"Miss Aguire, a word on your late appearance", he commanded his houses's student to stay, as Hermione joined Harry, Ron and the Gryffindors on their way back to the common room.
"I had heard of this", Ron told them, obviously more relaxed than in class, "But I thought it was some dark fairy tale, something people like Malfoy's parents told him to stay away from the muggleborns. I'd never guessed -"
"Grandma wanted my parents to marry with Unbreakable Vows, but I am not sure whether they did", Neville added.
"Pretty smart move, though", Dean threw in, "Simple and effective way to ensure that your children are born pure-bloods. If you're not planning to literally chain her up to her stove at home."
"I wouldn't want to meet her husband in a nursery home, then", Seamus commented, grinning, "Imagine you've spent, what, fifty years wishing to bone any other woman than your wife, and when she's finally kicked the bucket, all available to you are -"
"Guys who demand such Vows aren't ready for marriage", Lavender challenged them, "You don't need to insist on her faithfulness like this if you can satisfy her -"
"I wonder", Parvati mused, "If pure-bloods required their daughters to remain chaste before marriage."
"Why?", Dean asked.
"Well, if she's not expected to be a virgin, what's her perspective on marriage at all? There might be – consequences from experiences with some who's half-blood, or muggleborn..."
"Perhaps that's one of the crises a family is going through, if their daughter got seriously involved with someone they deemed unworthy of their tradition", Lavender wondered, "That's one theses for my essay already. Maybe you can help me with another one, Hermione? - Hermione?"
She did not reply, excusing herself to the bathroom halfway up the stairs.
The dirty white marble welcomed her with chilling air, soft from humidity and light with silence beneath a high ceiling. She closed the heavy wooden door behind her, moulding it soundlessly into its frame. Her mind, in unnerving spinning manner as most recent habit, started to slow down already. She took some deep breaths from the pleasant coolness. The blood must be disappearing from her cheeks already. Some few steps ahead evenly dirty mirrors offered to confirm her sensation, but Hermione felt unable to withstand looking at herself.
Abhorrent naivety. She had made a complete fool of herself. Literally the very last Slytherin must have reached the conclusion she had not been able to formulate. Any most average student had understood what Snape was aiming at, but, she now realized, only unwilling to share. The brightest witch of her age, she thought bitterly, gnawing her lip in a feeble attempt to bite down hot tears, without the faintest idea of - life. How could she stand their looks back at the common room, the library, at lunch, if now everyone knew her weakest subject? How, despite all the recognition among her fellow students, could she met them on eye level as emerging adults?
The old brass hinge creaked, and got pushed open a split second later. Upset and angry with herself, the turmoil set her on edge to react just in time: Fostered reflexes made her budge, and as the thick wooden door slammed against a cabin the very moment Hermione shut it behind her. "Tergeo", she muttered as quite as possible, hand within her robes, and most of dirt from the toilets lid vanished. Judging from the pitched, frequent sound of steps, two students with urgent needs had burst in. Hermione dared not to move, until their voices sounded distant enough to step up to the seat without being heard.
"In here?", a girlish voice giggled. Beneath a high-pitched distortion, it sounded vaguely familiar.
"Didn't you say you loved me", the much deeper sound from a throat replied.
"I doooo", she purred, much deeper now, and Hermione recognized the slender Ravenclaw student. Durmont, if she recalled correctly. "And looks like -", heavy pause, "part of you loves me, too."
The deeper voice chuckled. "It's a fully grown love, sweatheart."
"Like I've never seen before", she teased him.
A faint zipping sound. "Uh, look", he egged her on, "I can't go to lunch with you like that."
"No you can't."
"You'll need to do something about this, Missy."
I hope her first name is Millicent, Hermione caught herself commenting, then bent forward until she saw an edge of the entrance door from her seat. "Colloportus", she whispered, unheard by the couple. One of them ashamed down to their bones was enough for one day.
"So you need my help again, huh?"
"Yeah, Missy."
"So let me give you a hand", she whirred, then Hermione noticed only dripping sounds from the ragged basins and a few soft utterances of pleasure. Between a cold, even stone wall one side and flat rubber to the other, their excitement did not reach to her.
"You're almost there?", Millicent whispered after a while.
"Not quite, love", he groaned, and Hermione strongly suspected him to be dialing down his arousal.
"Harder?"
"You're good", he praised her, "Kiss it."
"Wha -?"
"Take it in your mouth, Missy", he asked, now restraining a more demanding tone. "I'll tell you in time."
Hermione pictured her face blank, eyes wide open, but smiling as not to ruin the atmosphere. "Oh -okay", she agreed.
"Yeah, don't be afraid. Just like kissing … there, on the tip, … yeah, like this. Now lick it – uuh, you're gorgeous", he moaned, "Now take it in."
She must have pulled a rubber plug somewhere. "The whole -?"
"Come on."
"I've never -"
"Ah, kiss it then, again. … Uh. Good. Now open … a little wider, don't be … yeah. ...Take it", he commanded her over wet and sticky gulps, "I'll drill into all holes today."
Can't be much longer, Hermione assured herself, bored and a bit nauseated.
"Uh, all of it, Missy", he demanded, with a distinct hardness in his voice now, "Down your throat, come one, you'll like it."
She heard her cough between smacks.
"Yeah, like this... oh, you're … uhhh … ah … gorgeous. Uh. I think I'm … yeah … uh … OHHH GOD."
"You said you'd tell me when you came", she snapped at him, followed by a spitting sound.
"Just swallow it, Missy. Nothing bad about it."
More spitting, and the sound of a faucet pouring water into one of the vast, dirty sinks. "I'll have to go brush my teeth before lunch", she complained, "I can't eat with this taste in my mouth."
"I'll make it up to you tonight", he promised, and Hermione took her silence as a sign of acceptance. Some more water ran through the marble basin. "You'd better do", she teased him after a while, apparently back in her delighted mood.
Hermione lifted her Closure Charm just in time. Joy and laughter echoed between the filthy marble and indifferent stone, then accompanied them down the corridor. In a mood wishing to be anywhere but here, Hermione locked the door again, to make sure she got the time alone she so desperately needed. The toilet's lid wore its previous amount of dirt again when she exited the cabin, but the mirrors turned out to be bright and clear, very much in contrast to their first impression.
Her cheeks had yet again gained a fiery red, or perhaps the color had never left them since Snape's humiliating inquisition. Durmont and her egoistic boyfriend had not made her sit through anything new, if it came to the mere anatomical possibilities, or how to please one another based on those. Krum had never made her suffer a remotely similar demanding attitude, let alone applied any ruthlessness. True, his grip had been tough, but in a way, she had acquired a taste very quickly. Besides, any sign of reluctance on her part had made his vigorous approach ease to tender caressing immediately. Yet, she acknowledged, the couple had outplayed her fantasies in a different way: Both of them with certain needs, satisfying them with each other, and this very satisfaction covering a subtle exploitation of her in the relationship. What kind of exchange was that, him getting to drill her tonight again, in order to make an excuse for his selfish behavior? Did Durmont harbor such low self-esteem that she would allow him not only to leave her with bad taste in her mouth, but sore private parts on top of it, and mistake this for a proper apology?
Splashing water to her face, she realized that she might have misunderstood Snape's phrasing in class. He had not insulted them on a proposed innocence. Being head of a house, he must have been very well aware of student's misdemeanors, and what for did you sneak out of bed at night, if not to meet one anothers needs? Within the range of the definitions, Durmont was not innocent, but naive.
Naivety implied a childish, almost dumb understanding of sexuality, and, in the laid out context, its role in people's life's. Assuming a less narrow frame for her concepts, naivety referred to ignoring sexuality in politics. Durmont allowed herself to be exploited, knowing how to engage in sexual encounters, but completely ignorant to what she was doing.
The prominent color on her cheeks had almost subsided. Hermione applied a make-up charm from Parvati, which, much to her relief, lived up to Parvatis praise: The visible remains of her embarrassment were hidden completely beneath an even tan. She left the bathroom feeling like she had covered an important topic in her education, nothing anyone would ever ask her about in an exam.