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Hermione Granger's Final Year	By : CharlotteStrong Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan work based on Harry Potter. I do not own any of the characters, settings, or original storylines. This fanfiction is created purely for entertainment purposes, and no money is being made from this work.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
The next morning Hermione joined up with Ginny and Luna. They had Transfiguration first thing, and even though she’d been at the start-of-term feast, Hermione was shocked to see a woman other than McGonagall standing at the front of the classroom.
The woman was short and seemed to glide as she moved between the desk and the board. She wore light, airy robes embroidered with scales and sequins that glimmered blue, and green, and purple, and as she walked it seemed float alluringly behind her. She was wearing the oddest makeup that seemed to glitter, and enunciate every feature of her face, the exotic harlequins making her seem somehow inhuman. Maybe it was Hermione’s maturing outlook, maybe it was the experiences with Snape and McGonagall, but it strangely occurred to her that the lady at the front of class was very curvy indeed.
“Welcome,” she said, in a tone hardly louder than a breath. “Welcome, all, to Seventh Year Transfiguration. We touched on lots of things last year, but now we are going to be focusing on the transformation of living things. For the few new faces amongst us, I am Professor Windsong. The whispers on the breeze tell me this is going to be a most productive year for all of us.”
“Professor,” a Ravenclaw said, putting up her hand. “What do the spirits say today?”
“Spirits?” Hermione whispered to Ginny.
“She can commune with nature, or so she claims.”
“There is balance in the world,” Windsong whispered. “A balance of things good, and things not so. But where the river may surge quick and troublesome, might the mighty trees grow tall and strong. Now, I want to start by putting you into groups.”
Hermione, Luna and Ginny formed a group. They were presented with a Toadstool and instructed to transfigure it into a toad.
“You had her last year?” Hermione queried as they scoured the textbook for tips.
“Yes,” said Ginny, “she’s not quite McGonagall but she’s still a good teacher.”
“She’s a tylwyth,” said Luna.
“A what?”
“Luna thinks she’s half-fairy.”
“Really?”
“There’s plenty of rumours. But I think she’s just in touch with her natural side.”
“You can tell by her freckles,” said Luna in a dreamy voice. “They’re symmetrical. Only fairies have symmetrical freckles. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m not sure that’s true, Luna.”
“Oh, it is. We used to have fairies in our garden. They would talk and whisper. They spoke of the tylwyth, the magical folk to shift from fairy to human and walk amongst wizardkind.”

The three of them finally found the spell required, and at the third attempt of casting, Hermione managed to turn the toadstool into a large, brown amphibian. It sat on the plate, and croaked.
“I’ve heard good things about you, Miss Granger, but that was exceptional,” Windsong said with admiration, and her smile was radiant. “Okay, class, kindly deposit your toads into the vivarium at the front, and when you have packed away, you may leave. Now, Miss Granger, I am required to speak through some of the topics that may have slipped your mind in the year you’ve been away. Please, have a seat.” Hermione made for a chair as the rest of the class filtered out, but before she could sit down it had sprung into a velvet cushioned sofa. “I wanted to formally introduce myself as your teacher. I think you’re very brave to come back, and your determination to progress yourself is a most admirable thing.”
Hermione sat herself on the sofa and immediately sank into it. It was hard not to. It was so comfy, and Professor Windsong’s words were so affirming. And her voice, her soft, silky voice made Hermione want to hear more.
“I have heard from a colleague or two that your first week here has been… different to other years.”
Hermione nodded. Somehow she felt at ease around Professor Windsong. She felt she could confide in her.
“Growing up is full of new adventures, dear. Some of them are difficult. Some of them are exciting. Some are both. But just look at you. You seem to be managing.”
“I must admit, it was a bit of a shock when Professor McGonagall prepositioned me with… I trust you know about her?”
“My dear girl, she might know more about the general subject than me, but when it comes to the transformation of living things, I am the authority, and I would recognise that charm anywhere. Might even have taught her a thing or two before she tried it.”
“It’s been intense,” Hermione admitted, and let out a nervous laugh. “But I am a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. And it’s not all been unpleasant. In fact, some of it’s been quite eye-opening.”
“What a wonderful way of seeing the world. I know you’re probably sick of hearing it, but you’re certainly a mature young lady.”
Windsong knelt down and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. It felt warm, and comforting.
“Professor, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you didn’t hold me back to revise spells, did you?”
“Miss Granger, I am a witch of the sensations. I do not value the sex, but the sensuality. Not lust, but knowing what the body finds comfort, and security in.”
Her hand began to trace circles in her hair, but instead of questioning the gesture, Hermione let her continue. It felt nice.
“Our carnal wants can come in many forms, from a settled peace of mind, to hearing words of affirmation, to the eroticism of physical touch. And as long as these things place us in a better frame of wellbeing, we shouldn’t see any difference between them.”
“I…” Hermione said, her face beginning to glow. “I agree.”
“Now, just relax, dear. This is your safe space. You might be running favours and attention from other members of the faculty in return for their selfish pleasures, but here, your sensations are my command. It is your wellbeing I find it my duty to fulfil.”
“Your duty?” Hermione said quietly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the spirits tell me you possess a great deal more stress and complexity than your classmates, and understandably so. But, like kneading aches out of a sore back, we can banish such adverse notions.”
“And… and how are we going to do that?”
Windsong traced her hand from Hermione’s hair down her arm, and Hermione let it happen.
“Is this okay?” Hermione nodded. “If things begin to get uncomfortable, or intense, or unsolicited, you have but to say so.”
And then Professor Windsong’s hand began to move up her shirt, a finger trailing in the folds until her fingertips were between the contours of Hermione’s chest. And there, with a grip as soft as feathers, she caressed her breast.
Hermione let out a sigh, and inwardly wished she’d grasp it harder. She had been the subject of other people’s pleasure for too long. This was her turn, her release. And in that moment, she would’ve let Professor Windsong put her fingers wherever she so wished.
“Your chest is a thing of beauty, my dear. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”
Hermione, almost subconsciously, unfastened the top buttons of her shirt and pulled it back, allowing Windsong the skin to skin contact she so much desired, and sighed again as a hand brushed her nipple.
“That feels nice,” she whispered, and winced as the teacher gently squeezed her nipple between two fingers. “You can go lower if you like.”
“We have to be careful. The mind doesn’t always want what feeds the body. Perhaps in time you will let me explore more of you, but I do not wish to impart on you things you may regret in time. But for now, if this pleases you, we I shall carry on a little.”
Hermione unfastened another button and pulled her shirt open, baring her full exposed chest to the professor. She let out a soft moan, holding one breast herself whilst Professor Windsong caressed the other, the two of them gently pulling and pinching.
But all too soon, from Hermione’s perspective, they were disturbed by a somewhat distant bell. The sound of corridor clamour faded back as she found herself brought rudely back to reality, as if she’d been woken from a quite marvellous dream. Professor Windsong gave her one last squeeze, and retreated from her desirous chest. But it took Hermione a moment longer to remove her hand from herself, and fasten her shirt.
As for Professor Windsong, she smiled, and Hermione returned it before leaving the class.
- 6
- 7
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Hermione Granger's Final Year