-----The New Hermione-----
Chapter 2
He was running late.
Hermione smiled to herself. She had expected this, but she also had no doubt that he would come.
Lowering herself into one of the desks in the abandoned classroom, she got out the Marauder's Map and her Transfiguration essay. She needed to keep an eye on him, but she was still Hermione Granger—just because she was about to be sexually liberated didn't mean she could fall behind on her school work.
And so she sat, in a classroom, doing homework. It was the same way she had spent the rest of her life; it was what she was comfortable with. And yet, as she was referencing "Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration" in her essay, her mind wandered. She glanced down at her school skirt and realized just what a little girl she was. She was seventeen, a young woman, but until recently only a small part of her consciousness knew of her R-rated fantasies.
Until this year, she'd never given a thought to sex or lust. She was consumed with an insatiable curiosity, a lust for knowledge that usurped her more carnal cravings. And then she had to be friends with The-Boy-Who's-Still-Alive, which took up any time she had leftover once she got back from the library.
But this year--!
It first happened this summer. She was normal by day, reading, hanging out at the Burrow, but at night she was glad that she had her own bedroom. The first dream happened a few weeks before Hogwarts. She woke in a light sweat, her core oddly slick, whispering, "Sirius…" Well, that pretty much freaked her out completely.
The next morning was awkward, to say the least.
Hermione walked downstairs late to breakfast to see that Mrs. Weasley had made pancakes. And apparently, everyone had eaten except her, Fred, and Sirius.
Attempting to hide the blush she knew was gathering on her pale cheeks, Hermione let her hair gather around her as she looked into her plate of pancakes and took a tentative bite.
"Still hot? I can warm it up, if you need." asked Sirius.
She looked up abruptly, almost choking on her pancake, as Fred hurriedly handed her a goblet of pumpkin juice. She struggled to swallow, no doubt making many attractive gurgling noises. Finally, her windpipe was cleared. Her face, however, was growing redder by the minute.
"You okay?" queried Sirius, "I guess yours were too hot?"
He's talking about the pancakes. Don't freak out, Hermione reasoned.
But Fred was eyeing her suspiciously, a small smile on his mouth.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I think I'll just go get ready now. I'm not that hungry. I'll just let the, um, pancakes, cool down." Hermione quickly got up and began to walk up the stairs. Her stomach emitted a very loud, very low growl, proclaiming her hunger to the world.
She quickened up the stairs as Fred began to laugh.
After that it only got worse. Each night, it seemed, she was fantasizing about another inappropriate person—and at a house like the Weasleys', overflowing with males, it was hard to keep sane.
Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Percy, Ron, Mr. Weasley, Harry, Sirius, Lupin, all of them haunted her dreams. The dreams with the Weasleys were worst; often she'd be being ravished by a mysterious man with red hair whose face continually changed from one Weasley male to the next. Just seeing their hair the next day was enough to send her into a fit of embarrassment the next day.
But as fall neared, she managed to control her daytime embarrassment. At least, she didn't think anyone saw her embarrassment. Half the time, she was in a never-ending circle of confusion over these new thoughts. It was as if this side of her had been repressed her entire life, and suddenly her body woke up, realized it was a sexually mature, rather sexy body, and sent the hormones a-raging.
…And then she went to Hogwarts.
It was seventh year, her last year, and she should've been thrilled with all projects, papers, and the upcoming N.E.W.T.s to study for. But she found herself surrounded by hundreds of men, who haunted her dreams with little regard for her sanity. Her classmates, teachers, no one was safe from the fiery workings of her semi-conscious mind. She could generally deal with the students, but the teacher fantasies threw her for a loop. She hadn't looked Snape in the eye all year because she knew how good of a legilimens he was. And if he knew what she thought at the beginning of that year….
And Professor Flitwick! Oh, he wasn't much to look at, but that name! It was as if it was created to torment her. Every time she heard it, Hermione felt an odd tickle deep in her gut. Her thoughts were wandering during one of his classes, and as Hermione doodled on her spare piece of parchment, she wrote something down. It was Ron who saw it first, much to her chagrin:
Lalala… 2 essays due Tuesday… Ugh… Flitwick… I'd like to flick HIS wick…
That was rather hard to explain.
But somehow, Hermione managed to talk herself out of it. It was nearly Christmas time, and no one had guessed that she was a closet pervert. She felt like she could burst with all of the tension stored up in her annoying body.
Hermione sighed and rubbed her neck as she looked at her now complete Transfiguration essay. A swift movement on the Marauder's Map caught her eye—So, he was coming at last. Draco Malfoy had been her almost exclusive dream-lover since they were partnered together in herbology a month ago. She completely loathed him, of course, but that almost made him sexier in her eyes.
The dot that represented him on the map snuck up from the dungeons, darting around corners as he tried not to be detected. Hermione smirked as he stopped at the corner before the classroom she was in at that very moment. He took a step forward, and stopped.
Well wellwell, Mr. Malfoy's a bit shy… Or else he's ashamed to be attracted to a naughty mudblood like me…
And that thought only served to make her smile broader. She loved a challenge.
She went to sit on the teacher's desk at the front of the classroom, crossing her legs seductively, letting a healthy length of thigh show over her white knee-highs.
The door slowly opened and quickly closed, and he was in the room with her.
"Hello, Mr. Malfoy."
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A/N
If you love me, please review. If not, I'll assume you don't love me, my self-esteem will plummet, and I'll spend all of my time huddled in a dark corner bemoaning my existence. Soon, I'll be too depressed to eat or drink, let alone write, and as my body withers away, I will be plagued by the thought of all of you that don't love me. I will soon die, and my spirit will be freed from my body, and I will thus be unable to type—any hope you have for a continued story will be dashed along with the hope I once had for my future life. I know, it is a sad portrait that I paint, but there is something YOU can do to stop this ghastly future before it even happens—REVIEW!
Muchos Gracias.
--HPluvah