drabbleset: well-spotted (Hermione's a girl)
From the requests here.
General notes: No direct spoilers for DH except as noted. Some of the futurefic is AU. All fic set at school comes with implicit warnings about underage sexuality and the accompanying issues of consent. I've warned for explicit kink. All the MM/HG is so ridiculously sappy it might melt your teeth. Next up: Giles porn. :)
[Hermione/Oliver Wood. Timeline unspecified, but they're both still at school. NC-17. You learn something new every day. For swatkkat24]
Coached
What Oliver knows about kissing is approximately identical to what Hermione knows about Quidditch, that is, not much. Hermione's experience of kissing is little deeper, but she knows enough to keep her teeth to herself and her tongue firmly against Oliver's, though he is trying to wrestle his into her mouth, without chivalry or much skill, as if insertion were the goal. He hoists her robes up to her waist and his hand roughly touches her cunt. Still engaged in the kiss, she absentmindedly covers his hand with hers and directs his rubbing, coaching him to her clit, and victory.
[Hermione/Oliver Wood. Timeline unspecified, but they're both still at school. R. Hermione's not skilled at sport. For swatkat24]
Keepaway
Oliver's a tease, or a good Keeper. He expertly evades Hermione's tongue, determined to explore, and though her arms are firmly around his waist, she can't achieve that thrust that will unnerve, disarm, arouse. If only she had her wand, she'd immobilize, learn his still body, but like this she's just the awkwardness of a newly adolescent body, alight for the first time with urges that can't endure to be thwarted by rough delicacy, arms and hands everywhere but the spot that itches to be touched. She pushes, Oliver blocks, and she remembers that Quidditch matches often last for days.
[Hermione/Minerva McGonagall. Timeline's unspecified, but Hermione's still at school. NC-17. Kink. Flowers (come unblooming now). For hermionesviolin]
Transfigure
McGonagall looks at her with a tickle of amusement that means Hermione's failed at looking seductive and is instead ridiculous.
"Muggle dress, really?" asks McGonagall, but is quicker with a wand than Hermione is with shame; she adjusts before Hermione (begging) can apologize. The miniskirt lengthens to silk robes so white they're sheer, and the bracelets become thirteen roses, sharp, ecstatic. Every thornbite is a promise; Hermione moans aloud when she sees she's bleeding.
"That's better," McGonagall says, and kneels to lick the wounds; when her tongue (blood-moistened) reaches Hermione's clit, shame's thoroughly transformed into the prickly trickery of pain.
[Hermione/Minerva McGonagall/Ron Weasley. Set during fourth year, movieverse. R. This is how we learned to dance. For thelastgoodname]
Also, The Quadrille
Watching Ron attempt to dance would be pleasantly ridiculous if he weren't dancing with Professor McGonagall, who holds him too tightly and meets Hermione's eyes in an orchestrated pattern of arousal, as if Hermione weren't already hypnotized by McGonagall conducting Ron through the rhythms of waltz and tango.
Precise fantasies, firmly controlled, have guided her fingers -- Ron and blushing kisses, McGonagall whispering against soaking wet knickers. She didn't know she wanted McGonagall to guide Ron, gliding, to her side. "She's as rough a dancer as she is professor," he says, and Hermione, who knew that, is heartened and glad.
[Hermione/Parvati Patil. No timeline specified, but they're both still at school. PG. Perfect. Always. Pressure. For queenzulu. This drabble has been remixed as What a Doozey by lye_tea.]
Scald
Then, afternoon tea was carefully brewed, never hurried.
Now, Parvati gulps so fast her mouth burns. When she swirls the dregs to find her future, she sees only looming exams and Mother's face when she discovers Padma's bested her again.
"Pour me some?" Hermione asks, throwing herself into a nearby armchair. "I've been in the library for five hours and I'm going crosseyed."
Parvati checks, but there's no crossness in Hermione's slightly glazed stare, only fear, and ruthlessness. Parvati leans forward and offers not tea, but tongue, and Hermione slides down her throat as easily, effortlessly, as tea did, then.
[Hermione/Rupert Giles. Buffyverse crossover. No timeline given. R. It's only skin deep. For glimmergirl.]
Etch
There is something -- uncomfortable -- indecent, even -- about the poems. They began with the Watchers' earliest records, the half-epic dirges to the first Slayers, and progressed through prehistory till they reached Greek wizards, mocking and barbed. When he dips his brush into this paint, his fingers grow bold of their own accord and sneak into Hermione's knickers without Giles quite meaning to abandon the transcription.
"It's art," Hermione tells him, panting, artless, at the twist of his fingers. "History, written in my skin."
Giles knows the spell, but doesn't believe it, knows the words, but not their meaning.
[Hermione/Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood. Futurefic. PG. Infidelity. When you dance, it's hard not to step on someone's toes. For bluerosefairy.]
Backwards, in Reels
"May I cut in?" Luna's hands circle Neville's waist.
"Of -- of course," Hermione says, not irritated enough to object, and finds Luna twirling her in some elaborate pattern that is most certainly not a waltz. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Cutting in," Luna says, "unless you miss Neville?"
"I don't -- I thought you meant to dance with him."
"I meant to dance with both of you, but then, things interfered, people grew up, and suddenly you're married."
"I've been married five years."
"Then it's very sudden that you're having an affair," Luna says, and Hermione's closer now.
[Hermione/Severus Snape. Set during Hermione's fifth year. DH spoilers. NC-17. Extremely dubious consent. She, too, would never shut up. For scrollgirl]
Potions Passes Past
"You really think no one'll notice yours is the only O.W.L. I don't earn?" Her hands on her hips, the gleam of disdain, make him bite at his lips in still fury. She is like another Mudblood who thought her Potions pass was assured because she was too clever by half. But he owes no debt to Granger, has no compulsion towards her.
"Surely there are others Potions O.W.L.s you are concerned with? Potter's precious ambition requires an 'O' he's no chance of earning."
She absorbs that, becomes willing, smiles warily. When he fucks her mouth, she finally goes silent.
[Hermione/Rupert Giles. Buffyverse crossover. Futurefic. It's been years since we've had anybody here and we're obsessed. For callmesandy.]
Not Since
As she exits the shop, a poorly cast glamour shimmers to her left, revealing a shabby figure. She can't help staring; it has been --
"It's been years. I haven't felt real magic since --"
"You can sense witches?" she asks in a hiss. Behind her, baubles and spices hum without purpose; magically speaking, the shop is a dead end.
"I am -- was -- relatively good at divining, yes."
"Hogwarts?" No, anyone his age is dead or condemned.
"Watchers' Council."
He's a Muggle, but Hermione hasn't been able to speak freely of magic since Harry, so she slides her tongue into him, guiltless and hungry.
[Hermione/Ron Weasley/Severus Snape. No timeline given, but Ron and Hermione at still at school. NC-17. Liquor and lust make you dumb. For flamingnik.]
To the Naked Eye
Ron has mostly outgrown the cloak, and tonight Hermione's plied him with firewhiskey, and he's not quite capable of hunching over and groping Hermione at the same moment, so they sacrifice secrecy for pleasure's sake, and when they reach Snape's office, they're both half visible and fully aroused, and Ron's thumb has penetrated Hermione's quim.
"Why're we here?" he thinks to ask, accidentally hitting the doorjamb as he tries to maneuver them both into the tiny office without dislodging his hand.
Snape's smile is chilly. "Obviously, someone is under the mistaken impression that you and I will enjoy each other."
[Hermione/Ginny Weasley. No timeline given, but probably around third year. R. Secrets had best stay that way. For squirrelyjones]
Second Time Around
"You can't tell anyone," Hermione reminds her, but Ginny's not mad enough to need *that* warning. When secrets are told they aren't secret; they become fanged nightmares where once they were soft daydream places, smooth as the roundness of Hermione's breast, untroubled and untested like a newborn's magic. Why would she want to share their touches, soft fingers against pink skin, a moan, a slippery finger that tastes like sugarcane and sweet hidden mysteries, as exotic as Dad's Muggle fascination, homey as the Quidditch pitch. "If you don't tell, then you have me always," and Ginny could desire nothing else.
[Hermione/Rupert Giles/Cindy 'Mac' Mackenzie. Buffyverse and Veronica Mars crossover. PG-13. Like an eagle to the air. For alixtii.]
But Sex is Sex
Mac takes to magic, sex, and (best of all) magically enhanced threesome sex the same way she's taken to everything she's tried except appreciating NASCAR. Of course, most of those things weren't as *oh God please more* as threesomes, even if this sex *is* less unrestrained and more... methodical than she expected sex would be. Mac's never met anytwo as synchronized as Giles and Hermione who weren't actually related by blood, and she's never met *anyone* whose kisses are as bookishly clinical as Hermione's, and she's pretty sure most wizards who aren't Giles don't make love in badly conjugated Latin.
[Hermione/Minerva McGonagall. No timeline given, but Hermione is still at school. PG-13. Implied kink. The harder you fall.... For gvambat]
Heavenwards
"Did Mr. Filch's many lectures about magic in the hallways pass by you completely, Miss Granger? Or are you simply too distracted by other concerns to realize they apply to you as well?"
Hermione starts, stumbles, discovers that her towering pile of books is still towering although she's kneeling now. In her confusion the books tumble too.
"Really that's thrice this term. Do you really need detentions on top of your regular coursework? Or are you aiming for more... visceral... punishment?"
In the gleam in McGonagall's eyes, Hermione discovers who levitated her books, and for what purpose, and she smiles.
[Hermione/Dolores Umbridge. Fifth year. NC-17. Warnings for quill. Detention with Dolores. For 3708.]
Lies My Teachers Told Me
"Once again, Miss Granger, you have violated rules meant to protect you. Unless Severus is paid to teach fellatio, or Minerva frottage?"
"No."
"So discipline must be -- hem -- employed."
Hermione eyes the quill. It doesn't look like a madwoman's tool.
"Now. Let's see. I think you will have to write, 'I must not fuck my teachers.'"
The words burn and itch and melt into her skin.
"Now. Have we made any impression?" says Umbridge hours later, lifting Hermione's robes to touch her cunt, oozing blood and viscous desire. "Oh, an excellent start," Umbridge claps silently. "Tomorrow, then?"
[Hermione Granger/Keith Mars. Veronica Mars crossover. Futurefic. PG. And I can kill you with my brain. For alixtii.]
Casualties of Trade
Keith always thought it was his daughter, but in fact a well-dressed English girl with bushy hair is the reason they invented the phrase "pushy dames."
"Any reason I intercepted a package for your friend filled with deadly nightshade and assorted other poisons?"
"Not that I know of."
"That strike you as peculiar in any way?"
"Not really." Hermione's mouth has been fixed in the same determined smile for three days, and Keith's been wishing that whole time that he'd gone into a safer business, like lion-taming. Something that didn't involve perversely closed-mouthed clients, especially ones with brain-addling, businesslike stares.
[Hermione/Severus Snape/Remus Lupin. Third year. PG-13. The kind of magic that doesn't require thought. For scribbling_elf.]
Between Wars
Hermione is caught between two men who are bigger than her, angrier than her, but not cleverer. "*Stop,*" she says, and the wands go down, as if there were force beyond words in Hermione's voice. But that's ridiculous; she's never been good at wandless magic, even if Lupin *does* think she's ready, even if Snape goadingly says she's not.
She's not sure what she interrupted; the bruised look on Lupin's face could mean anything, a lovers' quarrel, or wolfbaiting gone awry. Snape's growl could be anger, or (he pushes across the office, narrowing the idle, sexless space Hermione inhabits) desire.
[Hermione/Nymphadora Tonks. Futurefic. NC-17. If only she'd stop for a moment, Hermione would understand. For noelia_g.]
War Torn
Tonks can be anyone, and is better at it when aroused, can grow stubble that burns as she eats Hermione's cunt, lengthen fingernails that scrape her insides, become short, muscular, a Quidditch star (the clumsiness almost gone in the momentum of the bedroom), a professor, stern (until the feigned eyebrows and pursed lips reveal a giggle higher-pitched than Hermione's own), but Hermione would only like her to be still, to end the nauseating merry-go-round of too familiar faces and become someone silent, someone steady, a woman in one piece when Hermione's heart has been ripped in three by two deaths.
General notes: No direct spoilers for DH except as noted. Some of the futurefic is AU. All fic set at school comes with implicit warnings about underage sexuality and the accompanying issues of consent. I've warned for explicit kink. All the MM/HG is so ridiculously sappy it might melt your teeth. Next up: Giles porn. :)
[Hermione/Oliver Wood. Timeline unspecified, but they're both still at school. NC-17. You learn something new every day. For swatkkat24]
Coached
What Oliver knows about kissing is approximately identical to what Hermione knows about Quidditch, that is, not much. Hermione's experience of kissing is little deeper, but she knows enough to keep her teeth to herself and her tongue firmly against Oliver's, though he is trying to wrestle his into her mouth, without chivalry or much skill, as if insertion were the goal. He hoists her robes up to her waist and his hand roughly touches her cunt. Still engaged in the kiss, she absentmindedly covers his hand with hers and directs his rubbing, coaching him to her clit, and victory.
[Hermione/Oliver Wood. Timeline unspecified, but they're both still at school. R. Hermione's not skilled at sport. For swatkat24]
Keepaway
Oliver's a tease, or a good Keeper. He expertly evades Hermione's tongue, determined to explore, and though her arms are firmly around his waist, she can't achieve that thrust that will unnerve, disarm, arouse. If only she had her wand, she'd immobilize, learn his still body, but like this she's just the awkwardness of a newly adolescent body, alight for the first time with urges that can't endure to be thwarted by rough delicacy, arms and hands everywhere but the spot that itches to be touched. She pushes, Oliver blocks, and she remembers that Quidditch matches often last for days.
[Hermione/Minerva McGonagall. Timeline's unspecified, but Hermione's still at school. NC-17. Kink. Flowers (come unblooming now). For hermionesviolin]
Transfigure
McGonagall looks at her with a tickle of amusement that means Hermione's failed at looking seductive and is instead ridiculous.
"Muggle dress, really?" asks McGonagall, but is quicker with a wand than Hermione is with shame; she adjusts before Hermione (begging) can apologize. The miniskirt lengthens to silk robes so white they're sheer, and the bracelets become thirteen roses, sharp, ecstatic. Every thornbite is a promise; Hermione moans aloud when she sees she's bleeding.
"That's better," McGonagall says, and kneels to lick the wounds; when her tongue (blood-moistened) reaches Hermione's clit, shame's thoroughly transformed into the prickly trickery of pain.
[Hermione/Minerva McGonagall/Ron Weasley. Set during fourth year, movieverse. R. This is how we learned to dance. For thelastgoodname]
Also, The Quadrille
Watching Ron attempt to dance would be pleasantly ridiculous if he weren't dancing with Professor McGonagall, who holds him too tightly and meets Hermione's eyes in an orchestrated pattern of arousal, as if Hermione weren't already hypnotized by McGonagall conducting Ron through the rhythms of waltz and tango.
Precise fantasies, firmly controlled, have guided her fingers -- Ron and blushing kisses, McGonagall whispering against soaking wet knickers. She didn't know she wanted McGonagall to guide Ron, gliding, to her side. "She's as rough a dancer as she is professor," he says, and Hermione, who knew that, is heartened and glad.
[Hermione/Parvati Patil. No timeline specified, but they're both still at school. PG. Perfect. Always. Pressure. For queenzulu. This drabble has been remixed as What a Doozey by lye_tea.]
Scald
Then, afternoon tea was carefully brewed, never hurried.
Now, Parvati gulps so fast her mouth burns. When she swirls the dregs to find her future, she sees only looming exams and Mother's face when she discovers Padma's bested her again.
"Pour me some?" Hermione asks, throwing herself into a nearby armchair. "I've been in the library for five hours and I'm going crosseyed."
Parvati checks, but there's no crossness in Hermione's slightly glazed stare, only fear, and ruthlessness. Parvati leans forward and offers not tea, but tongue, and Hermione slides down her throat as easily, effortlessly, as tea did, then.
[Hermione/Rupert Giles. Buffyverse crossover. No timeline given. R. It's only skin deep. For glimmergirl.]
Etch
There is something -- uncomfortable -- indecent, even -- about the poems. They began with the Watchers' earliest records, the half-epic dirges to the first Slayers, and progressed through prehistory till they reached Greek wizards, mocking and barbed. When he dips his brush into this paint, his fingers grow bold of their own accord and sneak into Hermione's knickers without Giles quite meaning to abandon the transcription.
"It's art," Hermione tells him, panting, artless, at the twist of his fingers. "History, written in my skin."
Giles knows the spell, but doesn't believe it, knows the words, but not their meaning.
[Hermione/Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood. Futurefic. PG. Infidelity. When you dance, it's hard not to step on someone's toes. For bluerosefairy.]
Backwards, in Reels
"May I cut in?" Luna's hands circle Neville's waist.
"Of -- of course," Hermione says, not irritated enough to object, and finds Luna twirling her in some elaborate pattern that is most certainly not a waltz. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Cutting in," Luna says, "unless you miss Neville?"
"I don't -- I thought you meant to dance with him."
"I meant to dance with both of you, but then, things interfered, people grew up, and suddenly you're married."
"I've been married five years."
"Then it's very sudden that you're having an affair," Luna says, and Hermione's closer now.
[Hermione/Severus Snape. Set during Hermione's fifth year. DH spoilers. NC-17. Extremely dubious consent. She, too, would never shut up. For scrollgirl]
Potions Passes Past
"You really think no one'll notice yours is the only O.W.L. I don't earn?" Her hands on her hips, the gleam of disdain, make him bite at his lips in still fury. She is like another Mudblood who thought her Potions pass was assured because she was too clever by half. But he owes no debt to Granger, has no compulsion towards her.
"Surely there are others Potions O.W.L.s you are concerned with? Potter's precious ambition requires an 'O' he's no chance of earning."
She absorbs that, becomes willing, smiles warily. When he fucks her mouth, she finally goes silent.
[Hermione/Rupert Giles. Buffyverse crossover. Futurefic. It's been years since we've had anybody here and we're obsessed. For callmesandy.]
Not Since
As she exits the shop, a poorly cast glamour shimmers to her left, revealing a shabby figure. She can't help staring; it has been --
"It's been years. I haven't felt real magic since --"
"You can sense witches?" she asks in a hiss. Behind her, baubles and spices hum without purpose; magically speaking, the shop is a dead end.
"I am -- was -- relatively good at divining, yes."
"Hogwarts?" No, anyone his age is dead or condemned.
"Watchers' Council."
He's a Muggle, but Hermione hasn't been able to speak freely of magic since Harry, so she slides her tongue into him, guiltless and hungry.
[Hermione/Ron Weasley/Severus Snape. No timeline given, but Ron and Hermione at still at school. NC-17. Liquor and lust make you dumb. For flamingnik.]
To the Naked Eye
Ron has mostly outgrown the cloak, and tonight Hermione's plied him with firewhiskey, and he's not quite capable of hunching over and groping Hermione at the same moment, so they sacrifice secrecy for pleasure's sake, and when they reach Snape's office, they're both half visible and fully aroused, and Ron's thumb has penetrated Hermione's quim.
"Why're we here?" he thinks to ask, accidentally hitting the doorjamb as he tries to maneuver them both into the tiny office without dislodging his hand.
Snape's smile is chilly. "Obviously, someone is under the mistaken impression that you and I will enjoy each other."
[Hermione/Ginny Weasley. No timeline given, but probably around third year. R. Secrets had best stay that way. For squirrelyjones]
Second Time Around
"You can't tell anyone," Hermione reminds her, but Ginny's not mad enough to need *that* warning. When secrets are told they aren't secret; they become fanged nightmares where once they were soft daydream places, smooth as the roundness of Hermione's breast, untroubled and untested like a newborn's magic. Why would she want to share their touches, soft fingers against pink skin, a moan, a slippery finger that tastes like sugarcane and sweet hidden mysteries, as exotic as Dad's Muggle fascination, homey as the Quidditch pitch. "If you don't tell, then you have me always," and Ginny could desire nothing else.
[Hermione/Rupert Giles/Cindy 'Mac' Mackenzie. Buffyverse and Veronica Mars crossover. PG-13. Like an eagle to the air. For alixtii.]
But Sex is Sex
Mac takes to magic, sex, and (best of all) magically enhanced threesome sex the same way she's taken to everything she's tried except appreciating NASCAR. Of course, most of those things weren't as *oh God please more* as threesomes, even if this sex *is* less unrestrained and more... methodical than she expected sex would be. Mac's never met anytwo as synchronized as Giles and Hermione who weren't actually related by blood, and she's never met *anyone* whose kisses are as bookishly clinical as Hermione's, and she's pretty sure most wizards who aren't Giles don't make love in badly conjugated Latin.
[Hermione/Minerva McGonagall. No timeline given, but Hermione is still at school. PG-13. Implied kink. The harder you fall.... For gvambat]
Heavenwards
"Did Mr. Filch's many lectures about magic in the hallways pass by you completely, Miss Granger? Or are you simply too distracted by other concerns to realize they apply to you as well?"
Hermione starts, stumbles, discovers that her towering pile of books is still towering although she's kneeling now. In her confusion the books tumble too.
"Really that's thrice this term. Do you really need detentions on top of your regular coursework? Or are you aiming for more... visceral... punishment?"
In the gleam in McGonagall's eyes, Hermione discovers who levitated her books, and for what purpose, and she smiles.
[Hermione/Dolores Umbridge. Fifth year. NC-17. Warnings for quill. Detention with Dolores. For 3708.]
Lies My Teachers Told Me
"Once again, Miss Granger, you have violated rules meant to protect you. Unless Severus is paid to teach fellatio, or Minerva frottage?"
"No."
"So discipline must be -- hem -- employed."
Hermione eyes the quill. It doesn't look like a madwoman's tool.
"Now. Let's see. I think you will have to write, 'I must not fuck my teachers.'"
The words burn and itch and melt into her skin.
"Now. Have we made any impression?" says Umbridge hours later, lifting Hermione's robes to touch her cunt, oozing blood and viscous desire. "Oh, an excellent start," Umbridge claps silently. "Tomorrow, then?"
[Hermione Granger/Keith Mars. Veronica Mars crossover. Futurefic. PG. And I can kill you with my brain. For alixtii.]
Casualties of Trade
Keith always thought it was his daughter, but in fact a well-dressed English girl with bushy hair is the reason they invented the phrase "pushy dames."
"Any reason I intercepted a package for your friend filled with deadly nightshade and assorted other poisons?"
"Not that I know of."
"That strike you as peculiar in any way?"
"Not really." Hermione's mouth has been fixed in the same determined smile for three days, and Keith's been wishing that whole time that he'd gone into a safer business, like lion-taming. Something that didn't involve perversely closed-mouthed clients, especially ones with brain-addling, businesslike stares.
[Hermione/Severus Snape/Remus Lupin. Third year. PG-13. The kind of magic that doesn't require thought. For scribbling_elf.]
Between Wars
Hermione is caught between two men who are bigger than her, angrier than her, but not cleverer. "*Stop,*" she says, and the wands go down, as if there were force beyond words in Hermione's voice. But that's ridiculous; she's never been good at wandless magic, even if Lupin *does* think she's ready, even if Snape goadingly says she's not.
She's not sure what she interrupted; the bruised look on Lupin's face could mean anything, a lovers' quarrel, or wolfbaiting gone awry. Snape's growl could be anger, or (he pushes across the office, narrowing the idle, sexless space Hermione inhabits) desire.
[Hermione/Nymphadora Tonks. Futurefic. NC-17. If only she'd stop for a moment, Hermione would understand. For noelia_g.]
War Torn
Tonks can be anyone, and is better at it when aroused, can grow stubble that burns as she eats Hermione's cunt, lengthen fingernails that scrape her insides, become short, muscular, a Quidditch star (the clumsiness almost gone in the momentum of the bedroom), a professor, stern (until the feigned eyebrows and pursed lips reveal a giggle higher-pitched than Hermione's own), but Hermione would only like her to be still, to end the nauseating merry-go-round of too familiar faces and become someone silent, someone steady, a woman in one piece when Hermione's heart has been ripped in three by two deaths.