Hermione looked up from her scroll. She shook her head, glancing warily at her quill-hand. Another essay she'd have to throw away: she let herself become distracted again. Slowly, as her hand slipped beneath her waistband, she began to read over what she'd written.

It's the summer after my seventh year: I am officially a Hogwarts alumna. To celebrate, you invite me over to your quarters one night. We have a glass of wine, sit on your sofa, and talk about all we've been through. I pet your cat Morgantina. You tell me about your recent trip home to the highlands.

Suddenly, I notice we've become quite close. I look up at you and bite my lip. Softly, slowly, you tilt your lithe lovely neck down and kiss me. I'm not sure what possesses me at that moment, or what has possessed you a moment before, but I kiss you back with such intensity that your bright eyes open in surprise and you pull back. I'm melting, panicking that I've done the wrong thing while simultaneously so overcome with feelings that I'm about to faint or cry. I touch your hand, questions in my eyes, and you tell me it's okay. I tell you you're so beautiful. You smile, proving me right.

I stroke your smooth hair softly. You reach up behind your head, and your hair suddenly tumbles down, past your shoulders, and I immerse my fingers in it. You lean in again and this time I tilt my face up and brush my lips against yours, tenderly. My fingers entwine with yours as the other hand trails down from your hair, to your neck and eventually to your back, where I pull you close. You let out a little murmur.

I break the kiss to look at you. You touch your forehead to mine. We lock eyes before you kiss down my neck to my collarbone – my breath hitches –

Soon you have pushed me backward onto that garish tartan sofa, and you have me writhing and moaning under your skillful touch. I tell you to stop because ladies should come first. It's my turn.

I touch my lips to yours, simultaneously running my tongue over your lower lip and my hands across your stomach. We reposition so you're sitting straddling me, giving me easy access to your entire torso as well as your limbs and everything in between. I begin to kiss your clavicle and the tops of your breasts, and I slip my hands under your blouse's hem to continue stroking your skin. My hands continue to your legs; the left works itself under your skirt, past your knees and onto your thigh, making circles on that smooth cream-colored skin, while the right holds your back steady. You lean down to kiss me again. I want to scream or cry but hold myself back from the flood of passion that threatens to incapacitate me.

My left hand has continued to stroke your thigh under your skirt until it reaches your underwear. I begin to run my fingers over the area lightly, feeling your warmth. You sigh and I look up at you, questioning whether I can go further. "Can I…?" I start, and you nod.

I slip underneath your underwear, pushing it to the side, and with two fingers I begin to massage your vulva. I make circles over your labia, teasing you, smiling into our kiss as you make soft appreciative noises. It's your turn to bite your lip. With my middle finger, I spread your lips just enough to feel the moisture gathering there. I wet my two fingers in your juices and use that lubrication to massage your clitoris. Your kiss becomes more enthusiastic at this point, even insistent, and I'm sensing that your clothing is becoming a burden.

After a few more minutes, I come to a stop and ask if we can remove some more clothing. You don't reply but remove your skirt and underwear, and I remove some of mine too. I then have you sit where I was and I kneel on the ground in front of you. I hold you around the lower back and ask, would you like me to pleasure you with my mouth? You bite your lip and nod. I bring you to the edge of the sofa, with my hands still on your lower back and hips. I part your labia with my fingers and dip my head, touching my tongue to your clitoris for the first time. I hear a sharp intake of breath above me, and I begin to run my fingers over your stomach as my tongue works in broad, flat strokes and circles.

A few minutes later, as I hear your breathing speed up, I begin to lick you more forcefully and stroke the entrance to your vagina with a finger, while my other hand is still alternating between teasing your upper body and holding you close. I look up to your eyes; you give me the affirmative, and I push a finger inside you, never letting up with my mouth.

…eventually you come into my mouth and my eyes leak a little, because you're so beautiful when you're shuddering and whimpering like that (and always). I kiss you, stroke you, smooth my palms over your body as your heart rate settles. I return to your level, and we cuddle and kiss on the couch for a while. Perhaps you make me come later, perhaps not. It doesn't even matter. As long as I can bite back that "I love you" before it escapes my mouth, there might be a next time.

Hermione sighed, satiated but sad. Another powerful image, another distraction to push from her mind. Her fervid desire was getting harder to ignore by the day, although Hermione didn't kid herself that this woman might suddenly show some kind of sexual interest in her. After all, she was still within the confines of adolescence.

At least every day she stretched closer to escaping her miserable youth. One year and three months before she was scheduled to finish school. Not that it would actually bring her any closer to the woman she loved, but a girl could dream.