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The gleaming scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express belched steam across Platform 9¾, momentarily obscuring Hermione's view of the chaos around her. Parents fussed over children, owls screeched in their cages, and beneath it all ran an undercurrent of tension that hadn't been there in previous years. War changed everything, even the simple act of boarding a train.
Hermione adjusted her prefect badge, making sure it sat perfectly straight on her robes. Fifth year had been a nightmare of epic proportions – Umbridge's tyranny, the Department of Mysteries battle, Sirius's death – but sixth year would be different. She would make sure of it.
"You coming or what?" Ron called from the prefects' carriage doorway, his own badge slightly crooked on his chest. "They're waiting for us."
"Yes, coming," Hermione replied, smoothing her robes one final time before following him inside.
The prefects' carriage was more spacious than the regular compartments, with plush seats arranged in a loose circle. Most of the other prefects had already arrived – Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw, and from Slytherin, Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass.
Hermione's gaze lingered briefly on Malfoy. He looked... different. Thinner, paler, with dark circles under his eyes. His usual arrogance seemed muted, replaced by something that almost looked like fear. He barely glanced up as she entered.
"Now that we're all here," began the Head Boy, a Ravenclaw seventh-year whose name Hermione couldn't immediately recall, "let's discuss patrol schedules for the term."
As the meeting droned on, Hermione found her mind wandering. Last year, she would have been taking detailed notes, raising her hand to offer suggestions for improving prefect efficiency. Today, she simply couldn't muster the same enthusiasm. Not when people were disappearing daily. Not when her mind kept drifting to blonde hair and soft lips that had nothing to do with prefect duties.
"What do you think, Granger?" Daphne Greengrass's voice cut through her thoughts.
Hermione blinked, realizing she'd completely missed whatever question had been asked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Daphne's perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. "I asked what you thought about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Rumor has it it's someone called Slughorn."
"Oh." Hermione straightened. This, at least, she could discuss with confidence. "I've heard the name. He's supposed to be an excellent potioneer, actually. Used to teach at Hogwarts years ago."
"Potions?" Ernie Macmillan frowned. "But why would he teach Defense?"
"Maybe Snape finally got what he wanted," Hannah suggested with a shudder. "Can you imagine? Snape teaching Defense?"
Ron snorted. "Bet he'd start with the Unforgivables on day one. 'Today, class, we'll practice the Cruciatus Curse. Weasley, come to the front for a demonstration.'"
Everyone except the Slytherins laughed, though Hermione noticed that even Draco didn't bother to defend his Head of House. He just stared out the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
"Speaking of professors," Padma chimed in, "did anyone hear what happened to Professor Sprout? My sister said she overheard Professor McGonagall telling Flitwick that Sprout wouldn't be returning this year."
This was news to Hermione. "Not returning? But who'll teach Herbology?"
"Probably some Ministry stooge," Ron muttered. "Though at least it can't be worse than Umbridge."
"Don't jinx it, Weasley," Daphne said, her tone surprisingly lacking its usual venom. "This year's going to be hard enough without another tyrant for a teacher."
The conversation continued, carefully dancing around the elephant in the room – Voldemort's return and what it meant for all of them. Even the Slytherins seemed subdued, their usual superiority muted by the reality of war. Hermione found herself studying Daphne Greengrass with new interest. The tall, elegant Slytherin girl had never been as openly hostile as Malfoy's gang, but she'd certainly never been friendly either. Today, however, something felt different.
"What are you staring at, Granger?" Daphne asked, catching Hermione's gaze.
"Nothing," Hermione said quickly. "Just thinking about what this year might bring."
"Nothing good," Daphne replied quietly, so only Hermione could hear. "Nothing good at all."
The meeting concluded with patrol assignments and reminders about helping first-years find their way around the castle. As they filed out of the compartment, Ron tugged at Hermione's sleeve.
"Listen, I'm going to go meet someone," he said, his ears turning slightly pink. "Save me a seat with Harry?"
"Meet someone?" Hermione repeated, suddenly curious. "Who?"
"Just... someone," Ron mumbled, then hurried off before she could question him further.
Hermione watched him go, puzzled by his behavior. Had Ron actually made plans to meet a girl? The thought was both amusing and slightly disconcerting. Everyone seemed to be changing this year.
The train hummed with excited chatter, students crammed into every compartment sharing summer gossip. Hermione searched for Harry, craving the normalcy of her best friend's company, but he wasn't in any of the usual spots.
Probably with Ginny. Or hiding from the stares.
She was about to give up when she passed a compartment near the end of the train. Dirty blonde hair caught her eye through the glass. Luna Lovegood sat alone, holding The Quibbler upside down, radish earrings swaying with the train's rhythm.
Hermione's stomach clenched. They hadn't spoken since June, since their last encounter in an empty classroom. Since Luna had swallowed her cock like it was perfectly normal, those protuberant eyes gazing up at her with dreamy satisfaction.
Keep walking. Just keep walking.
Instead, she slid open the door.
"Hello, Hermione," Luna said without looking up. "I was wondering when you'd find me."
"I wasn't looking for you." Hermione stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. "I was trying to find Harry."
"He's three compartments down with Neville and Ginny." Luna finally lowered the magazine, fixing her with that unsettling stare. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Fuck. How does she always know?
Hermione didn't answer, settling onto the opposite seat. The compartment suddenly felt stifling. Luna wore a butter-yellow sundress that had ridden up her pale thighs, and Hermione's cock stirred at the memory of those legs wrapped around her waist.
"Good summer?" she managed, aiming for casual.
"Oh yes, Daddy and I went searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden. We didn't find any, but the attempt was quite educational." Luna tilted her head, studying her with uncomfortable intensity. "Your summer seems to have been less pleasant. You're surrounded by wrackspurts."
"Wrackspurts," Hermione repeated flatly.
"Mmm, yes. The obsessive kind. They're a lovely shade of silver-blonde."
Heat flooded Hermione's face. Shit. Shit shit shit.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" Luna smiled serenely. "I missed certain activities this summer. Did you?"
The directness caught Hermione off-guard, as always. While others danced around sex with euphemisms and blushes, Luna treated it like discussing the weather.
"Luna..." she started, not sure what she meant to say.
"I touched myself thinking about it," Luna continued conversationally. "About your cock. But it wasn't the same. My fingers are much smaller."
"Fuck," Hermione breathed, her cock now fully hard. The memory crashed over her—last December, the prefect's bathroom, thinking she was alone...
Hot water soothing her skin after another DA Meeting. Her hand drifting down to stroke her cock as she imagined things she shouldn't—older women, platinum hair, aristocratic moans. She was so close when the door opened.
"Oh," Luna said, standing there in just a towel. "I didn't know anyone was here."
Hermione scrambled to cover herself, mortified. "Luna! Shit, I'm sorry, I thought I locked—"
"Is that a penis?" Luna moved closer with scientific curiosity. "I didn't know you had one of those."
"Please don't tell anyone." Desperation made her voice crack. "I know it's weird—"
"It's not weird. It's rather beautiful, actually." Luna dropped her towel without warning, revealing her slim, pale body. "May I suck it?"
The casual request, like asking to borrow a quill, had short-circuited Hermione's brain entirely.
"You're thinking about it," Luna observed, pulling her back to the present. "Your pupils are dilated."
"We can't talk about this here," Hermione said weakly.
"Why not? Would you prefer to fuck me here instead?" Luna spread her legs slightly, the yellow dress riding higher. "I'm not wearing knickers."
Hermione gripped the seat edge hard enough to hurt.
"Luna, we're on a train full of students."
"Yes, that does make it more exciting, doesn't it?" She returned to her magazine. "Though I suspect you're thinking about someone else entirely. The wrackspurts are quite insistent about that."
"I'm not—"
"It's alright," Luna interrupted gently. "We never said we were girlfriends. Just two people who enjoy certain activities together."
The casual dismissal should have been a relief. Instead, guilt twisted in Hermione's gut. Luna deserved better than being a substitute for someone unattainable.
But she doesn't seem to mind. She never has.
"I did miss it though," Luna added thoughtfully. "The way you grab my hair. The things you call me. It's very educational."
"Educational," Hermione repeated weakly.
"Oh yes. I've learned all sorts of new words." She smiled over the magazine. "Would you like to teach me more tonight?"
Hermione's cock throbbed painfully. "Maybe."
"Room of Requirement? After the feast?" Luna turned a page. "I'll make sure to wear knickers this time. I know you like ripping them off."
The compartment door slid open, revealing a cluster of third-years.
"Sorry," one squeaked. "Everywhere else is full..."
"That's quite alright," Luna said brightly. "Hermione was just leaving."
Hermione stood on shaky legs, adjusting her robes to hide her erection. Luna caught her eye, her gaze knowing despite the dreamy expression.
"See you tonight," she said softly.
Hermione fled, her body thrumming with frustrated arousal and her mind spinning with guilt. This thing with Luna had started as convenience, mutual pleasure without strings. But sometimes Luna looked at her with such knowing acceptance...
It's not fair to her. Using her as a distraction from—
Silver-blonde hair flashed through her mind, aristocratic features twisted in desperate need.
Fuck. I'm so fucked.
.
.
Storm clouds raced across the enchanted ceiling, casting shifting shadows over the Great Hall. The atmosphere crackled with the kind of tension that came from collective denial—everyone pretending normalcy while death lurked outside Hogwarts' walls.
Hermione sat wedged between Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, cataloging the missing faces. One of the Patil twins' usual spots held frightened first-years. Seamus looked grim, apparently his mum had nearly kept him home. Even the ghosts seemed subdued, drifting past without their usual theatrical flair.
How many more will be gone by Christmas?
"Place feels different," Ron muttered, already loading his plate despite the feast not starting. "Smaller, somehow."
Harry nodded, green eyes scanning the Head Table. "Hagrid's not back yet."
Hermione followed his gaze, noting the gaps. No Hagrid, no Umbridge (thank fuck), and—
"Is that Snape sitting in the Defense position?" Harry's voice sharpened with disbelief.
Sure enough, Snape had abandoned his usual spot for the Defense professor's chair. His sallow face looked even more sour than usual, black eyes sweeping the Hall like he was mentally assigning detentions.
Of course. Of fucking course he finally gets it now.
"Maybe he's just sitting there temporarily," Hermione offered, though she didn't believe it herself.
Ron snorted. "Right, and maybe Malfoy's become a humanitarian."
Her gaze automatically found Draco at the Slytherin table. He looked worse than on the train, pushing food around without eating. His mother's gaunt face flashed unbidden through her mind, and arousal pulsed through her before she could stop it.
Not now. For fuck's sake, not now.
The Hall quieted as Dumbledore rose, purple robes sparkling with tiny stars. Even diminished by war, he commanded absolute attention.
"Welcome," his voice carried easily through the silence. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have several announcements that cannot wait until after our feast, so I ask for your patience and attention."
"First, I am pleased to welcome back to our staff Professor Horace Slughorn—" he gestured to a portly man with a magnificent silver mustache who stood and waved, "—who has agreed to resume his post as Potions Master."
Excited whispers erupted at the Gryffindor table. If Slughorn was teaching Potions, that meant—
"Which brings me to our second announcement," Dumbledore continued. "Professor Snape has agreed to take on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
The Hall exploded. Groans and protests from three Houses while the Slytherins clapped politely, looking unsurprised.
They knew. Of course they fucking knew.
"Agreed to take it on?" Ron said incredulously. "He's been gagging for it for years!"
Harry's face had drained of color, fury replacing shock. "This is insane. How can Dumbledore—"
"We need to talk." He leaned across Hermione urgently. "After the feast. All of us."
She nodded, attention pulled back as Dumbledore raised his hand for silence.
"I have one more staffing announcement. Professor Sprout has decided to take a well-deserved retirement after nearly thirty years of service to Hogwarts."
More murmurs, tinged with genuine sadness. Sprout had been a Hogwarts fixture, steady as the earth she worked.
"However," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "I am delighted to introduce her replacement. Please welcome Professor Mirabel Garlick, our new Herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff House."
A woman stood at the far end of the Head Table, and Hermione's thoughts scattered.
Holy shit.
She was young—devastatingly young for a professor, maybe late twenties. Auburn hair cascaded past her shoulders in soft waves, catching candlelight like spun fire. When she smiled at the applauding students, her whole face transformed from pretty to breathtaking, radiating warmth that made you want to smile back.
But it was her body that made Hermione's mouth go dry. Even modest teaching robes couldn't hide those curves—full breasts straining subtly against fabric, an hourglass waist, hips that swayed as she waved. She moved with the easy confidence of someone completely comfortable in their own skin.
Fuck me. Another one?
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, his fork clattering forgotten. "She's—"
"Really young to be a professor," Hermione interrupted, voice breathier than intended.
"That's what you noticed?" Ron gaped at her. "Are you blind? She's fucking gorgeous!"
"Language, Ronald," she said automatically, though she couldn't argue. Professor Garlick was stunning in an earthy, approachable way—completely different from Narcissa's icy perfection but equally affecting.
Stop comparing every woman to Narcissa, you pathetic little—
"Welcome, Professor Garlick," Dumbledore said warmly as she sat. "I'm sure you'll find Hogwarts students eager to learn, particularly in Herbology where I understand you've made remarkable advances in cultivating magical plants."
She smiled again, and unwelcome heat pooled in Hermione's groin.
What is wrong with me? First Narcissa, now this?
"That concludes our announcements," Dumbledore said. "Tuck in!"
Food materialized on golden plates, but Hermione's appetite had vanished. Across the Hall, Luna watched from the Ravenclaw table. She raised her goblet in a small toast, eyes knowing, and Hermione quickly looked away.
"Can you believe it though?" Harry stabbed viciously at his shepherd's pie. "Snape teaching Defense? It's like Dumbledore wants us to fail."
"Maybe he'll be different," Neville offered weakly. "I mean, he knows the Dark Arts, doesn't he? To defend against them, you need to understand them..."
"He IS the Dark Arts," Harry snapped. "This is a disaster."
"At least Herbology will be more interesting," Seamus grinned, eyes drifting to the Head Table. "Professor Garlick can plant my seed anytime."
"You're disgusting," Hermione said, though her traitorous cock twitched at the crude imagery.
Get it together. She's a professor.
"Come on, Hermione," Dean laughed. "Even you have to admit she's fit."
"She's a professor," Hermione said firmly. "Show some respect."
"Respect?" Ron snorted. "Did you see her smile? I'd respect her all night long."
"You wouldn't know what to do with a woman like that if she gave you an instruction manual," Ginny said dryly, appearing behind Harry. "Besides, isn't she a bit out of your league? Like, professionally and in every other way?"
Ron's ears flamed red. "I was just saying—"
"You were just being a pig," Ginny interrupted. "As usual."
Hermione caught Harry's eye as he mouthed "after feast" again. She nodded, trying to focus on her food instead of how Professor Garlick laughed at something Flitwick said, her whole face lighting up with genuine amusement.
Stop it. You have enough problems without lusting after a professor.
The feast dragged on with forced normalcy. Summer holidays, O.W.L. results, Quidditch tryouts—everything except the war, except how some classmates might be Death Eaters' children, except people dying while they worried about homework.
When Dumbledore finally dismissed them with standard warnings about the Forest and Filch's contraband list, Hermione was desperate to escape. But as she stood, Luna materialized at her elbow.
"Don't forget," she breathed against Hermione's ear. "Room of Requirement. I'll go ahead to prepare things."
She drifted away before Hermione could respond, leaving her with a racing pulse and uncomfortable tightness in her trousers.
Fuck. How does she move so quietly?
"Ready?" Harry asked, and for a moment Hermione panicked that he'd overheard. But he was focused on gathering their friends, face set with determination.
"Yeah," she managed. "Lead the way."
The empty classroom on the fourth floor still smelled like chalk dust and old parchment. Hermione watched Harry cast privacy wards. The familiar blue shimmer of Muffliato settled over the door, followed by an Imperturbable Charm that made the air feel slightly thick.
"Bit much for a study group meeting," Ron commented, dropping into a dusty chair that creaked.
"It's not a study group," Harry said sharply, turning from the door. His green eyes held that particular intensity that meant he'd been brooding about something since the feast. "Not anymore."
Ginny perched on a desk, swinging her legs. "So what is it then?"
"Survival training." Harry's jaw tightened. "Voldemort's not waiting for us to graduate. Neither should we."
The casual use of the name still made Neville flinch, though Hermione noticed he didn't go pale like he used to. The round-faced boy who'd fumbled through spells last year had a new steadiness to him, probably from facing Death Eaters at the Ministry and living to tell about it.
"You want to restart Dumbledore's Army," Hermione said, settling against a desk near Luna. The blonde girl was examining a dust mote with intense concentration, but Hermione knew better than to assume she wasn't listening.
"We need to," Harry said. "Snape as Defense professor? He'll teach us just enough to pass our exams and not a spell more. Meanwhile, Death Eaters are—" He stopped, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "People are dying. Our friends could be next."
"My dad says attacks are increasing," Neville offered quietly. "The Ministry's trying to keep it quiet, but St. Mungo's is overwhelmed."
Of course they're trying to keep it quiet. Can't have people panicking about the war they spent a year denying.
"So we train ourselves," Ginny said, her voice steady despite being the youngest in the room. "Like last year, but better. More focused."
"More dangerous," Ron pointed out. "Umbridge was one thing, but if Snape catches us—"
"Snape will have no offical reason to be against it, the rule that meetings like these are forbidden were Umbridge's rules, but all the extra rules are burned to the ground, and now we can have these meetings again. Snape will not be happy, but he is never happy."
Luna finally looked up from her dust mote. "The Room of Requirement would still be best for practical work. It provides whatever we need."
"Can we trust it?" Hermione asked. "After Marietta—"
"That was the parchment, not the room," Luna said dreamily. "The room keeps secrets very well. It has to, considering what people use it for."
"We'd need a proper schedule," Hermione said, her mind already organizing. "Focus on practical defense—shields, hexes, combat scenarios."
"Combat scenarios?" Ron looked uneasy. "We're not soldiers, Hermione."
"No, we're teenagers that Death Eaters will kill without hesitation," she snapped. "Would you rather practice stunning spells or learn to fight for real?"
"She's right," Neville said unexpectedly. Everyone turned to look at him. He flushed but continued, "At the Ministry, we weren't ready. We knew spells but not... not how to really fight. How to think when someone's trying to kill you."
The room fell silent. Hermione remembered the chaos of that night—spells flying, Dolohov's curse that still made her ribs ache sometimes, the panic of trying to keep everyone alive.
"We'll do both," Harry decided. "Basic defense for younger students who just want to pass their exams. Advanced combat training for anyone who wants to actually survive this war."
"Survival training," Ginny repeated softly. "That's really what this is now, isn't it?"
"The room will need preparation," Luna said, returning her attention to the dust mote. "Cleaning, protective enchantments, supplies organized. I'll help set it up."
"I can help too," Hermione offered, though something fluttered nervously in her stomach at the thought of being alone with Luna.
"Excellent." Luna smiled at her, serene and knowing. "We can start tonight after everyone's asleep. The room is always most cooperative when the castle is quiet."
"Right then," Harry said, looking more determined than he had all evening. "We'll start recruiting carefully. People we trust absolutely. No contracts this time—if someone betrays us, we'll handle it ourselves."
"Handle it how?" Ron asked nervously.
Harry's expression darkened. "However we need to."
"Meeting times?" Hermione asked, pulling out parchment to take notes.
"Varies by group," Harry said. "Beginners twice a week, advanced three times. I want core members training daily by Christmas."
"Daily?" Ron protested. "What about homework? Quidditch?"
"What about staying alive?" Ginny countered. "I'd rather fail Transfiguration than end up like... like Cedric."
Another silence. Hermione's quill scratched across parchment, the only sound in the warded room.
"Who's teaching?" Neville asked.
"All of us," Harry said. "Everyone who was at the Ministry has experience to share. Hermione, you're best at shield charms. Neville, you've gotten brilliant at disarming. Ron, you're actually decent at tactical thinking when you're not panicking."
"Thanks, I think," Ron muttered.
"Luna sees things others miss," Harry continued. "And Ginny's hexes are... creative."
"I prefer 'effective,'" Ginny said with a small smile.
"What about the older students?" Hermione asked. "Some of them might not want to learn from fifth and sixth years."
"Then they can enjoy Snape's lessons," Harry said flatly. "This isn't about ego. It's about survival."
Luna stood abruptly, startling everyone. "The room is calling. It wants to help." She looked directly at Hermione. "We should go prepare it now while its eagerness is fresh."
"Now?" Hermione asked weakly.
"The castle's magic is most pliable after midnight," Luna said matter-of-factly. "Besides, everyone will be busy with first-night celebrations in their common rooms. No one will notice us gone."
"She has a point," Harry said. "Best to get it ready before we start recruiting. Can you two handle it?"
Can I handle being alone with Luna in a room that becomes whatever you need it to be? Probably not.
"Of course," Hermione heard herself say.
"Brilliant." Harry looked around the group. "We'll meet again Thursday to finalize plans. Everyone think about who we can trust. We need fighters, not just students looking for extra credit."
"What about Slytherins?" Neville asked hesitantly.
"What about them?" Ron scoffed.
"Not all of them are Death Eaters' children," Neville said quietly. "Some might want to learn to defend themselves too."
"We'll consider anyone," Harry said after a pause. "But they'll need to prove themselves first. We can't afford mistakes."
"The war's not going to wait for us to be ready," Ginny said softly. "Is it?"
"No," Harry admitted. "That's why we start now."
They dispersed slowly, the weight of what they were planning settling over them. This wasn't last year's rebellion against a tyrannical teacher. This was preparation for war.
As Hermione gathered her things, Luna appeared at her elbow. "Twenty minutes," she said softly. "Seventh floor corridor. The room will be expecting us."
Then she was gone, leaving Hermione with a racing heart.
"You alright?" Harry asked, noticing her expression.
"Fine," Hermione lied. "Just thinking about everything we need to do."
"Yeah," Harry said heavily. "It's a lot. But we don't have a choice anymore, do we?"
"No," Hermione agreed, following him out of the classroom. "We really don't."
The seventh floor corridor was empty except for moonlight streaming through tall windows. Hermione found Luna standing before the familiar stretch of blank wall, her dirty blonde hair silver in the pale light. She wasn't wearing her school robes anymore, just a flowing lavender dress that looked like nightwear.
"You're early," Luna observed without turning around.
"Couldn't concentrate on anything else," Hermione admitted, moving to stand beside her. "How do we ask for what we need?"
"The room already knows." Luna began walking past the wall, her bare feet silent on the stone. "It's been listening to the castle's gossip. It wants to help keep students safe."
Hermione paced alongside her, thinking hard about what they needed—a training space, somewhere secure, with room for dueling and storage for supplies. On the third pass, the door materialized, its brass handle gleaming invitingly.
The room that appeared took Hermione's breath away. The main space was enormous, with high ceilings and padded floors perfect for dueling practice. Training dummies lined one wall, while another held shelves ready for books and supplies. But it was the far corner that made her stop short—a sectioned-off area with what looked suspiciously like a bed behind gauzy curtains.
"The room is very thoughtful," Luna said, drifting toward the curtained area. "It knows people need different kinds of release after training."
Of course it does. Fucking sentient architecture.
"We should focus on the training area," Hermione said firmly, turning toward the supply shelves. "These will need organizing systems, and we should test the shield capacity of the walls—"
"I've thought about your cock all summer."
Hermione froze. Luna had said it so casually.
"Luna, we're here to prepare the room for the DA."
"We are preparing it." Luna moved closer, her protuberant eyes fixed on Hermione's face. "Part of preparation is testing all its functions."
"That's not—"
"Do you know what I did last Tuesday?" Luna interrupted dreamily. "I was in the garden, supposedly looking for Dirigible Plums, but really I had my hand between my legs thinking about the last time you fucked me."
Heat shot through Hermione's body. "Luna..."
"Daddy asked why I was making such interesting noises. I told him I'd found a particularly impressive specimen." She tilted her head. "Would you like to give me something impressive to think about tonight?"
But Luna was already pressed against her, small hands sliding up to cup Hermione's face. Her lips were soft, tasting faintly of peppermint, and when she made a small needy sound, Hermione's control shattered.
"Fuck," she growled, gripping Luna's waist and spinning her toward the curtained area. "You want it that badly?"
"I've been empty all summer," Luna said simply. "It's very distracting."
Hermione pushed through the curtains to find exactly what she'd feared—a large bed with soft sheets and strategic positioning. The room really did provide what people needed.
"Get on the bed," she ordered, already hardening at the way Luna immediately obeyed. "And pull up that dress."
Luna arranged herself on the mattress, lavender fabric bunched around her waist. She wasn't wearing knickers, her pussy already glistening in the soft light.
"Such a needy little slut," Hermione breathed, her cock now fully hard and straining against her trousers. "Couldn't even wait to get properly naked."
"I like when you call me names," Luna said conversationally. "It makes my vagina flutter in the most interesting way."
Despite her arousal, Hermione nearly laughed. Only Luna could make dirty talk sound like a Herbology lecture.
She freed her cock, watching Luna's eyes go heavy-lidded at the sight. Eight inches of thick flesh, already leaking precum. The summer growth spurt had affected everything.
"Still want it?" Hermione asked, stroking herself slowly.
"Oh yes." Luna spread her legs wider. "I've been practicing with a cucumber, but it's not the same. Vegetables lack the proper warmth."
"For fuck's sake, Luna." Hermione climbed onto the bed, positioning herself between those pale thighs. "Only you would practice with produce."
"It seemed logical. Though I did worry about pesticide residue—oh!"
Hermione cut her off by sliding inside in one smooth thrust. Luna was wet and ready, her pussy gripping perfectly around Hermione's cock.
"Better than a cucumber?" Hermione asked, pulling back slowly.
"Much better," Luna gasped. "Though the comparison isn't really—fuck!"
Hermione slammed back in, setting a hard rhythm that made the bed creak. Luna's hands clutched at the sheets, her usually dreamy expression replaced by pure need.
"Such a perfect little whore," Hermione growled, gripping Luna's hips hard enough to bruise. "Taking my cock like you were made for it."
"Perhaps I was," Luna panted. "The universe does work in mysterious—harder!"
Hermione obliged, fucking into her with abandon. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she watched Luna fall apart beneath her, small breasts bouncing with each thrust.
"Touch yourself," she ordered. "Show me how desperate you are."
Luna's hand drifted between her legs, fingers finding her clit with practiced ease. The sight made Hermione's cock throb.
"Good girl. Play with that needy little pussy while I fuck you."
"Your dialogue has improved," Luna observed breathlessly. "Last term you mostly just cursed—oh, right there!"
Hermione had shifted angles, hitting that spot that made Luna's whole body tense. She reached down to tangle her fingers in blonde hair, pulling just hard enough to make Luna moan.
For a moment, the blonde strands seemed to lighten, becoming platinum silk in her grip. The face below her shifted, blue eyes instead of gray, aristocratic features twisted in pleasure—
"Please, Miss Granger. Fuck me harder."
Hermione blinked and Luna was back, but the image of Narcissa burned behind her eyelids. She fucked harder, trying to drive the vision away, but it clung stubbornly.
Narcissa spread beneath her, begging. Those perfect lips forming her name. "Hermione, please, I need—"
"You're thinking of someone else," Luna said matter-of-factly, even as her body shuddered with pleasure. "Someone with similar coloring but different bone structure."
"Shut up," Hermione snarled, embarrassment making her brutal. She pulled Luna's hair harder, angling her hips to drive deeper. "Just shut up and take it."
"I don't mind," Luna continued conversationally. "We all have our fantasies. Though yours seem particularly specific—"
Hermione kissed her hard, swallowing whatever observation was coming. Luna melted into it, her pussy clenching rhythmically as she approached orgasm.
"Come for me," Hermione commanded against her lips. "Come on my cock like the perfect little slut you are."
Luna obeyed with a sharp cry, her whole body arching as pleasure overtook her. The feeling of her pussy pulsing triggered Hermione's own orgasm, and she buried herself deep as she came, filling Luna with hot spurts.
They lay tangled together afterward, both panting. The post-orgasm clarity brought its usual wave of guilt, and Hermione carefully pulled out, already reaching for her wand to cast cleaning charms.
"You don't have to feel bad," Luna said softly. "About thinking of someone else."
"I wasn't—"
"Hermione." Luna sat up, fixing her with that penetrating stare. "We're not girlfriends. We're friends who sometimes fuck because we both need it. You don't owe me romantic feelings."
"It's not fair to you," Hermione said quietly. "Using you as a... a substitute."
"Am I complaining?" Luna tilted her head. "I quite enjoy our activities. And I'm hardly pining away with unrequited love."
"Still—"
"The person you're actually thinking about," Luna interrupted. "She has very distinctive coloring. Silver-blonde, I'd say. Quite striking."
Hermione's stomach dropped. "Luna—"
"We should actually prepare the room now," Luna said brightly, climbing off the bed and smoothing down her dress. "The protective wards won't cast themselves."
She wandered back into the main training area, leaving Hermione to hastily dress and follow. They spent the next hour in comfortable silence, Luna humming while she arranged cushions and Hermione casting every protective charm she knew.
"This will do nicely," Luna said finally, surveying their work. "The room is pleased."
"How can you tell?"
"It's humming. Can't you hear it?" Luna drifted toward the door. "Same time tomorrow?"
"For room preparation?"
"If that's what you'd like to call it." Luna smiled serenely. "Your silver-blonde aura is particularly vibrant tonight. Whoever she is, she's lucky to inspire such passion."
Before Hermione could respond, Luna was gone, leaving her alone with training dummies and the lingering scent of sex.
Hermione sank onto a cushion, head in her hands. This was getting too complicated. Luna, Narcissa, now even Professor Garlick making her stomach flutter...
What the hell is wrong with me?
But she knew the answer. War made everything urgent, every feeling magnified. When death could come tomorrow, the body demanded life today.
She just wished her body would stop demanding impossible things, like wanting to fuck Professor Garlick.
Standing with a sigh, Hermione gave the room one last check before heading back to Gryffindor Tower. Tomorrow they'd start recruiting for the DA, preparing for a war that grew closer every day.
Tonight, she'd lie in bed and try not to think about silver-blonde hair and desperate kisses that tasted like the end of the world.
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