Chapter Text
People assumed that they knew everything there was to know about Hermione Granger.
All of wizarding Britain knew about her high-profile breakup with Ron Weasley shortly after he was caught with his trousers around his ankles and his cock buried inside Lavender Brown, a circumstance that he still insisted was an “accident.”
Molly Weasley knew that Hermione was a prude, which was why her dear son had sought out another witch to begin with. The entire faculty and staff of Hogwarts were quite certain that Hermione didn’t date because she had difficulty finding people who could keep up with her intellectually. The Hogwarts students, who saw little beyond her demure clothes, thick-rimmed glasses, and the bun she used to keep her wild hair in check, knew that their resident librarian didn’t date because no wizard or witch would be interested in someone so drab.
Every Friday evening, when the halls thrummed with excited students planning for their Hogsmeade trip the next morning, Hermione retreated to the library. She flicked a wandless spell at the heavy oak doors, her posture gradually relaxing as each lock closed with a satisfying snick.
She made her way from table to table, nimble fingers stroking the spine of each abandoned book and casting careful repair spells over those with tears, smudges, or any of the other innumerable indignities that schoolchildren could inflict on an unsuspecting book.
When all of the volumes had been returned to their shelves and the reading area once again met her exacting standards, Hermione crossed into the Restricted Section. She grinned as she felt the wards wash over her. She’d learned enough from Harry’s use of the invisibility cloak to take more rigorous security measures when she was entrusted with the Hogwarts library.
Moonlight streamed through the stained glass windows as she slowly approached a landscape painting. The unremarkable frame was typically empty, but was presently occupied by Phineas Nigellus Black. He smirked down at her as she pulled her wand from her sleeve.
“I see we’re up to our usual tricks this evening, Miss Granger.”
She returned his smirk. “I don’t hear you complaining, Headmaster Black.”
He drew his own wand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He sliced the air with a flourish, and Hermione mirrored his movements as they performed the complex charm to unlock the cubbyhole behind the painting. Silvery tendrils curled in the space between them, the air thick with magic as the portrait opened to reveal a large leather-bound tome. The runes etched into the cover leant it an air of the arcane, a detail that was, in fact, more practical than decorative. An elaborate network of chains helped to keep the book subdued.
When Hermione became librarian shortly after the war, she found the volume nestled between Most Potente Potions and a treatise on the uses of tentacula leaves. The text appeared to be a record of all of Azkaban’s current inmates that was charmed to update as changes were made. Hermione realized its true purpose after a handful of detection charms.
Voldemort had apparently wanted an insurance policy in the event that his Death Eaters were imprisoned again, and if the fingerprints were any indication, it was Amycus Carrow who had placed the volume in the restricted section. The book was designed to act as a portal, allowing his followers to escape into Hogwarts if they were placed in Azkaban, but it could only be opened for brief periods of time without being detected.
Hermione had quickly set about changing its properties with a handy bit of blood magic so that only she could open the portal. She could also decide the extent to which the wizards and witches on the other side could interact with the portal. Thanks to her exhaustive research and a fair bit of experimentation, she’d discovered that she could use the tome for something far more interesting than its intended purpose.
She laid the book out on one of the benches, tapping her chin as she flipped through the pages. Phineas watched her closely, a predatory grin stealing over his features. “So what will it be tonight? I understand they finally caught Alecto, if you’re interested.”
Hermione hummed thoughtfully before shaking her head. “I’ve no patience for breaking in someone new tonight. I need someone more…practiced.”
She flipped to page forty-three, grinning smugly at the record for Antonin Dolohov. She caressed the page with the tips of her fingers, waiting until lips and teeth warped the surface of the page. The outline of a tongue bulged from the surface, the words of the page stretching around it. He made a flicking motion with the tip of his tongue that looked for all the world as though he were beckoning her.
Phineas chuckled as he unbuttoned his trousers. “He looks quite eager tonight, doesn’t he?”
Hermione answered by hiking her skirt up her thighs, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her knickers.
“Slower!” Phineas called out to her.
She smiled at him indulgently, slowly dragging the black lace down her thighs and over her calves until it settled around her ankles. She kicked the dangling garment so that it hit his portrait with a thud. A deep growl rumbled in his chest as he fished his erect cock from his trousers, and Hermione whimpered as she did every week at the sight.
She’d known Phineas’ family history from the age of eleven. Hogwarts: A History gave a detailed and colorful account of the school’s most despised Headmaster. Even as a teenager, Hermione had wondered what could have possessed Ursula Flint to give Phineas five children, but her first look at his thick, hard cock had given her some insight into the matter.
As she watched Phineas wrap his fist around his cock, Hermione wondered about the accuracy of the artist’s rendering. She could readily imagine Phineas stroking himself to attention in front of a crimson-faced painter. In spite of its absurdity, the image still made her mouth water.
Phineas chuckled at her reaction. He enjoyed how her lips parted and her eyes glazed over as she stared at him. “I’d take care of you myself if I could, but I’ll content myself to watch.” He nodded at the book. “Let’s not keep him waiting, Hermione.”
She tucked her skirt into the waistband so Phineas could see her straddle the book, lowering herself until her dark thatch of curls settled over the page. She gasped as the tip of Dolohov’s tongue trailed from her opening up to her clitoral hood. He prodded clumsily for a brief moment before finding her clit. Hermione gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white as she immediately started panting.
Phineas stroked himself a few times to ensure that he stayed hard, the veins of the shaft bulging under his thumb’s rough treatment. Hermione knew that he’d take it slow until she got to her last partner so that they could finish together. He smiled, leering at her in a way that sent a shiver up her spine.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. What would you say to him?”
Hermione gave a needy whine when the disembodied tongue made a frenzied zigzag pattern back and forth over her clit. “That’s it, Dolohov. Just like that. You used this filthy mouth to call me ‘mudblood’ often enough. How do you like having it stuffed full of my cunt?”
Hermione huffed in frustration as he slowly circled her clit, the coarse hair of his beard chafing pleasantly against the insides of her thighs. She glanced up at Phineas, who’d started varying his strokes with a twist of his wrist every time he reached his glans. She bit her bottom lip, imagining that the rasping sensation on her thighs was his beard. The thought had her so close to coming, but she forced her attention back to the mouth cradling her cunt.
“You used that tongue to curse me, to try to kill me. Now use it for what it was made for, vile man. Use it to make me–Ahhhhhh!!!”
Her head flew back as he suckled her clit…tugging…tugging the swollen bud in the scorching heat of his mouth. Her thighs snapped around the sides of the book in a move that would have smothered the man had he been present. The first nibble of his teeth sent her over the edge, but she didn’t give herself time to ride out the waves of her orgasm, vaulting off of the page as though it had burned her. Phineas raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The last time I did this, he tried to sneak his cock in while I was coming down from my peak. I won’t risk it again. The bastard won’t be getting any pleasure from me.”
Phineas laughed, the sound echoing through the empty library. “If I were there, I’d let you take your pleasure from me.”
Hermione unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt. “If you were here, I’d actually consider it. I suspect you’ve grown rather fond of me.”
She smirked at him tauntingly. “You don’t even call me ‘mudblood’ to my face anymore.”
Phineas just shook his head. “Cheeky witch.”
“Indeed, and cheeky witches must shift for themselves.”
She flipped through several pages of the book, head tilted in thought. “Page sixty-three. Lucius Malfoy. He’s only serving a six-month sentence, after all. I should enjoy him while I can.”
“Lucius?” Phineas’ voice was dripping with disdain. “That pompous, preening, peacock wouldn’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. He only ever used his tongue to betray his friends to the Dark Lord.”
She answered with a wry grin. “Then it’s fortunate that it’s not his tongue I’ll be needing.”
Hermione trailed her fingertips over the book. The text shifted, wrapping around Lucius’ middle and index fingers as they rose from the page. Hermione straddled the book again, slowly sinking down on Lucius’ fingers until she was flush with the page. She raised herself slightly before lowering herself down again, appreciating the gentle stretch every time she sank over his digits.
Phineas watched the proceedings with an almost clinical interest. “What do you think he gets out of this?”
Hermione continued rising and falling at a steady pace as she considered the question. “He’s never given me the impression of wanting to step out on Narcissa, but six months is a long time for a man who isn’t allowed conjugal visits. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he likes to feel a warm cunt around his fingers while he strokes himself with his other hand. At least that’s how I envision him.”
“And what benefit do you gain from having him?”
Hermione stretched her arms over her head, giving Phineas a good look at her cleavage as she stilled over Lucius’ fingers. “He’s just a warmup for the big event, really.”
As if he’d heard her and wanted to exact revenge, Lucius curled his fingers, pressing his thumb up so that it would rub her clit with each descent.
Hermione gave a startled laugh. “And unlike most of his compatriots, Lucius still manages to surprise me on occasion.”
She placed her hand on the table again for balance, plucking pins from her hair with her free hand and allowing her riotous curls to cascade down her back. Lucius took some initiative and thrust his fingers up as her dripping cunt slammed down to meet him. She leaned forward, letting her hips fall open even more to allow his fingers to rub the delicious spot deep inside her.
He flexed his fingers hard in a beckoning motion that finally made her hips buck uncontrollably as her orgasm was torn from her. This time she didn’t leave her partner immediately, allowing Lucius to finger her through the ripples of pleasure that left her weak-kneed and sated.
When she finally rose from the book, Phineas was staring at her with a lecherous smile. “I see now why you enjoy the old man’s company, even if he is a preening peacock.”
Hermione’s thighs glistened with her arousal, and she was grateful for the measures she’d taken, as she knew perfectly well that her last partner had no interest in her pleasure. She grinned to herself in satisfaction at the thought. He wanted to bring her pain, but she would steal her pleasure from him anyway.
Phineas had begun stroking his glistening cock in earnest, familiar enough with her routine to know she was approaching the evening’s finale. She turned the pages unhurriedly, drawing out the anticipation. “Page three hundred and ninety-four. Fenrir Greyback.”
Phineas’ hand stilled momentarily. “You’ve never mentioned the page number before. Three hundred and ninety-four? Are there so many Death Eaters in Azkaban?”
Hermione once again caressed the page with her fingertips. “No. The numbering reflects where they are held in the facility. Most of the other Death Eaters are housed in cells close to each other, but Fenrir is…special. He’s powerful and vocal in his hatred. They keep him well away from the others.”
They watched silently as the page undulated. The words twisted and distorted as the head of Fenrir’s cock emerged, wrinkling over his frenulum and extending over the prominent veins of the shaft. Hermione took a deep breath as she straddled the page. This was by no means her first experience with the werewolf, but she never fully adjusted to the feeling of him splitting her open.
She managed to envelop his swollen glans without much difficulty, stifling a groan when she inevitably stalled halfway down his cock. He was too big, stretched her too far. She cried out sharply, partly from pain and partly from relief when the tendrils of his magic slithered up her thighs and hips, pulling her down and sheathing him inside her trembling body.
The moment her arse met the page, the book's chains wrapped around her thighs, holding her firmly in place. The restraints might have terrified most witches, but Hermione adored the feeling. Most of the Death Eaters weren’t powerful enough to combat the spells that she used to keep the portal closed, but Greyback’s magic fought with hers, struggling to slip his bonds.
He wasn’t strong enough to free himself, but he could interact with her more than the wizards, and his canine hearing ensured that he could at least catch most of what she said on the other side of the portal. She loved his rage, heady with the knowledge that he recognized her magical signature from when she was held captive at Malfoy Manor. Before Phineas could even prompt her to speak, her words were tumbling out to taunt the werewolf.
“Does it upset you, Fenrir? You came so close to having me. Bellatrix even gave me to you. You could have had me for a snack if it had suited you, or,” her eyes glinted with malice, “you could have turned me, sunk you teeth into my throat while you fucked me full of your pups. Is that what you really wanted? And to think it only took one house elf to best you and ruin all of your plans. Pitiful really.”
The chains dug into her thighs, certain to leave bruises that would take over a week to heal. Black wisps of magic journeyed up from the page, gripping the front of her blouse and tearing it open. Buttons went skittering over the flagstones in a dozen different directions. Her coral nipples instantly pebbled in the cool air of the library, and she made no attempt to cover herself.
Phineas gave an appreciative grunt at the sight, circling with his thumb to spread his precum over the head of his cock. Hermione’s mouth watered at the sight, and she wished that she could sink his glistening cock into the heat of her throat while she was stuffed full of Greyback’s cock, but the werewolf did not allow her time to let the fantasy play out in her mind.
HIs magic gathered, congregating at the wrinkled peaks of her nipples. Hermione’s lips parted in surprise and her skin prickled with goosebumps when she felt the calloused pads of fingers on her breasts, the slow drag of claws over her skin. He’d never been so bold before, and Hermione felt a thrum of excitement.
A wanton groan was pulled from her as invisible fingers pinched her nipples, rolling them roughly as claws gently scraped over the tips. She watched in fascination as her areolas were pulled, blood rushing back in an infuriating ache each time he released them. The tingling between her thighs intensified with his relentless plucking.
“Hermione,” Phineas asked urgently, his hand a blur over his slick cock.
“Slow down, Phineas. He’s not ready just yet.”
She looked down at the vellum page where she and Greyback were joined, an amused grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her voice was venomous.
“Do you imagine that this is your revenge for the fact that I escaped you, for the fact that you were captured, Fenrir?”
She could feel him slowly withdrawing from her at her question. “No. You’ve mauled or killed so many people I love, and only one thing makes it bearable: I know that you’ll never be free again. Your only way out is through me, and I’ll never let you go. I will take what I want from you and leave you to rot, you–”
Hermione’s diatribe ended abruptly with a strangled moan as Greyback slammed back into her. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as he jackhammered into her. She relished the brutal treatment, every painful thrust making her feel more powerful, more alert, more alive.
The black mist swarmed up between her breasts and past her clavicle until a large hand gripped her throat. She let him continue the merciless pounding, squeezing her throat until her vision went blurry around the edges. His rhythm stuttered as his grip on her throat tightened, magic surging around her as he pushed her to the edge of unconsciousness in his attempt to escape.
Hermione shuddered as she came, her power pushing back, denying his desperate clambering. The chains released from her thighs, and the cruel hold on her throat released. Phineas’ face contorted in pleasure, thick ropes of cum erupting from his turgid cock as he watched her ride out the crest of her orgasm, each firm roll of her hips sending Greyback’s dark signature back to his cell.
When she came down from her high and was certain that the werewolf was properly contained, Hermione stood from her position over the book, her knees nearly buckling and the discomfort between her thighs immediately blooming with the effort. She leaned against the table with one hand as she caught her breath, closing the book with the other.
Phineas cast her a sly grin as he tucked his now flaccid cock back in his trousers. “He was more boisterous than usual this evening.”
Hermione huffed a laugh. “Yes. I won’t be able to walk straight for a week. It was brilliant.”
“You just like wielding such power over his head, you minx.”
“Perhaps.”
She carefully replaced the chains around the tome and reset the wards. A few more flicks of her wrist summoned her buttons and repaired her blouse. Hermione took a bit too much pleasure in knowing how angry it would make Molly Weasley to know how she was using the repair charms that the matron had taught her with the expectation of gaining a daughter-in-law.
When her clothing was back in order, she carefully pinned her hair back in her usual bun and replaced her glasses. She and Phineas repeated the locking charm, replacing the volume behind the portrait.
“The same time next week, then?”
She grinned at him conspiratorially. “As always. I wouldn’t dare to disappoint you, Headmaster.”
Hermione walked through the now quiet corridors back to her rooms in Gryffindor Tower. She passed two sixth year Hufflepuffs on the way, and if the boy’s disheveled hair and the girl’s smeared lip gloss were any indication, they’d stopped in a few alcoves during their rounds for a rushed snog.
The boy leaned in to whisper to the girl as Hermione passed them. “Poor swot. I doubt she’s ever even been laid.”
Hermione couldn’t stop her smug smirk.
People knew nothing about Hermione Granger.