Chapter Text
Everyone knew, in horrifying detail, all of Hermione’s kinks, and it was all George Weasley's fault. Or Ginny's. It was hard to say which ginger hellion was at the root of transforming Hermione’s social life into a living hellscape but once she confirmed it she would be exacting extensive retribution.
'Midsummer Mischief and Merriment! Potions Potluck' the invitation had read. A midsummer party at the Burrow had become something of a tradition in the years since the war. It usually included quidditch, various Weasley Wizarding Wheezes entertainments, and copious amounts of food and alcohol.
The Burrow was an ideal spot for such a gathering. The sprawling yard was hemmed in by a small lake on one side and forest on the other. Lights were strung in the trees and bright collections of mismatched rugs, couches, and large pillows were scattered about. As the night wore on bonfires would be lit, fireworks set off, and invariably at least a handful of people would end up diving in the lake.
The gathering had a laid-back, bohemian vibe to it that Hermione loved. She had leaned into it this year by wearing a red wrap maxi dress patterned with little blue and white flowers, and she’d applied enough Sleakeazy potion that her hair fell in long loose waves.
Attendance had grown steadily as people paired off and expanded their social circle beyond Gryffindor alumni, so that, now in its fifth year, Hermione guessed there were at least fifty people who had turned up.
The twist to this year's festivities, the 'potions potluck', was, of course, a Weasley brainchild.
The sadist who had contributed Veritaserum had yet to be identified.
Every guest had been asked to bring a single dose of a potion of their choosing. Hermione had magnanimously brewed up a batch of Baruffio's Brain Elixir for the occasion. She had presented it to George when she arrived, he had verified the contents, and added it to a table laden with dozens of colourful vials.
Not being a quidditch player, she spent the afternoon lounging, enjoying wine spritzers, and catching up with her non-quidditch loving friends, like Luna Lovegood, Rolf Scamander, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Neville Longbottom, the Patil twins and little Dennis Creevey.
It was especially good to have a chance to chat with Neville, who she hadn't seen much of since he had become a professor at Hogwarts. How much he had changed- growing into a tall, broad shouldered, confusingly attractive man- still caught her off guard. It was almost surreal to talk with him and find the vestiges of his shy and awkward ways, the self depreciation and sheepish mannerisms, poking through such a fit exterior.
In spite of the fact he wasn't even her type she had to keep checking in with herself to verify she wasn’t leering at him; in a close fitting white short sleeve oxford and sporting a few days' stubble, he was more distracting than usual.
Parvati seemed quite keen on him, and Hermione could hardly blame her, although she thought Neville could do rather better. But then, Hermione had always had 'her boys'- Harry, Ron, Neville, George, Viktor- that she tended to be extremely protective over. So she did her best to find Parvati's flirting amusing rather than irritating.
After the big quidditch match had wrapped up and everyone had partaken of the massive spread of food Molly and a few others had prepared, the lounge areas began to fill and the quidditch players applied themselves to catching up with the day-drinkers.
As the sun slipped away and it grew dark, trays bearing identical vials of silvery blue potion began to circulate.
Hermione had swirled and sniffed at her vial, but whatever glamour had been cast to render all the potions identical had been very thorough. She had no idea what it held.
She was chatting with Dean Thomas and Ron when George, standing atop a table, sent up a burst of gold sparks from his wand to get everyone's attention before lifting his own potion vial dramatically, "Drink up everyone! First aid station is in the kitchen."
Hermione laughed along with everyone else, offered Dean and Ron a cheers, and upended her mystery concoction.
A low grade chaos ensued as the potions took effect. She watched as Dean withered and grayed under the effects of an Ageing Potion, Dennis Creevey began speaking in a disconcerting basso profundo, and Ron started babbling incoherently.
It wasn’t until Parvati, whose hair had turned an eye-watering neon pink, asked Hermione how she looked that Hermione realized what she herself had ingested.
"It looks absolutely horrid," she responded immediately, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
Parvati, looking mortally offended, viciously muttered something and hurried off.
"I'm sorry!" Hermione called after her, before cursing to herself, "Bloody buggering fuck!"
"What is it?" asked a squeaky voice. Hermione looked down to see a miniature version of Lee Jordan, as she imagined he must have looked when he’d first come to Hogwarts. Shrinking Solution, she thought.
"I think I've taken Veritaserum," came her involuntary answer.
His eyes lit up, "Oh, this is going to be gooood. " He darted off.
Hermione turned helplessly to Ron, "Shit, what do I do?"
"Twas twilly in cabbage sleighs," her ex-boyfriend replied sympathetically, "Leaky brick bit cauldrons grow over tweed."
Hermione groaned. She began surveying who was where, trying to calculate her greatest liabilities and the best options for retreat.
She made her way over to the makeshift bar where Hannah Abbott was mixing up cocktails. Drinking was a good excuse for not talking, she reasoned, and Hufflepuffs were probably the least likely to exploit her current predicament.
With a fresh spritzer in hand she stuck to the perimeter of the yard. She kept in constant motion, trying to appear as if she was looking for someone, so she could get by on offering apologetic nods instead of getting drawn into conversation.
It seemed that Ageing Potions, hair altering potions, and Strengthening Solution had been popular choices, although many people seemed physically uneffected, like herself. Considering the balance of probability, she imagined a lot of people had just brought something they had on hand, like Wideye, Pepper Up, or Draught of Peace potions.
She also suspected the Veritaserum she'd ingested had been a very strong dose, and couldn't imagine who had brewed it. Even her thoughts felt uncharacteristically frank. She had just hit on the idea of going into the house to hide out until the effects diminished when Lee reappeared with George and Seamus in tow.
"How are you feeling, love?" George asked, sidling up to her.
"Pretty fucking concerned, George."
"Got the Veritaserum, did you?"
"Yep," she popped the 'p', "Not feeling real good about it, if I'm honest."
"So you don't want to tell us about all the snogging you did in the Hogwarts library, then?" Seamus ribbed.
"I do not."
"But you did do some snogging in the library?" he pressed, smiling devilishly.
"Ugh... yes. Fine, yes," she swallowed uncomfortably, feeling the potion's effect intensifying, urging her to volunteer more information. Offer up that it was Viktor Krum who had pressed her up against the shelves in the arithmancy section, hands wandering beneath hems, lips and teeth adorning her neck with little bruises she'd had to conceal.
Her answer earned an incongruous wolf whistle from the childlike Lee, drawing more attention.
"What’s going on here?" Angelina slid an arm around George's waist, looking up expectantly.
"Granger pulled Veritaserum."
"Oooh, really?" Alicia Spinnet came stumbling up behind Angelina, clearly having had a few drinks already, "Does that mean we're finally going to find out if she had her tits done?"
"Sorry, what? " Hermione was in disbelief.
"Your tits," Alicia said matter-of-factly, "You were always just a skinny little thing, then bam! " She threw an arm out in the general direction of Hermione’s chest, "Huge tits. Did you have them done?"
"No, of course not!" the emphatic negative might not have even been the work of the potion. She crossed her arms self consciously, suddenly very aware of how low her wrap dress plunged between her breasts.
"Alicia!" Angelina admonished.
"What? It's a compliment," Alicia flicked her hair over her shoulder and smiled broadly at Hermione, "You have a great rack."
"Sorry, Hermione," Angelina winced, "She loses her filter when she's drunk."
"Oi! I'm not drunk . Hey, why don't you ask about the thing? Brunch or whatever? You were just saying-"
Angelina hissed at Alicia, then turned back to Hermione, "Sorry, I had mentioned that we missed you at the last couple Sunday brunches and wondered why you didn't show."
Hermione sucked her teeth, she felt an answer catching in her throat.
"Hey, yeah," George seemed to remember, "Where were you anyway? Oops, sorry! Didn't mean to-"
Hermione looked apologetically at Ron, who had just walked up, as the answer spilled out, "I skipped it to go to the bookstore one week, and the beach the other time. Because of Katie, because I didn't want to make things awkward when Ginny was trying to set her up with Ron. I figured having the ex-girlfriend hanging about all the time would be uncomfortable. It wasn’t… ergh. I don’t- no offense to anyone."
"Smumphy caves under purple flick taters. Ring chomp before grindylows," it was difficult to decipher Ron's tone exactly, but he didn't sound completely pissed off, so Hermione took it as a win
Just then Harry pushed through the group, which was rapidly becoming a crowd, appearing at her side.
She nearly sagged with relief.
"What’s going on here?" he asked.
"I got Veritaserum," Hermione seethed, happily offering up information this time, "I'm being interrogated with invasive and inappropriate questions."
"Hmmm," he surveyed the people standing round and slung an arm over Hermione’s shoulders, "Say, who's your very best friend, Hermione?"
"You are, you twat," she gave him a sharp poke.
"That's my girl," he laughed and kissed her temple.
"You're supposed to help, not join in!" she protested.
"Well maybe me helping depended on your answer," he teased.
"Flake pickle jump clock," Ron muttered.
"Alright folks!" Harry announced, "Let’s keep this civilized, yeah? Remember who you’re dealing with: she can and will hex you into next week if you get out of line. Keep it on the up and up."
"So, what do you reckon, Hermione- could Harry have done it without you?" Oliver Wood joshed from the back of the group, which was now two or three people deep in places.
She looked up into her best friend's bright green eyes with a smug smile, "Absolutely not."
Harry laughed and grinned down at her with profound affection, "Well everyone knows that ."
"Going to be Minister for Magic, Hermione?" Percy asked with false levity.
She turned on him with narrowed eyes. Percy, the calculating git, definitely saw her as political competition.
"It's truth serum, not prophecy fuel," she bit out. She understood his underlying question, but he hadn’t been direct enough to compel an answer.
"Oi! Hermione!" George called, "Who's the best looking bloke you know?" He bounced his eyebrows suggestively, preening a little to draw a laugh.
Hermione sunk her teeth into her tongue, shaking her head as she felt the answer clawing its way up her throat. "Draco Malfoy," she choked out miserably.
Guffaws and exclamations of disbelief followed the scandalous revelation.
"Barnacles! Net faucet gum syrup! Buck hat!" Ron spluttered, clearly furious.
"She likes blondes, boys!" Dennis Creevey declared smugly, his voice still absurdly deep.
Alicia catcalled, "Go on, what do you like about him?"
Hermione looked at Alicia in disbelief as the answer began its advance up to her traitorous mouth, "His body, that arse, how tall he is, the hair, his eyes- the- the posh accent. His hands, " she rambled miserably, details plucked from her most secret fantasies pouring forth, "His beautiful neck and-and- just the whole thing, all of it. Fuck! Fuckfuckityfuckfuck!"
That sent Ron on a good long ramble. Even Harry stepped back with wide eyes and a shocked ' Hermione!' .
If she didn't think she would splinch herself she would have apparated on the spot. She was never going to live this down. Nearly twenty people must have heard that confession.
Somehow she had become the evening's entertainment, which was really saying something given that the entire party was practically a circus sideshow at this point.
She looked around desperately for an ally. Ginny was a ways off and had evidently imbibed a Strengthening Solution, given that she was apparently trying to lift Jimmy Peakes and Andrew Kirke simultaneously.
Hannah was still manning the bar. Luna had drifted closer but she seemed preoccupied with Rolf's hair, which was bright green and standing on end. And while Harry’s faith in her ability to handle herself was generally appreciated, it was decidedly inconvenient at the moment.
"What did you think of Percy's last girlfriend?" Lee queried in his high-pitched, prepubescent voice.
"Vapid social climber," Hermione winced saying it, but it seemed relatively innocuous at this point.
"Who's the smartest Weasley?" Angelina asked, looking mischievously up at George.
Hermione huffed a laugh, "Molly."
"Ever hook up with Kingsley?" Anthony Goldstein tried to play it off like a joke, but he was another ambitious Ministry worker she knew was trying to ferret out the competition.
"Of course not," she rolled her eyes, "Seriously, Anthony?"
"Ever have it off at work?" Parvati's question was laced with venom, her troll doll-esque hair now plaited and mostly hidden beneath a shawl she had put on.
"N-no, really- not- really," Hermione ground out. It was sort of a technicality; she interpreted 'having it off' as full sex, but knew not everyone did. The potion was strong enough to make it a challenge.
"Ever snogged a witch?" Dean's voice was comically brittle with his newfound old age.
Hermione groaned and began looking for an exit that wouldn't qualify as out and out fleeing. Her answer was sliding inexorably toward the tip of her tongue. "Yes," she snapped, again working to keep back a fuller answer.
Ginny had been very adamant before their third and fourth years that they needed to practice their snogging. There had also been a time or two more recently when she had been out at a muggle club and been drawn into laughing, panting, grinding snogs on the dance floor.
"What all are you into, Granger?" Seamus asked, sounding slightly awed, as Alicia cackled: "Spill it, girl- what turns you on?"
Hermione’s brain ran riot and she could feel all of her fantasies being plundered, their contents distilling themselves to answers that were pushing up from her lungs, fighting to fly free from her lips.
Seamus and Alicia might not have been asking the questions in earnest, but the Veritaserum didn't make that distinction.
" Fucking hell , I-I," every muscle in her body clenched against the rising tide of intimate information she was holding behind her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms and her eyes squeezed shut. Still, it only took a moment for the pressure to become overwhelming and her secrets poured unrelentingly forth: "I like it rough, from someone tall and strong who could throw me around if they wanted to. Edging is- is- I want to be teased, toyed with, even tied up, before being fucked hard . Feeling him come hard inside me, knowing it'll be dripping from me for hours; it's like being marked, and that's what I want. Bitemarks and bruises too. I love giving head, taking my time and taking him all in if I can, until he loses control and fucks my face. And-and danger. The idea of possibly being caught, or that we didn't use protection, doing it in places we shouldn't, or having a hand around my throat. And talking. I love it when a man says filthy, harsh, dirty things to me in bed or to get me going. I want him to tell me that I'm a good girl, to praise me or-or punish me."
The litany of kinks finally drew to a close. She took a shaky breath, forcing her eyes open even as she kept her gaze fixed on the ground. Her face felt so hot she could barely stand it, and she pressed the back of a hand to one of her burning cheeks.
It was so much quieter now than the raucous reactions to earlier revelations.
The near silence was broken by an explosion of furious nonsense from Ron, "Duck bell alimony! Cut to walking shout floo bid true sue bat wreath! Grumbly cheek snifters pip dive!" On and on.
It spurred a chorus of 'bloody hells', ' Merlin s', 'what the fuck?s' and general whistles and catcalls.
Still, the pervasive muttering in indistinct low voices that followed was infinitely worse. Speculation, judgment. The beginning, she knew, of a reputation .
Poor Ron, still sputtering in impotent rage, with whom she had shared almost none of the proclivities she had named. More hurt feelings. Another blow to their still fragile friendship and Ron's always fragile ego.
Hermione felt frozen, well beyond mortification now. She didn't know what to do to make this horrible situation end. She chanced a glance around, finding that no one would meet her eye.
They had gone too far, she had said too much.
In the midst of a rising panic she registered someone gripping her elbow and looked up into kind hazel eyes.
"Want to take a walk?" Neville asked quietly.
"Please," she swallowed hard, "Yes."
The gentle pressure of his hand against her lower back was reassuring as they walked off together.
She couldn't hear anything beyond the blood pounding in her ears, Neville might have said something but it didn’t register. He pressed a drink into her hand; he had grabbed her cup from where she had abandoned it in the midst of all her involuntary confessions.
She gratefully downed her drink and began to shake off her stupor. She tranfigured her cup into a jar that she filled with bluebell flames and sent floating a little ways in front of them.
"Thank you," she said shyly, looking up at him from the side of her eye.
"No worries. I hope you're alright," he offered a tentative smile, "I'll do my best not to ask any questions while the potion's still working."
"Thank you, I really appreciate it," she sighed and looped her arm through his, "The world needs more Neville Longbottoms."
He reached over to give her hand a squeeze. "Veritaserum was a horrible thing for someone to put in. I'm sorry that got so out of hand, I should've done something."
"Not your fault. I should've walked away sooner," she wrinkled her nose, "It's my own damn pride that's to blame."
"Occupational hazard of being a Gryffindor," he gave a wry smile, "We'll never learn."
"You seem to have escaped unscathed tonight, what was it you got?" she asked curiously, realizing he looked, sounded, and was acting the same as usual.
"Manegro," he chuckled, turning his head slightly so she could see the bun his newly elongated hair had been pulled into, "I nicked a hair elastic from Gin."
"Oh. It suits you, I think."
"I'd like to believe that’s a compliment, so I don’t think I'll be asking you if that's a good thing for a while yet," he grinned down into her face, and she was surprised when it sent a little thrill through her.
She was becoming increasingly aware of how firmly muscled the arm she was leaning against was, of how much skin to skin contact their arms were making now.
They walked on in comfortable silence from the yard, through the meadow where quidditch was usually played, and onto the path leading into the forest. The lights of the party were growing distant but the moon was nearly full and her jar of bluebell flames illuminated the path, lending an eerie blue glow to the undergrowth.
It was an old forest, with tall trees that grew out of a sea of ferns and flowers. The foliage was sprinkled over with thousands of glow-worms emitting small pulsing green lights, like an earthly reflection of the constellations above. Even at night the woods were alive with the sounds of birds, insects, and frogs.
There was nothing magical about it, but it was undeniably enchanting. It offered Hermione a moment of distraction from the pit in her stomach and the embarrassing scene that was playing on a loop in her head.
"It's just so humiliating ," she finally whined, unable to physically contain the level of shame she was feeling any longer, "The things I said- how can I face anyone ever again? Merlin, what you must think of me…"
She drew her hand from Neville’s elbow and crossed her arms defensively, wishing she could just fold in on herself and hide away someplace.
"Hermione, it's really not that bad."
"It's catastrophic. You don't need to sugarcoat it for me, I was there. I know. I saw everyone's faces."
"It's not as terrible as you think, honestly. People were maybe a bit… surprised… to hear that from you but it's not like you said anything outrageous," he reasoned, "Well, maybe the Malfoy thing."
Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands.
"Sorry, sorry, only teasing," he patted her back consolingly, "What I meant is that people, even our friends- actually, especially our friends- don't expect us to change. Believe me, I know. They still see me as a chubby, hapless herbology nerd. You're still the brainy little Golden Girl. The idea that you're a grown witch with a sex life is a new one, but they'll get over it."
"I appreciate that, Neville, I do, but the things I said.. they weren't things people just say. To anyone. Ever. I mean, we're living in a society here."
He huffed a laugh, "Really, most of them are drunk or hopped up on Wideye Potion, they probably won't remember much. Though I'm sure the blokes will hang on to a few details."
He sounded a bit bitter at the last and Hermione peeked up at him, "What do you mean?"
"Hermione," Neville sounded almost pained, "What you said was incredibly… provocative. I don’t want to make you feel any more awkward but, Merlin, those lads will be thinking fondly about that for a good long time. Will probably try it on with you too."
He looked as close to sneering as Hermione had ever seen him.
Was he… jealous? Hermione bit her lip, considering. The idea of a Neville who found what she had said provocative , who didn’t like the idea of other men coming on to her, was kind of exciting. Gratifying in a way she couldn’t quite parse yet.
She ceased walking, reaching out for his wrist to stop him as well. Face to face now she was very aware that he was at least a foot taller than her, and found herself suddenly conscious of all his details; the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, the little scars smattered in his stubble, the way his khakis hung low on his hips.
"Neville," her voice came out a bit breathy, unsure, "What do you think about what I said?"
He cleared his throat and looked like he was struggling with something, "I… liked it. I really liked it."
She gave a little nod and resumed walking, studying the ground and making a show of avoiding some large roots that threaded their path, buying time to think.
"Just so you know, I haven’t actually done all the things that I said back there. Some of it was extrapolation, or conjecture, sort of." She was grateful to be walking ahead of him as she rushed out this clarification.
He made a vague noise of acknowledgement and then they walked a little ways in silence.
"Do you think-- no, sorry, it's hard not to ask questions," Neville apologized then tried a different tack, "I was thinking that a bit of a quid pro quo might make you feel better."
"A quid pro quo?" her heart sped up and she stopped walking again, turning to face him.
He cleared his throat nervously, "Yeah, I could maybe tell you some of my-"
"Yes, please," she cut in, looking up at him with wide eyes, suddenly very aware of the rise and fall of her chest.
He stepped closer. "Well, I have to say, what you said about liking it rough, I understand the appeal of that," his hand moved, almost unconsciously it seemed, to run down her arm, his fingers brushing her stomach and hip along the way, "And of course, I am still a herbology nerd, so there's obviously appeal to a greenhouse, and certainly something to be said for the outdoors," his voice pitched even lower and for a moment his eyes moved to the forest surrounding them, "There's something primal about that, being in nature, exposed and just instinctive. It almost seems… ritualistic. Like the pagans did it, the old ways."
Her breath hitched, "Have you done that before?"
"No, never."
She summoned up all her Gryffindor bravery to murmur, "Would you like to?"
Neville’s eyes met hers with an incredible intensity, "Hermione, I'd like to ask you a question."
"Okay," she whispered.
He reached up to run his fingers through her hair, sliding his hand around to the nape of her neck. He bent low and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then high on her left cheekbone, then just to the right of her mouth.
He pulled back and looked at her steadily for a moment before asking, "Do you want this?"
She surged up to capture his mouth with her own, mumbling "Yes" against his lips at the Veritaserum's insistence.
The effect was instantaneous. Neville’s arms wound about her and he kissed her back hungrily.
She remembered her first kiss with Ron and the awkward awareness she'd had that they were friends whose mouths were touching . With Neville, she found there a confidence that came from knowing him well, but enough lusty heat to drive away any remotely platonic thoughts.
He was uncharted territory and she wanted to explore everywhere. Her hands moved restlessly over his hips, up his back, along his broad shoulders, finding nothing but firm, flexing muscle beneath her fingertips. She wanted to press more fully against him but the difference in their heights made it impossible without breaking their kiss, and forfeiting the things he was doing with his lips and tongue was unthinkable. She whimpered in frustration.
Neville seemed to be thinking along the same lines because in the next instant his hand was sliding inside the wrap of her dress, pulling it open, before lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around him and thrilled at the feel of her core, now covered by nothing but her tiny knickers, being spread wide and pushed flush against his abdominals.
He pulled away from her lips and began a kissing, biting path down her neck. He sucked hard at the base of her throat and she moaned at both the sensation and the thought of what a mark it would leave.
"Still okay?" he panted.
"Yes, definitely, yes."
"I want you to say 'mandrake' if anything's not okay," he said between his ministrations, "Will you do that?"
"Y-yes," she managed, then he laid a biting, sucking kiss just above her collarbone and she cried out, "Yes! God, Neville, yes."
"Good girl."
She whimpered and began to grind against him, getting some of the friction she desperately craved. He pulled aside the top of her dress to find her breasts pouring out of a too-small red brassiere, part of a lacy matching set she couldn’t resist wearing with her red dress in spite of the skimpy fit.
He pulled one cup aside to expose an ample breast with a rosy nipple, stiffened from rubbing against his chest.
"You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen," Neville fairly growled, "I want every inch of you. I am going to touch, lick, fuck every little bit."
He bent his head and she felt the drag of his teeth on her breast before he took the nipple in his mouth, sucking and pulling.
Neville’s hand snaked over her hip and between her legs, rubbing roughly through her dress until she felt the slightest penetration of her entrance by a large, curling, fabric-covered finger.
It was an unbelievable turn on to have good, sweet Neville with her nipple between his teeth, his hand between her legs, saying the filthiest things she'd ever heard.
Hermione was moving instinctively against him, her back arching with tension as she neared her breaking point. "Please, more- I'm getting close," she begged.
Neville left off his attentions to her breast and captured her lips in a searing kiss. Then his hand stilled. She pulled back to look at him, dazed, her brow furrowed.
"Not letting you off that easy," he said, and never had his sweet smile looked so wicked. He kissed her again and set her down.
He pulled at the tie at her waist, which was already loose, then pushed her dress off her shoulders to pool on the dirt path.
As he reached around to twist open the clasp on her bra he leaned in close, nipping at her earlobe, whispering raggedly, "I want you laid out skyclad on the earth, completely exposed."
Then he pulled her knickers down, leaving her naked before him.
She was transfixed by the look on his face as his hands roamed everywhere, paying the same reverent attention to her wrists, collarbones, and stomach as he did to her breasts and her thighs.
When she began to unbutton his shirt he withdrew his wand, casting over her shoulder. She recognized a cushioning charm but couldn't identify the second spell he cast. She glanced back to find a small circular area had formed just to the side of the path, where the ferns and other plants had flattened, blanketing the forest floor.
Hermione smiled impishly up at him, "Clever."
"Plants are usually pretty accommodating," he offered with a lopsided grin, before shrugging out of his shirt.
She opened her mouth to make some cheeky reply but, confronted with his bare chest, she lost her train of thought. All thoughts. She had no thoughts.
It took her a moment to recover. She knew he was fit and she knew kissing him was delightful, but that had somehow still not prepared her for how viscerally attractive the man was. Attractive in a very primal, screaming-ovaries, soak-your-knickers, have-you-a-fainting-chaise? sort of way.
He was all muscles and tan. She wasn't usually one for chest hair, but in the context of a man who was about to throw her down in the forest and rut her like it was Beltane, she found it rather suited.
Kissing, walking, stumbling Neville guided her back to the little space he’d prepared for them and eased her to the ground. Kneeling between her legs he looked down at her with an awestruck expression,
"Merciful Morrigan, look at you all spread out for me." He leaned over her and brought a hand to her neck, giving a gentle squeeze, before trailing it down between her breasts, then lower to her stomach.
"Such a little thing," he said wonderingly. He laid both his hands flat at the small of her waist, nearly circling it. She began to squirm impatiently under his touch as his fingers roved over her hips, petting from her navel down to her mound.
"This is hardly fair," she grumbled and reached up for his belt, drawing a chuckle from him. She unclasped the buckle and then flicked open the button of his khakis, drawing down the fly. He tugged down his trousers and pants, twisting away to kick them off. When he returned to his place between her thighs he was bare.
Hermione’s eyes flew wide at the sight and suddenly she understood his preoccupation with her size. Neville Longbottom had easily the largest cock she had ever seen.
It was like a book with a twist ending that threw the whole story into a new light: all through his awkward adolescence, his bravery in the war, and now his mild mannered professorial persona, there had been this somewhat definitive sexual trump card hidden away.
She looked between his rather massive appendage and her own abdomen where her stomach dipped between her hip bones. She tried to imagine how they could possibly fit together.
It was daunting and arousing in equal measure.
"I don't have my wand," she glanced meaningfully at her abdomen, where she would typically aim a contraceptive charm.
His eyes bore into hers, "Do we need it?"
"No, I don't think we do," Hermione thrilled at the thought. She was a smart witch, she knew her cycle, and the timing couldn't be better.
He kissed her fiercely and she sucked lightly at his tongue to draw him in. Her hips lifted from the earth, seeking his.
"Good," he shifted so that she felt the velvety head of his cock brushing at the apex of her thighs, "I don't want anything between us tonight."
She reached for him, but had only wrapped a hand around his girthy shaft when he pulled her away. "None of that yet, love," he took hold of her other hand as well and pressed them over her head, "Now, do you need a sticking charm or can you be good?"
Her mouth went dry. "I can be good."
"I hope so. I know you, Hermione," he said darkly as he kissed down her neck, roughly palming a breast, "You always know all the rules, but that never stops you breaking them, does it?"
"N-no," Veritaserum never rests, she whinged internally, "But I can be good. I can be good for you."
His eyes flashed to hers and she could've sworn she saw his pupils dilate, "Fuck, Hermione, I'm going to have to buy a Pensieve after this."
He then busied his mouth with blazing a trail south; roving over the hills of her breasts, down the valley of her stomach, delving his tongue into the well of her navel, before moving to explore the oasis between her thighs.
He worked her over with broad swipes of his tongue, testing and tasting. She squirmed but obediently kept her hands over her head. She felt the pull of his lips and the probe of his tongue, alternately teasing her clit and sliding between her folds.
Seeing his head between her legs, with that new manbun, it was just more of the unexpected from her oldest friend, and it only made her more aroused.
She was pulled from her contemplation of expectations versus reality by a sharp nip to her inner thigh and she squealed at the unexpected pain. He kissed the spot tenderly then repeated the action on her other thigh. She braced for more pinching little bites but instead felt the thrust of his fingers entering her, working her open, curling to find the right spot. She arched off the ground in ecstatic surprise then writhed down against his hand. She rode his fingers as he alternately nipped her thighs and tongued her clit, over and over, until she wasn’t sure whether she was closer to sobbing or orgasm. Her arms were still held over her head but they were shaking with the effort it took to keep them there instead of digging her hands into his hair to hold his face to her cunt until she finally found relief.
"I'm so close! Don't stop, don't stop, oh fuck , I'm so close!" she babbled.
He stopped.
He crawled over her, kissed her with a rolling, languid passion, and let the head of his cock rub teasingly along her folds. She could taste her own savory tang on his tongue and chased it, licking and sucking.
When he broke away it was to kiss his way back down and then rock his knuckles against her centre while he set his mouth to work on her clit.
"Neville," she whimpered brokenly, "Nev."
"What do you want, love?" he rasped, licking his lips as he looked up at her from between her trembling legs.
"I need you. Please fuck me, please . I can’t take any more."
" Such a good girl, such a perfect, perfect little witch," Neville groaned, his hands ran up and down her body, "Roll over for me now."
Hermione obeyed, breathing hard as she pressed her forehead into soft fern leaves. The evening air felt cool against her naked back and she heard something small scamper through the brush nearby, though she couldn’t see anything through the thick curtain of her hair.
Neville wrapped his hands around her hips and drew them up, "It'll be easier for you like this. Morrigan- this arse, " He began to knead the firm, rounded globes that she pressed back to him, "Always knew you were bloody gorgeous, but your body-," he let put a long exhale. She felt the loss of one of his hands and then the prodding tip of his cock at her entrance, "Pensieve. Tomorrow."
Then she felt him finally, finally sliding in. She moaned and wiggled at the promise of some relief for the tension that felt almost suffocating. He was moving agonizingly slowly but it just kept going; more and more stretch as he filled her, pushing steadily against the resistance of her tight pussy. She sucked in a harsh breath as a sharp pain surprised her, then bowed her back to find a new angle.
"Almost there," Neville’s voice was strained, "Say if you want me to stop. Almost- almost-"
He gave a shuddering breath as she felt the press of his hips against her and had an odd little swell of pride when knew she had taken in all of him. He began to move, tentatively.
"You're okay? Does it hurt?" he checked.
"Yes, but it’s good. So good. I'm- more. Please, more," she gasped.
"Always precocious," his thrusts became more decisive, "You said you wanted it rough, wanted to be fucked hard . Do you want that now?"
"Yes! Yes I want it!"
“Always exceeding expectations,” he jabbered, “You’re so good, so fucking good. Always, always-”
He began pulling out further, pushing back in more forcefully, driving into her relentlessly. Her cunt was clenching and flexing around his length, forced to take more than it ever had before. She felt so full, like he had found some space in her beyond her cunt to fill.
Neville's grip on her hips was bruising. "Doing this out here- the full moon- do you feel it? This is old magic. I can feel it building, feel it- there, " he thrust deep.
She did feel it. The expansiveness of the forest, the silvery light of the moon, and their uninhibited and unprotected coupling were all coalescing, swelling within her. If she'd had a wand in hand she'd no idea what might happen.
Neville’s arm slid up under her chest and he pulled her up until she was leaning back against his chest. He reached around to fondle her breasts and she felt completely enveloped by his larger frame.
Her moans were nearing the register of a scream and in the middle of a forest she had no idea how far the sound might carry. Somehow she either didn't care or couldn't help herself, she couldn't parse such subtleties right now.
He continued driving up into her with a rough abandon, pulling her tight to him so that she could feel his rumbling sort of growl in her own chest, "I want you to tell me when you're about to come, will you do that?"
"No," she whimpered, looking up over her shoulder at him. She was still compelled to speak truthfully.
His eyebrows shot up, "No?"
"I'll try, I'll try to, but I want to come so badly- Neville, please ," she panted, feeling like she could cry with how badly she wanted it. Her whole body was nothing but aching want.
He pulled out of her and she whined in a way that would have been absolutely mortifying if she'd had the mental capacity for such a thing. He half lifted her to turn her round and lay her down on the forest floor. He laid himself over her, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss as he buried his cock in her once more.
He pulled and twisted at her nipples, seemingly fixated by the bounce of her large breasts as he bucked into her. "I want to see your face when you come. Want to feel all of you."
"You feel so good. So fucking good," she chanted.
Her hand drifted down below her navel, questing for her clit, but she jerked and gasped when she felt his cock pushing against her palm. She nearly came right then, feeling his thrusts distending her stomach over and over.
She grabbed for Neville’s hand and pressed it flat against her, over the little bulge that was insistently rising and retreating.
"Do you feel that?" she panted, "It's you."
" Morrigan, fuck- Hermione," he groaned, "That’s-- you're such a little thing and look at how you take me. So good. Such a good girl."
Her face was pressed against his shoulder and as his words sent her right up to the verge of oblivion she bit hard into the muscle there, stifling a scream.
He hissed, "You're going to make me come so deep, so much- it's going to be spilling out of you, all over the soil. We're going to mark this place in the old way. Fuck , Hermione, I'm- I'm going to-"
"Please, now, please!" she begged incoherently. She wasn't sure if she was screaming, crying, or biting. Maybe all three.
He was going to come with nothing between them, no pill, potion, condom, or charm. He was going to fill her rapacious little cunt until she overflowed.
Suddenly her magic was singing in her veins and she was falling over the edge of the cliff she had thought Neville might make her live on the brink of for forever.
She vaguely registered Neville yelling hoarsely above her. She twisted and writhed as her orgasm ripped through her. Her muscles were contracting with futility around Neville’s cock, with no real room to move, and then she felt the pressure of his release filling her beyond capacity. It was like being hit with another orgasm before the last had finished cresting and her vision actually darkened around the edges. It radiated out to the very tips of her fingers, riotous energy flowing out to Neville, to the forest floor, out beyond .
Neville collapsed on top of her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, still pulsing erratically around his cock, feeling their come leaking from her, warm and sticky.
They lay there for a couple minutes, panting and boneless before he rolled to his back, pulling her with him and wrapping her in strong arms.
"Holy fuck, Neville," she slurred, nuzzling into his shoulder.
She heard his breath catch. "Look," he said wonderingly.
She turned her head to where his gaze was fixed, just behind her. Through the ferns and flowers that carpeted their little circle of the forest the ground was softly glowing blue. "Wow," she breathed, “Did you do that?”
“I think we did that. Do you know what it is?”
She turned back to him with a furrowed brow, “I don’t know. I’d have to go to-”
“The library,” he finished for her, with a broad grin.
A giggle bubbled up her throat. "Well," she choked out, "Might be something to add to your Herbology curriculum." And then they were both laughing helplessly, high on endorphins and overwhelmed by the thousand improbable turns the evening had taken.
He kissed her as their laughter finally began to subside, playfully brushing his stubble against her cheek, “I might have been wrong about the Manegro. Must’ve been Felix Felicis.”