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split in two	By : sappysappysappy Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 57079 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter Four – These Strange Sensations
Hermione woke up slowly feeling like the world was hatched again out of its cranky shell for a new and wonderful beginning and slowly stretched her muscles. She was still a little sleepy but couldn't help smiling to herself, remembering falling asleep to the soft lulling voice of someone she knew from somewhere but couldn't quite remember at the moment.
Something momentous happened in the last two days, she thought, but she couldn't quite recall all the pesky little details. It was over now anyways and she felt good, lying in her warm, soft bed and smelling the aromatic, musty air of a potion lab storage room, a smell she always found quite romantic and exciting oddly enough.
Languoring lazily in bed she felt her blanket gently pulled to the side and something warm and moist touch her ankle. She slowly rubbed her toe across it thinking again how much she loved her little Crookshanks. Harry could have his fancy owl any day. It was intelligent and affectionate enough no doubt but when all was said and done it ended up in its cage at the end of the day. You couldn't cuddle with it in bed at night to keep you warm or play with it when you got tired of your books and just wanted to have some fun.
She could feel him touching her softly with his warm, wet nose higher and higher up her leg licking her softly from time to time on his way to his usual cuddling space on her stomach with his furry head firmly resting atop her left breast, listening to the intimate tap-tapping of her heart. As he reached her knee, sliding his paws behind his snout across her timid, lax leg, which she had stretched to the side, her foot hanging in the air from the bed's side, she felt an odd tingle going faintly up and down her leg making her toes curl reflexively as his breath was shivering across her sensitive flesh and she expelled her own breath softly in a silent whoosh as he ever so slowly climbed between her spread, naked legs all the time touching her inner thigh softly and caressingly.
As her wonder-pet slowly circled and curved across her trembling thigh she felt the tingles grow stronger, faster, brighter, starting to burn up her leg and pool into that shameful, hairy juncture she tried to never touch. Should she stop him? She tried to move her hands, but couldn't bring herself to even lift them from the mattress where they curled into knotted fists, indomitable in their silent rebellion.
Her toes were on nonstop curling now and she felt herself melting like hot, burning wax as he licked her on the very edges of it all, round and round and round. She wanted to shove him there already or scream with all her pent up tension but felt frozen to her place with this onslaught of unimagined sensations.
Finally he seemed to tire of this game of cat and mouse and licked her generously crosswise. She inhaled sharply forgetting her whole life, past, present and future, to savour this exquisite moment. He seemed to find a special special point, hardened into a diamond-hard drop of quintessential sensations. She was that point, floating on a sunny, shining wave going higher and higher, never stopping in her race towards that distant, tantalizing shore on the horizon. She was burning like a mad, lit firecracker and the shore was rushing nearer, but she was high above it on her insurmountable wave-top, laughing and crying, knowing it was about to end but not really caring at this searing, roaring, moment.
As she was sucked on with those soft, hot lips, that dripping burning tongue and those hard, demanding teeth, she felt herself falling from her breaking wave, with pieces of its unendurable brightness all around her, following her into that deep and dark oblivion. As she was sucked into its gaping maw she let out a cry of completeness into the wide, wonderful world around her.
Slowly Hermione felt herself returning to the surface to the feeling of wise, delicate fingers caressing her dripping wet bush. She was still drifting in clouds of ecstasy from what just occurred, only thinking in her head a silent mantra "Wee, wee, wee"
Those strange, wonderful fingers were stroking her, bringing up that flame again like a phoenix born again from its smouldering ashes.
Hermione bit her lip in anticipation, trying to stifle that soft mewing mown that tried to escape her lips in fear that this new and magical world she had just entered will disappear in a puff of mist like some enchanted fairy realm, gone on the first rays of dawn never to be found again.
She was kissed again on that lovely glorious spot and those fingers were pulling her apart, wide as she would go. Suddenly a finger was entering her, plunging into her tight, quivering flesh and caressing her from within, pushing up against that mouth atop her. She felt tight, filled with that one strong finger and she tried not to gasp as she squeezed it tighter and tighter. The mouth was sucking on her again insistently while those fingers all around it stroked her relentlessly, making her forget that one finger, held within her, for the moment.
Suddenly, that sly, foxy finger retreated only to plunge deeper and than not, in and out again and again and it wasn't so terrible after all and there was a spot, hidden there just for this finger, sending violent spasms of ecstasy up and down her legs every time it was touched.
It was like before but somehow so much more. She couldn't hear anything except her rasping unintelligible cries and moans, couldn't see anything except multicoloured flashes whizzing to and through and now that finger stopped moving and just pressed onto that spot, the spot it was shaped for and Hermione knew she could take no more of this and let go her grasp on the cliff-edge and flew.
This time there was no break and just as she started to return to herself another finger joined the first inside her, stretching her beyond anything she thought possible.
She didn't fight them this time and just tried flex her muscles around them grasping them tightly one moment and letting them scuttle free the next. She timed herself to squeeze them every time they reached their deepest point in their joint escapade inside her. Now another finger joined the fray inside her and she was really stretched to her limits, feeling like an overstuffed pooh bear bursting at its seams in a delightfully right sensation.
The explosive finale didn't wait much longer and Hermione smiled beatifically to herself, still feeling quite stretched but not caring for the moment. She could still feel those tingles racing through her softly thrumming body and the hand was caressing her inner thigh in lazy, undemanding companionship.
Starting to relax back in the bed, her eyes still closed, she sensed the hands sliding up her legs and body, delicately cupping her small, peary breasts, the thumbs rubbing her darkening nipples to stiff salute. There was a hardness pressing warmly into her dripping bush rubbing up and down her slowly.
She was already throbbing and this new delight stoked her back to blazing conflagration. Suddenly it thrust inside her in one fell ram and she squeezed it painfully as it filled her to her core. The hands drew her attention upwards as they rubbed her nipples tauter and without a warning a searing kiss fell between her neck and shoulder.
She tried to answer this call, give back something and hugged her arms and legs around him, moving her head to the side, exposing her neck more fully. He started thrusting into her, deeper than his fingers ever thought of reaching, with power and with passion, raining kisses and naughty bites on her neck and shoulders and roughly kneading her trembling, taut breasts and nipples with his hands.
She started ramming herself against him, timing thrust for thrust and hugging him with all her body into her as close as they could get. She thought she knew what completeness meant before but now felt it to her bones, the fire there between them rising higher, stronger, fiercer and then she knew it was the moment and squeezed him tightly with all her strength with hands and legs and those singing muscles holding him inside her and she felt a sudden liquid warmness spread within her and knew no more.
He was lying atop her now; making every breath she took a strenuous effort but she didn't try to move away and lose this newfound closeness. It felt good to be thus pressed into the mattress, for once not having to worry about taking care of herself.
Inside her she felt him slowly softening and growing softer but still within her, clasped in a wickedly delightful miniscule embrace. Sliding her fingers up and down his naked back she drifted once again into a peaceful sleep.
$$$$$
Hermione gradually returned to the living wakeful world. Feeling the empty bed around her she smiled at herself ruefully. She never thought she would have a wet dream in her life but she could feel the stickiness between her legs and the throbbing heaviness at that spot. Touching herself softly she felt a stinging little pain and hastily withdrew her fingers, wiping them assiduously with the blankets before hiding them behind her back.
Hermione recalled the one time she tried to experiment with herself when her parents went for a weekend alone at Glasgow. She sat naked on the toilet seat, touching herself with trembling hands, between her legs. It was just starting to get a little fuzzy there and she wanted to understand what all those hushed, excited whispers she heard when others thought she wasn't listening really meant.
It felt odd and unnatural and a little sick. Will her hands stink of urine and worse now and every time she went near anybody they would snicker behind their hands and point at her, whispering to their friends "Look, there's the girl with the dirty fingers. Phew, what a stinking little thing she is. Better not to let her too close or she might touch us. Go away you dirty little pervert". Her parents will probably try not to look at her and will pretend nothing happened, going red-faced any time someone mentioned her.
Gathering her remaining courage to see this through now before she lost her guts or worse, was discovered in the act, she slowly thrust her finger inside, feeling a little resistance at first and then pain and a feeling of self-violation. Looking down at last she saw a little blood pooling on the toilet-seat.
She must have broken her virginity she slowly thought to herself. That meant that now she should get something called orgasm that was supposed to feel really good. Making her finger go in and out, in and out she tried to imagine how enjoyable this really felt, but after five minutes of painful, disgusting fullness between her legs all she really felt was soggy, cold and sullied.
Getting painfully back to her feet she started scrubbing her hands, her legs and the toilet seat until no trace remained of the disgusting incident. When her parents got back from their vacation they asked her why her hands were bloody red but she managed to explain it away with a story of scraping them when she stumbled on a loose stone in the backyard. After that she never touched herself there again.
Could she have been wrong all these years ago? She felt a different woman today, more mature and knowledgeable. Happier. Going back over the dream, she smiled to the darkness around her. She always liked the story of the princess and the toad and now her first wet dream of being a woman was about herself making love to her wonderful cat Crookshanks as an animagus in disguise. How her roommates will stare at her in disgust if she ever even hinted to them what she had just dreamed. Parvati will probably make a face and say: “You had it with that cat? Like, it licked you and, like ewww. I don’t want to sleep next to you ever again. I always knew you were weird but, ewww,” while Lavender would make retching sounds.
It was a ridiculous dream. She loved her cat more than anything else in the world but making love to a cat just seemed wrong now that she was awake. She would have had trouble doing it with a real animagus like Mr. Black for example because she always thought that all the time they spent in their other form made them a little less than completely human.
Crookshanks was as far as she knew just a big cat, all things said and done. She started wondering idly what would happen if she transfigured him into a human form. She was sure she could do that even though Minerva never mentioned anything remotely like it in her classes.
Would he still be more interested in the disgusting Mrs. Norris or would his attentions be turned on her? Could she speak to him just like another human or would he still try to purr when she scratched him under his chin?
Minerva might be a great teacher and Head of House but she never went into the more interesting and problematic aspects of her profession. Anything beyond turning teapots into animated lifelike hog-forms was firmly stamped into the Black Magic Arts department. She could still remember vividly the shouts coming from the staff-room after the fake Prof. Moody turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret in her fourth year and that was just idle showmanship. What would have happened to his victim if he turned him into an ordinary fly or even a mote of dust? He would have been lost forever without a trace.
She wondered to herself how many lonely hags went down this route with their faithful pets, not wanting to exploit the innocent helpless muggles for fear of discovery or just because they didn’t want to taint their precious pure blood with the mudded blood of the filthy muggles. It was an amusing thought and she was pretty sure there were quite a few hags who did just that and probably a lot of stuffy wizards doing the same besides. It gave the word ‘familiar’ a whole new meaning.
Getting serious again she wondered what sex truly was like: was her one immature try in her parents’ home or this rose coloured impossible fantasy she just had what it really felt like. It was probably something in the middle she thought. From what she remembered of whispered conversations she overheard between Parvati and Lavender late at night it was usually just a guy kissing you and sticking his tongue down your throat, some groping of your breasts with mouth and hands and then a few exciting thrusts between your legs that would start to get a little interesting before you were covered in a white jellied mucus that dripped down your legs when you wanted to get up from under the crushing weight of your partner in crime. The only way you could possibly experience that over-glorified orgasm was to be either serially used by the whole quidditch team after they won a game or else close your eyes and imagine it is someone like Gilderoy Lockhart thrusting into you as you lie unresisting beneath him.
Getting back to the present she wondered what the hour was. Her throat was parched as a dry bone and her face and hair felt clumpy and filthy as if she spent hours with her head dunked in the muddy ground like some bloody stupid ostrich.
Feeling reluctant to get out of her warm comfy bed, she tried to make out anything in the near total darkness of the room. She could make out shadowed shelves going all the way to the ceiling, filled with indeterminable objects, perhaps jars and packets. Lower down her vision was obscured by something that surrounded her from all sides but didn’t look all that substantial. It was brown, she thought, looking at a rim illumined for a moment with reflected light. Looking back at the ceiling she thought the light danced a little from time to time as if its source was a fire in some hearth or torch. Taking a slow breath she notices the heavy smells in the room, smells that could only belong in one place: a potion’s lab storage-room.
She only knew one such storage room and that belonged in the deep dank bowels of the Hogwarts castle. Suddenly with a lightning flash she remembered everything that happened since her fateful decision to go on a joy ride down Diagon-alley: The mistaken address in a bad corner of the magical alley, the encounter with the hateful Lucius Malfoy and the subsequent stay in those seduction chambers where she was supposed to be the main treat.
She tried to escape, didn’t she? Yes, she tried to Apparate away in a hasty bid for freedom but only her head got out to land by the imposing gates of Hogwarts. What happened then? She met Snape, and he almost let her die, eaten off by disgusting carrion birds before he Accio-ed her head at the last moment only to damp it unceremoniously into his shopping bag from the local apothecary.
The shopping bag! She was still in it. Apparently he didn’t have the time or the will to bother and unpack her from it. The utter bastard, all she asked of him was to get her to see the Headmaster and he couldn’t even bring himself to do that for her. Well, when he finally bothered to inform the Headmaster of her current situation she will have some strenuous words with the headmaster about it.
What should she do now? Perhaps she could summon a house elf, preferably Dobby since he was the only one she was on speaking terms with to help her move about. Were house elves allowed in the potions’ storage room? It always did look a little dusty.
Clearing her throat she raspingly called out “Dobby, can you come to me and help me?” hoping that for once in this hell-ride things will go as she hoped they would.
Fortunately there were a small pop and a small high voice called out from bellow “Dobby at your service, mistress Hermione. Master Snape assigned me to you before he went to bed last night. What can Dobby do for mistress Hermione?”
“He did? I mean can you get me out of this bag and give me a glass of water?”
“Of course, Mistress Hermione. Dobby is always glad to help you.” And with that he gently floated her out of the bag and held a conjred glass of water to her broken lips.
Gratefully swallowing down the glass and then half a glass more, a sated Hermione wondered how the water could possibly end up in her distant stomach. At last she conceded that she might as well ask herself how any of the of so essential blood could have reached her brain for the last twenty four hours. She will just have to go to the Hogwarts library and research the matter.
Clearing her throat she asked aggrievedly “Now can you take me to the Headmaster’s office to see Professor Dumbledore?”
The house elf’s perky ears dropped perceptibly and he answered her mournfully “Headmaster Dumbledore is not in his office. Headmaster Dumbledore is taking a vacation and is not returning for the rest of the summer vacation.”
“But, Professor Dumbledore is not in his office? That’s, that’s” impossible, Hermione wanted to finish off. Professor Dumbledore is always in his office just to the right of his lemon-drops bowl, except of course when he has to be at the Head Table at mealtime with the rest of the professors.
Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times silently thinking how ridiculously childish her request was. Headmaster Dumbledore was after all a human being, was he not, with a life beyond his cardboard role as headmaster of the school or leader of the Order of Phoenix.
The only one to fit this two dimensional role was Professor Snape, who apparently skulked around the Hogwarts dungeons year round just for the remote possibility of demoting any unlikely student down to the status of blubbering incoherence with his acid tongue. And, from what Dobby just told her, even he was now unavailable since he was at the moment sleeping in his bed rather than seating in his icy office, tearing down student assignment with his cherished red ink bottle.
Promising to herself not to make this mistake again and try from now on to look at her professors as human, feeling, fragile, beings instead of just deifying them to near godly status, Hermione returned to her current problem.
“Is there anybody at the castle besides Professor Snape at the moment?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Dobby looked relieved to have a request he could satisfy. “All the house elves stay and take care of the castle. Also none of the ghosts can leave the premises for more than a fortnight. Most of the portraits have no counterparts outside the castle gates and have to stay. Also, all the school owls stay and hunt down the rat and gnome populations to house-elfish manageable sizes.
“Aside from Professor Snape, Filch the caretaker stays for the summer with his cat Missis Norris, to help us house elves take care of the building. Aside from that no one lives in the castle for the summer aside from that poltergeist, Peeves and Professor Binns who is not only a ghost but also a faculty member.
“Professor Snape is the residing Headmaster when both Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall are not in the castle and orders all other living and nonliving beings in the castle,” Dobby finished off self-satisfactorily.
Hermione mulled this over silently for a few moments. The more she thought about it now, the less the Albus Dumbledore option appealed to her. How could she continue to learn in his vaunted school if he knew she was almost raped due to her own stupidity?
Confiding it to Professor McGonagall was even worse, only slightly below the telling your parents option. She could never disappoint her Head of House, a woman who encouraged her to prove to the whole magical world that she could be just as good if not better than the rest of them, a woman who never doubted her abilities to succeed in her ambitious pursuits.
That left just the order of the phoenix. Could she confess her utter moronity to the whole order? They will never agree to make her a full member if they ever found out, they will just shove her under the rag where she would not get in the way and probably assign the overprotective and generally overbearing Missis Weasley.
That left only one option, the Snape option. He was very discreet, when it suited him to be so. Also he was a very good friend of Lucius Malfoy and that could certainly come in handy in her current pickle. What could she possibly do to earn his help? So far all she managed to do was to antagonize him further with her cheeky exclamations about her impeccably high moral standards.
Did he really have a right to be so angry? He wasn't just some hapless victim thrust into the face of danger. Had he had his way Black would have met his untimely end and who knew what would have happened to Lupin. After all he accused him of being an accomplice to a murderer.
Perhaps they should have tried to revive him when they were still in the shack and showed him their proof: the transformed rat Pettigrew. If they had, Sirius would have had a respectable eyewitness for his innocence and Lupin would have drank his potion before he had a chance to transform. Surely they would never have lost Pettigrew as they did that night, sending him on his merry way to revive his abominable master Voldemort.
Well it was too late to think of the what-ifs. Sirius had treated him roughly on the way back but then again, not as roughly as Snape wanted to treat his former nemesis. As for his accusation that she and Harry ran off when Lupin transformed and Pettigrew escaped to save their own hides that was an utter lie plain and simple.
They wanted to haul him and Ron back to the castle but had to save Sirius from the raving dementors. There was no immediate danger and, surprise surprise, nothing did happen to him. Lupin ran away off into the forbidden forest when Black chased him off in his doggy form and Pettigrew ran away to gods knew where without any wand as a pesky rat. So there was no danger and she was in no way at fault.
Feeling much better with herself Hermione returned to the problem of getting into the grouchy Professor's good graces and getting him to help her with her troubling snag without spilling the bins to the whole bloody Order.
Anything she had to say had to be truly heartfelt or he will sense her duplicity with his legilimency. Also she had to find a way to appeal to his Slytherin sense of honor and personal advantage.
As his student she was sure he would be obliged to help her but so far his help was worse than any hateful deed he did to her and her two best friends. Maybe all he needed was a little caring companionship. Surely he was a lonely man that would crave any attention he got. She would try and be friendly and understanding, a sympathetic listener patient and not judge-mental.
Feeling much better of her future prospects she felt her stomach rambling in some far, far away bed and asked Dobby for help in the subject of breakfast. The ecstatic house elf wasted no time in conjuring a majestic feast that she thought she might be able to consume in a week preferably with the help of a few trusty friends.
It was obvious she was about to become every house elf's secret fantasy come true and become utterly dependant on them in every feat and deed even to the extent of having to ask them to hand-feed her . Apparently some jokester Loki in the sky decided to give the house elves what they truly wanted.
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