I'm not going to stand here and act like a responsible person by telling all that crap about not reading this if your under eighteen or this is illegal to view in your jurisdiction because quite frankly, I don't care what you do with your time. Just don't get me in trouble...
Oh and I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the associated characters whatsoever. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets is copyright 1999 Scholastic Books, all rights reserved. Please note that to make this fan fic seem more integrated to the book and realistic, it takes place in between actual excerpts from the book itself, so don't complain that I didn't write this. I thought it would be more interesting this way. It helps if you've read the book (the movie doesn't count) because in actuality, this is Chapter Twelve. There will be a notice where my actual writing begins. Enjoy!
Oh and please don't tell J.K Rowling about this ... ^_^
-Notorious
From "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, pages 205 through page 226.
Chapter Twelve
The Polyjuice Potion
They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.
Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he was about to be thrown out of school, he would have very well been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.
It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby tattered wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.
Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat down and tried it on again. Just to see ... just to make sure it had put him in the right House-
He walked quickly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice said in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"
"Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er - sorry to bother you - I wanted to ask-"
"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," said the hat smartly. "Yes ... you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before" - Harry's heart leapt - "you would have done well in Slytherin -"
Harry's stomach plummeted. He grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick.
"You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. Harry backed away, watching it. Then a strange gagging noise behind him made him wheel around.
He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.
Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames.
Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but he couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ask on the floor.
The office door opened. Dumbledore came in looking very somber.
"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do anything - he just caught fire -"
To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.
"About time too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."
He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face.
"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flames when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him ..."
Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.
"It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."
In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he was there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare.
Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.
"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid urgently. "I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time sir -"
Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.
"- it can't've bin him, I swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to -"
"Hagrid I-"
"- yeh've got the wrong boy sir, I know Harry never-"
"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not believe that Harry attacked those people."
"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at hi side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."
And he stomped out looking embarrassed.
"You don't think it was me?" Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.
"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again. "But I still want to talk to you."
Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together.
"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he said gently. "Anything at all."
Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll be next Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron said: "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin. ...
"No," said Harry. "There isn't anything Professor ..."
The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that had seamed to worry people the most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? People asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.
"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry and Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."
Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays too. But Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poisons; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.
Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through...."
Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.
"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.
"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."
"Yeah, he's on his way off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.
Ginny didn't find it amusing either.
"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.
Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his behind Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.
"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're getting all the credit for his dirty work.""
"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."
At last the term ended and a silence deep as the
snow on the ground descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather
than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that Hermione and the Weaslys had the run of
Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap without bothering
anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to
stay at school rather than visit Bill in
Christmas dawned, cold and white. Harry and Ron, the only ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both.
"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.
"Hermione - you're not supposed to be in here -" said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.
"Merry Christmas to you too," said Hermione, throwing him his present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."
Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."
At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak.
"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. "Are you speaking to me again?"
She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far better present than the one she had brought him, which turned out to be from the Dursleys. They had sent Harry a toothpick and a note telling him to find out whether he'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation too.
The rest of Harry's Christmas presents were far more satisfactory. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating. Ron had given him a book called Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hermione had brought him a luxury eagle-feather quill. Harry opened the last present to find a new hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasly and a large plum cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of guilt thinking about Mr. Weaslys car (which hadn't been seen since its crash with the Whomping Willow), and the bout of rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next.
No one, not even someone dreading taking the Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.
The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but the enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now said "Pinhead," kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn't even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.
Harry and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.
"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, he'll tell them anything. Any we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him.
"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry's and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."
Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.
"Hermione, I don't think -"
"That could go seriously wrong -"
But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.
"The potion will be useless without Crabbe and Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"
"Oh all right, all right," said Harry. "But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?"
"I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. "Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she's gone home for Christmas - so I'll just have to tell the Slytherins I've decided to come back"
"When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to Harry with a doom-laden expression."
"Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?"
But to Harry's and Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the operation went as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the desertled entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banister. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.
"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe and gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then without the smallest change in expression, they both kneeled over backward onto the floor.
By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across the hall. Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's forehead and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe's hairs. They also stole their shoes because their own were too small for Crabbe-and-Goyle-sized feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.
"Hermione?"
They heard a scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shinny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.
"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
Harry showed her Goyle's hair.
"Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione said holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger sizes once you're Crabbe and Goyle."
The three of them starred into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
"I'm sure I've done everything right." said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book says it should....once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."
"Now what?" Ron whispered.
"We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."
Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass.
The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned into a sick sort of yellow.
"Urgh - essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."
"Add yours then," said Hermione.
Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger; Crabbe’s a dark murky brown.
"Hang on," said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. "We'd better not drink all of them here.... Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie."
"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."
Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Harry slipped into the middle stall.
"Ready?" he called.
"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.
"One - two - three -"
<<From this point on is Notorious's writing.>>
Chapter Twelve and Three Quarters
Human Nature
Hermione, thinking it would best to do everything in one quick motion to reduce any pain or discomfort took a giant swig of her Polyjuice potion and immediately wished she hadn't. The potion was grimy, and felt as if there were chunks of tiny rocks in it. She swallowed it so quickly that she didn't have time to really identify the taste, but she knew that if she were to ever gulp down sewage water, this is probably what it would taste like.
Even after the majority of the contents of the liquid were swallowed, the grimy things that had accompanied it slid down her throat horribly. She found her voice raspy as she tried to groan in disgust and strongly considered chugging down some of the water from the toilet beside her to wash it down and get rid of this undesirable feeling. Awed that she had not retched once during the digestion of the disgusting thing, she heard Harry and Ron in the next stalls. Unlike her, they had been able to verbalize their disgust quite clearly.
Looking miserably down at the cracks of the stall, she could see the shadow of whichever one of them were next to her changing swiftly, but she had not felt any change. From the sounds of things, the transformation for her two friends was not going all that smoothly in any way, shape, or form. She felt sick to her stomach, but not from the potion. Instead she felt sick because she assumed that she would feel the same thing.
But she didn't. In fact, beside the dangerous threats of vomiting her stomach was sending her upon reflecting upon the actual drinking of the potion, she felt quite fine. The minutes passed, and she became quite bored as the transformations of Ron and Harry into Crabbe and Goyle continued. Wondering why she hadn't felt so sick like they had, she slipped her pocket mirror from the inside of her robes. Maybe the Polyjuice Potion only made boys feel sickly, or something like that. Glancing at the glass she immediately got her answer, and it was not that which she had thought.
"Oh no!" Hermione gasped dropping her half-empty glass of Polyjuice Potion letting it shatter into many pieces upon impact with the ground. "Oh no! No! No! No!"
Harry and Ron had not heard her desperate and hoarse whispers as they had by now stumbled out of their stalls after changing robes talking in exasperated voices. Hermione however, was still in her stall staring blankly at her mirror at her own transformation.
Suddenly there was a banging knock at the door.
"C'mon we need to go-"
Hermione gulped hard and answered, finding her voice had become amazingly high pitched and sounded more like a cat's meow than anything human.
"I - I don't think I'm going to come after all," she said shakily making sure the door was indeed locked. "You go on without me."
"Hermione," came someone's voice. "We know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know its you -"
"No - really - I don't think I'll come," Hermione said hastily. "You two hurry up, you're wasting time -"
"That looks more like Goyle," mumbled a voice. "That's how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question."
"Hermione," came what she assumed was Goyle's voice. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Hermione lied. "I'm fine - go on -"
There was a brief and tense silence that followed.
"We'll meet you back here, all right?" someone said.
And with that she heard the door carefully opening and closing. She sighed, went to relax on the toilet seat, but remembered the cooling Polyjuice Potion was still there and jumped up again. She groaned. Mostly she groaned because of what she had seen in her mirror, but she also groaned in part to a particularly warm uncomfortable feeling in her shoulder and chest areas that felt remarkably like an itch, but not the kind you scratch. She shook it off and crouched on the floor resting her head on the wall of her cubicle.
"You've really done it this time Hermione," she grumbled. "You've really done it."
Hermione sighed feeling unusually tense, but assumed it was because of the black fur and pointed ears that stuck out of her head near her temples. Her eyes had even changed green with black vertical slits for pupils that reminded her of Harry's account of Lord Voldemort last year. She briefly shuddered at the name, and checked to see if the fire had turned off like it was supposed to because she was starting to sweat a bit, though she was not necessarily warm. The fire indeed had vanished automatically when she had emptied it into the three glasses.
"A cat," she laughed in a way that showed she thought no part of this was amusing. "That Slytherin girl must have had a cat. It wasn't her hair, it was her cat's. The potion isn't designed for animal transfor- who am I talking to?"
She banged her head with great frustration against the wall feeling angrier than usually. For some reason, her emotions were much more vivid than normally. A high-pitched girly voice answered her causing her to jump back up to her feet.
"I'm listening if it makes you feel any better," went the voice and Moaning Myrtle walked right through the wall of Hermione's stall looking as translucent and pale as ever. "Oooooh, looks like your experiment didn't go as well as you had hoped."
And with that she giggled with eerie girly enthusiasm that made her once brunette pigtails shake.
"Go away," Hermione growled, but found her staring at Myrtle much more vividly. "I'm not in the mood."
But then again, for some reason, Hermione felt that even a thousand new books could really change her mood. She felt restless, and warm all over. The itchy feeling was spreading throughout her entire torso area. Myrtle, who's eyes had closed in order to enjoy the full potential of her mirth, had not noticed Hermione starring at her, but Hermione had, and immediately tore her eyes away from her. She knew that Myrtle and she had never really gotten along very well, especially since the Deathday Party, but she was starting to feel as if electricity were filling every vein and nerve ending in her body when she looked at Myrtle. She felt as if a second mind were using her eyes to survey the body of the ghost- everything from her cute face with innocent looking pigtails and glasses, to her developing chest, down to her Hogwarts robes that aroused her for some reason.
She felt herself getting very moist between her thighs and sighed before catching herself. She felt as if she had just woken up from an extremely tangible dream, and immediately made a deduction.
The Polyjuice Potion was designed to keep the mind, emotions, and conditions of the person who was being transformed into. For instance, even though Harry had turned into Goyle, he wouldn't feel loyalty to Malfoy, or general stupidity, he would still feel like Harry. This also meant that if Goyle had been feeling especially sick or anything of the sort at the time the sample was taken, Harry would feel the same level of health he did in his own body. However, Hermione concluded, the Polyjuice Potion was unable to have a definite effect on animimalistic feelings and conditions, so she would still feel the cat's feelings to some effect.
Oh no, Hermione thought desperately. She ... the cat must've been in heat when she shed on Bulstrode's robes so now ... now I'm feeling ... no I am in heat! How embarrassing!
Being so young, Hermione didn't know much about sex, and her parents had already dealt with the shock of her being a wizard- they were not about to give her the "Birds and the Bees" talk too. Most of what Hermione had learned about sex had come from books just like everything she had learned about in the muggle world, and because of her know-it-all attitude, and dedication to schoolwork and knowledge, no boy had tried to assist her in acting out some of what she had learned.
Hermione had not even had her first orgasm or masturbated yet because she felt that it was degrading to touch one's self in such a manner, and not proper by English standards. Though she was of magical blood, she thought, she thought she must still maintain some of her muggle values, and she had learned- or read rather- that it was not proper for one to touch themselves in a sort of muggle act called masturbation.
Hermione moaned and fell back against the wall causing Myrtle to stop laughing and peer curiously at her. She felt the warm itchy feeling extend to every point of her body- even the very tips of her fingers. Now she knew that her undergarments and robe would have to be laundered because of the tremendous amount of lubricant that was leaking from her sex. Her breaths came in short gasps, and her face became shinny with sweat as she became aroused in a way that only a cat in heat could. This was not a human matter of desire, but one of need. She needed to have release, and this thought crossed wires with her muggle mind and her hand began creeping down towards the waistline of her robes, but she stopped there- barely.
No! She screamed at herself. You mustn’t! You’re Hermione Granger, top of all your classes. You can't go to this low a level! You’re above this! And you cannot do this especially because that creepy Myrtle is standing right there watching!
Myrtle had gotten very quiet now and was looking at Hermione with a glint of curiosity and worry in her eyes.
"Um Hermione?" she squeaked. "Are you feeling quite all right? Why are you moaning so much and what are you doing with your hands?"
Hermione, despite herself, had begun to hike up her robes like a long dress, but only a few inches before her reasonable mind tried to seize control of her hands while the part of her mind infected by the Polyjuice Potion was trying to pull up her clothes more so that she could relieve herself. The result was her hands trembling horribly unsure of what direction to go in as her cloak was raised a few inches below her knees rather than at her ankles.
No! No! she begged herself. I'm still Hermione Granger, and I don't want to do this! I'm not a bloody cat in heat! I'm proper, and I'm more complex than the mind of a feli-
But, came another version of her voice in her head. Are you sure that's what you really want for yourself? Look at yourself Granger; you're in a stall with one of the most complex potions known to wizardkind frothing right beside you! Look at what you are and what you've become. You read books; you base your actions on books.... You ARE a book Hermione, but you’re also a girl. I know the way you look at Ronald and Harry...
Hermione's hand trembled with even more uncertainty.
Ron and Harry? She gasped to herself. They're my friends, I would never-
Who are you kidding you silly girl? Went the other voice. How exactly do you expect to lie to yourself? I am you. I know that you have needs Hermione, just like everyone else does. You've seen that even Harry, an idol and hero above all wizards worldwide doesn't allow his fame to get to HIM. He knows when to give in to basic instinct.
Hermione thought back to the time once a few weeks ago after an especially bad round of insults was hurled in Harry's direction courtesy of Draco Malfoy and his cohorts. Harry had been so red in the face that he ran straight up to the empty dormitories in a fit and had locked the door. She was the only one brave enough to march up there and try and console her friend as everyone stood outside carrying on their normal business. Ron had been doing lines for Professor Snape.
When Hermione had opened the dormitory door she had found the curtain's on Harry's four-poster drawn close and heard a strange gasping sound that she thought was crying. She looked through an unclosed part of the curtain ready to pat Harry on the back, and was shocked at what she saw. Harry had been lying there crying, but at the same time had his pants hanging down around his ankles and was stroking his penis and fondling his testicles at the same time. After recovering from the initial shock, she realized this must be what Harry did to deal with the worse bits of what happened to him in his life, and although slightly disgusted as she watching him pump his genitals, his sobbing so loud, and his eyes closed so tightly to try and stop his tears, he had not noticed Hermione standing there.
Her mind snapped back to the present tense.
If someone you admire as much as Potter can do it, why can't you? Went the surprisingly persuasive voice
That was different! She argued. Harry is a boy, and its common knowledge that men need sex more than women do to correct chemical imbalances, and plus he needed it!
And so do you, hissed the voice. Tell me Hermione dear, do you plan to stand here feeling more horny than any human being has in the history of the world? Do you know that cats in heat are exponentially more aroused than the most aroused human being? You’re fighting a loosing battle! And when you saw him there stroking that magnificent cock of his over and over again, his cries slowly becoming moans and whimpers as he neared climax, you were excited. You had to run back to the girls’ dormitory to change your panties you naughty girl.
I was not aroused! Hermione spat back. How dare you suggest such a thing?
Well then, laughed the voice. If you’re so sure that you didn't like what you saw, then why do you know that your 'friend's' dick is exactly six and three quarter inches then?
W-well, Hermione stammered, her clothes now slightly above her knees. I happen to have a good eye, and a good memory. How else do you think I pass that drone, Mr. Binns', tests so well?
Okay fair enough, said the voice faking defeat. Then why is it that you stuck around to watch Potter give one last thrust and spray a geyser of magical cum all over his glasses...
Semen, Hermione corrected, but she was loosing the battle.
"Oh," she moaned softly, her robes now just below her waist.
"Uh Hermione," said Myrtle who looked remarkably like she was blushing despite her monotone and transparency. "If you have to go to the bathroom, you know that the toilets in here don't work ... I made sure of that."
But Moaning Myrtle's voice wasn't the one she was listening to.
All that wizard cum all over his hand, ("Oh!), and his sweater ... oh, he had to sleep under the blankets all night because he didn't have time to change ... ("Oh!), his chin, ("Oh!) his full warm lips ("Oh! ... Y-yes .... w-w-warm .." ) that messy hair of his, ("Oh!), and even on his scar ... ("Oh!)
And before Hermione knew it, she had given up, and was on her knees with one hand holding up her robes, her eyes closed, and her free hand burried deep under her pink cotton panties as she began to stroke her vagina unfamiliarlly, her eyes fluttering open and shut now or rolling in the back of her head from time to time. The goody-two-shoes attitude she had always been sporting from day on was flung out of her grasps and she began speaking with very harsh words she only half knew the meaning of.
"Fuck me," she wailed desperately in her catlike voice. "Fuck the whore, fuck the slut. Fuck her good ... OHHHH ... I'm sorry mum, I'm sorry dad, I c-can't stop m-mys-s-elf, but it feels so goaded.... Mamma ... put down that damned broomstick and that chessboard and come to your friend, and I'll make you feel s-sooooo good ... No, no I mustn’t! I have to stop this r-right n-noooowwwwwwww!"
Her last word became a loud meow and she began thrusting her middle finger in herself, happy that there was no painful hymen to break because of the biking accident she had had when she was little. She was able to get so much of her finger up herself that it looked as if that very finger had been severed for it was no longer visible. With gravity now on her side she felt no need to hold it up any more and pulled her finger out with a pop! and saw that it was glistening wet with a sticky substance that was not urine. Feverishly, she jammed this finger into her mouth moaning feverishly as her scratchy cat tounge licked it dry and swallowed all of her own juices in one big gulp.
"God, I know that was disgusting," she grunted. "But for some reason it taste really good, like butterbeer ..."
She never really knew why she did what she did next. Perhaps it was the cat’s horniness, or an attempt to stop herself by other means, or more likely a mixture of the two because at that moment she held her panties to the side and plunged her prized wand into herself in one quick motion. Immediately, she felt the most pleasurable feelings of her lives all summed up to one and then multiplied exponentially.
"OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she howled and immediately started thrusting the stick as deep inside of herself as she could without it hurting or loosing her wand. "God ... just let me cum please! N-n-no, I'm not a slut ... let me have an orgasm please ... cum ... orgasm ... it’s all the same, just let me stop feeling like this!"
Even as she said this she was thrusting her wand in and out of her vagina at alarmingly fast intervals feeling the surge of magic spreading through her, and her climax approaching like an oncoming train- there was no stopping it.
"UGH!" she grunted at the threshold of her first orgasm, which was very much more pleasurable than normal human climaxes because of her cat parts. "MEEEOOOWWWWW!"
She felt the most happy and content feeling she ever had, and wasn't even alarmed by the squirt of creamy, milky juices that burst from her own self at that moment, and she quickly decided that she didn't want this feeling to pass and remembered a spell she had learned quite accidentally. Ron, unlike Harry, was too timid to expose himself while around so many people for fear of being walked in on. While in Potions one day, he was starring hard and a pretty, but evil, Slytherin girl sitting across from him. She had little regard for the dress code, and was wearing robes that looked to be intentionally cut short and rode up as she moved around in classes to get a rise out of guys. When Ron though Hermione wasn't looking as Snape was yelling at Harry for adding too much Gurberoot to his Fire Breathing Potion, she saw him mutter "Stimulus," out of the corner of his mouth, and point his wand discretely towards a bulge in his pants. He had sighed very deeply and the bulge quickly subsided to be replaced by a dot of wetness where it had been; Ron has put his Defense Against the Dark Arts book over this and it dried before class let out.
"Thanks Ron," she said breathlessly to herself and gripped her wand that was still impaling itself as it thrust in and out of her sex. "Stimulus!"
She half-expected for the orgasm to simply continue, or for a new one to start, but instead she shuddered and shook involuntarily as a second orgasm simply hit her like a tsunami over the previous one. Greatly excited by the potential of the spell she muttered "Good on Ron," and repeated the incantation again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Soon she was experiencing six orgasms at the same time, one layered over the other one, and she not was sitting, her panties digging in the crack of her backside, and her robes above her waist, in a puddle of her own female ejaculatory fluids from having so many orgasms at once. She felt as if she had been lit on fire, and her chants of "Fuck the slut, fuck her good," became incoherent yells as she faded out of conscience. Five minutes later she awoke on the bathroom floor, the side she had been lying on completely soaked with her juices. Her morality had come back in full swing and she began cursing herself in shock at what she had done. She couldn't tell what the worse part was: the fact that her heat had not gone away, but simply calmed down and was on the rise again threatening to reach another fever pitch and transform her into a slut again, or...
"Ooooh Mrs. Granger," squeaked a voice. "What were you doing?"
A levitating Moaning Myrtle who had been watching the whole thing floated directly above Hermione. When Hermione looked up she saw right up Myrtle's robes and skirt to her racy lacy white thong underwear. Apparently, the day Myrtle had died, she hadn't been a timid girl at all contradictory to her nerdy appearance.
"Get off it Myrtle," she said looking away from Myrtle's crotch. "I feel dirty enough already without you-"
"Me thinks you were playing with yourself!" said Myrtle. "Ten points from Gryffindor- no a hundred billion points from your house, and another billion for getting off on looking up another girl's skirt."
And Myrtle began giggling feverishly at her own joke.
"Leave me alone," Hermione sighed. "I bet you did the same thing when you were still alive."
She expected Myrtle to start crying and wailing like she always did when someone mentioned her "predicament," but quite the contrary; Myrtle came back to level ground looking Hermione right in the eye with a dead serious look, and a tinge of sadness in here eyes.
"I never got to experience an orgasm," she sighed. "I was a nerd ... I tried wearing naughty things so boys would notice me and have sex with me, but it never happened before..."
She let it hang, and it got quiet. Hermione could not help but feel sorry for the ghost who had just watched her get off knowing that she had never experienced that pleasure before in her life, and now it was impossible. Even though Myrtle could be quite annoying sometimes, it still saddened her, Hermione, to think of all the things she missed; dates, kissing, and even something as basic as an orgasm. Had she not known of the Pleasure Charm? How awful it must be to be stuck in an adolescent body for half a century.
Myrtle had gotten very quiet, and her lips very thin.
"Myrtle," Hermione said cleaning herself off with a simple wave of her wand. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to do that or anything, its just that the cat brain kinda took over and I ... oh I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offe-"
"DO YOU HAVE ANY CLUE WHAT ITS LIKE?" cried Myrtle making Hermione jump back several paces. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO HAVE NEVER FELT ... TO HAVE NEVER ... OHHHHHH YOU! GRANGER, I'M GOING TO TELL EVERYONE AND THEIR COUSIN ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE HERE BEFORE!"
She was so angry, Hermione thought she would make the toilets regurgitate themselves again, but then she furrowed her brow. She understood Myrtle's discontent, but this had gone far enough. She belt bad enough about pleasuring herself right in front of a ghost as it is, and now Myrtle was threatening to ruin her reputation! She drew her wand and pointed it right at Myrtle's forehead. She was simply going to erase her memory of this with a small Memory Charm, but Myrtle seemed to think that she had other plans.
"D-do sp-p-ells work on ghosts?" she said shaking slightly. "I mean, I always thought they didn't but with that attack on Nearly Headless Nick I ..."
And then, quite pitifully, Myrtle began to sob, her brunette pigtails swinging as she shook her head horribly. Perhaps she thought that Hermione was the heir of Slytherin in fact, and was about to do whatever had been done to Nick to her. Hermione's outstretched hand trembled as she took a moment to analyze the situation making her feel like a horrible person again. She let her wand hand fall limply to her side. She realized too late that her solemn feelings had made her drop her mental guard allowing her naughty persona to come back to play.
No, she whispered at once. Not you again! Go away!
The voice simply laughed.
One more go, it went. Wasn't there a charm that made ghosts solid for a limited ammount of time? Highly complex as it is, very few people are able to muster it. We have approximately half an hour until Ron and Harry come back, and I know you still feel horny and hot. You're one for logic, aren't you? Tell me then Mrs. Perfect, does it make LOGICAL sense to let you suffer from need of release, when a method of freeing yourself from that burden is right in front of you?
No ... she slowly thought. No, I can wait thirty minutes. There's no need for this ... this appalling demeanor! I can't! I won't!
You can. You will. You cannot wait thirty minutes Hermione, this isn't normal circumstances. You've got a cat's body, and when cats are in heat like you are, they cannot simply decide not to do anything about it. That is illogical Granger, I'd have thought more of you in terms of thought process ... now... that's it... raise the wand ... point it at her ...
Once again finding her body strangely out of her control like she had moments before, Hermione gripped her wand with a shaking hand, her morality fading away with every inch it rose, until she had it pointed again at Myrtle who was about to start shrieking again before Hermione charmed her.
"Tangilous, thirty minutes!" she called, and was blinded by the white light that followed and lingered for a few moments before fading back to the dimly lit bathroom.
Myrtle was no longer levitating above the bathroom floor, but was standing back on the ground alarmed by gravity's sudden hold on her. She was no longer translucent, but was quite solid in her blue skirt, white stockings, black shoes, and sweater with the Hogwarts crest on the right breast pocket. She took off her glasses and looked at her reflection in them with her soft brown eyes. A moment later a tear leaked from her eye and splashed on the lenses.
"It’s not permanent is it?" she said quietly. "Tangibility Charm ... heard vaguely about it back when I was alive."
Hermione didn't know what to say, and watched as Myrtle took her wand from her inside pocket. Once useless when she was a ghost, she watched her wand now twirling it between her fingers knowing that it was in full working order.
"Accio flowers," she said happily, and the pot of flowers outside of the stall peaked over the stall and into her hands. She smelled them deeply. "Lovely ... just lovely."
Hermione was growing impatient. She was horny and needed to relieve herself now. She had given Myrtle her wish to experience pleasure, and all she could do was sniff flowers? She couldn't grasp the reason for it all. Myrtle knew that the spell was only able to be cast once or maybe twice by a wizard in their lifetime, and yet she was wasting her half an hour ... no, nine minutes of time left to live before it was back to being pearly white again.
"Myrtle," Hermione said tapping her paw impatiently. "Myrtle!"
It was if Myrtle had become all business all of a sudden. She put down the pot of flowers, muttered something, and sent it back where it came. She then pointed her wand at herself.
"Accio clothes!" she exclaimed, and with a ripping sound, her clothes were snatched off of herself and flew into her hand instantaneously. She then pointed her wand at Hermione and did the same thing.
Hermione blushed greatly now exposed in nothing but her plain pink wand and panties. She blushed even more to see Myrtle dressed in a lacy white thong and bra complete with a matching garter belt and stockings. She muttered some more words and suddenly the dainty stall seemed cleaner and bigger than before, and the toilet itself even vanished. She even extended the walls and door of the stall to reach to the floor and ceiling so that it seemed as if they were now in a small room.
"Somebody's been reading up," Hermione gulped as Myrtle began striding across the full length of the magically enlarged bathroom stall, a very hungry look in her eyes. Before she knew it, she was upon her, and grabbed her around her waist to pull her in close.
"When you're stuck in a bathroom stall for fifty years, you pick things up," she said smirking briefly, and before Hermione could respond she pulled her in close and closed her eyes as she plunged her tongue into the warmth of Hermione's mouth.
"Mmppmpf!" Hermione screamed at first trying to push Myrtle away from her feeling that things were moving faster than she wanted, but her scream soon turned into a low sexual moan, and then into a downright purr.
Hermione picked up her tail from the ground and wrapped it around Myrtle's waist making sure not to let go. She never guessed that her first kiss would be with a female ghost that was more than half a century old, but she liked it. She liked the way her saliva was mixing with that of the horny poltergeist, and the way she could actually feel her fellow female's low moans as it vibrated from her teeth down to her very soul striking up emotions and realizations about her body that she never knew existed. It was as if the largest book in the world had been opened right in front of her.
Finally, Myrtle broke the kiss and sighed. Hermione gave a disappointed whine, but before she knew it, her companion had picked up her wand once again and was waving it wildly while saying incantations she could not remember reading about. The end result was a queen sized bed suddenly landing in the middle of the stall, and an end table by its side filled with many items that she had never seen before.
"Myrtle," Hermione began to inquire, her voice a mix of human vocals and feline meows. "What is th-"
But then Myrtle was shouting again, and although Hermione never made out what she said, she knew that the next instant she was in the air and falling onto the bed which was surprisingly uncomfortable.
CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
"What the bloody-" Hermione uttered and looked about her. Silvery Chains from the four bedposts had closed themselves around her wrists and ankles so that she laid spread eagle on the mattress. "Myrtle! What have you done?"
But when Hermione looked over, she saw that Myrtle had gone through some kind of magical transformation. She was no longer the nerdy looking teenaged girl that Hermione had brought back to life, but a few inches taller with straight long jet black hair, and matching eyes. Her face was a bit older, and her figure a lot more pronounced although she remained in the same seductive attire - it just was much tighter now.
"Temporizing Charm," she said in a voice that didn't belong to a child, but to a full grown woman probably in her late twenties or early thirties. "I was curious to see how I would look fifteen years older than I have remained for the past fifty years. I also thought it would enhance the experience."
"Myrtle," Hermione said trying to remain calm. "I think you've made some horrible mistake with your incantation, I've been ... well ... detained."
The beautiful adult Myrtle smiled as she tossed her glasses aside grateful that her adult self had magically grown out of her seeing deficiencies.
"Oh," she said chuckling. "There has been no mistake. You see Hermione; I just wanted to share one of my fantasies with you. Just a few changes I have to make though ..."
And an instant later everything had changed. The stall had been turned into some kind of dungeon. Hermione felt as if she had suddenly gotten a bit dirtier, and saw that her skin was a bit tanner with the newly found filth. She was covered in sweat although she hadn't remembered perspiring, and the last thing she saw change was the bed as it became rusty and old looking as if it had been taking from a jail cell. Then everything went dark.
"M-Myrtle?" Hermione stuttered in the dark and was shocked by the reverberation of her own words. "Myrtle ... please take us back to the stall, I'm ... I'm scared ..."
"Fear is good," came a voice from nowhere. "Lumos!"
And then a small pinprick of light came from somewhere in front of her. It looked almost as if there was a firefly slowly gliding towards her ablaze. Hermione tested to see if the chains had remained, and they had. She watched as a cloaked figure walked somewhere beside her and placed a stick - a wand - in a torch holder above the bed. Then she grabbed something Hermione recognized as her own wand and also made an everlasting point of light erupt from it placing it on the holder at the other side. Now Hermione could see around her.
"Welcome," said the familiar voice behind the cloak. "To a typical medieval dungeon circa one thousand A.D."
"Myrtle?" Hermione said squirming in her detaining chains. "What is all of thi-"
"Have you ever heard of bondage my dear?" said Myrtle as she dropped the black cloak to reveal that she still was in the tight fitting undergarments - only now all in smooth white leather. "S&M?"
Hermione mouthed something incoherent as he ears drooped.
"So you're not as innocent as you thought," the ghost laughed. "Though you probably consider it education. No matter ... do you like your attire?"
Hermione looked for the first time at what she was wearing and noticed that she was now dressed in a black leather corset barely covering her breasts which seemed to also have grown bigger. She was also adorning elbow-length gloves in a matching color, and a spiked color and was uncomfortably tight on her fur-covered neck. She whimpered in a catlike fashion.
"While we're here," Myrtle said in a harsh voice putting on the same gloves, only in white, and pulling a matching whip from what must have been a holster on her side. "There will be mutual pleasure. As long as you do exactly what I say, you'll enjoy yourself."
Hermione nodded slowly still quite frightened, but a bit curious.
"Yes Myrtle," she said, and recoiled a second later. "MEOW! OWWWW! What was that for?"
Myrtle had just struck her midsection with the whip without the slightest sign of remorse.
"You will address me only as Mistress here," Myrtle said simply. "And I will only address you as bitch. You will only speak when spoken to, understand?"
"Yes," Hermione whimpered and was struck again, this time biting her tongue. "M-mistress! Y-yes M-mistress!"
Myrtle smiled.
"Excellent," she said happily. "Now then ..."
And then, without warning she climbed up onto the bed, got in between Hermione's fur-encased legs and she pulled off her bra and stuck her bare (and especially large) breasts in Hermione's shocked face. She gave a confused meow.
"Suck them bitch," Myrtle said. "This one first, then the other."
"Yes mistress," Hermione said, and took a deep breath before extending her tongue. The moment it came in contact with Myrtle's nipples they sprang to life and suddenly became rock hard. Hermione, who didn't know this could happen, was intrigued more and more as her hour long lesson in sex continued.
Soon, she was sucking the entire tip of Myrtle's breast enjoying her responsive moans in ways that she didn't know things could be enjoyed in. Myrtle's medieval simulation was very real, and for some reason she found that the fact that Myrtle's skin, like her own, was tanned with dirt. However, instead of disgusting her, this somehow added to the mood as the medieval scene was complete.
"Stop Bitch," Myrtle said and Hermione withdrew her rough cat tongue.
"Yes Mistress."
"I'm going to whip you now."
"Yes Mistress."
"And you're going to enjoy it, aren't you?"
"Yes Mistress."
With a hum of satisfaction, Myrtle stuffed her exposed breast back into her bra, but the hard nipples could still be seen through the leather. Even though Hermione could not see Myrtle's dampness save for the leather, she knew that her womanhood was sprouting forth copious amounts of lubricant. Myrtle drew her white leather whip like a sword, twirling it in her fingers.
"Are you afraid Bitch?" Myrtle asked with a lewd look of joy on her face.
"Yes Mistress."
"Are you going to enjoy the pain Bitch?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Shall I hit you extra hard for being such a bad little girl, Bitch?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Is your pussy wet yet Bitch?"
"Yes Mistress."
"How wet Bitch?"
"Very wet Mistress."
Myrtle smiled needing no further inquiries. Whatever morality Hermione had left within her seemed to have vanished along with the bathroom stall. She drew the weapon of her choice high above her head, gave her trophy one last look, and brought it down as hard as she could.
SMACK!
"ME-OW!!!!" Hermione shrieked and instantly a tear fell from her feline eyes.
"Did that hurt Bitch?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Good. Pain is good, Bitch. Take mental note of that."
"Yes Mistress."
Again and again, the whip came down nonstop for minutes, each time bringing tears to Hermione's eyes, as well as pain and pleasure to the rest of her body. With each smack, a louder and louder meow could be heard. Now Hermione was purring so loudly that the bed shook. That's when Myrtle began to concentrate her attacks on the spot where, underneath Hermione's leather underwear, laid her clitoris. Now, the meows were louder than ever bringing a unique mixture of extreme pain and extreme pleasure in a new sensation and emotion that had never been experienced again.
Still the whip came, beating on her worn and red organ until Hermione passed the point of no return.
"Yes Mistress!" she screamed in a heavy voice seeming to be near unconsciousness. "More, more Mistress! You're going to make me ... oh bloody hell ... Mistress! oooohhhhhUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"
And then Hermione felt the most intense climax of her life. Her body shook, and her eyes fluttered opened and shut as if wondering which way to go. Her body was filled with unrelenting electricity as Myrtle brought the whip down on the spot (although she was off target a few times because of the Hermione's convulsions) still even as the orgasmic pleasure increased. This brought about more orgasms, and more pleasure as she ejaculated so much it suddenly burst out of her skintight leather underwear due to the immense pressure. Finally, after a good fifty seconds of orgasms, Hermione lay her head to the side of the bed wondering if she were still alive. Noticing the whip was just stinging now; Myrtle tossed it to the floor and began to smile.
"Did I tell you to cum Bitch?" she asked.
"N ... no M... Mistress," Hermione got out despite her immense panting.
"Naughty naughty catgirl," Myrtle said as she went over to the end table by the side of the bed and grabbed some things from behind Hermione, although she didn't know what she took because of the fact she was simply too tired to turn around. "I'm going to have to punish you some more Bitch, but not with the whip."
Hermione wondered what was about to happen next.
"Nox," came Myrtle's voice in a hoarse whisper and everything went black again. "Ever been fucked in the dark Bitch?"
Hermione was too tired to be aware of what was going on, but suddenly woke up as she felt her leather panties simply being ripped off of the intersections of her thighs and a deep inhaling sound as if someone were breathing in something with obscene hunger.
"Wow Bitch," came Myrtle's voice from between her legs. "You really came ..."
And with that she heard lapping sounds as Myrtle cleaned her up as a dog would do, tongue flat and relentless. This brought Hermione's vagina back to life, and the soreness had gone too thanks to her friend's tongue message. Then she felt her legs being lifted and mounted on someone's shoulders as Myrtle gave one more girlish laugh before pressing into her. Hermione's entire body shuddered as she felt an ice cold metal dildo slide into her vaginal area.
"Moan Bitch! Moan!"
Hermione moaned.
"Groan Bitch! Groan!"
Hermione groaned.
But what happened next, just as Hermione's canal was getting used to the size of the immense ice-dildo, was totally unexpected. A second oblong object the same shape and length of the previous one began sliding into her back door, but the only thing was it was not cold and icy, but warm and fleshy. Hermione's heart did a three sixty. Moaning Myrtle was a Hermaphrodite! Hermione got very hot knowing that she was being double done with both a fake penis, and a real live one, and Myrtle, sensing this, gave another girlish laugh.
Then the humping began.
Oh how Myrtle humped, filling both of Hermione's holes fully with each thrust. The fact that she was doing this in such perfect unison must have fueled her on because she started to go faster, and faster, rattling Hermione's chains without shame, rocking her entire body with each thrust. The mixture of the enchanted dildo's cold, and Myrtle's real organ drove her crazy as she thrust back up at Myrtle with every re-entry she received. Soon they were just a blur of sounds and bodies in the dark, a completely joined unit connected in ways that only a couple as such could be.
Myrtle, on her way to a climax, was extremely turned on, and even without light was spurred on even more by the realization of the picture. Here she was, in the form of a thirty-five year old woman, with long silky black hair dressed in a skintight white leather bra, elbow-length gloves, and stockings driving her rock hard organ into a twelve year old catgirl who was purring and moaning at the same time dressed in similar gloves, stockings, and bra only in black and with a spiked collar around her neck. She couldn't hold back any longer.
"Cum with me Bitch!" she screamed as she neared her own climax. She grabbed blindly in the dark until she had Hermione by the spiked collar she had put on her and pulled her head off of the rock hard mattress so that she could scream in her face. "Now cum, Bitch, cum!"
"Yes Mis-EOWWWWWWWWWW OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD!"
"YES!"
They both came at the same time, but Hermione never really knew how hard the climax had hit either of them as she fell unconscious from weariness the second she had orgasmed. In some dream she heard someone say:
"It was worth waiting fifty years ... thank you. Finite Incantatum!"
***
"...Well it wasn't a complete waste of time," came the voice of Ron, as he closed the bathroom door. "I know we still haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under Malfoy's drawing room."
BANG! BANG! BANG! There was hammering on the door.
Panicking, Hermione thought quickly. She made sure her clothes were on right. In her struggle to get her robes back on, she accidentally undid the latch on the bathroom door. Thankfully, she had somehow become as clean as when Ron and Harry had left the bathroom.
"Ooooooh, wait till you see," Hermione heard Moaning Myrtle say. "It's awful -"
Getting her robes back on just in time, she stumbled out of the stall, not on purpose, with the collar of the robes over her head. She suddenly came up with an idea, and decided to leave the collar up, muttering to herself with her wand in hand. She quickly dropped in back into her robes as she began crying with enthralled realism.
"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly indicating that they had fallen for it. "Have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"
Mentally sighing in relief, she let the crying spell go to work, and threw in a bit of acting for good measure as she spoke.
"It was c-cat hair," she stuttered. "M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!"
"Uh-oh," said Ron.
"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.
"It's okay Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions...."
Perhaps she was putting it on a little thick when she "refused" to leave the bathroom for a long time, but eventually realized this and let Harry and Ron "persuade" her to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty laugh. "Wait till everyone finds out you've got a tail"
--------------------------------------------------
Notorious: I want everyone to know that it took me nearly a month to write this because of all the nasty little interruptions that plagued me during this time. I noticed there was such a lack of Harry Potter hentai out there, and since I can't draw two stick figures to save my life, I thought I'd remind everyone that stories are more vivid than pictures.
Producer: Is it true that the only reason why you wrote this was to create a fan base?
Notorious: That is so NOT true.
Producer: *SLAP!* Liar!
Notorious: *rubbing chin* Ow ... anyway, people should be glad that there are people out there still willing to write twenty-five page lemons in an age when the only hentai that is paid attention to is purdy pictures.
Producer: First of all, you only wrote seventeen pages - the other twelve pages were an excerpt plus the last few paragraphs were modified exerpts. Second of all, you're really bitter because nobody reads your work, aren't you?
Notorious: ... *goes red* This means WAR Achan!!!111
Producer: Well ... my work is done. Goodnight everyone!
(Author's Note: Just kidding Achannie ^_^)
----------------------------------------
Questions? Critisisms? Just feel like hearing yourself talk? Send your e-mails either to the webmaster of this site, or to majin_noto@hotmail.com.
Disclaimer: No cats or ghosts were hurt in the making of this lemon.