InsaneJournal

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Ginny hates that Ron practically never writes Hermione.

It doesn't look good for him, especially when Harry's letters come drifting down onto her plate at least once a week. She's running out of excuses for the loveable idiot, particularly when he's being quite a bit more of the latter and very little of the former. In fact, she's beginning to wonder why she even bothers these days, considering he isn't even her favourite brother to begin with, and especially less so after reading Harry's reply to her asking him why Ron wasn't contacting the girlfriend he'd so passionately proclaimed his feelings for just three months ago.

That's not all Ginny hates, though. If anything, the real reason she's feeling quite unsisterly towards her brother lately can be found in the flicker of hope in warm brown eyes as they dart quickly up, just once, to watch the last of the owls swoop by; the raw hurt that flashes briefly across fine-boned features as Hermione casts her gaze down at the table once more, picking away at the edges of her toast instead of eating it as she pretends not to notice Ginny hurriedly stuffing Harry's latest missive into her pocket.
 
Time to rummage through her admittedly meager - and rapidly depleting - store of Reasons Why Ron Isn't A Complete Prat as a Boyfriend, because while the thought of Hermione marrying Ron always makes unidentified parts of her innards twitch violently, the thought of not having Hermione in the family, of not ever - or at least hardly ever - seeing the ambitious overachiever again once they graduate leaves her feeling cold and hollow inside, as though said innards simply upped and left in a huff. In the end, they'll just have to put up with the twitching for a while more; she takes a deep breath, turns to Hermione, opens her mouth - and promptly comes up blank.

Ohh, now is so not a good time to have run out of cover stories. But maybe I can try the one where Harry’s got all this free time and nothing to do with it but write me since they’d rather be trained by him rather than the other way round? Bah, can't. Used that last week; she'll still remember. Hmm...hah! The one where Ron could barely get his essays to minimum length while in school, and now has a phobia of writing?
  
The porridge dripped in globs off her spoon as Ginny winced, blissfully unaware of a pair of eyes trained suspiciously on her, upon recalling the reaction that particular cop-out had provoked. It had been an overcast Tuesday, and Hermione had scowled but said nothing as she finished off breakfast, leaving Ginny with an overwhelming sense of relief tinged with a tiny bit of accomplishment at an excuse well-executed as she slipped Harry's letter between the pages of the latest issue of Talk Quidditch! that had arrived with it. Unfortunately, she should have known it was far too soon for satisfaction.

"I'm not asking for an essay, Ginny."

Hermione had been oddly calm while pointing out the very minimal demands she made of her errant boyfriend in the Common Room later that evening, even as her eyes skimmed the pages of the magazine she'd smoothly plucked out of the startled redhead's hands moments ago.

"All he has to do is write about how he's doing. No theory, no research, no application, nothing. Just maybe a couple of paragraphs about his trip to Austria two weeks ago - which I found out from you through Harry, by the way - or if he learned a new spell, or fell off his broom, or met new friends. At this point; maybe even a sixteen-page article on the Chudley Cannons addressed to me would be appreciated!"

If paper cuts could kill, the youngest Weasley had no doubt her epitaph would have read: 'She battled valiantly, but was no match for the Talk Quidditch! #11,994 wielded by her enraged best friend.'
    
Why, oh why had she felt the need to read that on a plush, comfy armchair in the fire-warmed common room where Hermione could've - and had - walked in anytime instead of some Merlin-forsaken, dusty, musty, dark, uncomfortable broom closet or something equally hidden and awkward? Scrunching her brow, she shoveled the half-empty spoon of porridge into her mouth while preparing mentally to delve once more into the shallow depths of semi-plausible defenses for her wayward brother.

"DON'T!" came a sudden, harsh whisper from her left emphasized by a rather sharp elbow colliding with her ribs. Startled, Ginny whipped round to find herself blinking into Parvati Patil's rather fierce-looking visage.

"Don't you dare get her started again! I know that look on your face, Ginny Weasley, and the last time I saw it, Hermione ended up running from the Hall looking like she was about to break down any second, and EVERYONE got extra homework for all our classes that day because she wouldn't volunteer any answers and nobody else knew them when we got picked on!"

"So you want me to just not say anything so she can answer for Gryffindor in your classes together? How callous can you be!? Look at her! She's - she's -"

"- going to get over it a lot faster than if you open your mouth and MORE fairy tales for that git brother of yours come out. I know you're family and all, but you're supposed to be her best friend!!"

The last two words were emphasized by hard pokes to the same spot the elbow had been delivered earlier, but by Parvati's surprisingly strong index finger this time instead, as she continued her hissed tirade. Neither girl noticed when Hermione clutched her butter knife a little tighter. Lavender did, though, and gulped as she inched away from her bushy-haired housemate. I'm sorry I didn’t warn you, Parvati, but you just had to go sit by Ginny today! I'll miss you when you're gone. And I'll put Witch Weekly on your grave every week once I finish it, I promise. She bit her lip and stared mournfully at her baked mushy beans.

"Best friends are supposed to side with girlfriends over their lousy boyfriends when they're being lousy until she cheers up enough to defend him; not end up having to think about exactly how rotten he is that you have to make up flimsy excuses for them! And you call me callous! Hmph!"

Spluttering and blinking as she found herself rather unpleasantly on the defensive, Ginny struggled to come up with an answer - if there even were any - to the rather convoluted reasoning Parvati had just thrown at her. The blade of the butter knife in Hermione’s clenched fist took a sudden sharp bent to the right, and several people in her immediate vicinity suddenly found reasons to not be there anymore with the exception of the still-thinking-their-whispers-weren’t-being-heard-by-everyone-in-the-next-six-seats duo.

“At least I’m trying! All the rest of you simply pretend nothing’s happening, but it’s not helping Hermione feel any better, is it?”

“Well, we’re not the ones whose boyfriends send us letters every week that she gets jealous over.”

Ginny ground her teeth. Of all the times for the usually airheaded Indian beauty to get logical, she'd had to pick today. She didn't notice the soft thump behind her, or Parvati's suddenly wide eyes, being far too engrossed in coming up with a passably witty retort.

"Enough."

Looking back, Parvati wondered how it was possible to imbue such a softly-spoken word with so much deadly intent. She also wondered how someone who was normally so astute could miss the fact that Hermione was still gripping the handle of the knife stuck in the tabletop, but decided on her part that silence and a meek, downcast look was the better part of valor. Ginny, unfortunately, didn't. Panicking as Hermione got up, swinging her bag smoothly onto her shoulder and beginning to walk away, she blurted out the words she was sure would at least bring a smile to her bookish friend's face, even if it still was admittedly naff.

“It’s not like Harry writes much! Twenty-four square inches in that ridiculously large, loopy writing both he and Ron perfected for all their essays is about his limit, you know? One-page-Harry, that's him!” She was pulling Harry’s letter out of her robe, ripping off the envelope and frantically waving the sheaf - what...the SHEAF?? - of ink-covered paper at her best friend before she knew what she was doing.

Hermione leveled a look at her that would petrify Medusas in their tracks. To Ginny's credit, it only made her wilt thoroughly and feel as though shriveling up into a ball to die would be, hopefully, some small atonement for her sins.

Ginny wished impending senses of doom would hit her before she did things that invoked an impending sense of doom, as her errant, paper-clutching fist slowly drooped back to the bench, like a puppy that had done something naughty and knew it.

The butter knife waited with bated breath for its last user to be completely out of sight before it began the ardous task of pulling itself out of the wood, too shaken to even grumble at students nowadays as it usually did when things like these happened.

~ * ~

She's only trying to help. The knot in her stomach wasn't going away, as Hermione quickened her pace. He's her brother, of course she'd stand up for him. The thought left feeling somewhat betrayed, though she told herself she was being downright silly. Trying not to think about her best friend, she moved her train of thought on, only for it to pull in at an equally unpleasant station - Ron. She didn't spend much time in that station, however, as right then Pigwidgeon cannonballed through a nearby window, crashing into her shoulder and nearly stunning himself silly. The scrap of parchment barely five inches long did nothing to keep her heart from sinking as she unfolded it, and sure enough, what she read was exactly what she'd expected and dreaded. 

    I know you; and I know you must've finished studying for your "upcoming exams" long before this, so I don't  see why you can't take a couple days off. It's not like you'd even have to go anywhere, I already said I'd visit and we could just hang out around Hogsmeade! If you don't want me to come, fine. Just you remember this the next time you expect me to drop everything and come running.

Your unwanted boyfriend,

    - R 

It took less than a minute for her to look through the contents of the letter - twice - after which she slammed the parchment on the table with rather more force than necessary, furiously jerking the knot of her tie loose with her other hand as she did. The Itsy Compendium of All Creatures Meek and Timid, having been dangerously close to the edge of her hand when it came down, let out a little 'eep' of terror and scuttled behind the dubious safety of The Monstrous Book of Monsters. Leaning her hip against the desk - which caused her outer robe to slip alarmingly close to the edge of her shoulder - Hermione scrubbed a hand through her already tempestuously unruly hair, her entire appearance reflecting the equally chaotic state of her emotions.

Why weren't things working out? Yes, they were currently in what could be termed a long-distance relationship, but with neither Apparation nor Floo being particularly cumbersome modes of travel that couldn't possibly be the cause. She did take his training seriously despite his accusations to the contrary. A comprehensive list of all the days - down to the hours per day she'd have available - she'd have free in the first term had been delivered by an owl who'd looked thoroughly alarmed at the admittedly thick scroll she'd bound to its leg with industrial-strength twine.

She never asked that he appreciate her efforts, though that would've been nice, if too much to expect; but having practically bent over backwards to accommodate his obviously far more unpredictable schedule, the least she expected would be that he just look at the blasted list before simply owling a couple days in advance that he'd be coming this weekend and was looking forward to spending some time with her. This wasn't the first time they had clashed, either. He'd arrange to come when he wanted, give her little to no notice and expect her to just drop everything and go gallivanting with him, N.E.W.T.S be damned. Then when she turned him down or couldn't spend as much time with him as he'd like, he got angry. In fact, his timing was so horrible lately it seemed almost as though he was actually using her carefully-prepared timetable to pick the days when she'd be absolutely loaded to the ears with work ... but that was just the type of coincidence that Ron always seemed to walk right into, so she temporarily abandoned that very frustrating train of thought to get changed and flop huffily onto the bed.

It - their relationship, or lack thereof - wasn't working, and Hermione Granger didn't know why, and it was driving her up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the other side; only for the whole frustrating cycle to repeat itself ad infinitum with every letter sent and received. It was almost as though he were deliberately misunderstanding what she said, because even Ron couldn't be so infuriatingly thick! ...could he?

Ginny thought not hearing from Ron was what had her so down, but what she hadn't told the younger girl was that he did, just not even half as often as Harry, and even then - tonight's curt message being the rule rather than the exception - it didn't really count. She couldn't decide what made her feel worse - the times Ron didn't write, or the times he did, like tonight.

She turned over in bed, brow furrowed darkly. How many arguments can two people have over the littlest, trivialest things before it stops being 'adorable' and 'married-couple-ish' and starts being simply acrimonious? Hermione couldn't be sure when gentle teasing had slipped into subtle sniping and sly barbs and from there, to outright antagonism and cruel put-downs that she'd once thought were limited only to fourteen-year-old boys who didn't know how to tell their crush they liked them. 

 All in all, she'd been in a thoroughly bad mood all day. No, not all day. She couldn't help a sudden chuckle, remembering when she'd nearly walked right into Luna this afternoon on her way to Advanced-Level Charms. The waifish blonde had been standing just round a corner, leaning against the wall of the corridor as though she'd been waiting for Hermione. In her hands were a steaming mug of cocoa and a buttered bun, both magicked to stay warm, but what had really taken her mind off the myriad frustrations the youngest Weasleys were causing her had been what Luna wore. Luna kindly took it upon herself to anwer the questions posed by the expression on Hermione's face, of which she was quite familiar with, having seen its ilk many times before on other faces.  

"I saw a clown when I was in Muggle London with Daddy last. They looked so very much like the Gaudy Bow-legged Pomacent that I looked them up. As it turns out, they're unfortunately unrelated, so that line of research went nowhere. I did find out that they're supposed to make people laugh, though, and lately you've been looking like you needed one - a laugh, not a clown, that is - so I thought being a Muggle you'd find yourself in a better humor after an encounter with one. I'm afraid I'm not a very good clown, though, since you appear to be far more flabbergasted than amused. I didn't have the time to study them further, so I'm not exactly sure what it is about them that Muggles find so funny. Perhaps a Muggle caught sight of a Pomacent somewhere a long time ago and its admittedly peculiar markings made him laugh, and he thought a costume along the lines of its colouring would be equally effective in replicating the entertainment it gave him. They're awfully elusive, though, despite their size, and there's never been a recorded examination of one, so it's entirely possible it might simply be emitting some sort of aura or pheromone that makes people laugh when they come across it."

  She pressed both drink and bread into Hermione's unresisting hands while continuing her musings aloud, placidly ignoring the brunette's open mouth and goggling eyes, as though someone wearing a curly wig, huge red plimsolls, thick white-black-and-red make-up and a bright yellow jumpsuit beneath their school robes were a regular sight here at Hogwarts. A gentle nudge to get Hermione moving again seemed to wake her from her stupor, and all the other questions that Luna hadn't addressed came tumbling out.

  "But- how- no, you- what- RONALD MCDONALD?? Pomacent? And what- clowns??"

  Luna simply tilted her head at her, smiling curiously.

  "I didn't realise clowns could be famous, too. Should I suppose it's just my luck that I've picked one you recognise? It was standing on the street holding up a leaflet that said something about it being upset over GE Soy Feed. I didn't see the humor in it, but I don't think Muggle Studies covered clowns in any great depth, so it's probably just one of those things. I don't suppose you could explain it to me? There were quite a lot of people standing around, and some of them were shouting, though it at least got a giggle out of most people who walked by." 

  Hermione hadn't been able to since she had no idea what it was all about, but she did manage to answer some of Luna's other queries, and had found herself distracted from her romantic dilemma by the pleasant, if odd, conversation she and Luna had shared as the younger girl walked her all the way to the door of the classroom before heading off in another direction, presumably to her own class.

  It had been a surprisingly bright spot in an otherwise mundane day, one which had left her with a warm glow in her stomach the rest of the day - and not just from the snack which had quelled her stomach's rumblings over not finishing breakfast. Deciding there was little more to be gained tonight, at least, by continuing to brood upon her irascible boyfriend and his equally disagreeable mail, Hermione amused herself to sleep by comparing - rather unkindly, too - the similarities between the two Ronalds and the irony of Luna picking a clown who shared a name with him. Luna really is brilliant, even when she isn't aware of being so, was the last thought on her mind as she slipped into sleep with a smile.

~ * ~  

Hannah Abbott trailed her fingertips lightly along the wall as she made her way back to her room. It really was much too late for her to be out and about, but being a Prefect afforded one the perfect excuse for breaking rules, ironically. Not that I'm actually doing that, she thought primly. If anything, she was just only returning from the library after having been shooed away by Madam Pince, her bag full of plans and projects for the upcoming term. As President of the newly-minted Inter-House Alliance, she was working as hard as she possibly could to ensure the fledgling society thrived, knowing that simply surviving the first year was of crucial importance. The Professors had entrusted her with this very important task, and she was determined to see it through for the sake of her late mother.

She recited the objectives of the club aloud as she walked, matching the words to her steps.

1. To foster a spirit of friendship between the houses through:-
        i) the organization of cooperative instead of competitive inter-house events; and
        ii) the creation of a safe environment for students to learn about other houses.
2. To educate the school community about blood prejudice and inter-species equality.
3. To actively battle discrimination, violence and harassment in the school.

While she'd been quite resistant to the idea at first, still reeling from the loss of her beloved mother and the horrors of the War, a long walk-and-talk with Professor Sprout had eventually brought her round.

"If only the school had had an organization like this a long time ago, Hannah, perhaps the War never would have happened. Perhaps Voldemort would never have gained the traction that he did with the Purebloods, building on their prejudices and ignorance; preying upon their greatest weaknesses-"

"Um, pardon me for interrupting, Professor, but...weaknesses? In what sense?”

"Oh, Hannah. Sometimes, our greatest strengths are often also our greatest flaws. Each House had its own unique strengths, and also weaknesses particular to it. Gryffindor's belief in their own abilities, Slytherin's ambition, Ravenclaw's pride – even Hufflepuff's sociability – inherent in all of us, stronger in some than others, and taken to extremes by a fair few more than you would think. You’d have been surprised at the number of Death Eaters who did not come from House Slytherin, my dear.”

“…oh.” Said Hannah, feeling suddenly very vulnerable.

“Oh, listen to me going on and on about all these gloomy, doomy things.” Professor Sprout gave a short laugh and wrapped her arm about Hannah’s shoulder.

“It’s all over now, dear. You mustn’t think too much about it. We’re all entitled to our mistakes, and Voldemort was a very persuasive character, whether people wanted to be persuaded or not. What I’m trying to get at here, in the end, is just quite simply that after a lot of discussion, many of us feel that warmer relations between the Houses would’ve helped members not to view the other Houses as enemies, or at least not as stereotypes. After all, the fastest way to lose an enemy is to make a friend of them! We fear what we don’t understand, and while I expect that there will still be a fair bit of animosity between students who’ve been quite conditioned at home by their parents to dislike other Houses, we thankfully have the advantage of getting them fairly young, and hopefully undoing all those harmful beliefs by the time they leave school. So, what do you think?

Professor Sprout’s eyes were warm and kind, with a twinkle to them that belied the weariness lurking behind. Everyone seemed to have that tired, yet hopeful air lately, and while the sadness felt ever so heavy, the hope was what kept Hannah going most days.

“I don’t know, Professor. It does make a lot of sense though, and I’m sure it’ll work. I’m not sure yet if I want to be in charge of the whole thing, but I do promise you I’ll think about it, and even if I don’t want to take the post, I’ll definitely try my very best to help out in the club.”

“Thank you, Hannah. At this point, that’s all I can ask of you, and I’m glad you didn’t turn it down right off. But there is a reason we chose you. You’re our first choice, and I really hope you’ll say yes.” Professor Sprout gave her a kindly smile, then turned to walk away. Hannah blinked for a few moments, then called out.

“Professor!”

Professor Sprout stopped and looked at her questioningly.

“Um…if you don’t mind, could I know the reason? That is - why you thought I’d be good at this? I mean…I’m um. Well…I guess you could say that I don’t think I’m really cut out to be any sort of leader or, um, f-founder…” She was getting more and more flustered as she spoke, her face slowly flushing a deep scarlet, wringing her hands nervously and quite unable to look her Head of House in the eye as she stuttered over the qualities she felt would be expected of what she was now quite convinced would be a thoroughly important position. Professor Sprout’s expression softened as she looked at her.

“Because Hufflepuffs are the heart of Hogwarts. The war is over, and it isn’t courage or scholastic aptitude or cunning ambition that we need now, though these undoubtedly have their place, too. We’ve all been hurt, and wounds of this sort need the heart to start healing before the rest of the body can begin to move on. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but much of House Hufflepuff look up to you, Hannah. You may not have been right at the front like Harry Potter, but you had your part, and I’ve noticed the way you look out for the little ones. We all have, and in light of what happened to your mother, it’s convinced me that you’re perfect for the job. A lesser person might have withdrawn into themselves, content to wallow in their grief and the trauma of the war. You were there, as we all were – but you look beyond yourself to reach out to others, and you of are one of the warmest, kindest and most loyal of my Hufflepuffs. I know if you take it, you’ll see this through, no matter how hard it is. And that, my dear, is why I put your name forward for this.”

The memory of that conversation, as well as the wide smile that had crinkled the corners of Professor Sprout’s eyes as she finished, still left her feeling like she’d swallowed a dozen Feel-Good Fuzzypops every time it came to mind, much in the way her mother’s hugs had while she was still alive. Her pace, which up till now had been steady and measured, slowed as she wiped a tear away. Taking a deep breath, she realized she’d reached her destination, and her spirits lifted as she placed her hand on the door. In the month or so since she’d agreed to take on the weighty task of organizing the Alliance, she’d realized – rather wryly – that Professor Sprout had arranged all this as much for her as for the good of the school, considering how little time she’d had to brood or mope in the whirlwind of planning and organization she’d found herself caught up in since then. Rather than feeling trapped, though, she’d understood quickly why her Head had done what she did, and appreciated the twofold goal Professor Sprout had tried to achieve even more now.

I won’t let you down, she promised silently as she pushed the door open. This’ll be a huge success, and it’ll be because us older students decided to set an example for the little ones. Like you said, every tree begins as a sproutling, after all!

Her expression softened as her gaze fell upon what lay awaiting her on the bed. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it for a moment, sure that she’d been heard. She wanted to see what reaction her return would garner, and was duly rewarded by hoarse whimpers, muffled moans and the sight of a naked body writhing in the weak moonlight the slats of her blinds allowed through. Slim, pale wrists were bound by a Slytherin tie to a wicked-looking hook screwed to her headboard, while bony ankles had been pulled apart and tied, one to each bedpost, by a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw tie. Approaching the bed with steps silenced by the thick plush carpet, she pulled the knot of her tie loose with careful reverence, making sure as she got nearer the source of the distressed sounds that her back faced the window, leaving her features obscured by deep shadows that made the room seem even darker than it would have been had no light entered at all. The tie came loose as her knees touched the edge of the mattress, its dangling ends tickling the sweat-slicked skin beneath her as she leaned forward. Bracing one hand on the other side of her erstwhile companion for balance, she idly slid the other up the inside of a trembling thigh damp with moisture that wasn’t entirely exertion-induced.

“Did you miss me?”

The question wasn’t so much spoken as breathed, a bare whisper ghosting across the delicate outer shell of an ear. It caused a tremor in the listener, Hannah’s answer coming in the form of a long, low whine accompanied by wide, half-pleading, half-wary eyes that nonetheless closed in bliss as she brushed her wandering fingers across velvety wet flesh. Curvy hips thrust up blindly, pressing their centre against her digits in vain as she pulled them away with a tsking noise of disapproval. Tugging off her tie completely, she waved it before the young woman, clambering up the bed to get on all fours above her as she did.

“You know the rules, pet. I’m just not sure which you enjoy more – your reward when you’re good as a shiny Galleon, or what I do to you when you’re not.”

It couldn’t just have been coincidence, she was sure, that she’d captured the two greatest potential threats to the Alliance’s goals not two days after she’d accepted her Professor’s offer and the creation of the club was officially announced. Imagine her shock when two intruders had burst in the door of Greenhouse Two where she’d been attending to some Tubular Bluebells (which make very sweet-sounding chimes when enchanted into part of a clock) late one rainy September night, and she’d petrified them with a smooth, swift draw-and-cast that would’ve brought a tear to Fast-Cast McGast’s eye only to find the very two whose parents had been responsible for her mother’s (excruciatingly painful) death.

But the past was the past, and being a Hufflepuff as well the new leader of an organization whose main objectives centered around reconciliation and cooperation, she felt she oughtn’t hold grudges. She was quite pleased with herself, feeling she’d struck with Slytherin speed and Gryffindor boldness, and it now only seemed right that she finish it off with a thoroughly Ravenclaw idea. While that last bit didn’t come to her with quite the ease it might have to a native Ravenclaw, she was exceedingly proud that she’d hit upon the perfect idea for a beautiful beginning to the club. The dastardly pair had fallen into her lap for a reason, and it’d have been a downright shame not to have taken full advantage of it.

“Accio candle.”

The murmured incantation brought a long-drawn exhale from her captive who had stiffened upon hearing it. Hannah fumbled the flying object as she caught it, setting it down on the bedside table with a sight of relief. One corner of her lips quirked up in a half-smile as she decided it was time to indulge both of them in what they’d been so eagerly looking forward to all day since she’d left the room earlier this evening. She carefully began wrapping her tie round the other girl’s head, who promptly jerked it away with words muffled by the cloth gag in her mouth.

“Either one off, but not both. You moved before I allowed you to, and I remember warning you very explicitly about that right before I left. Now hold still.”

Dark eyes flashed defiantly, but the tie covered them without protest this time. The gag came off as soon as the knot was secured on the makeshift blindfold. Stretching her jaw and smacking her lips, the girl spoke clearly for the first time that night.

“I couldn’t help it, and you know that. You did it on purpose.”

The protest was accepted as what it was – a token show of defiance – but Hannah chose to ignore it. She wasn’t in the mood for that kind of prolonged psychological foreplay tonight, but it had been a good attempt, and she’d be keeping this in mind for an occasion when she was. Nothing like using a person’s words against them when they least expected and had most likely forgotten all about it.

“Drink.”

The command was obeyed immediately, for despite Hannah’s painstaking efforts to ensure her playmates remained in the best of health always, bondage really was a bit of a tricky business, and one could never be too careful. Hydration during captivity was one of her biggest headaches, limiting the periods in which she could leave them alone to rather short ones, but perhaps that hydration spell she’d found in a Herbology textbook tonight would, with a little tweaking later, help. Until then, they’d all learned, through a sometimes nerve-wracking process of trial and error, what worked and what didn’t, and she’d hammered into them that all games were to be set aside and they were absolutely not to misbehave when she was trying to take care of them.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Despite the seeming formality of their verbal exchanges, Hannah’s hands were careful as she made sure the water didn’t run down the sides of the thirsty girl’s mouth, and damp lips were tenderly dabbed at with the edge of her sleeve.

“It seems you’re still having difficulties cooperating as well as obeying rules.”

She sat back on her haunches with a faux sigh of exasperation, noting idly that the cradle firm thighs and a soft abdomen formed made for a most pleasant seat. Just as the other occupant of the room opened her mouth to answer, Hannah cut her off.

“If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with my weight, I’m going to leave you here all night with nothing but a bottle of water and a straw for company and not come back till morning.”

The mouth was promptly shut, but turned up into the ghost of a smile which Hannah returned, though her companion couldn’t see it. She lit the candle and brought its heat close to a sensitive breast, enjoying the slim body that squirmed between her straddling legs in mild discomfort and eager apprehension.

“May I move tonight, Hannah?”

Hannah grazed her fingers slowly across a plump nipple, drawing a stifled gasp.

“Just because you asked so sweetly; yes, you may. Is there anything else your curiosity requires satisfying before we begin?”

“Is…is Bulstrode joining us tonight?”

The name was spoken with a controlled distaste, knowing Hannah didn’t tolerate any form of hostility, perceived or otherwise, towards members of other Houses.

“No, dearest. Tonight’s for you – just you. You’ve taken to this far, far better than she has, I must admit, and I thought it only right to reward your progress, despite your occasional slip-up here and there. Then again, I probably oughtn’t to be so surprised. You Ravenclaws really do pick up fast, don’t you, Marietta?”

Deeming that sufficient wax had pooled at the base of the wick, Hannah tipped it over, biting her lip at the jolt of arousal that hit her low as she watched the hot liquid splash down on a taut, arching stomach.

“Yeesss…”

The rest of the night passed, Hannah felt, in a very mutually satisfactory manner.