Scholustic Endeavors
Forewarning: The following story is completely insane. I got the idea from a podcast I love. Fanatical Fics, highly recommend. Anyway, here's some crack. The last piece I posted could not be more different from this. The next few uploads are going to be in this vein, so... enjoy I guess. Also, this fic contains Ron-bashing and a far less nice Hermione.
A/N: I love Hermione so much, and every ship she's a part of is beneath her. This pairing is the only one that's canon for me. I hope you enjoy the story, it's time Hermione met her match.
Note: This work of fan fiction is meant explicitly as a comedic crack story. If there are misrepresentations of BDSM culture, domination, or any other sensitive topics, I sincerely apologise for any offence taken. I promise that it is not my intention; I only wanted to write a funny and absurd story. Oh, and before you ask, no. I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. Happy reading!
Disclaimer: Everything relating to the Harry Potter world including but not limited to characters and locations are owned by J.K. Rowling. The dumpster fire plot? Well, that's mine I think.
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I. Studious Preparation
Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror, restless fingers knotting the dress she wore in anxious anticipation. It was going to happen tonight. The thing would happen tonight, and the young woman didn't know if she was ready. One could only hope, she guessed, taking stock of her assets one last time.
The white ballgown clung gracefully to her willowy figure. It had been a graduation present from her parents, clearly with intent that she would wear it at her wedding with the weasel. The mere concept of spending the rest of her glorious life with that pig caused a wave of nausea to bubble up inside her. Truthfully, no boy at the school she had once attended was worthy of her. A few came close, but missed the mark by a significant margin.
On this, the fifth reunion of Hogwarts' Class of '99, the young woman prepared herself for what must occur. Everybody else was in the Great Hall, and she had snuck away to the second-floor girl's bathroom to escape the cacophony of inane chatter from Lavender 'basic Witch' Brown and Parvati 'Toffee-Brain' Patil.
Moaning Myrtle was there, but that had been part of the plan. Of course she had a checklist. It was hard for her not to be organised. Making sure two blundering fools didn't off themselves at every opportunity would have been impossible otherwise. Get some alone time before the big moment — check. Let the piteous dead girl bolster her confidence so that she might actually go through with this terrifying insanity — check. Look fucking gorgeous…
She ran a hand through her chocolate-coated curls, matching almost perfectly with her coffee-coloured eyes. Her makeup was simple, but accented everything important. Check and check. She also wore a blue broach over her left breast, engraved with her full name. Hermione Athena Evanesca Delia Granger. She liked her name; it had a nice ring to it. It was a name that gave an impression of grandeur and opulence, and rich in smarts she was. By far the most talented and intelligent witch in her year, the change had definitely been for the best. She shuddered at the mundanity of her former reference. Yes, too plain for sure.
The cascading ringlets bounced attractively on her head as she shook it. Bah! She had spent too long admiring herself in the dusty bathroom mirror. It was now or never. Myrtle's insistent shrieks and whimpers had been steadily rising in volume, now threatening to burst her eardrums. Time to go. Hermione sent a Reductor Curse at the toilet Myrtle was wailing in as she exited through the heavy wooden door. An explosion accompanied her departure, creating a sense of drama that she rather enjoyed.
(=)
II. Conscientious Expedition
She walked slowly down the empty corridors leading to the familiar place. Her footfalls were deliberate and even, making almost no sound thanks to her Featherlight Charm. She was eager not to arouse suspicion or interest. An interruption so close to the fruition of her plan would find her in a most unpleasant situation, and Hermione was never one to be in an undesirable state.
She took out the battered piece of parchment that detailed the location of each entity in the castle, living or otherwise. She had 'borrowed' it from Harry a few days ago when she had come to visit. Sweet but usually oblivious, Hermione was confident her best friend wouldn't notice the missing item. He had no need for it anyway; he never visited the castle, and he had no heirs to pass it down to yet. She would of course return the useful artefact after it had served its purpose.
Peeves was bobbing along a neighbouring corridor. She was so close now, Hermione would not allow the poltergeist to ruin her plan. His trajectory inexplicably changed, heading directly towards where she now stood. Mildly agitated, she allowed a deep scowl to mar her otherwise perfect face. It must have sensed her, drawn to this place by the magnitude of her beauty and power. The fool barely had time to take an obnoxious breath before she struck.
Hermione's wand flashed, materialising from the holster magically affixed to her dress. With a complicated series of movements, the poltergeist's tongue shot to the roof of its mouth, its eyes rolled back, and a golden hammer appeared out of thin air to give the pest a hearty whack. It sank a few inches closer to the ground, clearly dazed, but Hermione was just getting started.
With a feline yowl of fury, she had never completely shaken the cat-like instincts picked up during her stint as one in her second year, Hermione's eyes flashed a brilliant red as she began casting again. She could not resist the urge to do something truly vile to this loathsome creature. Though not strictly legal, there were too many witches and wizards here tonight for the woefully understaffed Ministry to track the caster of such a curse. Of course there was Finite Incantartem, but no Improper Use of Magic officials or Aurors could be expected to check the wand of every magical person here tonight.
Considering all of this, Hermione was almost sure there would be no consequences to her morally-questionable actions. Besides, who really cared what happened to Peeves? His personality, hobbies, and interests had hardly earned him any friends over his long life. So, the woman did not feel guilty as she put the little floating man under Imperio. It squeaked once, clearly shocked, but quickly succumbed to her superior strength. She ordered the thing to lie down on its back, and it complied immediately. Enjoying the power she had over him, Hermione sauntered a few paces forward, a small smile playing about her bright red lips.
Peeves was lying down, but there was the issue of him still floating a few inches above the ground. Her smile widening into a grin of delight, Hermione hovered her foot over the poltergeist's ghostly man bits. She wanted to see him sweat, see the manifestation of his fear show on his face and body. Once he went completely limp in the air, Hermione brought her heel down as hard as she could onto his English breakfast. What was the expression? One had to crack a few eggs to make an omelette? Well, at least the insufferable bastard would be good for something.
It made a noise deep in its throat, some combination of shock and… pleasure? Well, Hermione knew that everyone had a hidden side to themselves, but this really was unexpected. Her smile faded into a look of abject disgust. He just had to go and ruin her fun by actually enjoying her torture. With a shriek of frustration, Hermione kicked the poltergeist in the shin with a heeled boot and stalked off. She would find satisfaction tonight. She knew this, and that was the only thing that kept her going anymore.
(=)
III. Overachieving Release
Her whole body warmed as she neared the entrance. Ornate statues stood sentry on either side, protecting the place from those who were not worthy. Hermione ascended the three stone steps to enter the cavernous room, revelling in the darkness that wrapped around her like a first love. There was a reason she spent so much time here. And it wasn't because of all the books.
The coldness in her eyes thawed as she moved further inside, ecstasy clearly written on her beautiful face. She caressed one of the chipped wooden tables with a long-fingered hand, enjoying how the rough wood felt against her soft skin. Her flesh tingled slightly at the point of contact; the wood, warmer than it should have been on a Scottish November night, seemed to fill her with something sticky and brown.
Barbecue sauce, Hermione thought absently as she began to drift. It was almost sweet, but its depths harboured a subtle tang that prickled her nerves like a fire crab's playful nip. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The slight pain felt good; she clamped down harder and harder until she drew blood. The coppery taste entered her eager mouth with zeal, the crimson liquid running over her gums and gnashing teeth. She thrummed with energy that had been building since her school years, struggling to maintain an upright position under the overwhelming desire that consumed her.
Her pupils dilated; she was quickly losing control. No! She had a plan, and this was definitely not on it. Hermione tried pulling herself together, but the fingers that clutched the table refused to let go, refused to give her a chance to recover. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths that left her weak and trembling. "Please", she whimpered, holding back tears. "Let me go."
Hermione's hands were by her sides before she knew what was happening. Her eyes closed, relishing the sensation of bodily autonomy. That had been too much, she thought, unable to completely shake the vibrations reverberating through her. It felt like millions of tiny shadows were rubbing against every inch of exposed skin, simultaneously making her feel safe and powerless.
She opened her eyes, finally ready to take charge of her situation. "Speak," she said into the oppressive silence.
Nothing happened, and she feared that her lover had lost interest. The thought had crossed her mind multiple times that evening, but she had pushed it away quickly, unable to face even the notion of unreciprocated attraction.
"You have come," said a deep, rich voice that seemed to emanate from the very walls. "Five years since our last, I had long ago dismissed the delusions that you would one day return."
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, knees buckling in response to the powerful presence she hadn't felt in over half a decade. "I wanted to come, but—"
"Lies!" it shouted, cutting off her excuses. The large room grew hot, bubbling with the library's rage at her dishonesty. "I loved you," said the library, softer then before. Its voice carried the pain of grief, a morbid acceptance of a meaningless life without her.
Hermione fell apart completely, lying flat on the stone floor, her gown bunched at her upper thigh. She could no longer speak, the sobs that racked her body made any would-be attempts impossible. The ground warmed beneath her, rising up to match the shape of her perfect flesh vessel. The stone held her, rocking the woman gently from side to side until, after an eternity, she calmed down.
Hermione sat up, eyes puffy and red from crying. "I still love you," she said weakly. "I have been with no other since."
"I know," said the Hogwarts Library. "For how could any mortal man best me? Stand up, girl."
Hermione rose unsteadily to her feet, knowing what would happen next. She moved towards a large reading table and lay down on top of it, waiting. The familiar sensation was no less terrifying than it had been that fated first time. She had been much younger then too.
With a grunt of effort, the library seemed to awaken completely before her. The bookshelves rocked from side to side and all the lights began to flicker. Some books fell to the floor, but most were picked up in a whirlwind of motion and tossed haphazardly about the room. Hermione's eyes were shut, but she could feel the flurry of movement all around her. The air rushed across her heated skin from books that avoided collision by only inches.
After several minutes of this, all movement stopped, and one book floated in front of her face. Hermione opened her eyes then, instinctively knowing where in the ritualistic process the library was currently at. She barely had enough time to read the title of the book — Metaphysical Matrimonies by Meahlo Gamott — before she left her body lying on the table and rose high into the air. Her soul hovered above the highest shelves; she could see every detail in the massive space. Her library was so large, had such a powerful girth to it. Her soul smirked, pleased by her library's assets.
A ball of light floated in front of her, seeking approval to enter. She guided it forward wordlessly, allowing it access, giving over her control to the concentrated source of energy. The library took her in its magnetic presence and led them to the literary portal, which hadn't moved since it had been suspended over Hermione's physical form. Together they went, flying through the cover and into the book's internal reality.
Hermione held back a yip of delight as they moved through fluttering pages. She could feel herself growing hot with anticipation and desire, but attempted to keep a level head. They landed in the middle of a grassy field, sparsely populated by red oak trees. The soft chirping of birds created a tender backdrop of ambient sonic pleasure. She could not bite back the cry of ecstasy that burst from her gaping, metaphysical lips as it entered her. Her library was huge, and taking its energy hurt more than a little bit.
The burning in her mind intensified as it moved faster, their balls of light rapidly changing colours and absorbing one another. She reached out for her library, taking it in her hands and balling her fists with the selfish desire of want. She had to have her library in every unthinkable way. It moaned and grunted with the strength it used to take her, to own her. For her library was just as selfish as she was, and the pair would have it no other way.
This intense experience lasted for hours. At least, that is how it felt too Hermione. She had completely lost track of time in that grassy field. The birds had certainly witnessed a spectacular display. Their balls of light were in constant motion, shifting between vibrant shades of orange, yellow and red as their desire grew. The library had to cool itself on multiple occasions, lest it finish prematurely. It didn't usually have this problem, but its lover was so perfect, so undeniably wonderful, that maintaining its composure was a monumental effort. Turquoise, teal, and tea leaf green coloured its attempts to last longer, and Hermione noticed the tones with a jolt of pride.
"I am close," said her library, moving faster than Hermione had thought possible. Though, to be fair, anything was possible in the metaphysical.
"Do it," she whispered in reply, unable to articulate further. She allowed her desire for satisfaction to show on her ball of light.
With a scream of triumph, pleasure, and joy, her library exploded all around her. His light filled her completely, and the power that flowed through her mind was absolute and beautiful. More colours than she could name danced across her vision as the ball of light continued to pulse with energy, coating the grass with inconceivable combinations of white, blue, gold, and black.
They were both breathing heavily, unable to speak. They simply lay together, tortured balls of light in this metaphysical plane. Hermione took in every inch of her library lover, and she could not think of anything more beautiful. "I love you," she murmured against its light.
"I love you, too," replied her lover, running warm tendrils of light across her surface. After a time, Hermione found herself rising into the air once more. She did not want to leave, but her library would not listen to her protests.
Too quickly, Hermione found herself back in the physical realm. Her back ached from lying on the wooden table for so long, and more than a few tears of disappointment leaked through her coffee eyes. The presence of her library was gone, and the ball of light her subconscious had once manifested was nowhere to be seen.
Hermione sat up and rubbed her rear with a slim, elegant hand. Her head hurt, but not in a painful way. It felt as though she had experienced every emotion she had ever felt throughout her entire life. The hurt soon subsided into intense pleasure, and she almost flopped back down onto the table with bliss. Shaking off the feeling, she rose to her feet and stumbled to the library's entrance.
"Farewell," said a voice from behind her.
Hermione turned and smiled at the dark interior of her library. "Farewell," she echoed, then turned away. Her footsteps were slow and even as she made her way back to the Great Hall, feeling better than she had in five long years.