A Confession by Hermione G.

BY : Scarlett_Pimpernal
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Dragon prints: 40062
Disclaimer: DISCLAIMER: This project is based on and features characters and content that I do not own, nor is the content monetized by me. I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Year Four: The Cabinet of Prof. S

Trouble with Time Turning. An incredible discovery. A daring bargain is struck.

My curiosity, while beneficial in the course of many adventures and plots that unfolded during those years at school, nearly lead to my undoing on many occasions. My fantasies of Professor S became a toxic psychic brew and a significant distraction to my waking and even sleeping hours. In the winter of our fourth year, the so-called Tri-Wizard Tournament was in full swing and my dear friend struggled to develop a strategy to allow him to face the second, water-based challenge. I, of course, took it upon myself to deliver him such a strategy and it is this meddling that altered the course of my Life Sexual, opening many secret doors and avenues through which I continue to stalk.

The deployment of a simple, magical swamp weed seemed elementary tactic for my friend to deploy in his challenge, even more so, when I discovered that it had been removed from the common stores of potion ingredients as well as botanical supplies belonging to the respective professors of those disciplines. Having studied the so-called “Marauder’s Map,” I noted that the private apartment of Professor S was cunningly situated adjacent to one of the castle’s many defunct dungeons. The Map clearly suggested a passage that would provide access to his chamber wherein one would, no doubt, locate his private store of components, such as the weed that I sought. In addition to this mission of thievery, there was the added sexual thrill of penetrating the inner sanctum of the object of my obsession.

Awakening quite early, I used the fabulous Time Turner, to dial back the hours to the previous evening, quite convinced that the Professor would be occupied in a session of detention during which I would have ample time to execute my mission. Achieving the ancient, dungeon, I found a vaulted room complete with defunct implements of torture, including a rack (which will come to play a significant role in another of my secret lives). Searching, I found narrow passage upward in what I determined to be the direction of his rooms. Dispelling the lock charm of an aged, wooden door, I find myself in the chambers of the Professor.

I quickly locate his private cabinet, crammed with all manner of stuff. However, I am drawn to a particular shelf of books, all carefully bound and marked in gilt on the binding with spans of years. I select a volume and open it to find a collection of wizard photos. In the first set that I view, the adolescent professor is making love with a lovely witch. Several different photos record several different occasions chronicling their affair and the deepening of their intimacy - and creativity. Though much younger, he is unmistakable with his long, dank, grim, serious face as he thrusts into the nubile body of his eager partner, a pretty brunette. I am stunned. I have seen plenty of porn, but none featuring someone I actually know or recognize!

I flip the pages of the book: they are all filled with moving photos of the young man in flagrante with other young witches. Many other witches: There he is, tenderly making love to a mousy blonde girl. There he is, fucking a plump witch with acne. There he is pounding Myrtle. My heart pounds and my own personal Goblet of Fire flares up in a sudden flash of sexual desire. I look at the other books that fill the shelf. Merlin’s tits! Could all of these scrapbooks be chronicles of sexual conquest?

I grab the most recent book from the shelf and indeed gape at the mature Professor making love with none other than fellow Professor M! I sink to the floor, knees weak. She is absolutely beautiful, being taken from behind. Her hair, long strands of gray is loose; I have never seen it other than primly coiled tightly up against her peaked hat. A beatific smile paints her face. Eyes closed. He is poised behind her. One hand gently resting on the small of her back. She has taken the initiative and pushes herself against the phallus that impales her anus with a regular and slow rhythm. They are suspended in one long moment of ecstasy, absolutely attuned to one another.

I claw at myself, pressing fingers against myself to bring some momentary relief before sticking two inside my wet passage. I frig myself to an orgasm along with the image of Professor M achieving her own delicious climax, stupendous in its glory. As I catch my breath, the final photo in the series depicts Professor S achieve his own climax at the hands of his esteemed partner who empties him into her mouth with admirable skill.

Gods, what a discovery!

But I am not satisfied. Lustful longings completely carry me away. I cannot resist grabbing another volume. The year happens to coincide with the year of my own birth. I scan the compendium of his sexual conquests. Younger witches, older witches, of all shapes and sizes. Then I see her: Lily P! I am repelled but fascinated, I cannot take my eyes off the spectacle as my best friend’s mother fellates her school fellow. A prominent vein snakes across the top of the penis, long and straight, that slides out of her mouth. Her eyes are locked on his. She is confident and skilled, pinkie curled up and the fingers of her other hand nestled under his scrotal sack. He caresses the rich brown hair and lovingly tucks a lock behind a beautifully shaped ear. The memory of the cocks of my three assailants has remained with me; this is an organ of a whole different magnitude: a grown man’s cock, and, judging by the magical photo evidence, one that had ploughed the furrows of hundreds of young witches and even the adulterus quim of my friend’s mother!

I jam fingers into my own sex once again. I frig myself hard as I see their lovemaking frozen in time: furious, primal, unbridled. I am on the verge of another climax - then I hear it: Imperio! The wave of magical force hits me. I cannot move. On its own accord, my body turns and I see him, poised in the doorway, wand pointed at me. Of course, I have seen the man angry on many occasions - indeed, it is his constant mode, but the Professor trembles with rage - and something else behind his dark eyes, a mad vulnerability.

“What…How dare you…. How dare you… I should… You should be…”

I believe it was the first time I had seen him at a loss for words. The token punishments of the School, “house points” and detentions, all suddenly seem quite trivial. I stare into the face of expulsion at the very least - and possibly even murder. He has, after all, just placed me in the thrall of a so-called “unforgivable curse.” Tears stream down my face. I feel my whole world imploding. On top of the trespassing and violation of his most sacred secrets, I have literally been caught with my knickers down, fingers stuffed in cunt, masturbating to this collection of homemade magical porn.

“I swear, I will not tell a soul!” I sputter. But even as I speak, I know the words would are entirely inadequate to the moment. I drop my gaze in shame. There on the ground, the moving image in the open book: his frantic thrusts and her ecstacy.

The handwritten date next to the picture.

I do the math quickly in my head, placing the year that preceded the birth of me - and my friend.

I look up at him once again.

You… you and Lily…

The realization - quite obvious, really, but yet so shocking, suddenly dawned on me.

You’re his father…his real father!

“SILENCE!” he screams. It is a pathetic wail full of anguish and it revereberates from the cold stone walls. The wand is raised again, in a trembling hand. I stare at my death - only two words away. The same words that had once flowed from his master to doom his lover.

I clamp my eyes shut, expecting the worst.

But nothing happens.

I open them once more.

The wave of powerful emotion recedes. His shoulders sag as the wand lowers, and the power of the spell wanes. The strain leaves my body and I sink into a puddle on the floor, trembling, gasping for breath. For a moment I was afraid that I had peed myself. I pull my skirt over my modesty, mortified with embarrassment. He slowly turns away from me, spent, defeated, heartbroken. If I were wise, I should flee, flee back the way I have come, through the creepy lab.

But curiosity again gets the better of me. Another feline life gone. I follow him into the main room of his apartment. He is seated in a high-backed chair before the fireplace, facing away from me. I approach and take a seat in the chair’s twin. A small round table separates us. A small try with cut-glass decanter holding amber liquid and two small, matching glasses. Tears streak his face.

“I… I am sorry,” I say, for lack of anything better.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, slowly and methodically choosing and laboring over each word. His characteristic velvety purr.


“Excuse me?”

“The Tournament. Harry’s next challenge. I had a notion to find some gillyweed to help him. There is none about. I expected that you had taken it all and hidden it. You would not toss it away, however. You would have… kept it in a private stash, I thought.”

“Clever girl,” he says.

He pours two glasses of cordial from the decanter and pushes one toward me. His hand only trembling slightly, now.

“You had no right…”

“Yes, yes, I know, I know, I’m….”

“You could ruin everything.”

I am confused.

“He must never know,” continues the Professor. “There are things, plans, far beyond your understanding.”

I take a sip of the liquor.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t understand. How can you be so cruel to him?”

He shakes his head, sadly.

The wheels of reason begin to whir faster as I construct a theory in real time, rising to pace before the fire; I cannot help myself.

“Of course… It’s all an act! You’re playing a role. It is only a matter of time until Riddle returns, somehow reconstitutes himself and then he will want all of his old followers to come flocking back and then he will try it all over again, to take control, and then he will come for Harry…and you will be… you…”

His silence inspires me to continue.

“You’re a sort of spy. You’re going to try to thwart his plans, to protect Harry from the inside. Riddle doesn’t know! He doesn’t know that you are Harry’s father!”

“Yes,” he confessed. “No one can ever know.”

“I promise.”

“That is not enough,” he says, fingering his wand.

I suddenly fear for my life once again.

“We shall make a pact. An unbreakable vow.”

“A bargain, then.”

“Excuse me?”

I sink to my knees before him. I am not quite sure, why, but supplication seemed to suit the moment and my proposition.

“Teach me.”

A pause.

“I had been under the impression that I was engaged in that activity these many years.” The words fairly drip with snide sarcasm that I realize I have come to relish, to crave, to love.

“I want to experience what the women in those albums were feeling. I want to learn how to please others. Teach me the sexual arts.”

He is speechless.

“Out of the question.”

I screw my courage to its sticking place, rise up and repeat my proposition.

“That is my demand. My bargain. I will keep your secret to the grave. And you will…teach me.”

He debates the issue with hmself for a long moment.

Then he presents his wand and I mine.

The vows are made.

We both return to our chairs.

We sip our cordial in silence. The potent liquor meshes with the post-orgasmic rush of hormones and my head spins.

A cozy relaxation has set in. We begin to talk and another side of him - the real side - emerges.

“Those silly glasses. So simple. I should have seen it! Show people what they expect to see and they will believe it unfailingly.”

“You had no reason to call it into question.”

“You loved her.”

“She was my friend first. While Potter and his insufferable crew dallied, one thing led to another. Their marriage was arranged and so one thing followed another. She fancied she could make it work, of course. But as time wore on and he ignored her - the fool, she reached out to me for and - “

“One thing led to another.”


“And then Riddle.”


“We did not know how far he would go… It is like an addiction. And then, of course, we were all too deep and he — those who would not abide were branded — and then… fingered for extinction. It all happened quite fast. I had no idea until it was…”

“Too late.”

“Yes. My grief, guilt, despair are all just penance.”

“And so, this plan… Constructed by the Headmaster?”

“Yes, it is at his direction.”

“Should the worst happen, we shall all fight him. My role in the war will be that of a ‘spy,’ as you rightly termed it. I expect to have little success, but I shall do my best to thwart him. There is some relief, I expect. When I am no more, you may, you may do what you will with this knowledge. Now, I think we have both had quite enough for one evening.”

So to ended our firset sexual seance. But this perverse, secret life and course of study was just beginning.



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