"So what's wrong, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione lifted a hand and dropped it again, at a loss. She wanted to tell them everything, but there was so much crowding her mind that she didn't know what to say. She thought of Ron and Harry upstairs, and then how rough Percy had been (and how much she liked it, and why she liked it), and then what he and Ginny were doing right now. It was a lot. And then there were her own issues, her own things she'd come to notice about herself, and the sickening spree of self-stimulation she'd staged throughout the stairways. Which hadn't abated yet, and even at that very moment was humming her body with primal need. And the more she thought about it, the more it built, and the harder it was to keep her hands off herself.
"What's on your mind?" came Mr. Weasley's voice. "You can tell us. Anything."
"I just…" she said, trying to clear the fog from her mind. Why was she here? "I just feel so isolated."
"Isolated?"
"Yes!"
"And why is that?"
Slowly at first, the words came from her. She began by talked about her relationship with her parents, and how she'd never had many friends growing up. She talked about her love of reading, and the life-changing experience Hogwarts had been. And now she was at a point in her life where she was feeling better, and had friends, but - still - never felt it was real, or deserved, and believed people were only putting up with her. It was so frustrating. And no matter what she did or accomplished or the notes she got on her exams, it never felt good enough.
"I just want someone to genuinely care about me," she said, on the verge of tears. "And I want to trust it," she said, voice cracking. "But I don't know what's wrong with me. I never even realized something was wrong until tonight, I never thought about it. So now I can't sleep. And I'm so…" she shifted, relieving the pressure on her crotch (which only stimulated her further) "...and I'm so god-damned horny."
There was a pause as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at one another.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sobbed. "I know I shouldn't have said that."
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat.
"Dear, you've nothing to be ashamed about… all these things you're going through are perfectly normal. Anyone would feel the same way if they were in your position. What you need to focus on is trusting the things that are true, and stopping yourself from believing the ones that aren't."
"That's absolutely right," said Mr. Weasley. "My - when I was your age - I went through exactly what you're saying. I never thought I was good enough at all!"
"He didn't," Mrs. Weasley affirmed.
"But as I grew, I knew that was foolish, just as you do now. So I paid attention to my interests, and met a lovely girl, followed shortly after by Molly here -"
Mrs. Weasley's jaw dropped and she gave him an elbow.
"- Only joking of course. But you're a brilliant girl, Hermione, and that's clear to anyone who sees you. Ron is always going on about what a brilliant witch you are!"
"Is he?" Hermione said - she knew it wasn't much coming from Ron, but it was still nice for Mr. Weasley to mention it.
"Of course. And you know the marks you get. Consistently above everyone in your class, aren't you?"
Hermione bit her lip - anyone could do that, if they had their nose in their books all the time. But she said nothing, because she knew Mr. Weasley was trying to make her feel better.
"My point is, you just need to practice," he said. "Pay attention to your thoughts, and learn to tell truth from doubt. Believe in yourself. And if you don't believe in yourself, why, believe in us," he said, gesturing between he and Mrs. Weasley, "because we believe in you!"
Hermione laughed, and looked down at herself. She was still pounding with all sorts of emotions. Mr. Weasley's words were nice, but his idea of her situation was far from reality. But she did know that he cared about her. And Mrs. Weasley, too. They might be some of the only people in the world who were nice enough to be true about it. And - her face grew hot - they might be just what she needed.
"I don't suppose," she said, fingering the quilt pattern - her heart pounded. Was she actually about to ask them this? "I don't suppose... you could help me?"
"Help you? Of course, with what?"
She got onto her hands, and as she shifted, her thighs rubbed together. Her breasts, fully hidden in her pajama top, squeezed between her arms. What a situation she was in, she thought. This was insanity.
"I just need… help… from someone, who I know cares about me," she said. "I think it's the only thing that will put me right. I've been so out of sorts this whole evening."
Mr. Weasley's eyes widened as he understood what she was asking. He looked at Mrs. Weasley, who was just as surprised as him.
"Please," Hermione found herself saying.
"Now…" said Mr. Weasley.
She could immediately hear the denial in his tone. But Mrs. Weasley touched his arm.
"Hold on, love…"
Hermione's heart lept. But suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a knock on the door, and everything came crashing down again.
"Now who could that be?" said Mrs. Weasley.
Stealing one of the blankets, Hermione watched her get out of bed and go to answer the door. She was entirely nude, although not quite as pudgy as she'd been expecting. Not wanting to stare, she looked away, and found Mr. Weasley studying her. Her eyes averted his gaze, but she looked back - his expression was kind, she saw. But contemplative.
"Oh, Harry, dear!" said Mrs. Weasley. "My, we're getting all kinds of visitors. Come in."
Harry, too, was entirely in the nude, Hermione saw in surprise. He looked even more scrawny out of his robes. He was shying away from eye contact, she noticed, and had himself covered with both hands. She couldn't help but feel disappointed that the situation was leading away from what she'd wanted.
"No, I'm sorry," said Harry, "I was just… the bathroom's out of towels."
"Everything alright, love?" said Mrs. Weasley.
Harry looked up and saw Hermione. His eyebrows jumped.
"You're here?" he said.
She nodded solemnly.
At Mrs. Weasley's beckoning, he entered the room, and the door closed. Hermione saw a fair bit of shiny gunk on his chest, and smelled the faint hint of poo. At once, Mrs. Weasley cleaned him up with her spellwork, vanishing the smell and lighting several of the scented candles around the room for insurance purposes.
"Now, you're looking a bit rough," Mrs. Weasley said. "Want to tell us what happened? And then we can get back to Hermione, I haven't forgotten about you, dear."
She nodded.
"I've just… had a bit of a night," Harry said, hesitantly.
Hermione watched him look around, as if wishing for somewhere to hide himself. He was looking rather sorry - and from what she could tell, at half-mast. So he might've been having some troubles himself.
"Ah, that's going around, isn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley. She let her blanket drop and embraced him from behind. He let her do it, and to Hermione it looked like a mother holding her child... only they were both naked.
"Have you been having some trouble?" she said meaningfully, talking into his ear.
Harry glanced at Hermione again. Was he embarrassed in front of her?
"Yeah," he said.
"Well not to worry. I think I've got just the ticket. Now, stand here…"
Defaulting to standard procedure, Mrs. Weasley took charge of the situation, and Hermione and everyone else were more than happy to fall in line. Harry was positioned at the foot of the bed, and Mrs. Weasley performed a charm Hermione had read about in her Transfiguration textbook.
"That's the Switching Spell," she said, unable to help herself.
"Right you are," said Mrs. Weasley. "Clever girl."
Hermione tried to feel proud of herself, but was distracted: Mrs. Weasley was now sporting a pair of genitals, which were dark enough next to the rest of her that they almost looked tan: taut bullocks, sparse, straight black hairs, and a half-raised penis, all nestled in between her belly and thighs.
"Go on, Harry, take at what you've got."
Alarmed, Harry uncovered himself. At first Hermione thought he had a faded spot from a day at the beach and one of those awful, tight-hugging swimming jockeys, but no, she realized - his parts had gone completely, and were now substituted by Mrs. Weasley's: a rather large-lipped, pale, roast-beef sandwich on a stadium roll but with sharp cheddar cheese twirls grated on as garnish.
"Not to worry," said Mrs. Weasley knowledgeably, "it's only temporary. However, let's touch things up a bit…"
With a bit more spellwork her new goods doubled in size and girth and lightened to match the rest of her complexion, with the small hairs curling and glowing as bright as embers. Harry's shrank, on the other hand, tightening up inside itself and darkening, while the hairs disappeared almost entirely - aside from a small, sparse patch at the top, which relaxed and lay flat. It was quite petite.
"What have you done?" Harry said, astounded.
"Not to worry, my dear," she answered, slipping her new limb between Harry's slender legs. It emerged beneath his new pussy, his lips parting as it slipped past, and he clutched it, eyes wide.
"You'll be taken care of, just as I said. Trust me. Now, everyone! Remove your outer-wear, and let's see if we can all squeeze on the bed together."
Uncertain at first, everyone eventually spurred into movement. Hermione climbed out of her pajamas and left them in one corner. She went to stand by Harry, who she was still feeling cold toward for stealing the spotlight.
"Now, dear, are you sure about this?" said Mr. Weasley.
"Of course I am," Mrs. Weasley said. "It's the proper thing to do! Now, Hermione, you and Harry get on the bed together, hands and knees…"
Begrudgingly, Hermione followed instructions and went around to Mr. Weasley's side of the bed, while Harry went on the other. Mr. Weasley was still looking quite unsure about things, she was unhappy to see, and seemed to have crammed himself as far into his little corner as he was able. Her chest fizzed with tired worry. What if he refused? What if she was left alone, by herself, on their side of the bed?
Then she was face-to-face with Harry. She blinked. There were a few more changes about him. His hips had widened, looking decidedly more feminine, with a gap at where they used to meet. His shoulders had fallen, sloping as a girl's would. His mess of hair was now lengthened past his ears, swooping at his jawline, which was less pronounced and more angular. His eyes, too, had become more almond. Did he have some Asian ancestry, she wondered? She'd never noticed before. Harry brushed some of his hair behind an ear. Was Mrs. Weasley's spell still in effect?
As per instructions, they made for the bed, Hermione studying him. He looked all the more girlish close-up: his thin, flat lips turned pouting and soft, and his nose small and cute. They stopped inches from each other, toes hanging off the edge with their rumps in the air.
"I suppose that'll have to do," said Mrs. Weasley, positioning herself and her swinging appendage at Harry's backside.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked, voice higher-pitched.
"I told you not to worry," Mrs. Weasley said, gently catching him by the hips. Her hands and arms looked quite a bit more sturdy and masculine, Hermione thought, as well as her stomach. "We'll start slow, with time for you to get comfortable."
"Okay…" he said, raspy.
Harry didn't take his eyes off Mrs. Weasley, keeping his face turned away from Hermione. She couldn't help but feel snubbed by this. His mess of hair almost entirely blocked his face from view, and Hermione felt her desire to participate decay into isolation once more. She looked down his form as Mrs. Weasley angled herself: his sloping back, slim waist, lovely, round buttocks at the ready for Mrs. Weasley's girth. Was he prettier than her, she wondered?
She watched Mrs. Weasley start to stroke him, and she saw Harry force himself to relax. Mr. Weasley still hadn't touched her. A moment passed, and Harry must have looked ready, for Mrs. Weasley angled and slowly began to ease herself into him. Harry sucked in a feminine breath.
Watching this, Hermione felt her arousal rebuilding, but her sorrow and disappointment was growing at twice the rate. She knew it was ready to fuel her, that it if she let it, it would take her into an mind-melting spiral of rejection gratification, but she didn't want that to happen.
Mrs. Weasley moved in further, filling his new, pretty-girl pussy. Girl-Harry made a noise of discomfort, a groan of uncertainty, and Hermione wanted her to shut up and take it. It wasn't that bad. She was getting taken care of, at least. Somebody paid attention to her.
Then, warm hands touched her backside. The contact was like a flame, chasing the shadows from her mind. Excitement swelled in her heart. She turned her head, biting her lip, to look up at Mr. Weasley.
"Are you ready, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley asked, speaking softly.
"Mm-hmm," she nodded.
Contact. Mr. Weasley was touching her. Her heart beat in her chest, her crotch surged with longing. She arched her back. And, bit by bit, he eased in.
Meanwhile, up in Percy's room, Ginny was holding on for dear life. Percy was buried deep in her vagina, thrusting as much as he could while prone on the mattress, his large, immaculate hands on her thighs.
Charlie had come in at one point, mistaking her for someone named Rosa in his sleep-addled state, and with no hesitation Ginny told him to come up on the bed so she could take care of him.
Now he was before her, feet on either side of Percy's head, as she engulfed his cock in her mouth. He had a hard, stocky body, with healed scars and burns from his dragon-work, and she clutched him by the hips as she swallowed his own dragonhead. She took it in as deep as she could. She tried to throat the tip without gagging, and a trail of saliva built on her lips and oozed down her chin. She looked up his chiseled body, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze, as his strong, rough hands held her head. She still wasn't fully sure he was conscious, but she wanted him to recognize her.
Of course, with Charlie gone, Bill had come investigating, and she'd promptly gestured him to her hindquarters. He'd joined in without protest, splendidly. She was more than happy about this, as he had the nicest body of anyone there: toned muscle, long, dark-red hair, and a fang earring and string necklace. She greeted him with a full-mouthed kiss as he lubricated himself, their tongues meeting each other, as she pumped Charlie with her hand.
Now she was back on him, gagging and drooling, as Percy and Bill huffed breath and slid themselves into her. Their huge, manly bodies were nearly bashing her around. Bills hands held her at the sides, thumbs up in her sensitive armpits; other fingers on her ribs, chest, and nipples. It was incredible. The thought of her brother's cocks rubbing away in her body and nearly touching was enough to send her into jittering mess, but she held off, focussing on gorging Charlie and getting him where he needed to go. Her eyes watered as she looked up at him. She breathed heavily through her nose, buried in his bush, as Charlie's density coursed between her lips and slid across her tongue. She gagged and suppressed it. Anytime now he'd unload his hot, bitter gunk in her throat and she'd swallow. And then Percy would, inside her belly, and Bill into her arse. It would be bliss.
Mr. Weasley's legs bumped against Hermione in a steady rhythm, his penis filling her at a much slower rate than she would have liked. But it wouldn't have done any good in any case. She wasn't feeling in the mood. He'd mentioned to her, in concern, that she felt as stiff as a board, and she'd started rocking against him to ease his concerns. She bowed her stomach, rolling her hips, pushing and pulling at him, but only did it half-heartedly.
She was much too distracted by girl-Harry in front of her, who was now gasping and letting out soft moans as Mrs. Weasley thrusted into her. Girl-Harry's hands grabbed at the blanket, and she dipped her head, pressing her lips against her arm. Her hair shook with the impacts. It was wavy and beautiful, with a bit of mess that only enhanced her sexual appeal. It swooped at her cheeks and framed her closed eyes, and was an entirely different class from Hermione's mud-brown chaotic thornbush that hung off the side of her head. Girl-Harry's hands, too, were dainty, her fingers delicate and nails clean, unlike Hermione's, which were trimmed short and had calluses where she usually held her quills and pens.
It just wasn't any good, she thought. Not only was Girl-Harry a famous wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord three times by now, and was admired by everyone her age (as well as above and below), but now she'd stolen the night from her. Hermione had come to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for solace and comfort, but now she was locked in an awkward, dispassionate tempo while Girl-Harry got her brains fucked out.
She was so lucky. And Hermione couldn't even swing herself into her forlorn, fetishized mind state, as Mrs. Weasley had never even wanted her to begin with. She was well and truly unwanted, unquestionably. Everybody's last choice.
But of course, she shouldn't be thinking about that. She had to ignore those thoughts. She was being stupid, and the smart thing to do would be to ignore it. So she should be focussing on Mr. Weasley, and that fact that he was inside her right now entirely for her own benefit, because he cared about her and wanted her to feel better. So she owed it to him to make the most of it.
Mimicking Girl-Harry, she dipped her head and closed her eyes. Mr. Weasley filled her and retreated, inserted and extracted again. Mr. Weasley. The father of the family, she thought. Hermione rocked on her wrists and knees. The mattress creaked below her; the wooden bed-frame squeaked; Mrs. Weasley's cooed words of encouragement washing over the room. She felt Girl-Harry's breath, smelled it, inhaled it, and tried to synchronize with her mood.
She started to feel it. She had Mr. Weasley's cock inside her, inches away from where his son's had been earlier. She dipped and pulled, then sank back again. This was nothing like Percy. There was no anger, no savage urges or actions. This was being done out of kindness. It was tender, and full of care and compassion. And it was for her.
She rolled herself, taking in breaths. Pleasure began to build. She relaxed, and as she did so, Mr. Weasley adjusted himself. He was reading her, she realized. She rocked a bit deeper, slower, and he matched her pace. His hands became warm and fluid, losing their awkwardness. He felt up her back, and she let herself breathe, her voice joining in with Girl-Harry's.
"That's it," said Mrs. Weasley.
Blearily, Hermione looked up and found Mrs. Weasley looking at her with affection. She looked back at Mr. Weasley's face, and found him with his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape and directed toward the ceiling as he pressed into her. It was endearing. And Girl-Harry… Hermione looked forward again, just in time to see her in the throes of pleasure, mouth open and letting out soft cries as she looked upward, eyes distant with one half-shut. Hermione caught sight of the scar on her forehead.
Several realizations came at once, as they sometimes did. This was Harry, she thought. Not "Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived", just… Harry, her friend. Who had slight psychological issues from years of neglect at the hands of his step-parents, but ones he was working through just as much as anyone was with theirs. Who she'd been through thick and thin with together. Who she'd stood by as they fought dark magic, and faced horrifying monsters. As they laughed, and studied together, and shared secrets and gossip. They'd even gone through time together.
And of course, all that stuff she'd been thinking about with him and Ron was completely untrue. She could see it now. All the pieces connected. They might have mashed their bits together, but hadn't Harry shown up looking sorry for himself? And covered in spunk? She could easily see Ron getting himself off, then promptly falling asleep and leaving Harry to the mess. It'd be just like him - not that Ron would have intended for any malice, but that was just who he was. And then Harry had come here…
They were very much in the same position, she realized. Hadn't they both grown up in the Muggle world? Weren't they both very new to all this, and experiencing things together for the first time? Hadn't he been trapped in a cupboard for twelve years? And that was even more shut off than she was. And didn't they understand one another, in a way that Ron just couldn't engage with? Didn't they connect? Harry might be, she thought, her best friend in the whole world, and here they were, doing this as a team.
As if on queue, he seemed to register her looking at him. Hair shaking as Mrs. Weasley's cock thrusted into him, he gave an open-mouthed grin, still in a daze.
"Hey… Hermione," he said, voice pitched.
Her heart surged in affection and she moved forward, clamping her mouth over his. His lips felt very much like a girl's. They kissed, faces bumping as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley filled them. Their noses puffed, their hair fell and got in their mouths and was brushed aside again. They let out soft moans of enjoyment as their tongues met, their bodies thrumming and surging and enjoying where they were. And, watching this, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiled.