The Oliver Wood School of Flight (Hermione/Oliver, 2700 words)
Title: The Oliver Wood School of Flight
Pairing: Hermione/Oliver
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2700
Summary: With Oliver as instructor, Hermione learns more at remedial flying lessons than she ever expected.
Author's Notes: Written as a gift for auntlynnie in the hermione-smut exchange. First posted here.
It is absolutely ridiculous to be nervous, Hermione told herself, standing on the edge of the pitch with a borrowed broom clutched in her sweaty hands. There is nothing to be nervous about. Across the pitch there was a small broom shed, where she could already see a small group of people standing around, many of them holding brooms.
‘ADULT FLYING LESSONS!’ the advertisement in the Prophet had promised. ‘Brush up on your skills, gain confidence and improve your technique in five easy lessons under the guidance of an expert professional instructor!’
Every witch in Britain knows how to fly a broom, and there’s no excuse for ignorance, Hermione said sternly to herself. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the group. She was a Gryffindor, after all. She had faced Voldemort; she could handle a few flying lessons. Right?
Lesson One:
As Oliver spoke to the group, he smiled directly at Hermione. She returned the gesture, pleased to have an old housemate as her instructor, even if she had never known him particularly well. Throughout his introductory speech, his eyes returned to her again and again. Hermione had read several books on the art of public speaking, and knew this was an accepted technique: making every member of one’s audience feel as though they were being individually addressed. Oliver certainly was good at it, she thought.
At times she felt as though she were entirely alone with Oliver, and the other students did not exist at all. She wouldn't mind being alone with him.
Lesson Two:
“You’re holding on too tightly,” Oliver said, speaking softly into her ear so that Hermione felt the skin on her neck tingle with every word. “Give the handle room to move.” He grasped her hands in his own, repositioning her grip on the broom. For a few moments, Hermione forgot to be nervous about flying and felt something else entirely.
Lesson Three:
“Posture should be relaxed but alert,” Oliver announced in a loud voice to the rest of the class, before placing one broad palm at the base of Hermione’s spine and pressing. “Straighten up," he murmured, and Hermione felt a shiver run across her skin. There, brilliant,” he said when she complied, and let his hand rest for another second before stepping away. Even after his hand was gone, the heat from his touch remained, burning like a firebrand. Hermione let out a breath, and watched his muscular arse flex as he walked away to check on her classmates.
I must be imagining things, she told herself, as her mind lingered over the feel of Oliver’s hand on her. Really, it was quite inappropriate, to think of one’s instructor in such a way. He was only trying to help me improve my form, nothing more, she declared inwardly. The situation thus classified and resolved, she pushed the thought away.
Lesson Four:
"For maximum stability, make sure to grip the shaft tightly with your legs," Oliver told her in a low voice, adjusting her thigh about two centimetres. "Yes, just so."
The thick broom handle suddenly felt very different between her legs. She arched her back in a tiny movement and pressed down against the handle, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through her body.
I can't be imagining this, Hermione told herself. Oliver meant to do that. She bit her lip and tried not to let out a moan at the very thought.
Lesson Five:
“This is the last class, and I daresay that everyone has improved greatly. You are all fit to fly the friendly skies with confidence! I have your certificates here, and will hand them out. Thank you very much for choosing Wood’s Flight Academy, and if you’re still interested there are a number of other courses...”
Hermione felt a little pang as Oliver continued to speak. She had found she actually enjoyed the classes, to her surprise -- if she hadn’t enjoyed the flying per se, she certainly did enjoy spending time with Oliver. And despite the fact that nothing had come of his subtle innuendos, a part of her still felt as though there might have been a chance for-- but no, class was over now and nothing could happen.
Oliver circulated through the small crowd of students, shaking hands and giving out his course completion certificates. Hermione looked away, trying not to watch him as he talked and smiled, and busied herself instead with organizing her gear in her small tote bag.
Finally, after she’d arranged and rearranged the contents of her bag at least three times, Oliver made it over to her.
“Hermione,” he said, with a broad smile.
“Hello, Oliver,” she responded, feeling a bit awkward. She looked around the pitch, but the other students had all left, drifting away in twos or threes or Apparating off individually. They were alone for the first time.
“Congratulations on completing the course,” he said. “I have a certificate for you, but I seem to have left it in the office.”
"I'll wait while you get it," Hermione said. “I have just the place for it at home.” The fancy parchment would be filed in her desk, in the drawer marked ‘awards and recognition.’
"Why don't you walk with me?" Oliver suggested, with a charming smile. He was leaning quite close to her now, and Hermione felt her skin heating in response.
She zipped up her bag and hoisted it on her shoulder, then turned and walked alongside him toward the broom shed. “Thank you for the lessons. I learned a great deal about flying, and--”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, in just the same ‘teacher’ tone he’d used for the other students, and Hermione’s heart sank a little.
They reached the broom shed, and Oliver tapped his wand against the door handle to unlock it, ushering her through the door. Inside, the building was much larger than it appeared from the outside, and divided into two rooms. To her left, Hermione glimpsed a storage room full of neatly-arranged brooms and safety gear, with a sack full of Quaffles laying near the door. Oliver walked into the room on the right, and Hermione followed, finding it a snug office with a desk, file cabinet and a colorful rug across the floor. A battered couch sat along one wall, below a window that looked out on the practice field.
Oliver spoke again, and his voice sounded quite different this time from the professional voice he'd used earlier. “Now that class is over,” he said, in a warm and friendly tone. His smile was formed in a somehow different way, as well, with a deep dimple in one corner and a less crisp and professional air. “Would you like to have dinner on Friday?”
Hermione, who’d prepared herself extensively to simply walk away and ignore the tension that had been building throughout the course, was a bit taken aback. “I suppose you ask all your students out for dinner?”
“No.” Oliver raked a hand through his hair, rumpling it. “During the course, we-- I, that is-- there are strict rules about the interactions between instructors and students. And well, it’s my school and all--”
“I understand entirely,” Hermione said. Really, it explained everything. She smiled, both flattered that Oliver had been tempted to break the rules for her, and pleased that he had stuck to his principles in the end.
“You do?” he asked.
“I would love to have dinner with you on Friday,” she said. “You can pick me up at seven.”
"Brilliant," Oliver murmured. He was standing quite close, and he ducked his head and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth; a good-night kiss would not have been a surprise, really, but a kiss before they’d even been on their date was a bit shocking.
Hermione wasn’t quite certain what came over her, really. Oliver was of course very good-looking, but that didn’t excuse such forward behavior at all. Perhaps the shock was responsible for her reaction; yes, that was certainly it.
The kiss was gentle, careful. Oliver’s lips on hers were dry and respectful, and a part of Hermione was pleased at this. That part was apparently not in charge. Instead, the part of Hermione’s mind which had been going crazy for weeks watching Oliver’s arse in class and feeling his hands on her thigh and imagining his hands in all kinds of other places took over.
Instead of stepping away, collecting her course certificate and generally behaving like a civilized witch, Hermione did exactly what she’d been dreaming of doing for well over a month: wrapped her arms around him, dug her fingers into his thick hair, and dragged his body against her own. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and pressed her breasts up against his chest.
Oliver let out a surprised sound that was halfway between a moan and a squeak, but he didn’t make a move to stop her. Instead, he kissed her back thoroughly, licking and sucking her mouth until Hermione felt as though she might melt into a puddle on the floor. He kicked the office door closed with one foot and then walked her slowly backwards into the center of the room.
As they kissed, Hermione let one hand drift down Oliver’s back to cup his bum, and squeezed. It was just as firm and tight as she’d been imagining, and she groaned into his mouth a bit.
Oliver let out a soft laugh into her mouth. “I saw you watching me in class,” he confessed.
“Oh?” she asked, squeezing his bum more boldly now, massaging with both hands. This had the happy side effect of pressing his hips more firmly against her own. She could feel a growing hardness between his legs, and felt elated that she had caused such a reaction.
“I watched you, too,” Oliver said, breaking the kiss and whispering in her ear. Hermione could feel his breath tickling her neck, and felt shivers run up and down her spine. “I wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of class, with everyone around.”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh, a bit disbelieving. “You’re kissing me now,” she pointed out. Still, a strange thrill went through her at the very idea of kissing Oliver where other people could see them.
“I am,” he murmured, and bent his head to lick up the column of her neck.
Hermione tilted her head back to give him better access, feeling her body begin to grow warm at his touch. Oliver’s body was very close to her own, heat emanating through his robes. Boldly, she slipped one hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, touching smooth, heated skin.
“I never do this,” she admitted, as her fingers traced the curve of his hip, her hand trapped between his skin and clothes. Oh, she’d done this before, touched a man’s skin with intent to do more, but it had always been in a relationship, with established rules and order and a bed. She’d never pawed at a man in his office, her own instructor no less.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Oliver said softly.
Hermione felt his breath against her neck where he spoke and an electric thrill of pleasure dance across her skin. At that moment she knew that she would not be able to wait for the safe solidity of a relationship, of rules, or even a bed. She’d been waiting for Oliver for a month already, feeling his teacher’s touches against her thighs and imagining what his muscular body might look like under his robes. She had waited long enough.
She pushed Oliver backwards, until his legs hit the side of the sofa and he half-fell down into a seated position. A moment later she was in his lap, and he was undoing the buttons on her practical Quidditch robes.
Hermione reached for Oliver’s belt buckle and fumbled with it until she got it undone. She reached inside and gripped his hardening cock in her hand, just as Oliver pulled her bra out of the way and began kissing her breasts.
Oliver’s hand climbed up her thigh, slipping beneath the her robes and making its way upward. “We should stop,” she said, breathless, and his hand stilled in place.
“I am your instructor,” he agreed, still kissing one of her nipples.
“It seems a bit inappropriate,” she said. She looked down at his hardened cock in her hand, and felt the warm heat of pleasure at the feel of his mouth against her breast. Oliver had stopped kissing her breasts, but he was breathing hard, and his breath swept across her wet skin, sending shivers through her entire body.
“Oh, fine,” she said after a long moment. “I suppose the course is over, after all.”
At that, Oliver grinned and rededicated himself to the task of kissing her breasts until the nipples formed hardened peaks. Hermione pulled at the few remaining buttons of her robes until they popped open, one by one, and she could finally drop the fabric on the floor.
Oliver's hands swept over her nearly-bare body, caressing the planes of her stomach, the small curves of her waist and hips. He touched her simple cotton knickers with gentle fingers and then pushed the fabric out of the way and probed inside.
Hermione threw back her head and gasped, riding Oliver's hand as he slipped his fingers in and out, in and out. Warm gusts of pleasure spread throughout her body, slowly at first, then faster and faster until Hermione felt as though she were flying an out-of-control broom. She urged Oliver on with wordless moans, thrashing against his fingers as he stroked her. She was close -- so close -- and then she was there, crying out as the pleasure overtook her.
When she was able to take a shaky breath, Hermione opened her eyes and looked down into Oliver's grinning face. He looked pretty pleased with himself, but Hermione supposed that he had the right.
Slowly, keeping her eyes on Oliver's as she did so, Hermione stood up. She grasped the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down. As she undressed, Oliver pushed off his trousers and kicked them away, leaving him utterly bare to her eyes.
Hermione straddled him and sank down, accepting his hard cock inside herself. He kissed her breasts and she arched her back, reveling in the dueling sensations of her upper and lower body, the slippery feel of skin against skin and flesh against flesh. He gripped her hips with both hands and guided her motions, setting up a rhythm of push-and-pull that sent pulses of pleasure through her already hyper-sensitive body.
She was growing tired; her muscles ached for release, but Oliver pushed her onwards, his strong arms guiding her in that relentless pace. Her legs started to quiver, her heart began to race, and Hermione knew that she was close once again.
No, she thought, nearly incoherent. Not before him -- not again. What was it that blokes said? Think about Quidditch. But all that came to mind when she tried to think about Quidditch was Oliver's muscular arse, his voice murmuring 'grip the shaft tightly with your legs,' and that didn't help to delay the inevitable at all.
With a cry, Hermione tumbled over the edge once again, shuddering out her release. After a moment, Oliver let out a loud groan. His hands tightened their grip on her hips, then let go, as he spent himself inside her.
Hermione collapsed forward, every muscle suddenly turned to jelly. She rested her forehead on Oliver's shoulder, and closed her eyes.
"Oh," she said softly after a minute. "That was..."
"Well, Miss Granger," Oliver said, a smile in his tone. "I'd give you a grade of 'Outstanding.' In fact, I think you warrant 'Special Services to the School.'"
Hermione laughed, but Oliver was already swallowing it in a kiss.
Pairing: Hermione/Oliver
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2700
Summary: With Oliver as instructor, Hermione learns more at remedial flying lessons than she ever expected.
Author's Notes: Written as a gift for auntlynnie in the hermione-smut exchange. First posted here.
It is absolutely ridiculous to be nervous, Hermione told herself, standing on the edge of the pitch with a borrowed broom clutched in her sweaty hands. There is nothing to be nervous about. Across the pitch there was a small broom shed, where she could already see a small group of people standing around, many of them holding brooms.
‘ADULT FLYING LESSONS!’ the advertisement in the Prophet had promised. ‘Brush up on your skills, gain confidence and improve your technique in five easy lessons under the guidance of an expert professional instructor!’
Every witch in Britain knows how to fly a broom, and there’s no excuse for ignorance, Hermione said sternly to herself. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the group. She was a Gryffindor, after all. She had faced Voldemort; she could handle a few flying lessons. Right?
Lesson One:
As Oliver spoke to the group, he smiled directly at Hermione. She returned the gesture, pleased to have an old housemate as her instructor, even if she had never known him particularly well. Throughout his introductory speech, his eyes returned to her again and again. Hermione had read several books on the art of public speaking, and knew this was an accepted technique: making every member of one’s audience feel as though they were being individually addressed. Oliver certainly was good at it, she thought.
At times she felt as though she were entirely alone with Oliver, and the other students did not exist at all. She wouldn't mind being alone with him.
Lesson Two:
“You’re holding on too tightly,” Oliver said, speaking softly into her ear so that Hermione felt the skin on her neck tingle with every word. “Give the handle room to move.” He grasped her hands in his own, repositioning her grip on the broom. For a few moments, Hermione forgot to be nervous about flying and felt something else entirely.
Lesson Three:
“Posture should be relaxed but alert,” Oliver announced in a loud voice to the rest of the class, before placing one broad palm at the base of Hermione’s spine and pressing. “Straighten up," he murmured, and Hermione felt a shiver run across her skin. There, brilliant,” he said when she complied, and let his hand rest for another second before stepping away. Even after his hand was gone, the heat from his touch remained, burning like a firebrand. Hermione let out a breath, and watched his muscular arse flex as he walked away to check on her classmates.
I must be imagining things, she told herself, as her mind lingered over the feel of Oliver’s hand on her. Really, it was quite inappropriate, to think of one’s instructor in such a way. He was only trying to help me improve my form, nothing more, she declared inwardly. The situation thus classified and resolved, she pushed the thought away.
Lesson Four:
"For maximum stability, make sure to grip the shaft tightly with your legs," Oliver told her in a low voice, adjusting her thigh about two centimetres. "Yes, just so."
The thick broom handle suddenly felt very different between her legs. She arched her back in a tiny movement and pressed down against the handle, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through her body.
I can't be imagining this, Hermione told herself. Oliver meant to do that. She bit her lip and tried not to let out a moan at the very thought.
Lesson Five:
“This is the last class, and I daresay that everyone has improved greatly. You are all fit to fly the friendly skies with confidence! I have your certificates here, and will hand them out. Thank you very much for choosing Wood’s Flight Academy, and if you’re still interested there are a number of other courses...”
Hermione felt a little pang as Oliver continued to speak. She had found she actually enjoyed the classes, to her surprise -- if she hadn’t enjoyed the flying per se, she certainly did enjoy spending time with Oliver. And despite the fact that nothing had come of his subtle innuendos, a part of her still felt as though there might have been a chance for-- but no, class was over now and nothing could happen.
Oliver circulated through the small crowd of students, shaking hands and giving out his course completion certificates. Hermione looked away, trying not to watch him as he talked and smiled, and busied herself instead with organizing her gear in her small tote bag.
Finally, after she’d arranged and rearranged the contents of her bag at least three times, Oliver made it over to her.
“Hermione,” he said, with a broad smile.
“Hello, Oliver,” she responded, feeling a bit awkward. She looked around the pitch, but the other students had all left, drifting away in twos or threes or Apparating off individually. They were alone for the first time.
“Congratulations on completing the course,” he said. “I have a certificate for you, but I seem to have left it in the office.”
"I'll wait while you get it," Hermione said. “I have just the place for it at home.” The fancy parchment would be filed in her desk, in the drawer marked ‘awards and recognition.’
"Why don't you walk with me?" Oliver suggested, with a charming smile. He was leaning quite close to her now, and Hermione felt her skin heating in response.
She zipped up her bag and hoisted it on her shoulder, then turned and walked alongside him toward the broom shed. “Thank you for the lessons. I learned a great deal about flying, and--”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, in just the same ‘teacher’ tone he’d used for the other students, and Hermione’s heart sank a little.
They reached the broom shed, and Oliver tapped his wand against the door handle to unlock it, ushering her through the door. Inside, the building was much larger than it appeared from the outside, and divided into two rooms. To her left, Hermione glimpsed a storage room full of neatly-arranged brooms and safety gear, with a sack full of Quaffles laying near the door. Oliver walked into the room on the right, and Hermione followed, finding it a snug office with a desk, file cabinet and a colorful rug across the floor. A battered couch sat along one wall, below a window that looked out on the practice field.
Oliver spoke again, and his voice sounded quite different this time from the professional voice he'd used earlier. “Now that class is over,” he said, in a warm and friendly tone. His smile was formed in a somehow different way, as well, with a deep dimple in one corner and a less crisp and professional air. “Would you like to have dinner on Friday?”
Hermione, who’d prepared herself extensively to simply walk away and ignore the tension that had been building throughout the course, was a bit taken aback. “I suppose you ask all your students out for dinner?”
“No.” Oliver raked a hand through his hair, rumpling it. “During the course, we-- I, that is-- there are strict rules about the interactions between instructors and students. And well, it’s my school and all--”
“I understand entirely,” Hermione said. Really, it explained everything. She smiled, both flattered that Oliver had been tempted to break the rules for her, and pleased that he had stuck to his principles in the end.
“You do?” he asked.
“I would love to have dinner with you on Friday,” she said. “You can pick me up at seven.”
"Brilliant," Oliver murmured. He was standing quite close, and he ducked his head and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth; a good-night kiss would not have been a surprise, really, but a kiss before they’d even been on their date was a bit shocking.
Hermione wasn’t quite certain what came over her, really. Oliver was of course very good-looking, but that didn’t excuse such forward behavior at all. Perhaps the shock was responsible for her reaction; yes, that was certainly it.
The kiss was gentle, careful. Oliver’s lips on hers were dry and respectful, and a part of Hermione was pleased at this. That part was apparently not in charge. Instead, the part of Hermione’s mind which had been going crazy for weeks watching Oliver’s arse in class and feeling his hands on her thigh and imagining his hands in all kinds of other places took over.
Instead of stepping away, collecting her course certificate and generally behaving like a civilized witch, Hermione did exactly what she’d been dreaming of doing for well over a month: wrapped her arms around him, dug her fingers into his thick hair, and dragged his body against her own. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and pressed her breasts up against his chest.
Oliver let out a surprised sound that was halfway between a moan and a squeak, but he didn’t make a move to stop her. Instead, he kissed her back thoroughly, licking and sucking her mouth until Hermione felt as though she might melt into a puddle on the floor. He kicked the office door closed with one foot and then walked her slowly backwards into the center of the room.
As they kissed, Hermione let one hand drift down Oliver’s back to cup his bum, and squeezed. It was just as firm and tight as she’d been imagining, and she groaned into his mouth a bit.
Oliver let out a soft laugh into her mouth. “I saw you watching me in class,” he confessed.
“Oh?” she asked, squeezing his bum more boldly now, massaging with both hands. This had the happy side effect of pressing his hips more firmly against her own. She could feel a growing hardness between his legs, and felt elated that she had caused such a reaction.
“I watched you, too,” Oliver said, breaking the kiss and whispering in her ear. Hermione could feel his breath tickling her neck, and felt shivers run up and down her spine. “I wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of class, with everyone around.”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh, a bit disbelieving. “You’re kissing me now,” she pointed out. Still, a strange thrill went through her at the very idea of kissing Oliver where other people could see them.
“I am,” he murmured, and bent his head to lick up the column of her neck.
Hermione tilted her head back to give him better access, feeling her body begin to grow warm at his touch. Oliver’s body was very close to her own, heat emanating through his robes. Boldly, she slipped one hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, touching smooth, heated skin.
“I never do this,” she admitted, as her fingers traced the curve of his hip, her hand trapped between his skin and clothes. Oh, she’d done this before, touched a man’s skin with intent to do more, but it had always been in a relationship, with established rules and order and a bed. She’d never pawed at a man in his office, her own instructor no less.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Oliver said softly.
Hermione felt his breath against her neck where he spoke and an electric thrill of pleasure dance across her skin. At that moment she knew that she would not be able to wait for the safe solidity of a relationship, of rules, or even a bed. She’d been waiting for Oliver for a month already, feeling his teacher’s touches against her thighs and imagining what his muscular body might look like under his robes. She had waited long enough.
She pushed Oliver backwards, until his legs hit the side of the sofa and he half-fell down into a seated position. A moment later she was in his lap, and he was undoing the buttons on her practical Quidditch robes.
Hermione reached for Oliver’s belt buckle and fumbled with it until she got it undone. She reached inside and gripped his hardening cock in her hand, just as Oliver pulled her bra out of the way and began kissing her breasts.
Oliver’s hand climbed up her thigh, slipping beneath the her robes and making its way upward. “We should stop,” she said, breathless, and his hand stilled in place.
“I am your instructor,” he agreed, still kissing one of her nipples.
“It seems a bit inappropriate,” she said. She looked down at his hardened cock in her hand, and felt the warm heat of pleasure at the feel of his mouth against her breast. Oliver had stopped kissing her breasts, but he was breathing hard, and his breath swept across her wet skin, sending shivers through her entire body.
“Oh, fine,” she said after a long moment. “I suppose the course is over, after all.”
At that, Oliver grinned and rededicated himself to the task of kissing her breasts until the nipples formed hardened peaks. Hermione pulled at the few remaining buttons of her robes until they popped open, one by one, and she could finally drop the fabric on the floor.
Oliver's hands swept over her nearly-bare body, caressing the planes of her stomach, the small curves of her waist and hips. He touched her simple cotton knickers with gentle fingers and then pushed the fabric out of the way and probed inside.
Hermione threw back her head and gasped, riding Oliver's hand as he slipped his fingers in and out, in and out. Warm gusts of pleasure spread throughout her body, slowly at first, then faster and faster until Hermione felt as though she were flying an out-of-control broom. She urged Oliver on with wordless moans, thrashing against his fingers as he stroked her. She was close -- so close -- and then she was there, crying out as the pleasure overtook her.
When she was able to take a shaky breath, Hermione opened her eyes and looked down into Oliver's grinning face. He looked pretty pleased with himself, but Hermione supposed that he had the right.
Slowly, keeping her eyes on Oliver's as she did so, Hermione stood up. She grasped the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down. As she undressed, Oliver pushed off his trousers and kicked them away, leaving him utterly bare to her eyes.
Hermione straddled him and sank down, accepting his hard cock inside herself. He kissed her breasts and she arched her back, reveling in the dueling sensations of her upper and lower body, the slippery feel of skin against skin and flesh against flesh. He gripped her hips with both hands and guided her motions, setting up a rhythm of push-and-pull that sent pulses of pleasure through her already hyper-sensitive body.
She was growing tired; her muscles ached for release, but Oliver pushed her onwards, his strong arms guiding her in that relentless pace. Her legs started to quiver, her heart began to race, and Hermione knew that she was close once again.
No, she thought, nearly incoherent. Not before him -- not again. What was it that blokes said? Think about Quidditch. But all that came to mind when she tried to think about Quidditch was Oliver's muscular arse, his voice murmuring 'grip the shaft tightly with your legs,' and that didn't help to delay the inevitable at all.
With a cry, Hermione tumbled over the edge once again, shuddering out her release. After a moment, Oliver let out a loud groan. His hands tightened their grip on her hips, then let go, as he spent himself inside her.
Hermione collapsed forward, every muscle suddenly turned to jelly. She rested her forehead on Oliver's shoulder, and closed her eyes.
"Oh," she said softly after a minute. "That was..."
"Well, Miss Granger," Oliver said, a smile in his tone. "I'd give you a grade of 'Outstanding.' In fact, I think you warrant 'Special Services to the School.'"
Hermione laughed, but Oliver was already swallowing it in a kiss.