaggen’s hair. His hips moved sinuously as he roughly pumped his cock into McLaggen’s mouth, usinghim to get off. Hermione’s eyes widened and her heart pounded in her chest. Her insides pulsed as Zabini let out a long moan, his hips moving more erratically. McLaggen struggled a little, but Zabini kept him steady. The Gryffindor was making muted noises that were cut off by Zabini’s cock every time it sank into him.


“Circe,” Zabini groaned raggedly, his jaw clenching and muscles seizing. Sweat glistened over his chest as he came.


Letting out a shuddered breath, Zabini slowly worked himself in and out of McLaggen’s mouth, panting, “Be a good little whore. Swallow it all down.”


Hermione didn’t even think it was possible to be turned on this much without actually touching herself. Watching Zabini slide himself from McLaggen’s swollen lips, she shifted in her chair and recrossed her legs.


Holding tightly onto his wand, Zabini flicked it, sending McLaggen floating upwards and back down onto the desk in his previously stretched and bound position. Stuffing his spent cock back into his open trousers, Zabini paused, turning toward her.


His dark amber eyes lingered along her body. “Why don’t you come over here and have a seat, Granger? I believe it’s your turn.”


Her turn?


Hermione’s brows rose and she hesitated at first, but the temptation and her arousal won out. Her legs carried her up off the chair and she stood before them, not exactly sure where she was supposed to ‘have a seat’. There didn’t seem to be much of the desk left available.


Zabini turned and moved to his knees in front of her, lifting his hands up her skirt to remove her knickers. Stepping out of them, she shifted out of her shoes, feeling her skirt drop to the floor once Zabini undid the zipper, not once asking if it was okay. But she figured that now was not the time to be modest – not when all the blood in her body was throbbing through her, heady and agitated with pulsating arousal. 


“Where do I… sit?” she asked, staring at McLaggen’s cock. It was still hard and precome was starting to drip down the side. Her eyes trailed up his body to his face and he stared back at her, appraising her in such a licentious manner that it caused a wave of heat to course through her.


Without warning, Zabini lifted her by her waist to seat her on McLaggen’s hard stomach, his hands spreading her legs wide along McLaggen’s thighs; in this position, McLaggen’s cock jutted out from between her legs.


“I think right here is a good place,” Zabini muttered and she felt extremely unsure for a scant second until Zabini suddenly dropped to his knees once again and his mouth latched onto her clit, sucking hard and fast. His fingers moved up to press into her soaking wet, aching cunt. Gripping onto McLaggen’s thighs, she threw her head back and moaned at the unexpected assault.


Her brain was processing the situation carefully, barely able to believe it. She was practically sitting on Cormac McLaggen’s cock with Blaise Zabini’s fingers buried inside her and his mouth was lapping and sucking at her clit like nothing she had ever felt before. When she did this with Viktor, it wasn’t even half as good as this. Tension built up inside her, rapidly coiling at her centre.


Zabini’s fingers pumped in and out of her, occasionally spreading her wetness along McLaggen’s length – she could hear the Gryffindor boy taking in breaths between his teeth behind her, moaning – before dipping back in and curling to rub against that spot inside her. Her nails dug into McLaggen’s thighs as she bucked against Zabini’s tongue.


Her blood was on fire, shooting toward her limbs and making her weak.


“That’s it,” Zabini muttered into her cunt, his lips moving against it. “Come all over his cock. I want to see it drenched.”


He sucked hard and long, his fingers rubbing circles inside her at the same time, causing that coil of tension inside her to burst. Her vision blurred around the edges, pleasure seeping through every nerve.


As she came down from it all, she watched Zabini stroke the underside of McLaggen’s length, pressing his cock along her slit. She felt McLaggen’s deep, rumbling groans vibrating through his chest against her lower back. Denying McLaggen any sort of release, Zabini’s hands moved to latch onto the tails of her shirt. He opened button after button and kissed his way up her stomach, leaving a tingling trail in their wake.


“You look glorious, Granger,” he remarked breathily, spreading his hands over her ribs through her open shirt and cupping her heaving breasts through her bra.


She moaned incoherently, mentally saying ‘thank you’, but outwardly blabbering gibberish. Placing a kiss in the centre of her chest, Zabini shifted himself up and pressed against her fully, trapping McLaggen’s cock between them.


Instinctively, Hermione’s arms wrapped around him, gripping at his shoulders. Urging her to lay back onto McLaggen’s torso, Zabini’s lips met hers and she gasped, tasting herself mixed with the saltiness of McLaggen’s pre-come on them. It was obscene and seductive and so… hot – there wasn’t any other word for it; she couldn’t help herself from melting into it, moaning into his mouth as she stroked her tongue along his. She could feel Zabini’s hands moving down to shuck off his trousers. His semi-hard length pressed against her lower stomach next to McLaggen’s and her eyes snapped open as she pulled away from him, looking down in alarm.


The image of two erect cocks against her made her brain have a small war with itself because, thinking of what she was doing, she felt a bit mental. She was almost naked with two other people who she barely knew and one who she basically detested – and they were nearly having a threesome. How far did she want to take this? She definitely wasn’t just watching anymore.


And, really, what kind of person would it make her if she went through with it? She was usually the good girl… the proper, composed, and sometimes prudish one, even if it wasn’t completely how she was deep down.


That deep part of her was battling against her ‘good girl’ morality, chastising her for being completely idiotic because it would be mad of her to turn down this opportunity. How many times had she daydreamt about being with two men? Too many to bloody count, even though the blokes in her daydreams were usually Viktor Krum and possibly one of his friends, or Ron. She couldn’t doubt that it would be a good learning experience if she went through with it – not to mention incredibly amazing, appealing to so many of her hidden desires. 


“You alright?” Zabini asked, his voice rough and thick with lust.


The sound of it made her resistance dissolve like an ice cube in the centre of a burning inferno and she pulled his head down to kiss him again, nipping at his swollen lips and sucking his lower lip into her mouth. He groaned coarsely, reaching underneath her to unhook her bra and shove her shirt down her arms; she let him strip off the last bits of her clothing until she was lying fully nude on top of McLaggen, who seemed to be straining extra hard against his bindings. His muscles felt bulged underneath her backside.


Zabini rubbed himself against her wet, sensitive quim, stimulating McLaggen against her hip at the same time. The Gryffindor boy let out a huff of breath, gasping; she could feel it against the top of her head. He was surely watching them snog and grind against each other on top of him, which caused a thrill of desperate need to tingle through her veins.



Letting out a disappointed moan when Zabini straightened up and pulled away from her, she recovered as he directed, breathing unevenly, “Go sit on his face, love.” The Slytherin’s eyes briefly glanced to McLaggen, above her head. “He’s very good with his mouth – prattling isn’t its only skill.”




Trembling slightly, Hermione folded her previously splayed legs beneath her and crawled backwards. She moved herself to straddle over McLaggen’s head, her knees resting on either side of his pectoral muscles. She looked down at him to find him staring back with a half-lidded gaze, running his tongue along the parted seam of his lips.


A whispered counterspell from Zabini allowed McLaggen free from his bindings and the Slytherin boy pushed up McLaggen’s thighs, bending his legs at the knee and keeping them spread wide. With a roll of his shoulders, McLaggen’s arms came up around Hermione’s thighs, moving her legs wider and brusquely pulling her down onto his face.


Hermione moaned at the contact; his wet lips danced over her sensitive cunt, kissing her there. His tongue flicking out to tease her clit as he gently sucked. Tingling pleasure, which was already so concentrated there, started to spread from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes at the sensation. It was different than Zabini – Zabini ate her out with a fierce, possessive, and highly-skilled hunger. McLaggen seemed to prefer starting slowly, savouring, as if he was trying to ease her into the desperation of needing to come.


In front of her, Zabini teased McLaggen’s cock with the tips of his fingers as his other hand – fingers covered in a slick substance he’d conjured – disappeared between McLaggen’s parted thighs. Rumbling groans sounded from the Gryffindor boy, causing her to throb deep and hard as the sounds were muffled and lost in the folds of her nether lips. Whimpering, she ground herself down against his mouth, his stubbly chin swiping across her clit. She couldn’t bite back the loud moan that escaped her and she gripped at his chest, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin.


Hermione watched Zabini line himself up with McLaggen’s arse and slowly thrust forward, sinking in and reaching across for her. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her into a deep lingering kiss. McLaggen’s tongue pressed inside her and she gasped against Zabini’s lips, the vibrations of McLaggen’s breathy groans diffusing through her.


Bucking feverishly against McLaggen’s face, Hermione pulled away from Zabini’s lips, throwing her head back and moaning. She was so so close and she felt Zabini’s hand move lower to properly rub her clit while McLaggen’s tongue swirled inside her, touching all the right places.


“F-fuck,” she breathed, feeling herself collapse as her legs shook. They continued their relentless assault, McLaggen’s arms holding her up. Her nerves were quaking violently and the pleasure was nearly excruciating as it shot through her like white hot, scorching heat.


Zabini straightened back upright, forcing McLaggen’s legs wide and fucking him in earnest now. McLaggen’s mouth lightly sucked over her, cleaning up her release with long, languid strokes in between the desperate noises he was making. It sent sharp oversensitive pulses through her in the aftermath of her orgasm.


Zabini’s fingers wrapped around the base of McLaggen’s length and his teeth sunk into his lower lip, biting off a deep groan. Their eyes met and Hermione glanced down at McLaggen’s cock, which looked close to bursting.


“Give it lick, Granger,” Zabini muttered roughly, rolling his hips and causing McLaggen to let out an almost pained moan. “I bet you could make him come just using your tongue if I slide my cock right there.” He punctuated his words with harsh upward thrusts, making McLaggen thrash and nearly cry out. “Just – like – this.”


Spurred on, Hermione shifted forward with her shaky knees, resting on her right elbow and gripping McLaggen’s length above Zabini’s fingers. Running her tongue over the tip, she wondered if what he said was possible – she had read that it could technically happen, but she doubted that it was anything common. She knew all the places to press and rub her tongue against from her own research, and she could feel McLaggen twitching and pulsing under her hand. Zabini moved faster, pounding hard and using McLaggen’s legs as leverage.


The noises they were making were enough to make her throb, even in her oversensitive post-orgasm state. They didn’t bother to be quiet about anything.


Hermione’s fingers shifted to massage McLaggen’s balls and she could feel it coming, pulsating. He was really close. She swirled her tongue around the head of McLaggen’s cock, flicking it roughly over that spot just below. All of his muscles were tensing beneath her, his stomach tightening, his hands gripping at her thighs. One long stroke of her hand up his shaft and a wide lick across the tip of his cock made him come undone, spilling over, spurting in long bouts and collecting between her fingers as she stroked slowly.


She could taste it on her tongue; thick, tangy, and salty.


Picking up his pace, Zabini plunged himself into McLaggen’s arse even harder, his eyes screwed shut and his lips parted. His back arched and his body lengthened as languorously stroked himself in and out of McLaggen’s arse to completion. Pulling out, he collapsed forward onto his arms. McLaggen’s legs relaxed, resting over the edge of the desk and Hermione crawled to the side, perching next to them with her knees pressed against her chest, staring at the two. Her hand was sticky with come and their harsh, panting breaths echoed off the walls.


It was surreal and she pinched herself again to make sure she really wasn’t dreaming – well, it sure didn’t feel like a dream. Usually she woke up before she got any sort of release, leaving her frustrated and hurriedly reaching under the covers to get herself off.


No, it couldn’t have been a dream.


“Better than you thought it was going to be, wasn’t it?” Zabini addressed McLaggen with a smirk once he recovered.


The Gryffindor boy nodded, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “Not to sound insulting, Zabini, but her tongue is way more talented than yours.”


“Hm. I’ll have to try it sometime then,” Zabini drawled, his dark eyes grazing over her naked form. “After the next Slug Club dinner, perhaps?”


She’d be denying herself if she said she wasn’t interested.



-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-



Chapter Text

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(One and One and One)










-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-




The next Slug Club gathering was scheduled two weeks after the last. An ostentatious, gilded-edged scroll adorned with a purple velvet ribbon arrived to her at breakfast via owl, and she saw that Harry and Ginny had each gotten one as well, despite not attending the last meeting. Upon seeing the scroll, Harry went into immediate action, hopping up from his seat at the breakfast table to go schedule the Quidditch pitch for the Gryffindor team. Ginny’s tinkling laughter followed him in his wake and she leaned over toward Hermione.


“Are these meetings really that bad?” she asked.


Hermione shrugged, her eyes catching McLaggen’s from across the table; he was holding his scroll and staring at her quite intently. If he hadn’t previously made his interest in her known to the entire school, it would have looked suspicious.


“They’re okay – perhaps not as bad as Harry would think,” Hermione replied, the image of McLaggen naked and stretched across that desk flowing through her mind as she glanced at him again. “There are definitely worse ways I’ve spent my time.”


She didn’t need to mention that the only fun part was afterward and her insides churned delightfully in anticipation. Not even Ron’s sullen grumbling into his scrambled eggs could distract her from pondering her post-Slug Club arrangement with Zabini and McLaggen. Now that she had a clear head about it and could put it into perspective, she had considered many scenarios involving them over the past couple weeks.


Once or twice she considered not going because McLaggen was an irritating bastard outside of that room, but the opportunity was too much to pass up. The three were simply fooling around and it wasn’t as if it was serious or anything.


Looking over at the Slytherin table, Hermione watched Zabini thread the velvet ribbon between his fingers with a thoughtful expression and she grinned. She had a few interesting plans for tonight and she really hoped they were up for it. It was only fair that in exchange for playing out their fantasies, they would also play out herfantasies.


If they were okay with that, she added in her head – and something told her that they would be.





-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-




For this Slug Club meeting, Hermione sat herself right in the middle of Zabini and McLaggen without protest. It was slightly ironic, since she would have been sorely annoyed at being seated between them just a fortnight ago. Now she was doing it willingly.


There had to be something wrong with her, but she decided to just go with it.


She also found it ironic that, instead of being annoyed at Harry, she was thankful that he had scheduled Quidditch practice in order to avoid the Slug Club. It would have been difficult to go through with what she had planned with him around, even if it might’ve heightened the excitement – in theory, anyway. 


Slughorn started off the dinner by introducing them to their guest, Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. She was a surprisingly short witch with an inappropriate amount of cleavage, which had most of the blokes at the table staring entirely too much, including Slughorn. Hermione could tell that Gwenog really enjoyed the attention. And it was no surprise that the conversations that followed allowed McLaggen to go into all of his overweening stories about his own Quidditch prowess. It was a bloody given with a famous Quidditch player at the table.


Hermione let out an inaudible patient sigh as she half-listened. Just because McLaggen was physically attractive and had gotten her off with his astoundingly talented mouth, it didn’t make up for his egotistical personality; and it certainlywasn’t going to make her like him anymore than she did before their encounter in room ‘seven-oh-two’.


It turned out that Gwenog Jones was pretty good company for McLaggen – she was just as full of herself as he was. If Hermione didn’t know Viktor and Harry so well, she would have considered it to be a Quidditch thing because Ron was the same way at times. The word ‘humble’ wasn’t in their vocabularies.


After the stuffed mushroom appetiser, Slughorn served Welsh Cawl for the main course, which was apparently Gwenog Jones’ favourite. Hermione didn’t mind it so much, but Zabini looked absolutely appalled at the hearty meat-filled stew and poked at it apprehensively with his fork, as if the meat was going to come alive again and attack him. Deciding that it was time for a distraction, Hermione ‘accidentally’ dropped her fork under the table and went to fetch it, discreetly tugging her knickers down on the way. She emerged with them balled in her hand, which she kept under the table, and the fork in the other.


“Sorry, I dropped my fork,” she explained, only slightly flustered when Slughorn paused from his chat between Pyrus, Melinda, and Gwenog, regarding her with an inquiring expression. They went back to speaking of the 1988 Quidditch Cup as if the interruption never happened.


Taking a deep breath through her nose, she calmed her nerves. She knew exactly what she wanted. She had planned the entire thing in her head for the last week. She wasn’t going to back down now that she’d gotten her knickers off.


With a coy glance over at Zabini, who was still focused on his stew, Hermione stuffed the undergarment into the pocket of his robe.


That got his attention.


His brow furrowed diminutively as he turned his head toward her; then he checked his pocket and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Naughty of you, Granger,” he drawled under his breath. “Are you trying to entice me to play?


“Maybe,” she softly replied, biting her lip. “I have fantasies of my own, you know.”


His eyes swept over her as he glanced at her sideways for a brief moment before turning his head back toward the conversation, acting natural. “And what is it that you wish for me to do with your knickers? Your–” he dug into his pocket once more, “–rather wet knickers.”


“Not my knickers,” Hermione whispered, feeling a slightly embarrassed flush creep up her cheeks. She pulled his hand from his pocket and placed it on her bare knee.


Zabini’s hand trailed along her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt underneath the table. He feigned eating with his other hand, bringing a stew-less spoon to his lips and pretending.


“That’s even better,” he said under his breath, teasing along her inner thigh with his fingers. “But you know how I like you to be exact. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”


Taking a sip of butterbeer from her goblet for strength, Hermione tried to control her breathing. “I want you to get me off. Right here. In front of everyone – without them knowing it.”


“Tempting. Why ask me and not McLaggen?” Reaching toward the pitcher of butterbeer, he refilled his goblet.


“Because I imagine that you’re more subtle than he is,” Hermione explained softly, “and he’s far more involved in the conversation.”


“Do you think you can be ‘subtle’ enough for this?” Zabini’s fingers were swirling patters over her inner thigh, inching upward with agonizing slowness.


Of course she could. She lived in a dorm with four other girls and sometimes her wand rolled under the bed in the middle of the night, making silencing charms inconvenient.


“Yes,” she breathed and he moved his hand to cup her quim, just ghosting his hand over her.


“Tell me you want me to finger you under the table,” he intoned under his breath and Hermione’s heart started to pound – surely he felt her clit throb beneath his hand.


Licking her lips, she muttered, “I want you to finger me under the table,” and she felt his finger dip down into her folds to feel along her slit. After letting out a nearly imperceptible gasp, she glanced around to make sure no one noticed.


Feeling slightly braver, Hermione elaborated, “And I want you to rub my clit with your thumb while you finger-fuck my cunt until I’m coming all over your hand.”


The flush over her cheeks deepened at her own words and she felt Zabini’s thumb press against her clit, stroking and rubbing in circles. It was even better than she thought it would be and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.


“Circe, Granger,” Zabini muttered breathily, pressing two fingers inside her and gripping his spoon tightly with his other hand. “You wouldn’t believe how fucking hard it gets me when you’re a bossy little swot. Ordering people around.”


Merlin – no wonder he always wanted her to tell him what to do. He got off on it. 


Hermione clutched her napkin in her lap and bucked against his hand when she felt his thumb move to circle her clit while his fingers curled and rubbed up inside of her. Biting the inside of her cheek, she held her breath to make sure she didn’t make any noise. He knew exactly what he was doing – so much so that she vaguely wondered how in the world he got to be so good at this. His thumb swiped and rubbed at her clit, causing her to tighten hard around his fingers and making everything inside her feel heightened with pleasure.


“You’re killing me,” Zabini whispered and out of the corner of her eyes she watched as he adjusted the noticeable bulge in his robes with his freehand. “If we weren’t sitting at this crowded table, I’d lift you up onto it and fuck your tight little cunt until you screamed.”


Letting out a long breath, Hermione throbbed, trying so hard not to look like she was close in case anyone glanced in her direction. Keeping quiet was harder than she thought it was going to be – much harder when he said things like that, but she usually wasn’t one just to be thrown around and fucked during sex.


“Or maybe I’d make you get up onto the table and ride you until you’re cock’s raw and you’re begging me to stop,” Hermione retorted lowly through her quiet panting breaths.


She’d always wanted to do that.


“Bloody hell,” Zabini breathed, his jaw clenching as he pumped his fingers into her harder and rubbed mercilessly at her clit.


“Faster,” she growled under her breath needily. She was almost there. Her eyes kept glancing around the table, searching for anyone looking their way.


It nearly forced a moan out of her as he complied and she bit it back, exhaling sharply through her nose and clutching at the stem of her butterbeer goblet and her napkin. She had her legs so wide, she was straddling the chair and she was very thankful for the Slughorn’s lavish tablecloth. It probably would have looked obscene without it.


Zabini spread his fingers inside her and curled them upwards, practically hooking into her as he rubbed deep and hard against that magical spot inside her. Two more frantic swipes with his thumb made her convulse around him and Hermione’s vision swam, it hit her so hard. It took all of her strength to not make a sound and just breathe through it. Her toes curled in her shoes as little shockwaves pulsed down her legs from her throbbing centre.


She was so focused on trying to look normal while coming that she didn’t even notice when Zabini dropped his spoon under the table and moved between her legs beneath the table cloth to lick her clean.


Her teeth gritted and she closed her thighs on his head, feeling his tongue swirling around her entrance. It was both agonizing and embarrassing at the same time because a few people noticed Zabini disappear and they were looking their way. Only McLaggen seemed to discern what was going on, which was a blessing.


A few seconds later, Zabini emerged with his spoon and his wand in hand, casting a cleansing charm on it. Not bothering to address the staring crowd, he nonchalantly went back to his pretend eating. And, when no one was looking anymore, he turned his head toward her and brought his fingers – still slick with her come – to his mouth and sucked them off slowly.


It wasn’t possible for dinner to end fast enough for Hermione’s liking. 





-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-




Knickerless and feeling oddly thrilled about it, Hermione all but ran to room seven-hundred-and-two after politely saying her farewell to Gwenog and the members the Slug Club that were left. Behind her, she knew Zabini was following. She had glanced back to see him strolling in his usual aloof fashion, staying a considerable length away from her. McLaggen, on the other hand, stayed behind a little longer to talk up Gwenog and make yet another Quidditch connection. If the Gryffindor boy was to be believed, he apparently knew a quarter of the professional players in Europe, which explained why he had a huge head about the sport. If he played with the professionals during his summer holidays... well. She almost felt bad for confounding him.


The key word there, however, was ‘almost’.


Skidding through the doorway of room ‘seven-oh-two’, Hermione casted a silencing charm around the perimeter, placing a bright Lumos Maxima above the ancient desk and, thinking ahead, followed that with a contraceptive charm. Observing the contents of the room, anticipation nipped at her core. There were plenty of easily transfigurable objects lying around – chairs and desks and chalk and antiquated school supplies. There was even a long pointer stick that teachers used decades ago, but were now rendered obsolete by a charm that was invented to allow one to self-elongate their wand.


She slowly ambled over to the stick and picked it up, batting it against her hand. It had a bit of a stingy thwack to it that was surprisingly satisfying and her lips curled into a grin. Idly, she wondered just how bossy Zabini liked her to be. After all, it wasn’t very hard to dig up that part of herself and bring it here. She was generally the aggressor when it came to sex – Viktor was incredibly pliant every time she had pressed him down onto his bed on the Durmstrang ship, or when she shoved him into the broom cupboard near the library. What was the difference between that and being the aggressor with two men at her disposal?


Especially when at least one of them really liked her to be obscenely verbal and bossy.


Setting her wand aside and slipping off her robe, she leaned back against the old teacher’s desk they’d used last time, letting the pointer stick rest in her hand at her side as she waited. It wasn’t long before Zabini came through the door, raising an eyebrow when he saw what she was holding.


With a smirk, he asked, “Do we wait for prattler, or shall we get started without him?”


I’m not going to wait for him,” Hermione answered, pointing the stick at him. “I’d much rather see you strip for me.”


There was a mild pause as Zabini looked her up and down, considering her. “Alright then,” he drawled, working his fingers over the buttons on his shirt and popping them open one by one. “Do I get to call you ‘the naughty professor’?”


Hermione snorted with laughter. “No. ‘Granger’ will do, I think. I like the way you say it.”


Ah. What do you like about the way I say it?” He shrugged his shirt off and let it drop to the floor at his side.


Staring at the expanse of dark skin along his chest and abdomen, stretching over lithe muscles, she explained, breathily, “I like how you can make it sound like pure sex – the way it rolls off your tongue.”


“One of my many talents,” Zabini arrogantly replied.


The dark Slytherin toed off his shoes, undoing the belt buckle on his trousers and unzipping them. Lavender and Parvati often played a game after dinner in their dorm, guessing what type of underwear different boys wore. For Zabini, they usually guessed boxer shorts – however, in reality, he preferred to wear nothing under his trousers and she felt her stomach flip at discovering this little fact.


“Socks too,” Hermione directed, flicking the pointer stick at them after his trousers were off and she could clearly see his cock, hard and bobbing with every one of his movements. She was definitely going to have to use a cleansing spell on the back of her skirt, feeling an almost uncomfortable amount of wetness seep from her as she throbbed.


Zabini’s socks joined his pile of clothes and he moved toward her, only to be stopped by the tip of the pointer against his chest when he was a few inches away, reaching for her. He stared at it, glancing back to her in a way that was more challenging than questioning.


“You can undo three buttons,” she said, trying to sound forceful. It was difficult with him being so naked and wanting, she nearly wanted to give in – pounce on him and snog him; push him down and fuck him until she couldn’t think straight.


But this was too much fun.


“Of course,” Zabini purred, grabbing the neck of her shirt with both hands and harshly ripping the top three buttons open, causing her to gasp. The shirt gaped down to where it was tucked into her high waisted school-regulation skirt. Her nipples were hard and straining against the fabric of her bra.


She reached up and undid the clasp at the front, letting her breasts free from the confines. Zabini’s hands ghosted up the parted edges of her shirt, his fingers just brushing over her skin until he reached her breasts. Taking one step closer, he placed his hands on them and kneaded, gently tugging her nipples.


Zabini’s eyes were half lidded as he gazed at her chest, licking his lips. “Let me suck on your tits, Granger.”


Hermione bit her lip to hold back a moan. “Say please,” she directed and his eyes snapped up to meet hers, his pupils dilated and full of lust.




Grabbing the back of his head by his hair with her free hand, she urged his head down to her chest and felt his lips wrap around her nipple, his teeth lightly scraping over the little bud as he sucked. Zabini’s arms snaked around her and dipped her backwards to gain better access, his mouth switching between her breasts and making her moan and writhe against him.


This was how McLaggen found him when he finally made his way into the room, his expression indiscernible as he shut and locked the door behind him with a spell.


Hermione looked over at him, gasping at the sensations Zabini’s lips were causing. Every time he nipped and sucked, tingling heat shot straight down and her clit throbbed with need. Gathering herself a bit, she kept one hand on the back of Zabini’s head and raised the pointer stick toward McLaggen, wondering if he got off on the ‘bossiness’ like Zabini.


“You’re late,” she admonished, exhaling jaggedly. “Strip. I want you bare as well.”


Trailing her hand over Zabini’s back, she watched McLaggen shove his shoes off in a hurry, tugging his shirt over his head with his tie without unbuttoning it. She groped Zabini’s arse and pressed her cunt against his thigh, letting out a breathy moan as she rubbed herself against it. The friction was just the thing she needed.


Zabini trailed kisses all over her breasts, pressing his face against them and licking between her mounds, sucking just underneath.


Feeling emboldened, she wanted to test her limits, raising her hand off Zabini’s arse and bringing it down with a satiating smack. Zabini let out a staggered groan, moving away from her breasts to look at her, his brows raised.


“Not exactly my thing, Granger,” he muttered with his mouth below her ear, skimming his lips over her neck. He nipped at her earlobe. “McLaggen, however, enjoys a good spanking if you’re so inclined.”


Hermione glanced over Zabini’s shoulder toward the blonde Gryffindor, who was busy trying to get out of his trousers and socks at the same time in a hurry.


“He looks eager,” she observed with a grin and Zabini closed the distance between their lips, pressing her close and kissing her heatedly, only drawing away when he finally needed to breathe. Her head spun from it and she blinked dazedly up at him.


“I didn’t say you could kiss me,” she said breathlessly, tugging sharply at his hair, which he seemed to enjoy.


“You owed me one for that slap on the arse,” he replied, moving his head back to her breasts and latching his mouth around her nipple demandingly.


Stumbling, McLaggen stripped off his boxers and strode toward them, halting when Hermione lifted up her pointer stick, pressing the tip of it against his stomach. With tug at Zabini’s hair, she drew his head toward her left breast to make room, moving aside slightly and shifting over Zabini’s thigh.


“Come closer. I want you to do exactly what he’s doing,” she instructed, setting the pointer down beside her on the desk and beckoning him with her reaching arm.


“Fuck, Granger,” McLaggen breathed, rushing forward to burying his head against her breast, licking at her with his tongue.


She hung onto them as they practically bent her backwards over the desk, lavishing her sensitive breasts with their mouths. Just that alone was nearly enough to make her close, the feeling of both of their tongues and lips on her tits.


Rubbing against Zabini’s thigh harder, Hermione keened loudly, and he helped her by pressing his leg farther between her legs and drawing it up. The angle was perfectagainst her clit. Oh, yes, she could definitely come like this. She bucked feverously, gripping their backs and digging her nails in for leverage. While this had barely an effect on Zabini, McLaggen groaned, redoubling his attention to her breast. Their hands were everywhere; she couldn’t tell whose were whose. One was splayed over her back, another grasped at her arse while she ground against Zabini’s thigh. There was one stroking up her stomach and the last one was trailing along her leg under her skirt.


Sharply twisting her hips along Zabini’s thigh, she came slowly, feeling it seep into her and settle over every inch of her body, piercing jolts of pleasure flowing through her with every movement of their mouths against her nipples. She didn’t know whose shoulder she latched onto to bite down on when she came, whimpering and moaning into their skin, but she heard him gasp. 


When Hermione opened her eyes, she stared up at both of them in front of her, staring back. They looked like they wanted to devour her whole. Feeling entirely too warm, she shoved off her shirt and bra and unzipped her skirt, flinging her clothes to the floor. However, she kept her court shoes on; McLaggen and Zabini were already tall enough as it was and she didn’t want to get any shorter. Not only that, but this was the perfect height to reach forward and grab hold of both of their cocks, teasing them with her fingers.


“Circe,” Zabini muttered, hissing through his teeth as she stroked them properly, “keep doing that and I’ll have no choice but to throw you over that desk and shag you rotten.” 


“Hard being patient when you’re not in control, isn’t it?” McLaggen retorted, thrusting his hips against her even strokes and groaning breathily.


A devious smirk curled along Zabini’s lips. “Should watch your tongue, McLaggen.” He then looked at Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want her to stop and bend you over the desk to teach you a lesson, would you?”


The suggestion hit her like a thrilling ton of bricks, especially when McLaggen gasped and Hermione felt his cock twitch in her hand, responding to it. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, pulling her hand away from McLaggen’s cock, but kept stroking Zabini. The Gryffindor boy reached down to stroke himself and she stopped him, slapping his hands away.


“Don’t touch,” she ordered. “Keep your hands at your sides.” Glancing at Zabini, she rubbed her thumb against the tip of his cock, causing a deep moan to build up in his throat. “Would you help?”


“Fuck,” she heard McLaggen curse.


“Only if you tell me to,” Zabini intoned huskily, placing his hands at her wrists and pulling her hand away from him reluctantly.


Right, Zabini liked her bossy. 


Hermione gaze trailed to McLaggen, watching his chest heave with excited pants, and she tilted her head toward the ancient desk. “Place your hands there and lean over the desk.”


McLaggen practically jumped into action, striding forward and bending down to curl his fingers along the edge of the desk, his arm muscles writhing as he twisted them into the position and he moved his feet back to stick out his arse. She had the odd feeling that he had done this before. An eager grin was twisting at his lips, his teeth worrying at them as he turned his head and looked at her. His back rippled from the movement and Hermione smoothed her hand over his surprisingly plump arse, feeling Zabini come up behind her, his firm cock pressing against her. His expansive hands splayed across her stomach.


“Our safeword is ‘Peppermint’. Slow down is ‘Toffee’,” Zabini whispered into her ear, his hot breath warming her skin and making her shiver. “You know how that works, yes?”


Hermione’s brows rose, a deep thrill shooting through her as she nodded, giving McLaggen’s arse a delicate squeeze and answering, “I’ve… read about it before – safewords. Everything stops at ‘Peppermint’; lighten up on ‘Toffee’?”


Merlin. What sort of deviants had she gotten herself involved with?


Mhm,” Zabini murmured, the tip of his tongue darting out to trace the edge of her earlobe. “Give him a nice whack, love. He can take it.”


So he had done this before…


Feeling just slightly out of her depth but exhilarated regardless, Hermione pulled her hand back and swung, her palm connecting against McLaggen’s right arse cheek with a loud crack that nearly startled her.




The Gryffindor boy let out a muted groan, his hands gripping the edge of the desk and his blonde head bowing and hunching his shoulders as she did the same thing to the other cheek, alternating and gauging McLaggen’s reactions carefully. She didn’t want to hurt him, but it seemed as if the harder she smacked him the more he enjoyed it. His lower lip was intermittently pinched between his teeth, popping out every time he grinned toward the surface of the desk, hissing and moaning with every strike of her hand. Occasionally she’d break it up by hitting softer, then harder – moving her hand slightly to give him a nice smack at the centre of his appealingly pert buttocks. His supple flesh quivered beneath her treatment.


The entire time, Zabini’s hands trailed along her body, kneading at her breasts and tracing over her sides as his hips sinuously writhed against her back, the tip of his cock wet with precome. She could feel it, damp and slippery against her skin, sending tingles of pleasure through her.


“Nice and pink already,” Zabini encouragingly remarked, his lips at her ear and his teeth scraping along it. “Knew you’d be good at this ever since I saw you slap Draco in third year. I used to wank over that, imagining it was me you were slapping instead of him sometimes.” His entire body had slunk down, his knees bent beside her legs, his cock nestled against her bum, and his fingers briefly slipping over her dripping cunt. He slid upwards as he straightened, tantalizing her by slinking himself fully along her. “You’re fucking glorious.”


It made her feel a little drunk – adrenaline and arousal mixing with the stinging sensation on her fingers and palm and Zabini’s solid form plastered against her skin. And his words and his hands… they were all over her, making her blood surge even faster. It wasn’t just her cunt that was soaked anymore, her upper thighs were similarly wet, but she focused on the burning pain in her hand, paying the uncomfortable dampness very little heed.


McLaggen’s groans slowly grew louder, echoing off the empty walls of the room and sharply cutting off into rough jagged pants after she delivered her last cracking blow to his reddened backside, causing his hips to thrust forward at the impact. His knuckles were white from gripping so hard along the edge of the desk and Hermione lightly traced a finger over the tender skin on McLaggen’s arse, reveling in the soft intake of breath it drew from him.


“Good boy,” she praised, feeling both silly and satisfyingly sparked by it. “You like being called a ‘good boy’, don’t you?”


“Gods, yes,” McLaggen breathed, his parted lips curving upwards.


Zabini’s hands were distracting her, cupping her breasts, and Hermione snatched them in her own and held them at her sides, pressing them away firmly. Reaching back, she stilled his movements behind her by groping at his backside and giving him a gentle warning tap with her smarting palm, causing Zabini to hum low in his throat.


She continued to address McLaggen, an edge of nervous heat coursing through her – spreading up her neck and into her cheeks – as she said, “Do you think you deserve a reward for being such a good boy?”


Remembering a line from a smutty BDSM novel she had embarrassingly read once, she finished more confidently, “For taking it so well?”


A noise of approval spilled from Zabini’s lips in response to her words, his gust of breath rustling her bushy hair, spurring her on.


Fuck,” McLaggen breathily replied. “If you’re willing to give me one, yeah.”


“And what sort of reward do you think you deserve?” Hermione asked indomitably, moving a step toward him, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands slid from Zabini’s skin and shifted to McLaggen’s backside, kneading at the reddened cheeks.


McLaggen exhaled sharply; his fingers were back to curling tightly around the edge of the desk.


“Do I need to repeat the question?” she prompted sharply when he didn’t answer.


“Anything you want.”


Amazing what her hands could do to him.


Or, more like, reduce him to.


She reached around the bulky Gryffindor, pressing herself along his back much like how Zabini had been against her before; her fingers curled around his unexpectedly rigid cock, stroking lightly and eliciting a gasping moan from him.


“Hmm. Anything I want…” she mused, pressing her face against the centre of his shoulder blades and placing a wet, teasing kiss there.


It was like a rush of power; he was big enough and strong enough that he could probably throw her around, but he was as pliant as putty in her hands. And, after all of the terribly forward ways in which he had approached her outside of this room, she couldn’t help but feel nothing but pure satisfaction from making him yield like this.


Hermione turned her head toward the dark Slytherin boy behind her, his deep amber eyes were watching them avidly and his hands were balled into fists at his sides – obviously restraining himself from doing anything. That same rush of power poured through her, settling and throbbing at her core.


“What do you think, Zabini?” she questioned in a voice that was steadier than she felt as she moved her free hand to test McLaggen’s balls. “What sort of reward does he deserve? You’re obviously much better with words than he is.”


“Oh, bloody hell,” McLaggen cursed when she began massaging his weighty sac and stroking him firmer.


Zabini’s eyes swept over her, feeling more like the caress of a hand and making her skin prickle. “I think you should have him get on his knees and clean up that mess he’s made between your legs.” He licked his lips, which pulled into a slight smirk. “Last time I checked, you were sopping. Sticky with it all the way down to your thighs.”


She could do that?


McLaggen moaned raggedly, his cock throbbing underneath her hand – quite noticeably interested – and she tried to hold back her disbelief that that was what they would consider a reward. She shifted, removing herself from McLaggen, causing him to let out a needy groan and his hands to stray to his suddenly-neglected cock.


“What did I say about touching?” Hermione asked and McLaggen bit his lip, grudgingly moving his hands away before she could do it for him. “Good boy. Get on your knees in front of me,” she softly ordered, leaning back against the old teacher’s desk while he complied.


The sight of Cormac McLaggen on his knees in front of her, being so obedient, sparked a wave of desire so strong that it almost made her feel dizzy.


She’d never even considered this before.


“Might help if you spread your legs a bit,” Zabini intoned, staring unabashedly at her quim, just above McLaggen’s blonde head.


Hermione blinked, thrown from her momentary daze and glancing up at the dark Slytherin. “Don’t make me slap you,” she warned a bit wryly, not exactly sure what made her say it, but it felt right, as she parted her legs anyway.


There was a wicked gleam in Zabini’s eyes, and everything in her brain paused as he drawlingly countered, “What if I want you to?”


While he spoke, McLaggen’s hands had reached up and grasped at her. His tongue trailed along the soft flesh of her inner thigh, lapping and sucking at the slick skin at the joint of her pelvis and making her toes curl inside her shoes, tingling pleasure pooling at her core. She grasped at his head to keep her control.


Letting out a breath, Hermione gazed at Zabini, trying to think of a reply and throbbing as McLaggen’s hot breath grazed over her quim. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she said, recalling what he’d mentioned earlier. “What would you do for me if I indulged you?”


Zabini’s eyes brushed over her again, studying her, and she stifled a moan as McLaggen’s tongue flicked along her slit, his arms snaking up and around her legs. If anything, this was making her wetter, not ‘cleaning her up’. But, Merlin, it was so good – he honestly was talented with his mouth.


Zabini took a predatory step forward, placing his feet at the sides of McLaggen’s legs and leaning close to her, his hands flat against the desk behind her. Body heat radiated from him, only centimetres from her skin but not touching her, and he levelled his face with hers. From this close, she could see that his pupils were open and blown with only a small rim of amber flecks along the edge.


“Fantasy for a fantasy,” he said, glancing down at her lips when she gasped quietly; McLaggen’s mouth was making focusing difficult, her orgasm building rapidly. “Anyfantasy. I’ll even let you tie me up. And I can assure you that I don’t do that for just anyone, but for a glorious little minx like you…” he trailed off with a saucy smirk.


Her heartbeat fluttering and feeling curiously inspired, Hermione drew her fingers away from McLaggen’s hair, tugging Zabini’s head closer by the back of his neck. Roughly, she pressed her lips against his in a messy, open-mouthed kiss – their tongues mingling and slipping along each other as McLaggen’s tongue circled her clit, forcing noises from her that disappeared into Zabini’s mouth. She was painfully close and she bucked against McLaggen’s lips, sucking at Zabini’s tongue and whimpering, breathing roughly through her nose.


Her legs shook as she neared her peak, tugging at Zabini’s hair and sinking her teeth into his lower lip – moaning around it as the tension burst inside her, pleasure flooding her veins as she came – shamelessly grinding herself against McLaggen’s stubbly face. Sucking over Zabini’s possibly-bruised lip, she snogged him more forcefully, the nerves in her legs jolting with each lap of McLaggen’s tongue along her oversensitive quim.


Gasping for breath as she broke away from the kiss, she tugged Zabini’s head back by his hair and raised her hand, striking his cheek and jaw with a harsh smack. It wasn’t as hard as she slapped Malfoy, nor as hard as she spanked McLaggen at times, but hard enough.


And her mind was resolutely trying not to analyze why she found slapping him so appealing – to the point where she felt a small shockwave of lightheadedness roil through her before she got ahold of herself, prudently gauging him.


Zabini’s lips were parted in a vague smile and he worked his jaw around, his eyes glittering as he stared back at her. “Circe, you’re perfect,” he muttered breathlessly, his voice rough. “Do it again.”


McLaggen was looking up at them, watching wide-eyed and letting out a huffing laugh of astonishment, which she almost wanted to do herself.


With a pleased grin, Hermione tilted her head, excited butterflies flapping about in her stomach. “Perhaps – later. Right now, I want you to go sit in that chair.” She nodded her head toward where she sat the last time they were in the room. “You can touch yourself, but don’t even think about coming.”


This was getting easier as they went on, letting herself speak without overthinking it too much and going with the flow. Giving into herself and allowing her confidence to take over.


“Orgasm denial a fantasy of yours?” Zabini’s brow arched, his lips curving into a smirk.


“She is feisty, mate,” McLaggen gruffly pointed out.


Throwing an admonishing look down toward McLaggen, she elaborated, “I didn’t say I was going to deny you,” moving her gaze back to the dark Slytherin boy. “But, if you come before I can get my hands on you…” She let the sentence hang for a moment, the butterflies in her stomach quivering faster. “Well, you’ll see. Go sit.”


Zabini gradually complied, lazily straightening up and striding across the short distance to settle himself down into the dusty old seat with catlike grace, his dark eyes unabashedly perusing her. His hands curved around the arms of the chair and he looked every bit like a king on his throne, even with his cock standing at attention.


Turning her focus on McLaggen, she grabbed her wand sitting behind her and enlarged the ancient desk with a quick flick, asking him decisively, “Would you be opposed to being tied up?”


“You’re going to tie me up?” he asked, zealously staring up at her from on his knees, his forearms resting against his muscled thighs. And, Merlin, did he look good like that…


“Not if you don’t give me an answer.”


“Definitely not opposed,” McLaggen said in a short breath.


“How about being blindfolded?”


“Go right ahead,” he replied easily with a shrug.


She tilted her head, regarding him shrewdly. “How’s your bum?”




“And your cock?”


Aching, obviously,” McLaggen said a bit quieter, gently clenching his fists and averting his eyes, his expression clearly telling her not to remind him.


Good,” Hermione muttered with a minuscule grin, setting her wand aside. Steeling her tingly nerves, she commanded softly, “Stand up.”


Staggering a bit, McLaggen got to his feet, his tall form towering over her as she angled herself toward him, grazing her nipples across his torso and maneuvering him until his back was against the desk. His fingers reached for her, grazing over her skin, but she caught them and moved them away.


“No touching,” she whispered, pressing her body along his and standing on the tips of her toes in her shoes. Her hand grasped at his hair and tugged him down to forcefully press her lips against his, tasting herself on them – he was so thick with it she could taste little else and she felt herself gasping against his mouth. He responded in turn, clutching at the desk behind him as she deliberately writhed, providing him with some much needed friction. She couldn’t help but compare the two boys in her head as they kissed, how Zabini’s mouth nearly always the very definition of demanding skillfulness, which contrasted from McLaggen’s less refined technique that he made up for with his needy and desperate lips. McLaggen’s entire body burned hot against her, spreading vibrations through her as he groaned and swirled his tongue along her own. Moaning, she lightly scraped her teeth over it, tugging his head away from her.


Her other hand reached for her wand and pointer stick that were resting behind him and he gazed at her, his eyes straying from her face and drifting down over her curves, his chest heaving with every breath he took.


“Get on the desk and lay across it lengthwise,” she ordered, slightly breathless and dizzy, rocking her hips against him to tease his engorged length one last time before pulling away.


“Gods,” the Gryffindor boy breathed. He moved quickly, shifting backwards and settling his bulky frame back onto the wooden surface, staring at her with anticipation.


“Spread your legs,” she directed, letting out a calming breath through her nose; her stomach was doing acrobatic somersaults. “And your arms.”


McLaggen’s muscles twisted as he budged his limbs into position, his hands and feet resting near the corners atop the wooden surface. Focusing on his ankles and wrists, Hermione waved her wand.




The ropes pulled him a bit taut, wrapping and securing around his extremities and snaking down to attach themselves to the feet of the desk; he hummed low in the back of his throat, arching against his bindings, testing them and seeming comfortable.


A quick cast of, “Obscuro,” produced a black blindfold that covered McLaggen’s eyes and she took a step back. Her gaze swept along him, over every inch of his skin – all spread out and eager and exposed, his cock bobbing as if it could sense that she was looking at it – and she exhaled.


It was like… Christmas morning and something deep down inside of her shifted into place.


Setting her wand on a spare bit of the desk, she toyed with the long pointer stick with her hands, deciding. A faint part of her brain was telling her that this was kinky and wicked; she found spanking him and using him and slapping Zabini appealing – she should have been appalled with herself. Yet, a much louder part of her brain – the part that almost certainly controlled the heady arousal that coiled at her centre – was screaming at her to keep going with it and let it carry her; McLaggen and Zabini both appeared to immensely enjoy it and there were safewords.


A small bit of her couldn’t help but admit that she enjoyed it as well. There were so many things that she could do with him like this… Things that she’d never done before, but had read about or thought of – dreamed of – and gleeful excitement welled up in her chest.


Standing against the edge of the desk, Hermione tentatively reached toward him with her fingers, skimming the tips of them very softly and slowly from his sternum to the thatch of golden curls at the base of his cock, eliciting a gasp. With him blindfolded, every sensation would be heightened and feel more intense. She knew that, in theory, and grinned as his abdominal muscles trembled below her palm – she was barelytouching him.


Continuing the trail, she traced along the joint of his thigh and down and up his legs, avoiding where she knew he wanted her to touch the most. Her fingertips drifted across his skin, up toward his nipples, and she stared fascinatedly at the little reactions her light caress provoked. He was almost whimpering under his breath by the time she was through with his arms and upper torso, swirling her fingers around his pectoral muscles and down the centre of his stomach.


Without giving him any warning, she tweaked one of his nipples and his body jolted – hers jolting along with it, but more from delight than actual stimulation.


Hell,” he panted, his teeth digging into his lower lip.


Her soft assault persisted, letting him lower his guard. She leaned down to blow a stream of her breath along his stomach before she tweaked his other nipple, making him let out a groan that had her nerves melting.


“Fuck, you’re a tease,” he mumbled raggedly and she brought her pointer stick down across his left inner thigh with a light satisfying thwack after testing it on her arm to make sure she wasn’t hitting too hard. Air hissed between McLaggen’s teeth and her insides felt like they were dancing, her veins shivering and tension mounting between her legs.


“Was that a protest?” she asked, tracing her finger over the small red mark she left behind.


McLaggen shook his head. “No.”


“I can always stop teasing and leave you like this,” Hermione muttered, using the side of the pointer stick to stroke underneath the turgid length of McLaggen’s cock.


“Please, no,” he gasped, his fingers curling, helplessly grasping at air. “Keep going.”


“Call me a ‘tease’ again and I will,” she warned, her voice quiet yet commanding; words and ideas were gushing into her brain like a rapidly rising tide. “Think of it as me using you. You like to be used, don’t you, McLaggen?”


It was more of an observation than a question – something she’d noticed mostly from the way Zabini handled him.


The blonde Gryffindor moaned as she traced her fingers over his heavy bollocks. Keeping the pointer stick resting beneath the head of his cock and rubbing it there, she brushed through the sparse hair covering the hot velvety skin of his sac, barely massaging.


“Gods, yes,” McLaggen answered, groaning roughly.


“Then you’ll take what I give you and thank me for it,” she intoned tersely, pulling her hand away from his bollocks and bringing the pointer stick down against his other inner thigh to make an identical red mark.


Groaning, McLaggen practically exhaled the words, “Thank you.”


It sent her blood rushing, briefly pounding in her ears and intoxicating her as it sped through her veins. She circled her fingers around his cock, stroking up and down his length, scarcely touching him – just grazing with her fingers. She moved closer, pausing her lips only centimetres away from the tip of his length, ghosting her hot breath over it.


McLaggen breathed coarsely, swallowing thickly and muttering expletives.


His hips jerked upwards and she pulled away completely, delivering a soft whackacross his nipples with the pointer stick and making him groan even louder. Her blood spiked and she traced her fingers along the heated red marks across his pectoral muscles.


“Keep still,” she directed. “Don’t buck.”


Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Zabini watching the scene, his eyes intensely fixed on them as he gripped himself, just squeezing the base of his length in his hand. His stomach was clenching, his other hand tightly clasping at the chair. Hermione’s fingers hovered over the bulbous head of McLaggen’s cock and she dipped her fingers down and traced along his slit, where clear drops of precome had collected when she blew on it.


“Please,” he begged, huffing out a breath.


“Please what?” she asked innocently.


Pressing back his foreskin, she rubbed the slippery tip of his cock hard and fast between her fingers and palm. His entire body seemed to seize at the sudden onslaught of her hand, his hips writhing and clearly trying not to buck.


Zabini was right about him being fun to tease – he was amazingly responsive.


“Please this?” she questioned over the loud noises he was making, not able to stop the exhilarated smile that spread across her face. “Is this what you want?”


She gripped the pointer stick in her other hand and swung it, flicking her wrist and keeping the blows relatively light and tapping along his thighs, leaving a trail of evenly-spaced red lines that slowly raised on his skin. The dull thwacks joined McLaggen’s groans echoing off the empty walls, the sounds of pain and pleasure mingling as she asked, “Well?”


Hermione rubbed the tip of his cock rougher, pressing her thumb right below the head at that spot she knew was so sensitive from when she was with Viktor. The name of it – frenulum – fleetingly registered in her mind, jumping from the pages of an anatomy book and making her shiver.


“Yes, yes,” McLaggen gasped, tossing his head back. “Fuck. Please that.”


Letting up on smacking him with the pointer stick, she pulled it away and tucked it under her arm to free up her hand. “And what do you say?” she prompted, her tone hushed, tracing the tip of her finger down the underside of his cock while she tormented the exposed head.


“Thank you,” he breathed, his arms straining against the ropes and his jaw tensing.


That simple phrase felt like a tantalizing grope along some internal part of her, making her head spin. Tightly gripping McLaggen’s cock, she stroked him fully, base to tip – over and over again. It twitched and pulsed against her palm, growing impossibly hard.


McLaggen was cursing under his breath, stifled throaty groans passing through his lips.


“Gods… close,” he ground out through his clenched teeth, shaking with the effort of trying not to thrust up into her hand.


Hermione lightened her attention, stroking a little slower and making him growl, his hips only slightly canting upward, which she allowed. “Do you want to come?”


Yes,” he moaned frantically, “fuck, Granger. Please.”


“Why should I let you?” she asked, the heady sensation of holding power in her hand caressing her veins as she alternated her strokes between fast and teasingly slow.


McLaggen’s legs started to writhe. “I’ll do anything.”


“Hm,” she hummed, gripping him tighter and causing a small stream of precome to leak from the tip and over her finger. “You’re making such a mess.”


“I’ll clean it up,” McLaggen babbled breathlessly, thrusting against her hand.


She gripped the pointer stick with her free hand, bringing it down a bit harder, smacking across both of his thighs and leaving a deeper red mark that intersected the faint pattern of marks from earlier. “I said don’t buck. Keep still.”


Please just… let me come.”


“You’ll come when I want you to come, Cormac,” Hermione evenly voiced, enunciating every word and making him groan so desperately. She felt herself clench at the sound of it, Zabini’s breathless muttering of ‘Circe’ from behind her further inciting her desire.


His arms thrashing against the ropes, fists clenching, McLaggen bit hard at his bottom lip – his vocabulary seemingly reduced to gasping curse words, which he murmured under his rough heaving breaths. Sweat broke out over his skin, his muscles quaking and breath shaking. Every noise he made grew needier and needier with every passing second – with every teasing stroke in between the swift jerks of her hand.


Hold it back,” Hermione urged, stroking him properly, clasping around him tightly and pumping quickly. “Not yet.”


A trembling whimper passed through McLaggen’s lips.


“Good boy,” she praised, her stomach burning with gratification as her eyes roved over him.


He was trying so hard, he’d nearly stopped breathing – his chest shuddering. Plump beads of sweat ran from his temple and down his face, getting lost in his hair, and his teeth ground against his lips as he bit them, making them swell. She knew he was swaying on the edge, struggling to pull away from it and so near to exploding.


A dark part of her craved to force it from him, making him disobey her just so she could whack him with the pointer stick again, but she refrained. He wasn’t going to be able to hold it for very long – she could feel it.


Angling his cock toward his quaking torso as she stroked, she used her other hand to massage his balls. “Come for me,” she whispered, stroking hard and fast. “I want to see you make a mess of yourself.”


McLaggen sucked in a great gasp of air, groaning low in his throat, sounding as if it was being pulled from him with agonizing slowness. A low mantra of ‘fucks’ spewed from him and his cock twitched in her hand, shooting ropes of thick white fluid onto his ribs and stomach. She milked him slowly to completion, his cock softening and his body collapsing against the surface of the desk as she let go.


Picking up her wand, she casted a cleansing charm at her hand and waved it toward McLaggen’s face, mouthing the counterspell, “Overto.”


The blindfold evaporated off of him and he blinked up at her, squinting and adjusting. “Bloody hell, that was…” McLaggen mumbled around his jagged breaths, trailing off.


“What do you say?” Hermione softly demanded, clutching the pointer stick and trailing the tip of it along his heaving chest as an implied threat. Tracing it through his release, she wetted it, running the edge of it along him and spreading his come all over his skin.


His eyes trailed from the stick to her and his well-bitten lips pulled into a faint grin. “Thank you.”


Taking a step closer to his head, she leaned over him and granted him lingering kiss that was all teeth and tongue, licking and nipping at his tender lips.


“Good boy,” she replied, her mouth only a milimetre away from his, making him feel every word she spoke and delivering a light thwack to his chest with the damp pointer stick. The sharp huff of breath that it drew from him fanned over her face. “After I untie you, I want you to trade places with Zabini.”


Glancing at the dark Slytherin boy and straightening up, her nerves clenched in anticipation. She felt as if she was riding a constantly cresting wave, almost floating, with emotions and sensations ebbing and rushing through her. Zabini’s gaze never wandered from her as she undid McLaggen’s bindings with a motion of her wand.


Another wave of her wand made a piece of chalk fly at her, which she transfigured into a glass and filled with water to quench their thirst.


“Are you going to tie me up as well?” Zabini drawled, his eyes drifting from her head to her toes, deepening the flush over her skin as she took a sip from the glass.


The corner of Hermione’s lips lifted and she handed the water to McLaggen, who greedily drank from it. “Not if I don’t have to.”


His intense stare trailed to the pointer stick in her hand. “And thatCirce.”


Her stomach jolting, Hermione tilted her head. “Would you like it used on you?”


“I recommend it, mate,” McLaggen huskily intoned, plonking the empty water glass down, stretching his limbs and throwing his well-marked legs over the side of the desk. His fingers briefly traced over the marks. “She’s good with it.”


“I don’t doubt that.” Zabini’s eyes flicked to the blonde Gryffindor and then back to her. “However, I’m more into slapping than the use of other implements; I quite like your hands.”


The fingers on her right hand curled slightly – burning with soreness but still ready and raring for anything. “If you like them so much, then get over here and trade places with McLaggen,” Hermione told him, setting the pointer stick aside. “I believe it’s your turn.”


Saying that reminded her of the last time they were in this room but, now, it was the other way around. She wondered if this was how Zabini felt being in that position – if he did, she could definitely see why he did it.


It was… something else.


In a whirl of motion, the two boys quickly switched places, Zabini leisurely lounging onto the desk and McLaggen draping himself over the chair. Toeing off her shoes, Hermione fiddled with her wand, picturing the plans in her mind and smiling to herself as she got up onto the desk and straddled Zabini’s thighs. As she set her wand aside, his fingers brushed upwards from her knees, tantalizingly skimming over her pale ivory skin.


“If I wasn’t letting you take the reins, I’d toss you over and fuck you so hard you’d feel it into next week,” Zabini murmured as she pressed her hand against his chest, urging him to lay flat against the desk.


“Would you now,” she replied, her smile widening, angling her face closer to his. She swiveled her hips, shifting forward and trapping his cock between his stomach and her pussy lips, grinding against him and making her clit throb from the contact. Reaching back, her hands seized his wrists and she pinned them to the sides of his head, pressing them down with the weight of her upper body.


Zabini hummed pleasurably as she moved forward on her knees, teasing his cock along her cunt as she stroked the underside, slicking his stiff length with her wetness. “Haven’t wanted a shag this badly in ages,” he drawled a bit breathlessly, licking his lips.


Her breathy laugh ghosted between them and she murmured, “Fantasy for a fantasy, Zabini. That might not even be what I want; perhaps orgasm denial is a fantasy of mine.” She slid up and down along him, stroking his length just like that and gasping as the friction of it stimulated her clit.


A low moan reverberated at the back of Zabini’s throat and she traced her tongue over his parted lips, kissing him and teasing his tongue, stroking it in time with her movement along his cock. His hips surged up against her and she pulled her mouth away from his, grinding her hips down against him harder. Removing her hands from his wrists, she smacked the side of his face, eliciting a deep groan from him that sent sparks of pleasure through her.


His arms twisted as they moved and she pinned them back into place. “Keep these here or I’ll tie you down. Don’t think that I won’t.”


“Circe, I knew you’d be a natural at this,” Zabini breathed, his hips arching beneath her for more friction. “Watching you mark up McLaggen with that stick was almost as good as caning him myself.”


His words sent images flying through her brain, making her clench just imagining it and she exhaled as desire pinched at her nerves, her clit throbbing against the spongy tip of his cock. “Tell me,” she softly voiced, staring down at him and pressing her hands against his chest, groping him and bucking along him.


Stifling a moan, he asked, “Tell you what?”


She lifted her hand off her chest and delivered another sharp smack to his face, trailing her fingers along the angles of his jaw. This time he didn’t bother stifling his moan; his cock twitched against her clit.


“Tell me what you do to him – how you cane him,” she commanded, trying to keep her voice even through her coarse panting gasps. “The more you please me, the more I’ll reward you.” Her hands brushed over his chest and she toyed with his nipples, making his fingers curl into fists at the sides of his head, grasping at nothing but air.


Hell…” he muttered, his teeth worrying at the inside of his lower lip; his eyelids fluttered shut. “The first time we did it, I made him get on his knees and lift his arms up into the air so I could tie them to the frame of my four poster bed at home. Didn’t even let him take his pants off and he was straining in his shorts, so fucking hungry for it.”


They both let out a groan as he bucked, angling her clit perfectly down the underside of his cock. He continued, unevenly speaking through his ragged breaths, “I’d only used my hands on him, but we wanted more and I took the cane across his back and over his arse – finding the perfect amount of sting. Slutty little masochist nearly came in his pants by the time I was done with him; just a few strokes through the fabric got him off – fuck, Granger…”


While he spoke, Hermione had shifted over his cock, sinking down on him slowly and stretching around him, using her fingers to rub her pulsing clit. Zabini’s eyes snapped open and he thrust up, sending tingles of pleasure jolting through her to the tips of her toes as he hit that spot deep inside her, making her whimper. Letting out a shaking breath and rocking against his thrusts, she used her freehand to deliver a harsh slap to the other side of his face.


“I didn’t say you could stop talking,” she intoned firmly, moaning as she picked up her pace, fucking in earnest. “Keep your hands where they are,” she added when he attempted to reach toward her.


Zabini’s jaw clenched and a shuttered groan passed through his nose. “Circe, you’re fucking tight,” he said jaggedly, gritting his teeth and swallowing thickly.


Mmm. Get me off with your words, Zabini,” Hermione breathily ordered, clenching herself over his cock and making him grind against that spot deep inside her. Heat, like fire, swirled below her skin, waiting to burst out, and her fingers pressed harder against her clit as she rubbed.


In her peripheral vision, she saw that McLaggen was watching them, his hand fisting his cock and matching their pace.


Filthy words spouted through her brain and she found herself speaking them, hedonism gripping her like a vice, “Don’t you dare come, McLaggen. You’re going to get me off as well – I’ll give you Zabini’s sloppy seconds once I’m done with him.”


“Fucking hell,” Zabini cursed, his head slamming back against the desk as McLaggen groaned loudly, his hand reluctantly slowing to a stop. She picked up her pace, moving faster, blood thrashing through her ears so loud that she couldn’t hear what McLaggen said; his voice was a low grumble in the background under the sound of her own moaning.


The short rough thrusts of Zabini’s hips, pounding up into her, had her careening over the edge and she shook, bucking and whimpering. Her eyes squeezed shut and her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest, her nerves prickling with electrifying pleasure as her hands shot out, scrabbling at Zabini’s shoulders and digging her nails in to steady herself.


Through the haze of her orgasm, she vaguely registered that Zabini had come as well – his softening length and the telltale sloppiness of his come inside her making it apparent – and she kept him there, swirling her hips to keep stimulating him. He was gasping through his gritted teeth as she gripped her pulsing cunt around his oversensitive cock, gently fucking his still half-hard length and making him let out a pained groan.


“I’m not done with you yet,” she mumbled dazedly, taking deep even breaths to calm her racing heart.


Pinning his wrists and roughly grinding against him, she breathlessly echoed her words from earlier in the night, “I’m going to ride you until your cock’s raw and you’re begging me to stop.”


Zabini’s eyes were unfocused as he gazed up at her, his lips parted. Nearly inaudible noises and words – half-formed profanity – rose in his throat, cut off with each gasping breath.


“Bloody… minx,” he finally gritted out, setting his jaw.


Her lips pulled into a smile. “That all you have to say?” she challenged, ducking her head down to nip and tug at his lower lip, making him growl.


With excruciating slowness, she felt him growing harder and harder inside her and she moved faster, rocking forward and impaling herself back on him. He seemed almost speechless for a long while and she stared at his flushed dark skin glistening in the dim light as he practically writhed beneath her, every inch of him quaking. His cock kept pressing right against that deep spot, making her ache to rub her clit even though she knew it would be too sensitive.


“You’re one hell of a bossy little nymph, aren’t you,” Zabini panted into her ear and she felt herself grinning deviously as she pulled back and smacked him yet again; his responding groan and the feeling of his cock shuddering inside her had her trembling with need.


And the way he looked at her… she couldn’t help but throb.




Unable to wait a second more, her fingers moved to her swollen clit, rubbing softly and making her gasp as she replied, “And you get off on having this ‘bossy little nymph’ slap you and fuck you raw.”


Saying that out loud made her blood rise to her skin, intensifying her already-present flush of arousal. She’d never felt so alive, completely losing herself to the indulgent and cathartic maelstrom of wicked words and want and need – of power and control.


Circe,” Zabini growled, gripping the edge of the desk with the one hand that wasn’t pinned down, bucking harshly against her. His eyes screwed shut, his teeth gnashing together as his head tilted back against the desk.


“You can go ahead and come,” Hermione said breathlessly, stroking hard over her clit – pleasurable pain twisting inside her – and quickening her relentless pace, trying to make him lose control. “I could do this all night.”


A string of unintelligible curses were slurred under his breath and his limbs quivered, his knuckles flexing over the edge of the desk. “Fuck – Merlin – it almost hurts…” Zabini tightly muttered, trailing off into strangled groans and trembling underneath her.


“I know exactly how it feels,” she breathed, making it a point to rub her oversensitive clit as vigorously as she could. It was torturous and yet enthrallingly brilliant at the same time, making her shake at the feeling of it.


At some point, her hand stopped pinning his wrist and his fingers found their way to her hips, gripping her and helping her pound down onto his cock. Her nails clawed at his chest, slipping from his shoulder where she was clutching at him for leverage, and drawing deep animalistic noises from him. Everything was building up inside her – the overstimulated pain, the absolute ecstasy – forcing her desperate movements, even after she felt Zabini finally break, coming with a breathy snarl. Her lungs felt deflated, gasping for air, as deep tremors rolled through her, Zabini’s spunk mixing with her juices and dripping over her legs.


It all burst at once, like abruptly smacking headlong into a wall and languidly slipping down it. Hermione collapsed onto her forearms, her hips bucking and her limbs weakened and shaky as she pulsed around Zabini’s spent length. She stared at his face, which was twisted in torment and she forced herself to swivel her hips and continue grinding with him inside her even as her orgasm receded.


Groaning, Zabini’s fingers dug sharply into her skin trying to still her. “Okay,” he gasped, “fuck, stop. I can’t – it’d kill me.”


Hermione grinned triumphantly, swirling her hips against him. “Would it?”


Zabini groaned low in his throat. “Too much… please. I’m good – off. I can’t.”


Swiveling her hips one last time before pulling off of him, she caught her breath and kissed him softly, her lips teasingly light against his and her tongue flicking out against them. Leaving him gasping, she broke away, using her wand to fill the water glass, which she’d righted. Their fucking had jarred the desk, tipping it over.


“Lasted longer than I thought you would,” she whispered, taking a drink and gaining her second wind as she glanced toward the blonde Gryffindor, still seated and impeccably hard in his hand. She could tell that he was just waiting for her to say the word and that sent a lustful wave of warmth through her, even if she was well beyond overstimulated.


“Get over here, McLaggen,” she ordered, her voice thick but no longer parched.


“Can’t believe you want more,” Zabini raggedly muttered, sitting up and grabbing the glass from her, which she refilled.


Setting her wand back down, her lips curved into a small smile. “I may have been referred to as ‘insatiable’ before,” Hermione replied, biting the inside of her lip as she watched McLaggen make his way toward the desk. Somehow, the thin marks she’d made over his thick muscled thighs made him even more attractive. “And, besides, I mean it when I say that I’m going to do something.”


“Was it Krum who called you that?” McLaggen asked with a cocky smirk and she shifted herself to the edge of the desk – knowing that she was going to be very sore in the morning – reaching for him and tugging him between her slick thighs.


Stroking his cock with her unsteady fingers, Hermione considered him as his eyes wandered over her. “I think I like it better when you’re obedient,” she said, pulling his head down and kissing him slow, her lips and tongue cutting off his breathy groans.


She felt Zabini come up behind her, angling his body so his torso was pressed against her back. His hands pinned McLaggen’s to the desk when they instinctively moved to wrap around her. “The ‘no touching’ order still applies, I believe,” he drawled, his lips skimming from her shoulder to her ear.


“Mhm,” Hermione hummed against McLaggen’s mouth, pulling away as he murmured, “Please.


Please what?” she pressed, stroking him harder and rubbing the tip of his cock against her overly sopping cunt. “Do you want this?”


McLaggen’s head bowed, his forehead hovering over the top of her head and his eyes shut as he moaned, biting back a curse.


“I think that’s a ‘yes’,” Zabini muttered and she could feel his amused breathy laughter against her neck. His hands had moved from pinning McLaggen’s and were trailing along her skin, kneading her breasts and beginning to renew her arousal.


“But I like words – you know that,” Hermione gasped, arching against his clever fingers as he rolled her nipples between them. Her free hand moved to tug roughly at McLaggen’s hair. “Tell me what you want,” she demanded breathily, “or I’m just going to keep stroking and maybe I’ll stop before you can come again.”


Breathing jaggedly, McLaggen bucked against her, staring down at her hand on his cock, the tip of it resting right against her clit. “I want to fuck you.”


Do you?” she asked doubtfully. Rolling her hips upward and teasing the head of his cock along her slit, she stroked him harder and kept her control over him, hindering his ability to slip himself inside her and making his hands clench on top of the desk.


“Gods, yes.”


“You only get to fuck me when I want you to, Cormac. When I’m good and ready,” she whispered, using the tip of his cock to spread her wetness and the remnants of Zabini’s release all over her nether lips in between strokes. The oversensitivity was gradually ebbing, slowly being replaced with a dull thrum of pleasure that nipped at her and made her shiver.


“Fucking glorious,” Zabini murmured against her ear, tracing his fingers down her stomach. “You should spank him, love. Deserves it for being such a greedy boy.”


McLaggen gasped– his hips restlessly canting forward – and Hermione’s eyes widened, a deep throb settling at her centre as Zabini further asked, “May I join you?”


Merlin, the thought of that alone sent sparks of pleasure through her veins. “Yes,” she breathed, feeling his tongue trace along the shell of her ear.


Gripping the base of McLaggen’s cock, she gently slid him inside her with a wince. He was thicker than Zabini, forcing her to stretch as he sank into her, growling low in his throat. Her legs wrapped around his thighs and she lifted her hand, bringing it down onto his arse with a reedy slap that never seemed to fail at filling her with a sense of lustful inebriation.


There was just something about spanking him…


“What do you say?” she prompted, massaging his abused arse and tugging his head back with her other hand as he thrust into her with hard languid strokes, jolting her hypersensitive nerves.


“Thank you,” McLaggen moaned shakily.


Zabini’s hand joined hers, groping his other arse cheek. “Good boy,” Zabini praised, resting his chin over her shoulder, practically cradling her against him while McLaggen drove his cock into her harder and faster. His hand that wasn’t accosting McLaggen’s bottom was slipping down to rub her clit and she keened. There was definite soreness but the pleasure and exhilaration overpowered the discomfort – the pain only serving to heighten the heady desire that pulsated through her and left her trembling.


With Zabini’s quiet insistence, they lifted their hands together and delivered a series of blows to McLaggen’s backside. Her fingers were starting to go a bit numb from all that she’d done with them – past the point of burning with pain – she couldn’t imagine what McLaggen’s arse felt like. Yet, there wasn’t a single sign of protest from him, especially if the noises he was making were anything to go by. Everything was echoing off the walls – the sharp slaps of their hands on his arse, the gruff panting and pleasured groans, her own whimpers, and the dull smack of McLaggen’s body against hers. It all drifted slowly into her ears and sent scorching heat through her veins.


Zabini’s lips were trailing along her jaw, sucking and nipping, and she turned her head toward him to capture them with hers. His tongue easily slipped along her own, tantalizing her and swirling, leaving her breathless. A light floating tingly feeling began to grip her and all the tension focused at her core, making her moan. On its own accord, her one hand had moved from McLaggen’s hair to clutch at his back, digging her nails in.


She bucked frantically against Zabini’s fingers, angling McLaggen’s cock so perfectly that she held herself there, breaking away from Zabini’s lips and urging, “Merlin, right there!


McLaggen’s eyes were clenched shut and his arms had reached behind her to grab hold of Zabini for leverage as he pounded exactly where she needed it.


“Don’t fucking come – I can tell you’re close,” Zabini ordered, soft and commanding. His fingers were like magic against her clit, rubbing in fast slick circles that caused piercing shocks of excruciating pleasure shoot down her legs every time she throbbed.


Zabini’s lips were on hers again and her hand on McLaggen’s arse had stilled, just grasping at him. She felt as if she was hanging on for dear life – dangling hopelessly; only a small push would make her fall. Her limbs were shaking violently and her nails were leaving deep crescent marks and scratches in their wake.


McLaggen’s face pressed against the side of her arched neck, muttering wicked things under his breath that barely registered in her brain. The sound of Zabini’s voice murmuring and McLaggen breathing her name, over and over, paired with every feeling inside her was dangerously addicting. Her head turned woozy and her mouth latched onto McLaggen’s shoulder as she came, biting down on it. It was agonizingly relieving, washing over her like a cold gust of wind on a hot day, seeping into her perfectly as she practically sobbed out a moan.


She wasn’t sure if it was her or McLaggen who had come first and, as her brain slowly made its way back into her head, she became suddenly aware of how ridiculously sticky she felt, plastered between the two of them. McLaggen’s forehead rested against her shoulder and Zabini’s lips were still at her neck, their erratic breaths mingling along her skin.


“I didn’t know if I was going to make that one,” McLaggen gruffly panted as they came down from it all, slipping himself from her and leaning heavily against the desk, reaching for the overturned water glass. He filled it up using her wand as he brushed his hair away from his forehead.


Zabini’s fingers were tracing soothing patterns up her sides and she felt his chest shake against her back with silent laughter. “I’ve had you hold out for longer before.”


“Not while…” McLaggen trailed off, shaking his head and swallowing a large mouthful of water. “Your hands and mouth are just bloody fine, Zabini, but it’s not –”


“Oh, ‘just bloody fine’, are they?” Zabini replied in an amused threat.


McLaggen rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”


Grabbing the glass before he could set it down, Hermione asked, “What are you two on about?” She snatched her wand up and filled herself a cup, following it with a necessary cleaning charm. The stickiness of sweat and come evaporated away from her, making her overheated and painfully sensitive skin tingle in its wake. Grimacing, she realized that Zabini wasn’t the only one fucked raw; the soreness she felt tempted her to cast a numbing spell on herself, but it was as strangely pleasant as it was painful.


“He likes to make me hold out for as long as I can too,” McLaggen said, tilting his head toward Zabini. His lips pulled into a vague smile. “You’re both rather sadistic with that.”


“So you’ve done this type of stuff… often before?” Hermione questioned, lifting the glass to her lips. Her mind was still resolutely trying to not analyze everything that had happened – that was for later, when she could think more clearly, because her head obviously went to a mental place every time she stepped into this bloody room.


“Only for the past year, give or take,” Zabini drawled, moving backwards to sit more comfortably on the desk. “Our parents attend the same social functions – have to find some way to relieve the boredom when you get looped into going.”


Hermione’s brows furrowed and she delicately massaged her hand, which felt a bit bruised in the aftermath of everything. “That wasn’t what I asked exactly.”


“It’s safe to say that that pointer stick has been put to use more than just a fewtimes in the past,” Zabini replied with a smirk. “Along with other things.”


“Are you gonna show her the other things?” McLaggen said with wicked grin aimed toward the dark Slytherin.


“Maybe next time.”


Hermione stared between the two of them, her eyes drawn to the various marks she had left on their skin – the scratches, teeth marks, the faint lines on McLaggen’s thighs and chest from the pointer stick; his arse was still flushed reddish-pink from her hand – their hands. ‘Maybe next time’ seemed to echo in her brain and, once again, she wondered what sort of deviants she had gotten herself involved with.


It was only slightly unsettling that she found herself far more intrigued than anything. Deep down, a portion of her was already salivating in anticipation for ‘next time’.





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