Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor
Chapter Two
Disclamer: Not mine, I own nothing. I’m not making any money either.
WARNING: Harsh Language, adult themes, sexual situations (i.e.: smut), bad spelling and grammar. Also, the smut is going to be a bit more graphic than last time.
Author’s Notes: This story is a broad farce with over the top humor (a good deal of it is crude and sexual) and OOC actions (that’s Out Of Character if you don’t know). Also, this is my first smut-ish fic. If you don’t like sex and sex-based humor, do NOT read this!
Chapter Two Summary: Harry and Hermione try to make their way to Hogwarts.
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?” Hermione screamed as she dove off of Harry. He absently noticed that her hand was still covered with her own spittle and his pre-cum.
“Please, don’t stop on my account,” Gryffindor’s ghost implored. “Continue. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Is that…” began Hermione as she crouched in the corner while clutching her half-opened blouse in front of her. “Is that Godric Gryffindor?”
“See that?” Gryffindor said to Harry. “She didn’t take a kip during History of Magic, now did she?”
‘How can you kill someone that’s already dead?’ Harry wondered internally. He had been so close to cumming… so very close… now he had to suffer. And suffer he would, because ‘Harry, Jr.’ didn’t get to finish playing. And ‘Harry, Jr.’ had quite a temper. Harry knew that when his little friend started to play, but was forced to stop before he got “sleepy”, there would be hell to pay! ‘Harry, Jr.’ sulked off to bed like a petulant child. Harry groaned as ‘Harry, Jr.’ took out his frustrations on his luggage.
“Got a bad case of blue balls, don’t ya boy?” Gryffindor said with a chuckle upon noticing Harry’s discomfort. The ghost turned toward Hermione and asked, “Why don’t you give Harry some assistance and rub one out for him?”
A fluttering of wings announced the return of Hedwig. The owl looked between the three people arguing and sagely decided not to get involved. Hedwig hopped into her cage and watched the verbal battle unfold.
“You disgusting old pervert!” Hermione shouted in shock.
“Guilty as charged,” the ghost answered with obvious pride.
“Is this why you needed my help?” demanded Hermione, turning to Harry. “Some perverted ghost was pestering you, and you thought that I should get involved.”
“Um yeah… no… kinda,” replied Harry sheepishly. “I mean sorta… well he told me that his sword will help destroy the Horcruxes and that I need to get my hands on the sword by tomorrow or it’ll be too late.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about it before… before…” Hermione stammered obviously embarrassed. “Before I… we…”
“Started to play a gauntly little tune on his skin flute?” Gryffindor helpfully offered. Both Harry and Hermione did their best to ignore the ghost.
“I was worried about you,” replied Harry truthfully. “When you came in, you were awfully upset. I wanted to make sure you were okay, to see if there was anything I could do to help you, before I asked you to help me. And then well, I kinda forgot about it when we um… were…”
Hermione’s eyes shined as she looked at her friend.
“You were worried about me? That’s so sweet!” Hermione said. “I’m sorry for getting angry at you.”
“Now that you two have made up,” Gryffindor interrupted, “why don’t you go on and shake glands?”
“Harry, do you know any method to kill a ghost?” Hermione asked as she looked at Gryffindor, scathingly.
“I was going to ask you about that, actually,” answered Harry.
“Fine, spoil my fun. It’s not like there’s a lot to do when one’s a ghost,” Gryffindor pouted.
“Oh, sod off, you old coot!” both Hermione and Harry shouted in unison.
“Why do you need to get the sword by tomorrow?” Hermione asked Harry.
“He told me that the charms on the sword that would help me destroy the Horcruxes will fail if I don’t get it by then,” Harry answered. “But I can’t leave this house until my birthday, which isn’t for two days. And I have the Order standing guard making sure I don’t leave.”
“So you need a distraction in order to escape,” clarified Hermione to which Harry nodded. The brunette witch thought for a moment before snapping her fingers and calling out triumphantly, “We’ll get Fred and George to help!”
“That’s what I said,” stated Harry, “but the degenerate over there said I should get you…”
“Well, the twins wouldn’t have given you a hand job, would they?” Gryffindor defended himself. “I had your best interests in mind.”
“You mean start to give him a hand job,” Hermione argued bitterly. “Before you barged in for a cheap show and said ‘brainy girls are naughty’!”
“Let’s not point fingers and play the ‘blame game’ now,” Gryffindor brushed the witch off. “You have a quest ahead of you! Get cracking!”
And with a pop, the ghost of Gryffindor disappeared.
“Can ghosts Apparate?” Harry asked.
“No, the old pervert is probably just invisible,” answered Hermione. “He’s just hoping we go at it again.”
“Fine, I’ll leave then.” Gryffindor’s disembodied voice called out and his footsteps were heard walking out of Harry’s room.
“So, are we going to go at it again now that he’s gone?” Harry asked hopefully; ‘Harry, Jr.’ and his luggage were already starting to ache. Hermione gave the young man a look that clearly said “No.” As a matter of fact, one could discern from that particular look that if Harry had wished to pursue this inquiry, it could be quite easily stated that the look also insinuated that he would get his willy cut off.
Hermione walked over to Harry’s desk and wrote a lengthy letter to the twins. She handed Harry the letter which he attached to Hedwig’s leg.
“Could you take this to the twins, girl?” Harry asked. The owl nipped at Harry’s finger affectionately and flew out the window. Harry was quite a bit surprised when his snowy owl dove toward the ground after only flapping her wings twice instead of soaring off into the horizon. “She doesn’t do that normally,” he said aloud.
Both Harry and Hermione went to the window to check on Hedwig’s progress. They were both astonished to see the owl perched on nothing, in mid-air, across the street from # 4. “She doesn’t do that normally, either,” announced Harry.
The two teens rushed out of the house and across the street to where Hedwig had landed and seemed to be hovering six feet above the ground; hovering without using her wings at all, that is. The owl hooted to her master from her invisible perch as if she wanted to be congratulated for doing a good job. Harry moved toward his bird when he heard a noise coming from the empty space below Hedwig.
“What’s he doing here?” a familiar voice asked in a hushed tone.
“Shut up you prat, or they’ll hear us!” another familiar voice hissed.
“Hi, Fred,” Harry greeted the air.
“Hi, George,” Hermione added.
“I think they know we’re here,” one of the twins stated.
“Really? I couldn’t tell,” retorted the other.
A slit opened in thin air revealing the interior of an invisible magical tent. Fred and George stuck their heads out and greeted Harry and Hermione.
“Do you like our new invention?” Fred asked innocently.
“Yes, it’s called the Peeping-Tom-Tent!” George added. “Quite ingenious really, the amount of charms used on it and whatnot.”
“Yes, you see a Disillusionment Charm is used on the outside…”
“While a Transparency Charm is used on the inside.”
“So the people on the inside can see out…”
“But no one on the outside can see the tent…”
“So sexual deviants can peep to their hearts content,” both the twins laughed weakly.
“So, you just happened to decide to test your new product right across the street where Harry is staying?” asked Hermione.
“Well… we wanted to test it in a Muggle neighborhood….” George stammered.
“… And it was just coincidence that we ended up here…” Fred completed his brother’s poorly fabricated lie.
“When did you two join the Order, then?” Harry asked, effectively ending the charade.
The twins slumped their shoulders in defeat.
“Right after the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts,” said George.
“Yeah, because our Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder was essential in the attack…” Fred continued.
“We didn’t know Draco was gonna use it like that when we sold it to him,” concluded George.
“How did you think he was going to use it then?” Hermione inquired.
“Well… he said he was going to use it to seduce Ginny…”
“WHAT!?!” Harry and Hermione shouted.
“What makes you think she would have been seduced by Draco if he used the Darkness Powder?” Hermione asked.
“Our little sister gets turned on by the dark…” George answered.
“Bit of a strange turn on really,” Fred offered. “And Malfoy told us he had an elaborate plan to win Ginny’s heart.”
“You wanted your sister to be with that slimy git?” Harry asked, completely shocked.
“Well it’s better than you and her getting together,” argued Fred. “You and Ginny are just disturbing.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Harry.
“Come on mate, she looks like your mother!” George stated, while Fred shuddered.
“WHY THE HELL DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME?” Harry cried to the heavens.
“We thought you knew,” said George.
“We just assumed you were bent in the head,” offered Fred.
“I hate you both a great deal,” pronounced Harry. “Really, I do.”
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” Hermione implored, “and drop how sick Harry and Ginny’s relationship was.”
“Hey!” Harry cried, taking offence.
“Harry and I need to leave this house immediately,” Hermione continued, ignoring Harry’s protest.
“No,” Fred stated at once.
“We’re under strict orders from the Order,” George continued.
“You don’t have to tell anyone,” Hermione implored compassionately. “Do it for Harry, please?”
“Nope,” the twins pronounced in unison.
“We’ll give you money to turn your back for just a few hours.” Hermione offered.
“Nope!”
Hermione threw her arms up in disgust; she had tried to get the twins to do it out of compassion and then bribery but to no avail. That only left blackmail.
“Fine, have your way. But just to let you know, if you don’t let us leave, when we go to Bill and Fluer’s wedding, I’ll slip Harry and Ginny a Lust Potion,” threatened Hermione as she fought back the bile creeping up her throat caused by the images running through her head.
“So what?” George asked as Harry’s gag reflex kicked in.
“Yeah, Harry would like it,” Fred continued, neither twin noticed that Harry had doubled over.
“I’ll give them a Lust Potion and I’ll make sure that they sit at your table,” Hermione stated as she broke out in a cold sweat. “I can imagine it now; you’ll see Harry’s hand slip under the table, but what you won’t see is Harry’s hand slip into Ginny’s skirt and then… slip a finger or two into Ginny herself….”
George lurched a bit at Hermione’s description, whereas Fred put up a brave face, even though he wanted to run as far away as possible. Harry had dropped all pretences and had started to dry heave once more.
“After that, Harry and Ginny will snog while still finger-banging her, right there at the table in front of you,” Hermione continued, not quite suppressing the quiver of disgust in her voice. “Harry might just pull her robe down so he can…” Hermione paused and swallowed, as she steeled herself for the forthcoming image, “… s-s-s-suckle her tit in public.”
Fred balked and George clutched his stomach. Harry weakly pawed at Hermione’s leg, silently begging her not to continue. He didn’t care about the stupid Horcruxes anymore; Voldemort could take over the world as far as he was concerned. He just wanted Hermione to stop talking about him fondling a girl that looked like his mum.
“Do you think Ginny will wank him off under the table? Or perhaps she’ll go down on him?” Hermione questioned as the disturbing images made her start to go light-headed. “Oh, no; I don’t think you’ll get off that easily. Harry’ll bend her over the table and make her a woman. Right there, in front of you and the rest of your family.
“I figure she’ll squeal a bit when he breaks her hymen,” Hermione’s face had turned a nice shade of green due to the mental image she gave herself, when Fred suddenly interrupted.
“Hold one, wait a minute,” Fred interjected, hoping to derail Hermione’s conversation. “Do you honestly think our little sister still has her hymen intact?”
“Yeah, how else do you think she got so popular so quickly?” added George.
“Fine then,” Hermione countered. She decided to go full bore and take the fight out of the twins. “She’ll just start grinding her hips into his, driving his manhood deeper and deeper into her pulsing box. Do you think he’ll smack her arse? Can you imagine the red, hand-shaped welt forming on her milky white flesh? The same milky white flesh that Harry’s mother had!”
Hermione’s vivid description became too much. Tears of fear and displeasure rolled down Fred’s face as George fell to his knees, begging in a sad, muted tone for Hermione to stop.
“They’ll call out each other’s name in ecstasy,” Hermione added as Harry crumpled to the ground, sobbing. “She’ll scream, ‘HARRY, I’M CUMMING!’ and he’ll grunt as he cums inside her. Then he’ll lean in close to her ear and say: ‘You’re the best… mum!'”
The twins fell to the grassy ground with a thud and Harry mercifully began to black out. Hermione stood over Fred and George and concluded her threat.
“If you don’t let us leave, and without alerting the rest of the Order, I’ll make sure you get to witness first-hand how much Harry loves his mother!”
Some time later, a throbbing pressure in his jeans woke Harry up. Apparently, ‘Harry, Jr.’ was still mad that he wasn’t allowed to finish playing earlier, and he was still taking his anger and frustration out on his luggage, which Harry assumed, had turned from the earlier blue into a nice puce color by now. The young man groaned as he sat up in his chair. To his surprise, Harry was on the Knight Bus, but he had no recollection as to how he got there. He just remembered blacking out while Hermione was spinning a disturbing tale of blackmail and sex, disgusting sex at that. Obviously, Hermione had convinced the twins that it was in their best interest to let her and Harry leave # 4. He figured she had convinced them to help her to get him on the Bus as well.
Harry looked to his right and saw Hermione sitting next to him. The young woman had no color to her face except for a touch of sickly green around her eyes.
“I hope you appreciate what I did for you, Harry,” she said. “All those horrible images have burrowed into my brain. I’m going to have nightmares for weeks now!”
The witch threw herself into Harry’s arms and wept into his chest.
“It was so horrible, Harry” she cried in-between tears. “I kept seeing you… and Ginny… doing… bad… terrible things!”
“Shh; it’s okay, shh,” Harry cooed while gently rubbing her back. “It’s never going to happen.” Harry felt a tinge of guilt as his hands run across Hermione’s back because he kept remembering how nice and warm her bare skin felt a few hours previously.
With a “BANG”, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt directly in front of the gates to Hogwarts. Hermione leaned on Harry heavily, since her knees where still weak from her earlier ordeal, as they exited the Bus and walked up to the gates.
“The gates will be locked,” stated Hermione as the Knight Bus rocketed into the distance. “We’ll have to go through the Shrieking Shack.”
As the two teens marched to the Shack in a roundabout way in order to avoid the villagers of Hogsmeade, Harry was taken back at how low the sun had gotten in the sky. When he had lost consciousness, it had still been late morning to early afternoon. By the position of the sun in the sky, Harry guessed that it was now nearly time for supper.
“How long was I out?” Harry asked.
“A while,” replied Hermione. “I had the twins help me put you on the Knight Bus right after you blacked out. But the driver is new, and he got lost for a few hours. I swear to God I think we somehow ended up in Dijon, France for about an hour. I think we ran over a baguette seller’s cart.”
They remained silent as they ventured through the tunnel that led from the Shrieking Shack to the grounds of Hogwarts. Each step for Harry was nearly excruciating, /’Harry Jr.’/s’ luggage cried out in pain at every footfall. When the teens finally emerged from the tunnel, the sun was about to say ‘good-night’ and leave them in the dark. By the time they had entered the castle, the only remains of the sun was an orange hue on the horizon.
Harry led the way to the Headmaster’s office. The castle was eerily empty and quiet; Peeves didn’t even seem to be around. After a few minutes, they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the door to the Headmaster’s office.
“Oh, bugger,” cursed Harry. “I don’t know the password!”
Hermione chewed her lip for a moment before saying: “McGonagall is the new Headmistress, but what password would she have used?”
“Dumbledore liked to use sweets,” added Harry. “They were always along the lines of ‘lemon drops,’ ‘acid pops,’ ‘cockroach clusters’…”
“So we just have to figure out what she likes…?” Hermione said to herself.
“‘Ice mice’…” continued Harry, because he honestly didn’t know what the Head of Gryffindor liked. But, he felt compelled to say something.
“What does McGonagall like?”
“‘Fizzing Whizbees’…” again, Harry continued to list the code-words Dumbledore might have used.
“I don’t think she likes sweets, Harry,” stated Hermione.
“‘Blood pops’…”
“Blast it Harry!” Hermione ordered. “Please either be quiet or….”
Hermione was about to continue her philippic toward Harry, but was interrupted when the gargoyle sprung to life and stepped to the side.
“The password is ‘Blast’?” Hermione asked incredulously.
“That isn’t very smart,” stated Harry. “What if someone wanted to break in? They could just walk up and say ‘Let’s use a Blast-ing Hex to blow the gargoyle up.’ And the silly thing would just open up for them like that,” he continued, snapping his fingers to highlight his point.
“Actually,” the stone gargoyle grumbled, his voice sounded like two stones grinding together, “the Headmistress hasn’t made up a password yet. I’m allowed to open up for anyone. I just wanted to play with you for a bit.”
“You cheeky little bugger!” Harry chastised the stone figure.
“Let’s just go, Harry,” groaned Hermione as she stomped up the stairs. Harry followed, shooting a dirty look at the gargoyle.
As they entered the office, they were greeted with a hundred different snoring sounds. But one voice did greet them.
“Hello Harry, Hermione, I was wondering when would you show up,” Dumbledore’s painting said with a genuine smile.
“Hello, Professor,” Harry returned the greeting.
Hermione, however, was too amazed at the sights and sounds of hundreds of former Headmasters and mistresses sleeping in their frames. “Is that Armando Dippet?” she questioned to no one in particular. “And that’s Dilys Derwent!”
“Harry, there are two occasions on which you can stop calling me ‘Professor’ and use my given name,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “One of which is if you graduate. The other is if one of us dies. And seeing that I am ‘living impaired,’ you may call me Albus.”
“Okay, hello, Albus,” Harry felt odd referring to his mentor in such an informal way. “How are you, sir?”
“Is that Roderic Hillsworth?” Hermione asked aloud once more as she continued to study the different paintings. “And that’s Hamilton the III!”
“I’m dead,” replied the magical painting, “and you?”
“I’m… ah… alive,” was the best response that Harry could come up with.
“Wonderful, I take you’re here because of the visitor you’ve received?”
“You know about him?”
“And that’s… that’s…” Hermione stammered somewhere in the back of the office. “That’s James Doohan!?!”
“Of course I know about Godric visiting you,” Dumbledore said with a wink. “I was the one who sent him.
“Why the hell is there a magical painting of James Doohan here?” Hermione asked from the dark corner where she was standing.
“So you sent him to tell me about the sword?” Harry asked.
“Yes, it is over there on the shelf behind you,” stated Dumbledore.
“Did you know he’s a perverted old coot?” Harry asked as he walked over to the shelf.
“Yes, I am terribly sorry about that, however he was the only ghost I could find,” replied Dumbledore solemnly. “I discovered how perverted he was, first hand, during my sixth year as a student. The future Mrs. Dumbledore and I stole away to a broom-closet when he suddenly appeared over my shoulder making inappropriate suggestions to me. I still don’t believe brooms should be used in such a way.”
Harry looked at the gleaming sword that lay before him. It had been over four years since he had last held it. His hand hovered over the bejeweled handle momentarily. He felt power coming from the sword; power that he had not detected when he first wielded the sword in his second year.
“Excuse me, Professor,” Hermione asked as she walked up to Dumbledore’s painting. “Why is there a painting of James Doohan in here?”
“I’ll only answer if you call me Albus,” the painting demanded in a cheery tone.
As Harry’s hand wrapped around the hilt, a wave of power ran through his body. Harry hoisted the sword up and held it triumphantly over his head.
“Fine. Albus, why is there a painting of James Doohan in here?” repeated Hermione.
“I was playing a little joke on my predecessors,” Albus chuckled. “You see, Hogwarts is in Scotland, and Mr. Doohan played a character called ‘Scotty.’ Do you understand my sense of humor?
“No,” Hermione said honestly.
The sword felt completely natural to Harry, as if it was an extension of his body. He was about the share this revelation with Hermione, when the office door swung open and a very perturbed Minerva McGonagall stomped in followed by an equally agitated Remus Lupin. Both Harry and Hermione froze like statues in their respective places.
“Damn those Weasley twins,” McGonagall said rapidly through clenched teeth. She obviously had not yet seen Harry or Hermione as she continued her stomping and ranting. “How they could possibly have let Potter slip by is beyond me.”
“I’ve already checked #12 and he isn’t there,” said Remus as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tonks is checking the parks and shops around Little Whinging.”
“And Molly told me he isn’t at the Burrow!” supplied McGonagall.
It was at this point that Remus finally stopped rubbing the bridge of his nose and took notice of the office and its occupants. He saw Hermione standing in front of Dumbledore’s painting sheepishly and saw Harry off to the side standing like some sort of action hero with a sword held high. Harry waved weakly at the old werewolf.
“Where can he be?” McGonagall cried out in frustration.
“He could be standing over there,” stated Remus as he pointed at the raven-haired youth.
McGonagall spent the next better part of an hour yelling at Harry and Hermione. She was considering ‘tar and feather’-ing them when Albus finally spoke up.
“Don’t be too harsh on them, Minerva,” the painting pleaded.
“Why not?” Minerva cleverly retorted.
“It is my fault that Harry and Hermione are here,” said Albus.
“What?” Minerva screeched. “You left us explicit orders that Potter wasn’t to leave that house until he turned seventeen!”
“It is quite funny, actually,” chuckled Albus. “You see, I forgot about the sword.”
The deceased Headmaster explained to the new Headmistress about the Sword of Gryffindor, but left out any reference to the Horcruxes.
“Well, how did Harry know to come and get the sword?” Minerva asked. “You certainly couldn’t have written to him.”
“I sent a ghost to him.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“Godric Gryffindor.”
“Oh, Albus, you didn’t. Not Gryffindor,” stated Minerva sternly.
“I couldn’t convince any of the others to do it for me.” Albus defended.
“Professor, you know about Gryffindor’s… er tendencies?” Hermione asked.
“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure…” Minerva said the word like it was some contemptuous thing, “… to meet him whilst I was showering four years ago. The scoundrel had offered to towel me off, but his offer specifically excluded using a towel!
“Did he say something to trouble you, my dear?” Minerva asked Hermione upon noticing the young witch’s embarrassment.
“No ma’am!” Hermione replied a little too vehemently.
“I suppose you want me to return to my Aunt’s house now,” Harry said in a defeated tone.
“It is now an impossibility, Potter. Your relatives have kicked you out,” McGonagall informed him. “We found out you weren’t in the house when your uncle started to chuck your things out your now-former bedroom window.”
Remus walked up to Harry and handed him his school trunk which had been shrunk to the size of a matchbox. “Don’t worry, I picked up your things,” the former Marauder said.
“And seeing the late hour, you two can spend the night in your old dormitories,” McGonagall said, dismissing the two teens.
Harry and Hermione stopped by the kitchen for some supper. Harry was famished; he ate almost as fast as the House-Elves were able to put food in front of him. He was stuffing his face with meat pies, kippers, white beans and toast, and other disgusting examples of English cuisine.
“Harry, something’s been bothering me,” said Hermione after she finished her meal. Harry turned his attention to his pretty friend while sampling some Plowman’s Lunch. “Even if we do destroy the Horcruxes, you’ll still have to face Voldemort.”
Harry suddenly no longer felt hungry.
“I mean he is the most powerful wizard alive,” Hermione continued. “We’re just kids! We have to find a way to learn useful skills quickly.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Harry.
“It’s time for a good old fashion Library visit,” Hermione finished with a happy smile.
After spending four hours reading various books on various subjects, Harry groaned as he threw another book down.
“I can’t read another word,” Harry declared irritably. “I think my eyes are going to melt out of my head!”
Not only were his eyes sore, but his ‘bits’ were still sore as well. He had tried several times to find an excuse to go off to the loo and relieve himself, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse to be absent for several minutes, leaving Hermione alone researching a way to keep him alive.
“Alright, let’s take a break from reading,” Hermione said and closed the overly large tome in front of her. “Did you find anything useful?”
“I did come across something,” said Harry as he sat down and tried to inconspicuously rearrange ‘Harry, Jr.’ and his luggage. “What about using a Time Turner to arrange some extra training time?”
“Actually, I read up on some case studies of that when I used the Time Turner in our third year,” Hermione explained. “It seems a number of wizards have tried this, but for some reason, after they have used the Time Turner for a period of time, they simply cease to exist!”
“They cease to exist?” That little nugget caught Harry’s attention.
“Yes, it’s as if the ‘powers that be’ lose interest and move on to different things,” Hermione added, “completely abandoning the wizard who used the Time Turner.”
“Well, I don’t want to cease to exist!” Harry exclaimed. “How about you? Did you come up with any ideas?
“I did come across something interesting in this book,” Hermione stated as she reopened the large book in front of her. “There is a way for us to travel to another dimension. Time moves differently there so for every day that passes here, a year will have occurred in the other dimension, so we could literally study seven years while only a week has passed here.”
“Great! How do we get there?” Harry asked as he tried to surreptitiously adjust himself once more in vain attempt for comfort.
“Let me see…” Hermione paused as she skimmed over the pages in the book. “Oh, wait, they’re a few complications.”
“Like what?”
“It seems that the people in the other dimension have a bizarre quirk regarding names; we’d have to call you ‘Paul’ for some outlandish reason. We also have to dye you hair blonde as well as getting rid of your glasses,” Hermione paused again and her face fell. “And the other MAJOR complication is that when the people return to their normal dimension, they tend to have some kind of nervous breakdown.”
“What d’you mean?”
“It appears that they wake up one day and believe their experiences in the other dimension are just a dream and they forget every thing they had learned!” Hermione declared in disgust, and pushed the heavy tome off the table which landed on the floor with a thud. “I have just wasted the past four hours!”
“Damnit!” Harry shouted and stood up. He began pacing back and forth while unconsciously trying to readjust himself. Luckily, Harry had had his back toward Hermione when this happened.
“Well, we’ll just have to cram, study as much as humanly possible,” Hermione stated and Harry coughed. Her definition of ‘humanly possible’ was completely different than Harry’s. Or any other human Harry had ever met. “But we’re probably going to have to stay here at the castle; it does have the most extensive library in Europe, after all. I’ll ask McGonagall in the morning if we can stay.”
Harry continued to pace and adjust; this time right in front of Hermione.
“Harry, how close were you?” Hermione asked, noticing her friend’s discomfort.
“To what?” asked Harry.
“How close were you to… um… climaxing?” Hermione added with a slight blush.
“Wha… wha… what?” Harry stuttered in shock at the directness of Hermione’s question. “How what to what-what-ing?”
“Earlier today, how close were you to… well, cumming?” Hermione smiled as she felt her face heat up.
“Well… I… ah… um…” Harry sighed and forced himself to drop his embarrassment. “Let’s just say one more stroke and I would’ve been a happy man.”
“One stroke! You were that close?” Hermione asked, a bit shocked herself. “Oh, you poor thing, it must be terribly uncomfortable for you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry waving her concern off. “I just need some ‘alone-time’ to take care of it.”
Biting her lip, Hermione stood up and walked over to Harry. She took his hands in hers, and without saying a word, led him to the empty spot on the table when the discarded heavy tome once was.
“Sit,” Hermione commanded.
“Hermione, you don’t have to,” Harry said as he felt the blood leave his upper brain. He then added under his breath; “That is, if you don’t want to.”
“Ever the gentleman, Mr. Potter,” Hermione said. “Now, sit!”
Harry sat on the hard desk and felt ‘Harry, Jr.’ begin to stir. Hermione cupped Harry’s face and kissed his lips. It wasn’t as frantic or desperate as their kisses were earlier in the day, but it was far more stimulating and more passionate. His lips burned as their mouths played with each other. He could taste her on his tongue, and it was intoxicating. His hand traveled up from her hip and caressed her breast through the fabric of her blouse and bra. Damn blouse! God-Damn Bra!
Hermione’s hands also traveled, but they traveled south whereas Harry’s had gone north. Her hands stopped to playfully tweak his nipples. Harry felt aroused, and a pang of jealousy brought on by the pinch of Hermione’s fingers: ‘If she can play with my nipples, why can’t I play with hers? Lousy Damn blouse! Lousy God‑Damn Bra!’
It was at this moment that ‘Harry, Jr.’ completely woke up. He started shouting, “Hey, hey, what about me? Don’t forget about me! I’m right down here!”
It was as if Hermione had heard the organ’s pleas. Her hands left Harry’s chest, and in a few deft moves, freed /’Harry, Jr.’/. Suddenly, as she gripped his member, Hermione stopped kissing Harry. He was about to ask her why she had stopped kissing him, when his upper brain shut down due to Hermione’s next action. She knelt in front of him. The only cognitive thought in Harry’s mind was, ‘Eep!’
The frizzy-haired witch leaned forward and tentatively licked ‘Harry, Jr.’/. He gripped the edge of the table and let out a low moan. Once again, /’Harry, Jr.’ shed a tear of joy.
“I’ve heard Lavender and Parvati talk about this, but I’ve never done it,” Hermione said as she gently stroked ‘Harry, Jr.’. “So tell me if I’m not doing it properly.”
Harry had never had this happen to him, so he had no experience in it either. But with the little experience he just received, he felt fairly confident when he asked Hermione, “There’s an improper way to do it?”
“Yes, there is. I could use my teeth,” she replied while smiling up at him.
“Point taken.”
Hermione started to orally stimulate ‘Harry, Jr.’, her head bobbed up and down while her tongue twirled this way and that over his sensitive flesh. Hermione’s deliciously warm mouth was beyond description. Her saliva coated his manhood as her tongue and lips traced every bump and vein on Harry’s shaft. Harry’s vision became blurred and his breathing labored in a short matter of time. His hands found their way into Hermione’s hair as she bobbed her head up and down rhythmically on /’Harry, Jr.’/. Just when Harry couldn’t conceive how the sensation could get any better, Hermione started humming a jaunty little tune. It was quite possible that Harry had started to gurgle out of pleasure.
Normally, when a man was in the situation that Harry was in, he wouldn’t have cared to notice what tune the woman was humming. But it was a familiar tune that had burned into Harry’s mind at an early age. It was from a film that his aunt had made him watch over and over when he was a child because the insipid Dudley liked it so. A little girl with very curly hair was the star, and the song that Hermione was humming while performing fellatio on Harry was sung by that little girl in the film. Harry couldn’t remember the entire song or the title (right now he was having trouble remembering to breathe), but he did remember one bit in particular. This bit of the song played over and over in his head as Hermione continued at her task.
“On the (something)-(something) lollipop, it’s a sweet trip to a candy shop. Where the bon-bons play, on the sunny beach…”
Harry tried desperately to get the asinine, childish song out of his head and concentrate on more important things. Things like Hermione going down on him! Damn Aunt Petunia for making him watch a movie with such a stupid song…
Then Harry felt the build up and shortly thereafter, the release. With a grunt and groan, Harry became a happy man, a very happy man as he shot his seed into Hermione’s mouth. However, Hermione wasn’t a happy woman. On the contrary, she was very unhappy. She spent the next several minutes coughing, gagging, and spitting into a waste bin. In-between various gags, coughs, and spits, she would hiss at Harry menacingly; “Next time… warn me!”
The two teens left the library and headed to the Gryffindor Common Room, only speaking once in a while. And then only talking politely about trivial and inconsequential things. After they said their ‘good-nights,’ Harry felt a bit guilty about Hermione’s discomfort; next time he would warn her so it wouldn’t happen again. Harry immediately felt hope spring up in his chest, ‘Next time!’ Hermione had clearly used the phrase “next time!”
To be continued!

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