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Chapter Text

'I warn you, this will be a bit of a shock,' said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice to Harry and Ron who stood behind her outside the large, wooden doors of the hospital wing.

Harry shot a worried expression at Ron who anxiously returned the look as McGonagall pushed open the doors swiftly and ushered Harry and Ron inside.

'There has been another attack... another double attack,' she said, gesturing towards two beds on the left end of the long room.

In the first lay a fifth year Ravenclaw girl with long, curly blonde hair who Harry recognised as the girl he and Ron had encountered on their Polyjuice escapade to the Slytherin common room a few weeks earlier. Now she lay as motionless as a statue, Petrified. Madam Promfrey stood beside her bed, hurriedly adjusting the bed curtains to shield the beds from prying eyes. And with a jolt like an electric shock to Harry’s stomach, his eyes settled on the second bed where he saw -

'Hermione!' Ron groaned.

Hermione was lying utterly still on her back, her eyes open and glassy, and her hand outstretched as though gripping an invisible wand.

'They were found near the library,' said Professor McGonagall. 'I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them...'

She was holding up a small circular mirror.

Harry and Ron both shook their heads, still staring at Hermione. Harry took slow steps towards her bedside and gently reached out to touch Hermione's outstretched hand. As his fingers found Hermione’s he expected the texture of solid, cold stone, but Harry was surprised to find Hermione's skin still felt warm and soft.

'I'll give you two a moment, then I must escort you back to Gryffindor Tower,' said Professor McGonagall heavily. 'I need to address the students, in any case.'

The professor left out the double doors, followed a moment later by Madam Pomfrey, muttering distractedly under her breath.

Ron joined Harry at Hermione's bedside, just staring, lost for words. Harry felt an uneasy, queasy tension in the pit of his stomach - despair, misery or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure. He eyed Hermione up and down. She was still in her school uniform and skirt, complete with shoes and all. Her hair was just as bushy and uncontrolled as usual. Her long fringe still helped frame her youthful face and button nose. But her eyes didn’t blink and her chest didn’t rise and fall with the steady rhythm of life. Harry had to remind himself that she was still very much alive - frozen in a single moment, perhaps - but still alive. Whether she was aware of her situation or not Harry didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure which would be kinder. He hoped only that she wouldn’t stay this way for long.

Harry stared for a minute longer at Hermione, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the idea that Hermione was no longer around to help them solve this mystery - now the mystery of her own misfortune. In his heart and mind Harry knew that Hermione was the cleverest witch of her age; that even though Dumbledore and the other teachers had been stumped by this mystery for over fifty years, Harry believed Hermione could have solved it if she just had a bit more time.

With effort, Harry tore his eyes away from Hermione and headed back towards the door. Ron followed closely behind and the two boys walked in silence as they were led up to Gryffindor Tower by Professor McGonagall. She left them wordlessly at the portrait of the Fat Lady which concealed the entrance to the common room.

‘Wattlebird,’ Ron said to the Fat Lady, prompting her to open and pulling Harry from his abstraction. As the portrait swung forward a babble of concerned voices hit Harry and Ron who saw a dozen heads turn to see them enter. At once several people were on their feet and swarming around Harry and Ron. The first to reach them was Sally-Anne Perks, an auburn-haired fellow second-year with a long braid and a curious expression on her face.

‘Is it true? About Granger?’ she asked hurriedly. ‘Was she Petrified?’

Before Harry or Ron could answer three more people whose names Harry didn’t even know had echoed similar questions in panicked tones.

‘Was there another attack?’

‘Do you know who was Petrified?’

‘Did someone die?’

Harry was overwhelmed as the crowd kept growing. He tried to speak over the din but couldn’t get a word in between the questions being fired at him from all angles.

‘Everybody get back - let them through! Back, I say! You too, Everson. Make way, I’m a Prefect, you know!’

Harry, for the first time in his life, was actually pleased to see Percy who was fighting his way through the crowd towards him, shooing students away as he went. Harry took the opportunity to squeeze through and make his way over to the dormitory staircase, with Ron close behind. He took the stairs two at a time and was grateful to hear the cacophony of voices fade away as he went. Percy caught up with them as the boys reached the first landing.

‘Ron, Harry, one moment!’ Percy called, straightening his glasses and looking harassed. ‘I’d have thought they would have told the Prefects by now but I haven’t heard a thing. Do you two know what’s happening? People are saying there was an attack - Hermione Granger and another girl.’

‘Yeah,’ confirmed Ron, dispiritedly. ‘Hermione and another girl. Don’t know her name.’

‘What did she look like, the other girl?’ urged Percy.

‘Dunno,’ mumbled Ron. ‘She was older. Blonde. Ravenclaw.’

Percy seemed to take a moment to process this information, then straightened himself and hurried off, muttering something about needing to send an important owl.

‘What was that about?’ puzzled Harry when Percy was safely out of earshot.

‘Beats me,’ said Ron, unconcerned and already making his way up the stairs to the dormitory.

*

Harry lay awake in bed that night, unable to sleep. Mere hours ago he and Ron had ventured down to Hagrid's hut to ask him what he knew about the Chamber of Secrets, only to be interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic. Watching in silent terror from beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron saw Dumbledore try in vain to prevent Hagrid being blamed for the attacks and sent to Azkaban, but the Minister’s mind was already made up. Then, just as things seemed like they couldn’t get any worse, a third unexpected and most unwelcome visitor, Lucius Malfoy, arrived with the news that Dumbledore had been removed as headmaster by the board of school governors. Now Hagrid and Dumbledore were both gone, but not before Hagrid had left Harry and Ron with the cryptic message, follow the spiders, which Harry intended to look into at the first opportunity.

Despite the overwhelming bad news that seemed to be seeping from every corner of the castle, in his mind's eye Harry could only see Hermione, laying in her hospital bed completely still - frozen in a single moment. As he pictured her he felt his heart pounding heavily in his chest. It made him queasy and unsettled. This feeling was unknown to him - was it anger? Fear? No, he knew those emotions well. This was something else.

He tossed and turned in his sheets, trying his best to get to sleep. Around him came slow, muffled breathing and snoring from the other Gryffindor boys, all fast asleep. Harry kept his eyes shut tight, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t help but picture Hermione - her regulation-length school skirt, her white school socks pulled almost up to her knees…

As he wrestled with sleep, he realised that part of this strange new emotion was a yearning - a yearning to see Hermione again. Harry wasn't sure if it was the thought of her laying there alone and defenceless, or if it was just that he badly missed his friend. All he knew for certain was that until he could see Hermione again, he wasn't going to be able to get a wink of sleep.

Quietly slipping out of bed, Harry stepped into his slippers and donned his invisibility cloak before creeping down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor common room. He was no stranger to sneaking out at night, but this time it felt different. Only hours ago, McGonagall had explained to the gathered Gryffindors the new, stringent security measures for all students which included having a teacher accompany students between classrooms, as well as to and from the common rooms. With an unknown threat on the loose, creeping around the castle in the dark was suddenly much more dangerous. There was, of course, the fear of sudden and unexplainable Petrification or death, but there was also the equally terrifying fear of being caught out of bed after hours. Without his father's invisibility cloak Harry would not have risked the outing, but armed with this imperceptible shield Harry felt confident enough to tip-toe his way towards the hospital wing. Besides, he reasoned, the monster only seemed interested in Muggle-borns, so Harry was probably safer than some students he could name.

Harry reached the doors to the hospital wing and slowly eased one open. The old hinges stayed mercifully silent as Harry kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Madam Pomfrey. Seeing no one, Harry slipped inside and quietly shut the door behind him. The two rows of hospital beds lay before him in the darkness, lit only by the pale moonlight streaming in from the tall windows between each bed.

It was eerie, thought Harry, seeing all these people laying in front of him but not hearing a single breath, rustle, or snore. The Petrified students may as well have been statues lining the walls, carved by some talented but slightly morbid eccentric.

Harry approached Hermione's bed, between the fifth year Ravenclaw girl and Colin Creevy, who was still peering through a camera which was no longer there.

Harry stood at the foot of his friend’s bed, staring at her frozen form. He had been so sure that seeing Hermione would settle his restless heart, but now that he could see her, his heart beat harder still; something else was nagging at his mind.

Hermione is safe, he assured himself, as safe as she can be while Petrified, at least. So why did he need to come here?

Harry pondered hard for a moment more but no sudden understanding dawned on him. Sighing, he quietly pulled up a chair so that he could sit at the foot of Hermione's bed. He sat down with his head in his hands before raising his eyes - and with a thrill that made his thumping heart beat faster still, he realised he could see clearly up Hermione's skirt. His cheeks immediately felt warm as he blushed and averted his gaze, embarrassed for her. A million thoughts were suddenly racing through Harry's mind, and he knew he'd rather face Voldemort a hundred times over than admit to a single one of them. As his brain worked in circles and he scolded himself over and over again, a new voice awoke from the deepest depths of his soul… it disguised itself as pure reason and whispered temptation into his chivalrous heart.

She won't remember any of this, it said, and I'm only looking.

He'd accidentally seen up her skirt once already, so what harm was another peek? This was a unique opportunity - the kind which perhaps would never come again.

In spite of himself, Harry's eyes moved slowly back to Hermione's exposed underwear. By the moonlight streaming in from the opposite window, Harry took in the sight of Hermione’s calves as though he was seeing her in a new light for the first time. Unobstructed, Hermione's pale legs seemed to go on for miles longer than usual. Following the subtle contour of her thighs lead to a hint of baby blue beneath the dark folds of her skirt. Harry stared with hungry eyes, transfixed. He had never seen a girl's panties in person like this before. The view felt so taboo and rare that he couldn't look away, and the fact that these panties belonged to his best friend, Hermione Granger, made it all the more addictive.

The voice in his head purred, but his heart kept hammering - he knew he had to see more. Harry stood up, losing sight of Hermione's crotch, and found he felt unsteady on his feet. He edged along the side of her bed, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, then raised a shaking hand. Hardly believing his own nerve, he gripped the rough fabric of Hermione's skirt gingerly and lifted it up, inch by inch. With every passing second more of Hermione's bare thighs came into blissful view, until the hem of her baby blue panties was exposed. Harry's heart pounded loudly as he finally lifted the skirt as high as it would go and let it rest on her stomach. Before him lay his best friend; from the waist up she looked as innocent and proper as ever, but below her raised skirt lay slim hips hidden by only a single layer of thin blue fabric. The curve of the hem hugging her leg highlighted her bare skin, creamy white and unblemished. Her thighs curved alluringly inward leaving only the smallest gap between them. Harry's eyes travelled up and down, from her high white socks sitting a few inches below her knees, to the waistband of her panties where a cleft could just be seen leading down to where Harry dared not go. The spectacle was magnificent, and poor Hermione would never have any idea where Harry's invading eyes had roamed.

Harry  became acutely aware of a tightening in his pyjama bottoms. Looking down he saw a tent forming, pressing hard against the confining fabric. As he shifted his weight slightly, the tent brushed lightly against the side of the bed in front of him, sending a spark of pleasure to his brain.

No, said a firmer voice in Harry's mind. You can't do that now. Not here.

Why not? Rebutted the voice of temptation, innocently. After all, it's not hurting anyone and no one would ever know.

The silent debate raged inside Harry, who found himself minutely moving his hips against the soft mattress as he took in the tantalising picture before him. At last, the battle was lost and won.

I'm still wearing the invisibility cloak so technically I wouldn't even be exposing myself, Harry reasoned, unreasonably.

Against his better judgement, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pulled them down until his unsullied penis sprang free. Harry didn’t have many frames of reference for its size, but just at this minute he had no qualms about it - besides, Hermione would never get to judge. The only real size comparison he had ever been able to make was thanks to the odd glances he stole in the Quidditch locker rooms. Compared to his peers (who, it should be noted, were all considerably older than him), Harry was definitely punching above his weight; for his young age he was blessed with a favourably sized manhood.

The head rubbed against the light fabric of the invisibility cloak as he gripped his shaft, sending sparks through his body. He breathed raggedly as his hand began to move up and down. There was Hermione, unblinking eyes staring into space as her modesty was secretly shattered.

Harry continued to stroke, but his pleasure had an unexpected side effect; the voice in his head was growing stronger - bolder.

He had to see more.

All reason was drowned out by the desperate tugging at his manhood as Harry reached out with his free hand again. Going for her jumper, Harry pulled it up to her neck with one hand. Her white school shirt and Gryffindor tie were next to be undone, which was no mean feat to tackle one-handed. Not wanting to make a mess of her, Harry carefully unbuttoned Hermione's shirt from the bottom, then moved her tie aside to allow him to open her shirt without undoing her topmost button. He was greeted with a baby blue bra to match her panties - barely necessary, in Harry's opinion, as Hermione's chest was modest to say the least. There was the most subtle hint at a soft mound curving between the cups of her bra, but a small gap between the cup and her skin told Harry that she hadn't quite filled in her underwear just yet. Harry moved the shirt as far off her as he could, careful not to brush her skin. In his mind, he drew a line at skin to skin contact - look, but don't touch.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork. There was Hermione, splayed out on her back with her skirt hitched up to show off her cute panties, and her shirt covering barely any of her flat torso. Only two small pieces of clothing separated Harry from the soft skin and most intimate areas of Hermione Granger's young body. Her hips were still narrower than her shoulders, but her waist curved alluringly inwards hinting at the hourglass figure she may someday have.

More, more, more, urged the voice in his head - but too late. Harry's pumping hand had continued non-stop during his exploration, and now he was quickly approaching his end.

Crap, but where can I finish?

Lost in too much pleasure, his hand worked of its own accord, bringing him swiftly to orgasm without allowing time for him to formulate a clean-up plan. His hips bucked and he shuddered violently as hot cum erupted from the tip of his cock. In his unprepared state, it spattered on the inside of his invisibility cloak, dripping silently to the ground. His hand milked the last drops of ecstacy from his member before he collapsed back into his chair and his thoughts became clear again.

Shit.

This was quite the mess. Not only was his cloak covered in cum and the floor similarly so, but Hermione's clothes were creased and folded in all the wrong places. Looking around, Harry spotted a box of tissues and set to work cleaning up his sticky mess, before attempting to fix Hermione's uniform as best he could. 

As he cleaned, he panicked. This was unforgivable. He had violated the trust of his best friend, and he was sure someone was going to notice her messy uniform or find a puddle of spunk on the floor that he missed. Dumbledore knew about his cloak, it would take him a split second to put two and two together and expel Harry on the spot, assuming he ever returned to Hogwarts.

'I'm sorry, Hermione,' Harry whispered to her frozen face while re-buttoning her shirt. 'I only wanted to see you.'

He stepped back a few minutes later to critique his work. Her skirt could do with an ironing, but with her jumper down, the creases in her shirt were mercifully hidden from view. Setting everything back the way he found it, Harry, with his heart full of guilt, crept back towards his dormitory, his mind racing.

That could never happen again, he firmly told himself. He could be caught and, worse still, he was violating the privacy of his best friend. If he continued it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake, like leaving a cum stain somewhere a cum stain had no business being.

That's why you should learn a cleaning spell before next time, said the evil voice in his head, and Harry found himself rethinking his resolve now that a solution to that one particular issue had presented itself.

He reached the entrance to Gryffindor common room and was greeted by a sleeping Fat Lady in her portrait.

'Wattlebird,' Harry whispered the password urgently from beneath the invisibility cloak.

'...s'no need to shout, ' muttered the yawning portrait as it swung open to admit him, the Fat Lady's eyes appearing to remain shut sleepily as Harry quietly slipped inside and upstairs, back into bed.

*

'Potter!' Professor McGonagall's shrill voice rang out like the crack of a whip across the Transfiguration classroom to where Harry was sat, head propped up by his hand and staring intently at a charms book which lay open on his desk. Coming out of his reverie, Harry quickly looked up to the front of the classroom.

'Yes, Professor?' he asked in what he hoped was an innocent voice.

'I appreciate your dedication to your Charms coursework, however, I would also appreciate your undivided attention during my lesson,' she scolded.

'Yes, Professor,' agreed Harry, bashfully, moving the book out of sight. In the front row of tables he caught sight of Sally-Anne Perks, the auburn-haired fellow Gryffindor, sniggering at him beside Lavender Brown who had her usual small pink bow pinned to her golden-brown locks. Harry did his best to ignore their sidelong glances.

He carefully closed the book he was reading after dog-earing a page (and hearing Hermione's admonishment in the back of his mind at tarnishing a perfectly neat book). He slipped the book into his bag. In any case, he had found what he was searching for; Scourgify - the cleaning charm. Making a mental note to practise the spell as soon as possible, Harry turned his attention as best he could back to McGonagall. He supposed the only reason McGonagall hadn't deducted points for his inattention was that she felt sorry for him, but Harry wasn't about to push his luck.

As soon as the bell rang for lunch, Harry excused himself to the bathrooms. When he was satisfied he was alone, Harry locked himself in a stall and pulled up the sleeve of his cloak, exposing the arm of his school shirt. He placed his mouth above the cuff and dribbled some saliva onto the fabric. A dark wet spot formed where the saliva was absorbed by the shirt. Harry took out his wand and pointed it at the spot.

'Scourgify,' said Harry.

Nothing happened.

Harry took the charms book out of his bag and opened it to his marked page. The spell required a curving wand movement in almost the shape of an 's'. Clearing his throat, Harry aimed his wand and said the spell again, waving his wand in a small 's'. Instantly, the wet spot on his sleeve vanished leaving absolutely no trace.

Smiling, Harry pocketed his wand and put his book back into his bag. These results were encouraging but further tests would need to be done, he concluded. A nervous excitement began to build inside him again...

*

By the end of the day Harry had tried the cleaning spell several more times. During lunch he surreptitiously placed his elbow in some tomato sauce causing Ron and Dean to laugh at him, but Harry, feigning annoyance, took out his wand and tried the spell again on this more stubborn stain. He was pleased to see the stain disappear completely before his gleeful eyes. Ron and Dean noticed nothing, their attention already back to discussing whether or not the Chudley Cannons had a chance of being top of the leaderboard this season.

After dinner, Harry and Ron returned to the common room together. As they stepped through the portrait hole and into the semi-circular room full of comfy crimson-accented furniture, Harry's mind was too preoccupied with his schemes to notice the small crowd of people gathered around the Gryffindor bulletin.

'What's going on?' Ron asked Seamus as they approached, pulling Harry back to earth.

'Someone's hung some panties on the notice board, Sally found them just now,' laughed Seamus in response.

Harry frowned and looked up. Sure enough, there was a small pair of light pink panties pinned to the cork board for all to see. The panties had a small purple ribbon on the front but were otherwise unremarkable.

'Whose are they?' asked Harry aloud.

'Should we try and see if we can find out?' asked Fred Weasley, stepping forward from the crowd to unpin the panties from the wall. Smiling, he took out his wand and hung the underwear on its tip rather than handle them himself. He lifted the pair up to the light and looked carefully for the white tag on the back hem of the garment.

'We're in luck! Looks like this lovely lady - or gentleman, I don't judge - writes their name on their belongings. Let's see here...' Fred squinted to read the small handwriting on the tag. 'Property of -'

Fred stopped himself mid-sentence as his face fell. His eyes sought out Ron and Harry before he spoke again, in a much less jovial tone. 'Hermione Granger.'

There was a second of silence, broken soon after by scattered, stifled giggling - mostly from students whose names Harry didn't know, save for a couple of fellow second-year girls.

'Bit morbid, isn't it?' said George Weasley, scratching the back of his neck. 'Stealing a Petrified girl's knickers? Doesn't seem like a very funny joke to me.'

Harry felt a little sick. He looked at Ron who was pale and stock-still.

'But who put them there?' asked Sally-Anne, looking worried. 'You don't think this is Slytherin's monster again?'

'Doubt it,' said Dean, 'This isn't really their style. They're much more interested in Petrifying and killing people, I reckon.'

'It had to be a student,' said Oliver Wood, looking concerned. 'A Gryffindor, too. No other house can get into our common room.'

'Unless someone got our password,' piped up Ron, his voice dripping with suggestion. 'I can think of one person who'd do something like this.' He looked pointedly at Harry, who understood.

Not all that long ago, he and Ron had sneaked into the Slytherin common room and interrogated Malfoy about the identity of the heir of Slytherin. Had Malfoy now figured out their deception and enacted his revenge?

A babble of confused and concerned voices broke out. Harry pulled Ron aside and spoke in a hushed tone barely audible over the din.

‘You don’t really think this is Malfoy’s doing, do you?’ he asked, cocking one eyebrow in consideration.

‘Who else could it be?’ said Ron with feeling. ‘We know it’s possible to get into someone else’s common room, maybe Malfoy found a way to do it without polyjuice potion.’

‘I don’t see how,’ whispered Harry. ‘We were barely able to manage it with months of planning.’

‘Maybe he just found out our password and snuck in in the middle of the night? Or maybe he had help - a man on the inside.’

‘No one in Gryffindor would be caught dead with Malfoy, and no one here has it out for Hermione,’ pointed out Harry, running through all the Gryffindors in his mind.

‘Maybe it's not just a Hermione thing,’ theorised Ron. ‘Maybe they only targeted her because she’s a muggleborn.’

‘Maybe…’ echoed Harry, but he was unconvinced. Something in the pit of his stomach told him Hermione was the only intended target of this plot.

The discussion in the common room continued unabated for a few minutes until the portrait hole opened and Professor McGonagall entered, looking severe, followed closely by Neville. The discussion died as McGonagall's eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on the pair of panties still clinging to the tip of Fred's wand.

'Mr Weasley,' said McGonagall with an air of forced calm, 'would you care to explain why you seem to be holding a pair of women's undergarments? I have come to expect slightly higher-brow humour from the Weasley twins. Such juvenile behaviour would be a worrying detour.'

Her lips pursed into a thin line, waiting expectantly for an explanation.

'It wasn't them, Professor,' squeaked Neville from beside her before Fred could answer. 'We found them on the notice board.'

'Yeah,' chimed in Ron. 'Fred was just figuring out who they belonged to.'

McGonagall considered, quietly.

'And who indeed do they belong to, Mr Weasley?' she asked, addressing Fred once more.

'They're Hermione's,' he replied before quickly adding, 'I'm telling you, Professor, that's not my idea of a good joke.'

McGonagall's eyes widened slightly, before she whipped out her wand and aimed it at the underwear.

'Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr Longbottom,' she said, quickly. 'I hardly think these need to be seen a second longer.'

With a twitch of her wand the underwear vanished. McGonagall stowed her wand and addressed the assembled common room.

'Let it be known that this sort of behaviour is not tolerated at Hogwarts. I shall be looking into this matter and should the perpetrator be caught, there shall be serious consequences. I trust we will not find ourselves in a similar situation again. Good evening.'

McGonagall gave the common room one sweep of her piercing eyes, then turned on her heel and marched toward the portrait hole.

‘This is the second time someone’s sneaked into our dormitories to steal something recently,’ said Harry, slowly, his eyes unfocused. ‘First Riddle’s diary and now this… that can’t be a coincidence. But if it is Malfoy, why would he steal both the diary and Hermione’s underwear?’

‘Maybe he thinks you’ve been writing in the diary and wants to read all your secrets to use them against you,’ speculated Ron. ‘That would be totally his style.’

‘Yeah…’ agreed Harry, halfheartedly. Malfoy was the only person Harry could logically reason would have a motive to steal both items, but something about that answer just didn’t sit right with Harry.

By eleven o'clock, Harry and Ron had considered every other possible culprit of the stolen panties and diary they could think of, but their consensus remained that Malfoy was the most likely suspect. Having exhausted the topic, Harry's mind now wandered back to his meticulously-planned scheme for the remainder of the night.

Before Harry climbed into his four-poster, he placed his slippers on the floor by the bed head and his invisibility cloak at the top of his trunk where he could noiselessly fetch it. He bade goodnight to the others and closed his eyes, but Harry knew he would not be able to sleep; his heart pounded in anticipation, making what was really only thirty minutes feel like hours as he waited for the other boys to fall deeply asleep. When at last Harry heard the muffled snores of Ron fill the dormitory, he knew it was safe to quietly slip out of bed, don his slippers and cloak, and sneak silently out of the common room.

Harry felt sick with uncertainty as he tiptoed his way toward the hospital wing. He had promised himself that he wouldn't do this again, yet here he was, absolutely prepared and already halfway there. He scorned himself for his lack of resolve and his abundance of recklessness but before he could convince himself to turn around and leave Hermione be, he found himself in front of the hospital wing doors.

He pushed them open slowly, knowing that the last time he did this he had perfectly noble intentions. Creeping past rows of hospital beds he finally arrived at Hermione's and stopped at her bedside, looking down at her frozen face. Her eyes stared off away from him, almost as if ignoring him. Harry took in her features - he had to admit that her body wasn't the only thing that attracted him. Despite her buck teeth and mane of frizzy hair, Hermione was beautiful. Her face was still round with youth and her lips formed a perfect 'O' shape as it hung open in permanent surprise. Her dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her lashes already growing, giving her a hint of femininity. She had a button nose which, unlike so many other students, was blemished with neither spots nor any freckles to speak of.

Despite having a very sheltered upbringing with regard to sex and sexuality thanks to the Dursleys, Harry did know a thing or two about physical attraction and the mechanics of sex. Harry's primary school, St. Grogory's, had reasonably comprehensive sex education, and any topic that they might have deemed too risquè for teaching children was instead covered thoroughly by Seamus Finnegan, who had brought several smutty magazines to Hogwarts and delighted in explaining in explicit detail all sorts of sex acts and fantasies, which, as one might expect from a group of teenage boys, undeniably piqued the interest of Harry and those he shared a dormitory with. As a result, Harry knew most of the proper names and functions of every part of a woman's body, and was well aware of the concept of pleasuring himself and others.

He had thirsted to see a real-life naked girl ever since first laying eyes on the picture of a particularly busty blonde girl in one of Seamus' magazines. He recalled her big, round breasts and bushy crotch displayed for the world to see across two glorious pages. Harry had only wished that Seamus' magazines also contained girls his own age, but alas, he wasn't so lucky. Nevertheless, ever since Seamus' impromptu and totally accurate Sex Ed lessons had begun, Harry found himself frequently hot under the collar while sneaking glances at various girls around Hogwarts. Harry was always surprised at how it seemed like no matter how tall the girls in higher grades grew over the years, their skirts never seemed to get any longer, giving Harry several eyefuls of bare thighs and long legs to marvel at and save in his mind's eye for later use. Harry had spent many nights since coming to Hogwarts masturbating furiously, sometimes picturing the busty girl from the magazine, other times picturing the familiar faces of friends from Hogwarts; Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, even Ron's little sister, Ginny (though he would sooner fight the giant squid than admit to that last one for fear of Ron's vengeance).

However, one girl popped up in Harry's fantasies more than any other. The girl he just so happened to spend almost every waking moment with, and who he had felt a yearning to be near ever since he had helped save her from a mountain troll the previous year. Hermione had starred in a great many of Harry's fantasies, it was true. Sometimes in her school clothes, sometimes parading around in a bra and panties, and sometimes wearing nothing at all. Of course, Harry had had no clue what Hermione actually looked like beneath her school uniform, but he let his imagination wander whenever the thought struck him and it never failed to make him as hard as diamond. And now, standing over his best friend's frozen, helpless body, Harry was finally able to fulfil some of his most desperate and depraved desires.

Harry tore his attention away from Hermione's beautiful young face, and opened the front of his invisibility cloak to reach out a slightly trembling hand towards Hermione's jumper. A minute later he had lifted it out of the way followed by opening her school shirt to reveal his new favourite blue bra. He continued to undress her, lifting her skirt and staring at her matching panties clinging to her narrow hips.

Harry felt a pressure building in his trousers, and so relieved it by pulling his bottoms straight down, causing his erect cock to spring free. His right hand began stroking as slowly as he could manage, but the sight before him urged his movements faster than he intended. The cold night air stung the exposed head of his dick as the skin was repeatedly pulled back and forth over it, precum beginning to lubricate his hand's movements.

Harry stared at Hermione's chest. In this context, Hermione's surprised expression made it seem like she was in shock at her current state of undress. The thought excited Harry. He never wanted his friend to actually find herself in a situation like that, but it was almost like some form of role-play to couple her expression with her immodesty. His heart hammered louder and louder, and a voice urged him on, whispering poison into his heart.

More.

But Harry's hand slowed to a stop. How much further could he go? This was already crossing lines he never thought he would cross, but there was so much further he could go. 

The next logical step in Harry's mind was to remove her bra - then her shock would be all the more justified.

And before Harry could stop and reason with himself, his hand was already outstretched and reaching for her bra. Harry couldn't see a clasp to undo, so instead he gripped the middle of the garment between his finger and thumb, and pulled it up slowly. The light skin of Hermione's underboob came into view first before two puffy pink nipples popped into sight. The bra was soon lifted up as far as it could go and Harry marvelled at his best friend's breasts. They were somehow paler than the rest of her skin, and were topped with light pink nipples the same shade as her parted lips, which sat high on her slightly swollen chest. They were by no means large, not even a handful each, but Harry thought they were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Harry's hand began pumping again. With every new inch of skin he saw, his pleasure was heightened. He knew he wouldn't last long with the available spectacle, but there was one more thing he wanted to see before his orgasm arrived.

Harry's hand left his cock again, almost reluctantly. He parted the folds of his invisibility cloak and positioned himself over Hermione's waist. With one hand on each side of her hips, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric of her panties, took a steadying breath, and pulled them down swiftly.

He was greeted with another spectacular sight. Hermione's vagina - bare, puffy, and pink. Pale skin curved smoothly inward to form a thin crevice, from the top of which peeked a pink, hooded nub. Leaving Hermione's panties around her thighs, Harry's hand returned quickly to his member, which was threatening to explode without help. As he pumped he felt his knees buckle. He turned his head left slightly to look at Hermione's cute slit, then right to admire her tiny breasts and gorgeous, young face. He had only a moment to process before he felt his balls tighten and suddenly he was cumming, hard. His hot seed shot straight through the open front of his invisibility cloak to land squarely on Hermione's stomach. Harry reacted, jerking away to his right in an effort to divert his stream of spunk, but succeeded only in spattering Hermione's petite breasts with white cum as well. Resigned to the situation, Harry stroked the last drops out of his cock and onto her body, slowing down as he took in the scene before him. The sight gave Harry a fresh feeling of pride at a job well done. Hermione lay practically naked on her bed, her clothes roughly strewn about with cum dripping down her stomach and tits, and a look of surprise etched on her adolescent face. Harry collapsed into the chair behind him as he stared at his defiled friend. The pride he had momentarily felt at covering his helpless conquest with his seed and seeing her fitting reaction was quickly receding as waves of sickly guilt washed over him anew. He took a few deep breaths, and then a few more, but the sick feeling in his stomach stuck like stinksap.

A few minutes, a cleaning spell, and several whispered apologies later, Harry stepped back from a now fully clothed and clean Hermione.

On the walk back to the common room, Harry's mind had begun to race again. He couldn't keep doing this, someone was bound to find out.

But how could they? Reasoned the voice in his head. No one can see you in the cloak, you how how to clean up after yourself, and you leave no evidence you were there in the first place.

But it can't be this easy. He must have missed some obvious flaw in his plan.

There is no flaw. No one will see you, and no one will know you've been there.

The cogs in Harry's head whirred as he reasoned away every scrap of decency and humility that might have quelled his depravity. After all, Madam Pomfrey would never know, McGonagall would never know, not even Hermione herself would ever know... right? Hermione wouldn't be able to remember any of this, would she? The question seemed so obvious and almost a foregone conclusion, but it stopped Harry dead in his tracks nonetheless. Was it possible, however remotely, that Hermione would remember everything that happened to her once she was un-Petrified?

A new wave of panic washed over Harry. What if she did remember? Hermione knew all about Harry's invisibility cloak and would understand what happened even if she never actually saw him. Would she report his misdeeds directly to McGonagall? Would he be sent to Azkaban prison to rot away in shame? What would his friends think of him?

Presently Harry became aware that he had been standing in front of the portrait hole into Gryffindor common room for several minutes now.

'Wattlebird,' Harry whispered to the sleeping Fat Lady from beneath the cloak. At the sound of his voice, the Fat Lady snored loudly and jerked awake, blinking through the darkness to find who woke her.

'I must be dreaming...' she said, lazily, when she saw no one waiting to enter and closed her eyes again.

'I said Wattlebird, ' Harry repeated, more firmly. The Fat Lady frowned, opening one eye and peering around suspiciously.

'No need to be rude,' she scolded, but she swung forward all the same to admit an unseen Harry, who bounded up the stairs and into bed as quickly and quietly as possible.

As he lay beneath the covers with his eyes wide open, he decided on one thing for certain: he needed to ask Madam Pomfrey what Petrified people could remember as soon as possible.

*

Harry had convinced Ron to accompany him to visit Hermione the following lunch time - not that Ron required a lot of convincing, but in Harry's mind it was less suspicious to be visiting Hermione with Ron than it was to go alone. They took their seats at Hermione's bedside (Harry was careful not to sit where he might be able to see up Hermione's skirt) as Madam Pomfrey bustled around them, muttering under her breath distractedly. During a lull in her constant stream of thought, when Harry had mustered up the courage to speak in what he hoped was a casual manner, Harry caught Madam Pomfrey's attention.

'Sorry, Madam Pomfrey, I was just wondering what it's like for - for them. The Petrified people. Are they conscious the whole time? Or are they, like, asleep?' Harry asked.

He hoped desperately that the Matron would mistake the fear in his voice for sympathy. Beside him, he felt Ron clench up at the question, though Harry didn't look at him. Madam Pomfrey turned her head to face Harry, then looked away, busying herself with straightening the bedclothes of the Ravenclaw girl's bed beside Hermione's.

'Petrification is uncommon, Potter,' she said finally, still not looking at him. 'We have very little information on this form of Petrification, as we still don’t know its cause. However, to date, no Petrified person has ever remembered being Petrified. I'm sorry, Potter, but she can't hear you.'

Harry was careful not to show relief on his face. The mounting panic he had felt growing inside him since last night was ebbing away now, almost as if his actions could all be undone and forgotten if he really wanted them to be. Harry knew, however, that rather than forget everything and move on, this answer was exactly what he needed to continue his perverted tirade unperturbed.

Harry and Ron sat in silence for another few minutes while Madam Pomfrey bustled around the ward, until finally she returned to her office. Harry and Ron decided to take their leave soon after, sidling out of the room and towards their next class. Rounding the corner at the end of the deserted hospital wing hallway, Harry noticed a small commotion up ahead. A suit of armour was struggling with something, stretching its arms up towards its hollow head but not quite able to reach thanks to the clunky armour's limited range of motion. As the boys drew alongside, Harry finally saw what was bothering the suit of armour; a lacy black pair of panties had been stretched over its helmet and was obscuring what limited vision its visor allowed. Harry's heart sank at the sight. He had a feeling he knew who these panties belonged to, but hoped beyond hope he was wrong.

'Not again...' mumbled Ron. 'You don't think...?'

'I do,' said Harry. 'And I don't think placing them this close to the hospital wing was a coincidence, either. Anyone passing by the area would see them.'

Luckily the hallway was empty while most students were spending free time outside or in the great hall for lunch. Harry stepped towards the armour, reaching out to try and tug the panties off its head.

'Bend down, will you?' he told the armour. 'I'll get them off your head, just hold still... there!'

Harry successfully unhooked the panties from the armour's visor. With its vision restored, it looked around as though seeing the light for the first time in forever, then nodded in Harry's direction with a thankful creak.

'Shame it can't tell us who put them there,' commented Ron. 'Are they Hermione's?'

'Yes,' said Harry, reading the tag. 'So we know it's a targeted attack on her and not another Muggle-born discrimination thing.'

'We should probably tell McGonagall, she would want to know,' sighed Ron as they began walking again.

'Yeah...' agreed Harry, who was absent-mindedly running the garment through his fingers. Holding them reminded him irresistibly of pulling down Hermione's panties in the hospital wing and looking at her exposed body. He shook his head slightly to clear it, not wanting to sport a hard-on here in broad daylight.

'Maybe we should also tell her we think Malfoy's behind it,' continued Ron. 'She knows Malfoy isn't a fan of Hermione... or us for that matter. You don't think he'll try stealing our underwear next?'

'I'm not sure we should tell McGonagall about Malfoy,' said Harry, his brain kicking back into gear. 'If we tell her this is revenge for something we did, she might punish us too. She doesn't need to know we snuck into the Slytherin common room.'

'Fair point, but I'd still like to blame him if we get the chance...' agreed Ron as they approached McGonagall's office.

Ten minutes later McGonagall had taken the panties from Harry and thanked the two boys for bringing the matter to her attention, then shooed them swiftly back to class.

‘We can’t let this keep happening,’ said Harry as they walked towards the greenhouses. ‘We need to figure out if Malfoy’s really behind this.’

‘How though?’ said Ron, ‘We don’t have any more polyjuice so we can’t just interrogate him as Crabbe and Goyle.’

Harry didn’t answer at first, running the problem over in his mind.

‘Whoever it is had at least two pairs of Hermione’s knickers,’ said Harry slowly, ‘so what’s to say they don’t have more? If it is Malfoy, then he probably stole a bunch of stuff at once and is hiding them someplace. Sneaking back into Gryffindor tower for a new pair of underwear every time he runs out would be needlessly risky.’

‘Then we need to check his trunk,’ agreed Ron. ‘Sneak into his common room and raid his stuff.’

‘How are we meant to get in without Polyjuice?’ asked Harry, rounding the corner toward their History of Magic classroom.

‘We’ll have to just risk it with the cloak,’ replied Ron with feeling. ‘We know where it is now and we know the password, we just need to get in and out without anyone noticing.’

‘What if Malfoy or someone else comes in while we’re looking through his stuff? We need a way to warn us that someone’s coming.’

‘Then one of us can stand guard and try to stall Malfoy if he comes round,’ offered Ron.

‘And if that doesn’t work?’ asked Harry as they arrived at Greenhouse Three, but his question was left unanswered as they took their places and Professor Sprout greeted the class in cheery tones.

*

Over the next week Harry visited Hermione almost every night. For a few days he was content with repeating the same cycle over and over; he would open her shirt, lift up her skirt, and pull down her panties and bra before masturbating himself to a powerful orgasm over the milky mounds and crevices of her body. Some nights he would cum over small chest, others on her puffy pink pussy. On the fifth night of his tirade he sprayed his hot seed over Hermione's stunned face, spattering her lips and cheeks with cum which dripped into her open mouth and gave Harry a feeling of immense satisfaction. Her permanently stunned face complemented the spectacle of his various misdeeds so fittingly that he could almost imagine what it would be like if Hermione were awake and able to react to being suddenly undressed and sprayed with cum, even if such a reaction would probably land him in prison and lose him his closest friend.

He returned the following night and repeated his usual routine, undressing Hermione  and staring at her exposed little cunny, budding breasts and adorable face while stroking his exceedingly hard cock. As he stroked distractedly his eyes drifted from Hermione’s form until he found himself instead staring idly at the fifth-year Ravenclaw girl in the bed beside Hermione’s. In all the nights he had visited Hermione he had never paid much attention to this second girl who, as he had learned from overhearing Madam Pomfrey while visiting Hermione more chivalrously during the day, was named Penelope Clearwater. Harry realised now that Penelope was really quite attractive. She had long, curly blonde hair and a much fuller bosom than Hermione, being a good few years older than the young Gryffindor. Harry eyed her dark school skirt, very similar, of course, to Hermione’s although Harry noticed it sat much higher above her knees than Hermione’s did. Harry considered her, wondering how she compared to Hermione under all the layers of her school uniform. What colour was her bra? Was she shaved or bushy down below? Harry could very easily find out…

But why? Why would he bother? Penelope was attractive, sure, but Harry had never paid much attention to her before now. He had no connection to her outside of her being in the same hospital wing as Hermione, and when it came down to it, Penelope might be pretty, but in Harry’s mind she didn’t hold a candle to Hermione - not just in the looks department, but Hermione as a living, breathing human being was the most beautiful, helpful, and unconsciously special soul Harry had the pleasure of knowing. He yearned to be closer to Hermione and, as was now obvious, clearly couldn't stand to be apart from her for too long. Penelope in comparison was just a pretty face to Harry. He was sure she would be a wonderful person in her own right, but without a strong connection like he had with Hermione, a pretty face wasn't going to be enough to turn Harry's head.

Instead, Harry turned his full attention back to Hermione and was almost surprised to find her still stripped naked and exposed for him. He felt a surge of pleasure and excitement at the sight, as though he were seeing her nude for the first time all over again. His cock throbbed with pleasure as his hand began to increase the tempo of its stroke, pumping powerfully as Harry edged closer and closer to his end. Standing closer to Hermione’s bed, he stroked himself over her petite chest, getting as close as he dared to without touching. His strokes became more erratic as he came as close as he dared to Hermione’s body. As he stroked over her bare, milky chest Harry’s furiously flying hand caught the tip of Hermione’s rosy nipple by accident, the feeling sending something like an electric shock through Harry’s body and straight to his pulsating penis. Suddenly, he lost control and found his orgasm already on top of him. His cock erupted fiercely sending strand after strand of hot, white cum splattering over Hermione’s body, painting her youthful, innocent face and her forbidden, petite chest.

After squeezing the last few drops of cum from his softening member, Harry collapsed into a chair beside Hermione’s bed. He admired his work with a sense of pride tinged with a feeling of shame and guilt as he watched his seed drip slowly into Hermione’s open mouth and down the curves of her body.

Harry gathered some tissues and began cleaning himself up. Then he grabbed a few more tissues and decided to try to clean Hermione off by hand. He tried to convince himself that this unnecessary manual labour was a form of penance, but he couldn’t convince even himself that this wasn’t just an excuse to touch Hermione’s naked form. He brought a trembling hand to Hermione’s chest using a tissue to first mop up the cum around her subtle breasts. He found they were softer than he had imagined; they moved as though they were pockets of water trapped beneath her pale skin. His fingertips grazed her warm skin as he cleaned, each time sending shivers of excitement and remorse down his spine.

'I'm so sorry, Hermione,' Harry whispered as he cleaned. 'I just can't help myself. You're so beautiful - I can't wait to have you back, but at the same time I'm going to miss visiting you here. I hope you'd be able to forgive me if you knew, but I know that's stupid. You just make me feel so good and I know in reality you'd never like me enough to want to try anything like this with me,' he gestured generally at the cum staining her face and pillow. 'But that's okay, I hope when you wake up we can just be best friends again. That's all I really want from you. The rest of this is just my stupid brain making me do things I'll regret, and I'm either not strong enough to stop myself or maybe I just don't want to. Either way, I'm a horrible person.'

He finished up with a quick cleaning charm, then redressed Hermione carefully before taking his leave.

The guilt he felt after every visit was lessening, which Harry knew was not a good thing. He was becoming entirely too comfortable with breaking the trust and privacy of his best friend, but the happy chemicals his brain made when he shot his umpteenth load onto Hermione's waiting body kept the amount of guilt he felt below the amount of pleasure his nighttime excursions attained. It felt like the part of him that yearned for these perverted pleasures was somehow separate from the rest of him - like the voice in his head urging him on was someone else's, controlling his actions and leaving sanity and morality by the wayside.

As he slept that night, he dreamt of the feeling of the girls' soft skin beneath his hands and realised what a terrible mistake breaking his no-touching rule would surely turn out to be.

*

The next afternoon Harry and Ron visited Hermione's bedside again during lunch. The boys now never discussed visiting Hermione, they just found themselves meandering up to the hospital wing most lunchtimes. For Harry the walk was becoming something of a habit.

As they sat side by side in the infirmary they held whispered conversations about the heir of Slytherin, and what the fearsome creature in the Chamber of Secrets could possibly be. Ron suggested everything from a manticore to a flobberworm with a vendetta, but nothing they could think of fit the bill of being able to Petrify its victims and seemingly walk around the school undetected.

They were in the middle of one of their debates when the doors to the hospital wing suddenly slammed open with a loud bang! Through the doors came a worried-looking Professor Sprout and a flustered Madam Pomfrey supporting a Hufflepuff boy with Auburn hair between them. The boy looked to be in third or fourth year and was as pale as a ghost. His head lolled to the side as he moaned feebly. Harry saw angry green lines like bulging veins stemming from the boy's neck and down to the tip of his left hand. As the group walked quickly down the ward, Harry heard Madam Pomfrey muttering to Professor Sprout in a firm manner.

'... don't know what you’re thinking, keeping Venomous Tentacula in the greenhouses. This is the third injury this year, Pomona!' she was saying in a carrying whisper.

Professor Sprout huffed with slight indignation.

'The Tentacula is in greenhouse three, way off in the corner. McEwen must have gone poking around where I warned him not to, again, ' she rebutted.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to decide there was no winning this argument, so merely tutted into silence as the two staff members lowered the boy onto a bed on the opposite side of the ward to Hermione and the others. Madam Pomfrey hurriedly drew the curtains around the boy's bed and turned quickly back to her patient. In her haste, she left a sizable gap in the curtains through which Harry and Ron could still see the boy laying upright on the bed, clutching a hand to his neck with his eyes shut in pain.

'I'm going to have to remove your shirt, Mr McEwen,' said Madam Pomfrey, whipping out her wand. 'Not to worry, we'll sort this out and get you back on your feet before you can say Mimbulus Mimbletonia. '

Harry saw her point her wand at the boy's shirt and say 'Evanesco!' . At once the boy's shirt and tie completely disappeared, allowing Madam Pomfrey to better inspect the extent of the injury trailing down the boy's side.

'Just a mild sting. You'll be fine, McEwen,' said Madam Pomfrey, tracing her wand up the green strands to the epicentre on McEwen's neck. Placing the tip on the angry green boil there, she murmured 'Reparifors,' and the green lines began receding back towards their source. A moment later the green boil on McEwen's neck faded away, leaving only a nasty red puncture. Madam Pomfrey bustled over to the bedside table and rummaged around in its drawer for a moment, before straightening up with a small vial of an amber liquid. She dropped two drops of the liquid onto the red cut on McEwen's neck, which released a greenish smoke. When the smoke had cleared, the wound now looked several days old, as if it had been healing well for quite some time. Satisfied, Madam Pomfrey set aside the vial and picked up her wand again.

'Appareo,' she said, and McEwen's shirt instantly reappeared, exactly as it had been moments before it had disappeared.

Professor Sprout seemed satisfied, too, and began to take her leave. Madam Pomfrey removed the curtains around the bed, saying to McEwen as she did so, 'You may rest up 'til dinner, then you're free to go.'

McEwen dropped his head back onto the pillows, no longer groaning in pain, and silently nodded. A minute later Madam Pomfrey left through the double doors as well, shaking her head and muttering 'Tentacula!' under her breath.

'Remind me not to get too friendly with that Tentacula next Herbology lesson,' observed Ron, pulling Harry from his stupor. Harry forced a short laugh, but his mind was elsewhere. The effortless way Pomfrey had Vanished McEwen's shirt had given Harry a less-than-chivalrous idea.

*

After dinner Harry made an excuse to leave the Great Hall, and after a quick visit to the library for a specific textbook, went straight to his dormitory to practise Vanishing clothes. He had found the spell he was after in the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 which was an O.W.L.-level textbook. Had he had more noble intentions, Harry couldn't help but think Hermione might have even been proud. According to the textbook, Vanishing inanimate objects was much easier than Vanishing animals or living beings, for which Harry was thankful.

Harry took out his wand and pointed it at a t-shirt lying on his bedside table, saying ‘Evanesco!’

Nothing happened. Harry frowned and turned back to the book, catching sight of himself in the mirror and doing a double-take. The bottom half of his robes were entirely gone, as were his trousers and the underwear beneath them. He now became aware of the cool night air on his privates and hurriedly read over the textbook’s passage again. Perhaps his mind had wandered a little too far?

Harry cleared his head, focussed hard on the clothes he was missing, pointed his wand at his bottom half (careful to avoid his meat and potatoes, just in case) and said ‘Appareo!’

His clothes mercifully reappeared. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, half for successfully un-Vanishing his pants and half for not accidentally inflicting the sort of damage on his family jewels that would be hard to explain to Madam Pomfrey.

An hour later Harry thought he finally had the hang of it; he had successfully Vanished and un-Vanished all of his clothes six times in a row (this time on purpose).

He could hear the sound of laughter and conversation drifting up the stairs from the common room, and decided to see if he could try the spell on another unsuspecting person.

Descending the stairs and taking a seat beside the fire, he spied Neville lying on the floor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied his potions textbook intently; Snape had set him a nasty research essay on the importance of Jewelweed in healing draughts after Neville had forgotten to add some to his Pepperup Potion.

Harry surreptitiously took careful aim at the visible part of Neville's tie with his wand.

'Evanesco,' Harry whispered, and to his delight Neville's tie completely disappeared. Neville seemed not to notice the sudden disappearance of his tie, likely too focused on avoiding the wrath of Snape in their next Potions class. Harry silently celebrated his success, looking around to make sure no one had caught him trying out the spell on Neville. Satisfied that no one was watching, Harry aimed his wand again at Neville's collar and whispered 'Appareo.'

In the blink of an eye the tie reappeared. Harry couldn't help but smile as he stashed his wand away; he had an excited feeling growing in his stomach, and perhaps something else was growing too, a bit further south. Neville idly scratched his neck as he read on, preoccupied and completely oblivious.

*

A few hours later Harry found himself creeping back into the hospital wing under cover of darkness and his invisibility cloak. He reached the end of Hermione's bed and paused. Excitement mixed with a sickening fear bubbled within him, but his nerve was too strong for his own good. He pulled his wand out of his pyjama pocket and eyed Hermione's unmoving form, appreciating her frizzled hair and how her cute buck teeth peeked out from behind her soft, smooth lips. Focusing hard on her entire uniform, Harry raised his wand and with a thrill that set his heart aflutter, whispered 'Evanesco!'

Instantly, all of Hermione's clothes completely disappeared, from her fuzzy grey jumper to her high white socks. She lay naked, completely exposed in a way Harry had not seen her before. His cock, which had been in a state of semi-harness all evening, now reached its full height and Harry had to remove his pants to stop it straining to get out. His hand automatically moved to start stroking himself as he stared hungrily at his completely nude best friend, his thumb rubbing firmly over the head with every stroke.

Whereas before, having Hermione's uniform open and strewn about gave her the look of a schoolgirl caught unawares and stripped to a state of partial undress, now that her clothes were completely gone she instead had the air of a young seductress, exposing her curves and most sensitive spots with the sole intent of arousing Harry - which she did, absolutely. Her gaping mouth now seemed more like it was playing along with the idea of being caught in the nip, tempting Harry with her flawless body.

Harry's eyes traced slowly up her smooth legs, across her hairless pussy, over her bare tummy and small, perfect breasts to her round, youthful face. The urge to touch her was stronger than Harry had ever felt, and when he eyed the subtlest curve of her hips, he gave in. Keeping his right hand on his cock, Harry ran his left hand up the entire length of Hermione's body, starting at her ankle and first running up her smooth legs. Then over her soft thighs. He brushed the gentlest fingers over the pink nub atop her pussy and watched as her firm, still-growing breasts jiggled ever so slightly when his hand momentarily caught her nipple on its way upwards, towards her face. His fingers crossed her collarbone and up her flawless neck. Harry gently pulled down Hermione's bottom lip slightly with his thumb before following their curve around to her cheek. Her skin was incredibly soft, and as he brought his head closer to hers he marvelled at the long lashes which framed her eyes, giving her a feminine quality that the rest of her immature body betrayed.

Harry brought his mouth over Hermione's until he brushed the soft skin of her lips, finally pushing in all the way and kissing her passionately. Harry ran his tongue along the shape formed by Hermione's open mouth before plunging in deep and running it along the subtle ridges of her warm, wet tongue. Truth be told, the kiss was slightly awkward due to Hermione's inability to reciprocate, but as Harry pulled away with a string of saliva still lingering between their mouths, he felt a romantic passion in his heart that he had never felt before.

Tearing his eyes away from her face and back to her petite body, Harry ran his free hand back down her chest. On her back Hermione's boobs disappeared almost completely leaving her soft chest practically flat, except for on the sides by her arms where the slight curves of her budding breasts could be seen. Her puffy pink areola were too tantalising to resist, so Harry momentarily took his other hand off his cock to grope both of Hermione's pre-teen tits at once. Harry's hand was slick with precum which smeared pervertedly onto her chest as he took one breast in each hand. They fit perfectly in his palms, and were the softest thing Harry could ever remember feeling, even softer than her thighs. Harry marvelled at how they moved almost like liquid beneath his fingers, and gave Hermione several good squeezes before he took his hands away to continue his exploration of her body. Next he brought two fingers to her snatch, running them gently up and down her slit. He used his two fingers to part her lips and stared at her bright pink centre, a small hole just visible towards the bottom of her pussy. Harry shifted his position and placed a thumb on her clit, flicking it back and forth with the pad of his finger. Then he ran his thumb down to Hermione's hole, gathering her dampness as he went. He pushed experimentally against her opening and was surprised when it gave way without resistance to his probing digit.

Harry paused for a moment, a thought striking him. Was his thumb the first thing to ever enter the pussy of renowned teacher’s pet, Hermione Granger? Harry supposed it was possible that Hermione had already started masturbating, though Harry struggled to picture Hermione doing so, even while she lay naked before him. After all, Harry had been doing so for a while now, and Seamus did once tell Harry and Ron that girls tended to start exploring themselves earlier than boys did. Harry wasn't sure whether Seamus' information was entirely reliable.

Harry redoubled his efforts at pushing his finger deeper into Hermione's warm, wet snatch, trying to picture her pushing the handle of a hairbrush into herself as she moaned in pleasure. Before very long, Harry's whole thumb was inside her. Harry looked up at her face, half expecting to see her with her eyes closed in pleasure, but still she lay there naked and unresponsive to his wandering hands. Harry thought the feeling of his thumb in her pussy was very strange, but very enjoyable. He wiggled his thumb around inside her, experiencing the new textures of her hole before he decided his thumb just wasn't long enough.

No, said a sudden firm voice in his head, you're not going to fuck Hermione. She's defenceless and unaware. You may be horny as hell right now but you know you're better than that.

Harry stopped again. Though his hard penis was twitching and begging for release, he knew this was one line he could not cross.

You've done so much to her already, why stop now? The evil voice in his head asked, again playing up to logic and foregoing morality. In Harry's heart he knew that actually having sex with Hermione was unforgivable - more unforgivable than seeing her naked or touching her body. Taking her virginity and not allowing her to share it with the person of her choice was a new level of cruelty and selfishness, and she was still his best friend. No matter how nice her pussy would probably feel around his dick, he had to stop himself from crossing that line.

His cock practically screamed in frustration at his resolve. Fine, if he wasn't going to be able to fuck Hermione then he would still make himself cum using her little body some other way. Harry withdrew his thumb and instead entered his index finger into Hermione's hole. He wasn't going to fuck her, but he was at least going to finger fuck her, even though she wouldn't be able to feel a thing. He slid his finger slowly inside his friend, right up to the base. He could feel her dampness engulfing his digit, as well as fleshy bumps and ridges lining her walls. He gave a few pumps of his hand, wishing Hermione could react to his actions, but she stayed as still as a statue. Harry, curious, tried pushing a second finger into Hermione, and with some effort, got it inside. He marvelled at how much tighter she now felt. With just two fingers in her snatch, Harry thought she might be near her limit. While she might have experimented with putting the odd finger or object inside herself in the privacy of her own bed, Harry doubted she had tried something like a dildo before. Where would she even get a dildo from at their age? She didn't seem the type to order sex toys by owl post.

Having vigorously pumped Hermione’s snatch with his hand until the exercise became monotonous, Harry finally removed his fingers from his best friend's hole. A string of slippery wetness clung to his fingers. Harry considered it for a moment, then stuck out his tongue experimentally to taste his fingers. The taste was salty but almost sweet, and unlike anything he had tasted before. It wasn't unpleasant, but Harry had another idea for putting Hermione's juices to good use. Collecting a bit more with his right hand, Harry then gripped his cock at the base and stroked upwards, lubricating himself with his best friend's nectar. His hand slipped easily up and down his shaft and his own precum mixed with hers to further lubricate his aching member.

As he stroked, he admired Hermione's naked form. His eyes travelled down to her bare pussy again as it stared alluringly back at him, a single bead of liquid glistening in the moonlight. The urge to fuck her was returning, but Harry wouldn't let himself break down and give in.

Use her mouth came the inevitable alternative from the wicked part of his mind. Moving his eyes upwards, Harry looked towards the open circular hole Hermione's soft lips made. Her mouth had felt so soft earlier as he explored it with his tongue, of course he would feel even better with those soft lips around his cock instead. Unable to stop himself, Harry repositioned himself beside Hermione's head which faced slightly to her left, allowing Harry to point his cock directly towards her waiting mouth. He began by running the tip of his dick along her lips, getting precum around her mouth as he did. Then, placing a hand on her cheek, Harry pushed the head of his dick past Hermione's lips and into her warm mouth. Her lips were parted precisely wide enough to give Harry an intense pleasure as the ridge of his helmet pushed past into the opening, and her teeth mercifully gave Harry no bother as he came to rest on her tongue. Having his hard member fully engulfed by his best friend's mouth was a pleasure Harry had never before experienced, and the sight of young Hermione with her lips wrapped around his throbbing penis brought Harry very close to the edge already. Harry paused to regain his composure, slowly inched his hips backwards, then thrust forward with a bit more speed. Different regions of Hermione's mouth pleasured his cock as Harry slowly mouth-fucked his bookworm best friend. Harry moved his hand to grip the side of Hermione's neck, just below her ear. His fingers ran through her frizzy hair as he adjusted his grip, and he found himself wishing he could move her head slightly to better pleasure himself with her mouth.

As Harry thrust frantically, each stroke bringing him closer to orgasm, his mind reflected on the year he and Hermione had been having. Harry had had a lot of fun with Hermione's body these past few days, but with every passing day that Hermione remained Petrified, Harry found himself wishing more and more that she was back with him. With them. He knew he would have traded every night he had spent with Hermione in a heartbeat just to have her back, because even if she never liked Harry the way Harry now realised he liked her, Hermione was still one of his absolute closest friends and an invaluable partner in their adventures at Hogwarts. Hermione had spent so much time in the hospital wing this year between the Polyjuice mishap and now this, and Hogwarts just wasn't the same without her. Harry missed hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, and listening to her speak passionately about what she had learnt. He missed how she always had the answer to every burning question Harry could pose, and how she was always there to save his skin whenever he found himself in mortal peril, which was more often than he cared to admit.

And now his yearning had manifested itself like this, with his cock buried deep in Hermione's mouth as his friend lay naked on her hospital bed, unaware that her modesty had been ripped up and torn to shreds. Reason had been left by the wayside long ago, and now Harry was thrusting his hips like a dog in heat as he used Hermione's mouth as an object for his pleasure. The head of his cock slipped over her warm, squishy tongue as it titillated the underside of his member. Harry found himself gripping Hermione's long brown hair as he thrust deeper and deeper, until he found himself approaching his inevitable end. One big thrust allowed his helmet to graze the back of her throat, giving yet another new sensation and sending Harry over the edge.

'Hermione!' he moaned as his body clenched up and with a mighty twitch, his cock began erupting with thick, hot cum. He painted the inside of Hermione's mouth with his seed, before his erratic thrusts brought the tip of his cock out of the warm confines of her mouth and left it rubbing across her parted lips and over her cheek. His final few strands of sticky white love landed across Hermione's surprised expression, leaving a diagonal line from beneath her wide left eye to her small, cute chin.

Harry's hips bucked as he came down from what felt like the most powerful orgasm of his young life. Squeezing the last drops of cum from his quickly softening shaft, Harry stepped back to admire the view of a completely naked and exposed Hermione with a mouth full of cum and her face splattered with Harry's spunk. Harry wished he could take a picture to remember this sight forever, but had to settle for living in the moment. Besides, a photo would be evidence of his misdeeds, and that would probably not be a very smart thing to have lying around.

Instead Harry took out his wand and cleaned Hermione up before saying 'Appareo,' which had the immediate effect of redressing Hermione perfectly. She now looked as innocent and unsullied as ever. Taking one last look, Harry draped the invisibility cloak over himself again and left the hospital wing, knowing he would be back again tomorrow night.

Harry tiptoed back up to Gryffindor Tower, passing only the occasional ghost on his way before he arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait. Unusually, tonight she was wide awake and peering through the darkness with suspicion as Harry approached.

'Wattlebird,' whispered Harry when he came near enough for her to hear him.

The Fat Lady flinched at the sound of his disembodied voice, but quickly adopted an aloof air.

'No,' she said simply.

Harry stared.

'Come on, please. Wattlebird! ' he repeated.

'I said no, ' she repeated, annoyed. 'I'm no stranger to students sneaking in and out in the dead of night, but usually I can see just who's coming and going. I don't take kindly to letting invisible hooligans use me like a cat flap! If you're going to come and go, you'll at the very least pay me the decency of showing yourself.'

Harry pondered. On one hand, the Fat Lady had apparently allowed generations of Gryffindors to come and go without fuss, so Harry expected she wouldn't be too bothered by seeing him do the same. But on the other hand if anyone ever suspected that somebody had been sneaking into the hospital wing at night to do less-than-ethical things, then by the Fat Lady's testimony Harry would be at the top of the list of suspects. Harry stood in silence for a moment while the Fat Lady continued to look around surreptitiously, as if she might spot him if she kept her eyes peeled. Finally, Harry decided he could either be seen by the Fat Lady or sleep on the cold stone floor until morning. Besides, he had covered his tracks well enough that he doubted anyone would ever suspect a thing.

'Fine,' said Harry, with resignation as he lowered the hood of his cloak so that his head appeared floating in mid-air before the stubborn portrait.

'Oh, it's you,' said the Fat Lady, staring with judgement at Harry's now-visible face. 'That's all I wanted to know, was that so difficult? I expect a similar level of respect in future should you want your extra-curricular wanderings to go unnoticed.'

At last she mercifully swung forward to admit Harry, who covered himself fully with the cloak once more before silently scrambling through the portrait hole and up the stairs into his dormitory. He silently pushed open the door and sneaked inside, closing it behind him with a muffled click.

Satisfied that he had finally made it back, Harry removed the cloak.

'There you are!' came a hoarse whisper from his left. It was Ron, who was sitting up in bed and eyeing Harry with interest. 'I was wondering why you weren't in bed, where have you been?'

'Er - reading,' lied Harry, lamely.

'In the cloak?' Ron asked, puzzled. 'Ohh, were you in the restricted section again?'

'That's right,' confirmed Harry, glad Ron had proposed a reasonable excuse of his own accord. 'Been researching stuff about monsters, you know. Trying to figure out what Petrified Hermione... and the others.'

Ron nodded solemnly.

'Well, if you ever need a hand you know I'm not opposed to sneaking around at night, even if visiting the library isn't my idea of a fun nighttime outing. Blimey, what would Hermione say...'

Harry forced a laugh as Ron drew the curtains around his four-poster bed and went back to sleep. What would Hermione say? Harry knew he probably wouldn't like the answer to that particular question just now.

*

The following Tuesday afternoon, Harry and his Herbology classmates found themselves being escorted by Professor Sprout between classes to History of Magic. Both Harry and Ron's heads were swimming - just last night they had ventured into the Forbidden Forest on Hagrid's orders to ‘follow the spiders’. The trail of arachnids lead them into the nest of an enormous Acromantula named Aragog who proceeded to attempt to feed Harry and Ron to his children, but not before imparting them with the information that Hagrid did not open the Chamber of Secrets last time, and that fifty years ago a girl died at the hands of Slytherin's monster, and was found in a bathroom. Once Harry and Ron had escaped with the aid of Mr Weasley's flying Ford Anglia and made it back to bed, the thought occurred to Harry that maybe the girl who died in the bathroom never left - maybe Moaning Myrtle had the information they required all along.

However, sneaking into the girl's bathroom on the second floor wasn't as easy as it had been earlier in the year when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had brewed Polyjuice Potion in one of its stalls. Teachers now escorted students between every classroom as well as to and from their dormitories for fear of another attack, meaning Harry never found himself alone long enough to sneak away and have a conversation with Myrtle. But Harry couldn't sit idly by and wait for the monster to attack more students when he finally had a promising lead, he had to try something - anything - to get away from the teachers and to the second floor girl's bathroom.

'Excuse me, Professor Sprout,' called Harry, jogging to the front of the group as they all walked up the stairs leading from the greenhouses to the History of Magic classroom above. 'Could I be excused to go to the bathroom, please?'

'Sorry, Potter,' replied Professor Sprout, keeping an eye on their surroundings as she spoke, 'You know the rules, no students are to walk around alone. Once we get to the History of Magic classroom, I can take you to the bathroom myself, unless - ah, yes,'

Professor Sprout broke off, spotting Snape walking towards them in the opposite direction. Harry's heart sank.

'Severus!' Professor Sprout called, waving him down.

'Good afternoon, Pomona,' said Snape slowly, coming to a stop beside the group of students. His dark eyes scanned their faces briefly, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry before returning his attention to Professor Sprout. 'How can I be of assistance?'

'Would you mind taking Potter here to the loo, don't want him going by himself.'

Snape's lip curled almost imperceptibly.

'With pleasure,' he said, his eyes on Harry. 'Can't have Potter wandering off on his own now, can we?'

'Excellent,' said Professor Sprout with satisfaction. 'Come on, second years, this way to your next class. No dawdling, now.'

Professor Sprout left with the other students, Ron bringing up the rear and giving Harry a questioning look.

'See you in class,' Harry told him, dejectedly. Snape would take Harry to the nearest bathroom, which was decidedly not the one on the second floor, however Harry had no choice now but to follow Snape to the bathroom whether he needed to go or not.

Without another word spoken, Snape turned on his heel and led Harry to the bathrooms on the first floor instead. Harry followed, equally silent.

When they reached the door to the bathroom, Snape stopped and turned to face Harry.

'I shall wait for you here, Potter. Be quick, now,' he said.

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bathroom was empty, but Harry elected to enter a stall anyway. He valued his privacy at times like these. Almost as soon as he had shut the stall door behind him, he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening again and two sets of footsteps entering the room. In the gap under his stall door, Harry saw two boys take their places at two urinals opposite the stalls. With the bathroom door now shut again, one boy began to speak which Harry recognised to be the voice of Marcus Flint, the seventh year Slytherin Quidditch captain.

'I'm telling you, though,' he said, his tone indicating the boys had paused their conversation and began again once safely in the privacy of the boy's bathroom. 'That Clearwater girl might be a filthy Mudblood, but I wouldn't mind a piece of her uptight ass.'

The second boy, who Harry couldn't place, grunted in agreement.

'And she's just laying there in the hospital wing,' he said. 'Would be so easy to sneak in there and fuck her senseless, that's all filth like that is good for, anyway.'

'I reckon we should,' added Flint, 'I could do with a good fucking to wind down after all this ruddy exam revision.’

‘What revision?’ asked the other boy, his tone one of humour. ‘You spend all your time on the Quidditch pitch. I don’t know if anyone’s told you this yet, but Quidditch isn’t covered in N.E.W.T.s.’

The boys guffawed, then went silent for a moment before Flint spoke up again.

‘Still, we'd fuck Clearwater’s tight holes better than that ginger twat ever could. Almost be doing her a favour.'

'Only issue is we'd have to see that other Mudblood, Granger while we do it,' the other boy said, laughing. 'Might be difficult to get hard while I've gotta look at her buck-toothed mug.'

An anger boiled up inside Harry as he listened. The idea of these two Slytherin brutes breaking into the hospital wing and having their way with a girl in there was enough to make Harry feel sick, let alone their opinions on Hermione. Whether the sickly feeling was due to their disgusting comments or due to the striking parallels to Harry's own actions, Harry wasn't sure. In either case, he kept listening, rooted to the spot.

'She's a stuck up little bitch, that's for sure,' continued Flint, 'but I bet her cunt's even tighter than Clearwater's. We could always leave Granger with a little gift, too. Maybe the Mudblood just needs a pure-blood baby growing inside her.'

The two boys guffawed loudly, and Harry found himself gripping his wand tightly. But what could he do? Hex two seventh years with Snape right outside the door and be put in detention for it, assuming he didn't get cursed into oblivion by them first? Harry supposed he could tell Snape what he heard, but Harry doubted Snape would be willing to punish two of his own students on nothing more than the word of his most hated pupil. Harry's deliberation was interrupted as Flint continued speaking.

'How about we sneak out after curfew tonight and see what fun we can have with them. Draco would love to know we ruined Granger's little holes before Potter or that Weasley kid got the chance to.'

Still sniggering, the two boys finished their business and left (neglecting to wash their hands, it should be noted) leaving Harry to think, alone. He couldn't let these two idiots hurt Hermione, or any of the other Petrified Muggle-borns for that matter. There was only one option left in his mind, Harry concluded as Snape wordlessly shepherded him to History of Magic, tonight Harry would have to camp out and protect Hermione.