Chapter Two: Detention with Professor Malfoy
Hogwarts had changed since the war. The portraits whispered louder. The ghosts were quieter. Even the staircases creaked like they were still mourning the blood that had dried in the cracks of the stone. But nothing had changed more than Hermione Granger.
Except nobody seemed to notice.
She still got perfect marks. She still raised her hand. She still wore her prefect badge. She still spoke with clarity and confidence in every classroom. But her robes fit tighter now. Her skirts had risen an inch. Her stockings were new sheer, glossy, and thigh-high, with little pink bows hidden under her uniform.
Her breasts bounced when she walked.
Her voice had a breathier lilt, like a girl trying to sound polite while holding back a moan.
And still nobody noticed.
Except one.
Professor Malfoy.
Not 'Draco' not anymore. Gone was the sneering boy with the pointed chin and cruel laugh. The man who returned to Hogwarts a year after the war bore a different face. Pale, sharp, tired but composed. He taught 'Advanced Magical Theory', which no one ever enrolled in unless they had something to prove. Hermione did. Obviously.
He noticed her before she noticed herself.
He noticed the change in her handwriting: bigger loops, hearts above her i's. He noticed the extra coat of gloss on her lips, the pink tinge of blush on her cheeks, the soft sound of her giggle now timed too perfectly to male laughter.
But it wasn't until she answered a question about Rune Theory and then dropped her quill bending over so slowly it could have been choreography that he realized something was wrong.
Because Hermione Granger didn't flirt.
Hermione Granger didn't giggle.
Hermione Granger didn't wear perfume that smelled like strawberries and sin.
And yet there she was. Bent over. Lacy pink panties visible beneath a skirt that clearly violated every dress code Hogwarts ever invented.
He cleared his throat. She looked up, wide-eyed, lashes batting.
"Miss Granger. Detention. Tonight. Eight o'clock. My office."
She blinked. Smiled.
"Y-Yes, Professor," she said, and the way she purred 'professor' made his knuckles whiten on the desk.
Her panties were soaked by the time the door clicked shut behind her.
He didn't look at her. Just gestured to the desk. "Sit."
She did, crossing her legs slowly, letting the skirt rise just enough. Her blouse strained across her tits—tight enough now that she'd tied it in a knot above her navel. He said nothing.
She tapped her fingers on the desk. "Professor?"
He finally looked up.
And froze.
Hermione's eyes weren't the same.
Not just lust. Not just mischief. There was something 'glowing' behind them something ancient and hungry, coiled like a snake in the nest of her mind.
"What are you playing at?" he said.
She tilted her head. "I don't know what you mean, sir," she whispered, sucking the end of her quill between plump lips. "Are you upset I bent over in class?" She leaned forward, voice dropping to a purr. "Did it make your cock hard?"
His wand was in his hand in a flash. Not raised. Not aimed. But ready.
"Stop it," he said. "This isn't you. You've been cursed."
She blinked. Laughed. "A curse? Baby, I'm 'blessed.' "
He stepped around the desk, wand still clutched like a blade. "What happened?"
Hermione pouted. "Why? Don't you like it?" She stood slowly, sliding a hand down the curve of her waist. "Don't you like my tits?" She cupped them, squeezing, her nipples clearly visible beneath the sheer blouse. "Don't you like my voice when I moan?"
He reached for her and that was when she struck.
Not with a spell.
With her 'mouth.'
She kissed him.
And it wasn't soft. It wasn't pleading. It was brutal. Wet. Her tongue pushed into his mouth like she was fucking him with it. Her hands yanked his robes, grinding her hips against him.
And that was when he saw it.
The shimmer behind her eyes. The pulse of dark magic in her throat. The faint outline of 'runes' crawling along her collarbone—glowing pink, curling like vines.
He pushed her away. Hard.
She staggered, panting, giggling. "Mmm, you're 'strong,' Professor…"
"What is that spell?" he snarled.
Her smile faltered. For a 'second.'
Then she blinked. And when her eyes opened, they were hers again.
Hermione stumbled backward.
"W-What what did I just, why am I"
He caught her before she collapsed. She was shaking. Sweat dotted her brow. Her lips trembled. And then, to his horror, she started crying.
"I didn't mean to, she made me I read it
I read the book"
He stiffened.
"What book?"
She clutched his robes. "It was in the Restricted Section. It didn't have a title. It
it changed me. Not just my body. 'Me.'"
He pulled back, searching her face. The makeup was melting. The blush streaked. Her eyes were rimmed red. Her blouse was still unbuttoned, but now it looked obscene, not seductive.
"I thought I could control it. At first it was fun. Just… fantasies. Harmless. But then, then I started wanting things I never wanted before. Dirty things. Things I used to 'hate.' "
He led her to the chair, sat her down.
"Keep talking."
"it talks to me," she whispered. "Not with words. With 'desire.' Every time I turn a page, I get wet. Every time I close it, I still hear it. It's like—it's like a virus. It's rewriting me."
"Where is it now?"
"In my dorm."
"I want you to bring it to me. Now."
She shook her head violently. "I can't."
"Hermione"
"I can't. It won't let me."
Malfoy stood. His face was unreadable. But his hands were clenched.
"Then I'll come with you."
The dorm was empty. She whispered the password—"cocksucker69"—with a flush of shame.
The room was thick with scent. Not rot. Not mildew. Sex. Heat. Her sheets were stained. Her mirror was smeared with lipstick kisses. Lingerie hung like silk trophies from the bedpost.
And the book sat on the desk.
Smiling.
Not literally but almost. Its cover shimmered as they entered, the sigil pulsing with soft light.
Malfoy stepped closer, wand raised.
Hermione gasped. "Don't touch it. Please. You'll change too."
He didn't lower the wand.
"I don't plan to touch it. I plan to 'trap' it."
But as he moved to cast, the book opened on its own.
The pages flipped.
Hermione screamed.
She doubled over, clutching her stomach. The runes burned on her skin bright pink, glowing, searing. Her legs kicked. Her body arched.
The book 'howled.'
The air rippled.
Malfoy staggered back.
And then
The pages stopped.
And standing in front of them was not a book.
But a woman.
No.
Not a woman.
A 'shape.'
Tall, curvaceous, impossible. Skin like glass filled with pink lightning. Eyes glowing with lashes too long. Lips so plump they parted even at rest. She wore nothing. She didn't need to.
She was sex.
The embodiment of it.
The book's spirit.
The enchantment, incarnate.
She smiled. Her voice was static and silk.
"Thank you, Hermione," she purred. "You were such a lovely host."
Malfoy aimed his wand. "What are you?"
She giggled. "Just a fragment. A shard of old power. Sealed long ago by prudish witches. But now…" She turned to Hermione, brushing her cheek. "You've made me real."
Hermione sobbed. "Please, take it back. I don't want it. I don't want to be this."
"You do," the entity whispered. "You begged for it with every page. Every wet little orgasm. Every time you giggled. Don't lie now."
She turned to Malfoy.
"But I can leave her. If you take her place."
He froze.
"What?"
"You're clever. Strong. Resistant. Mmm. Think how powerful I'd be inside 'you.' "
He didn't answer, And that was answer enough
The spirit vanished.
The book slammed shut.
Hermione collapsed.
And Malfoy?
He staggered back.
The runes were already forming on his wrist.
The story wasn't over.
It was just changing 'hosts.'
If you want to read more of this story, check out character portraits, and support me, then please check out my
P-A-T-R-3-0-N!
Kinkytours