There was something about the library at night that made it feel like a different world. The lamps burned low, casting long shadows across the stone floor, and the usual bustle of students and scolding from Madam Pince had faded into a thick, humming silence.
Harry sat alone at one of the far tables, arms folded tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on a spot in the wood that didn't really matter. His bag lay unopened beside him. He hadn't come to study.
He just needed to breathe.
But even here, even in the quiet, he felt like he was being squeezed from the inside out.
It had started days ago—no, years ago, really. Since his name had come out of that goblet, things had only gotten worse. The stares. The whispers. The same old feeling he knew far too well: everyone expecting him to be something more than he was. Stronger. Smarter. Braver. Like being Harry Potter meant he didn't get to be anything else.
He clenched his fists. His nails bit into his palms.
They didn't know what it felt like. Not Ron. Not Dumbledore. Not any of the students who'd cheered when he flew past the Horntail. No one knew what it was like to have your life twisted without your say—over and over again.
The Philosopher's Stone. The Chamber. Sirius. It was always the same. He didn't step into danger. He was dragged into it.
And every time he came out the other side, they all looked at him like he'd won. Like he'd chosen any of it.
But he hadn't. Not once.
He hated that.
Hated feeling like a pawn in someone else's game. Hated being told when to act, where to go, what to feel.
Lately, there is something sitting heavier than usual. Like something had been building in him for years—quietly, slowly—and now it was starting to press against his ribs, demanding space.
He didn't understand it, not fully. Just that there was… something in him. Restless. Tight. Hungry. Not for violence. Not exactly. But for control. For power—not the magical kind, but something personal. Something that belonged only to him.
Something that couldn't be taken away.
His mind drifted—like it always did in the past couple of months—back to her.
Hermione.
The only one who never left. Who never treated him like a trophy or a weapon or a child. She challenged him. Pushed him. Stood by him even when she should've walked away.
When everyone else turned, she stayed. First year, second, third. Through every secret and scar, she stayed. This year, even when his supposedly best friend abandoned him, and even now only hang with Harry reluctantly.
And lately… it had changed.
He'd started noticing little things. The way her eyes lingered longer than before. The way she stood taller when she defended him. The way she bit her lip when she concentrated. The way her shirt hugged her chest just enough to make his throat dry—and the way she didn't seem to mind when he looked.
She wasn't a girl anymore. Neither of them were.
He wasn't sure what was happening between them, but he felt it—hot and low in his stomach, and sharp in his chest when she smiled at him like he was something worth staying for.
And now, sitting here in the dark, it wasn't just the world he was angry at.
It was himself—for wanting more.
For wanting her.
For wanting something real in a life that had never let him choose a damn thing.
He exhaled slowly, his jaw tight.
He didn't know what he was becoming. But it was getting harder and harder to ignore that part of himself—the one that wanted to take, to command, to be in control for once. To stop reacting and start owning something.
The castle was quiet at night—eerily so.
Hermione kept to the edges of the corridor, footsteps muffled by the thick stone and the echo of her own breath. The cool air slipped beneath her school robe, and she pulled it tighter around herself as she made her way down the staircase from Gryffindor Tower, heart pounding faster than she'd expected.
She wasn't breaking any rules, not exactly. Not tonight. But she still felt like she was crossing a line.
Maybe she was.
She didn't know what she was going to say to him. Or even what she wanted from him, really. She just… needed to see him.
Harry hadn't been himself for weeks now—not since the Triwizard Tournament began. He was quieter. Harder. Always holding something back. And she could see it, every time he looked over her shoulder instead of into her eyes. Every time he smiled with his mouth and not his heart.
He was unraveling, and no one else seemed to see it.
Except her.
She reached the corridor that led to the library and paused in front of the heavy doors. Took a breath.
You can do this, she told herself.
Then she slipped inside.
The torches were still lit, low and flickering along the walls. The room smelled of parchment and old wood, and in the silence, the soft scuff of her shoes against the floor felt too loud. She moved carefully between the shelves, already knowing where he'd be.
The far corner. Always the far corner.
And there he was.
Slouched in one of the high-backed chairs, robes wrinkled, hair a mess. His hand rested clenched against the armrest, and his eyes stared forward like he wasn't seeing anything at all.
She stopped a few steps away.
"Harry?"
He didn't move.
She stepped closer. "You're not sleeping again."
Still nothing. Just the faintest flicker of his gaze in her direction.
Hermione hesitated, then sat down across from him. The table between them felt like a gulf.
"You've been doing that a lot lately," she said quietly. "Disappearing."
He said nothing.
She studied him. His jaw was tight. His fingers twitched every now and then. There were shadows under his eyes, not just from lack of sleep—but from weight. A weight he'd been carrying far too long.
Hermione looked down at her own hands for a moment. "You remember third year? When we saved Sirius?"
His eyes flicked to her again.
"I do," she went on, softly. "I remember thinking that was the first time you chose what to fight for. Not because anyone told you. Not because the school was watching. Just because you wanted to protect him."
She swallowed.
"That's when I think I first started seeing you differently."
His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn't speak.
She gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. "It wasn't romantic, not right away. It was… respect. And maybe something else I didn't have words for yet."
Her voice grew quieter.
"And this year, with everything that's happened—with Ron pulling away, the school doubting you again… I realized something. I don't mind. I don't mind that it's just the two of us most of the time now."
He finally looked at her then. Really looked.
His expression wasn't surprised. Just tired. Like part of him had been waiting to hear that.
"I like having you to myself," she admitted, cheeks flushing. "And it's not just about loyalty anymore. It's more than that."
Harry shifted in his seat, just slightly.
Hermione leaned forward, her elbows resting lightly on the table. "I know I don't always say things the right way. And I know you're not the best at letting people in. But I'm here, Harry. I've always been here. And lately…"
She trailed off, her voice suddenly caught in her throat.
"…lately I keep thinking about what it would mean to give you something no one else can."
She didn't know exactly what made her say it—not yet. It wasn't planned. It was just truth, spilling out in quiet pieces.
Her heart was racing now, but her voice didn't tremble.
"I don't know if you want that. But I needed you to know… if you ever did…"
The silence stretched between them.
And still, she didn't look away.
The silence between them stretched again—but now it was charged, thrumming with something more than uncertainty.
Harry stared at her, heart pounding, fingers curling against the wood beneath them.
"Give me something no one else can?" he repeated, voice low.
Hermione didn't look away. "Yes."
"What does that mean?" he asked, though a part of him already knew.
"It means I trust you," she said. "More than anyone."
Harry's throat was dry. "And what is it you think I want from you?"
She hesitated—then stood slowly, walked around the table, and came to stand in front of him.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I think… you want control. Real control. The kind you've never been allowed to have."
He stared up at her, eyes searching hers for hesitation. There was none. Only certainty.
"And you want to give that to me?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Hermione took a breath. "Because I've wanted to for years. Because it's who I am. Because I… need it. Just like I think you do."
Then—without another word—she lowered herself to her knees. Her thick robes thankfully making it easily on her knees, and she bowed her head submissively. Her heart racing and her lower lips starting to grow moist with hope and fantasies.
Harry's world tilted.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Everything snapped into place all at once. The tension in his chest, the restless hunger, the way he'd always felt like something in him was waiting to break free. And now, here she was—offering it. Offering herself.
His voice was low. Firm. "Look at me."
She obeyed instantly. Her eyes raised to his, they were dark, filled with lust and devotion Harry never thought he would see. In that moment it felt to him like Hermoine was trusting her very soul to his care.
"Say it," he said, his voice low and husky. "Out loud. What are you offering me, Hermione?"
Her cheeks flushed, but her voice was steady. "I'm offering myself to you. My obedience. My trust. My body. I want to be yours, Harry. If you'll have me."
He stood slowly, towering over her.
"Take off your robe," he commanded in a voice that caused her panties to be ruined by the juices now flooding them from her pussy out of pure anticipation.
Her hands moved without hesitation, loosening the clasp and slipping it off her shoulders, she folded the robes and put it under her knees so she could stay down there for as long as she will be required. Underneath, she wore her usual blouse and skirt, but somehow—kneeling, breath shallow, eyes full of heat—it felt like far more than just clothing. It felt like she was stripping away everything but truth.
"Unbutton your top, let me see your tits." he added with eagerness in his voice.
She reached for the first button and undid it, then the second, then the third—until enough of her chest was exposed for him to see the soft swell of her breasts beneath her bra. She didn't stop. Didn't flinch.
After she finished her hands rested easily in her lap while Harry took a moment to stare at the pale skin of her upper body, only covered by a simple white bra. The bra covered her nipples and front of her boobs, but it left her with an impressive cleavage for Harry to stare down at.
He circled her slowly, eyes hungry but focused. Testing her. Watching her squirm under his gaze—and she did. But not from shame. Hermoine could feel her pussy throbbing from the attention Harry was giving her. And that was just with his eyes, she couldn't wait until he would finally touch her.
"You like this," he stated a little smugly, stopping behind her.
"Yes," she whispered, her brown eyes locked into his dark green's.
"You want to serve me?" Harry got a little closer to her face and demanded.
"Yes, Harry. More than anything, my skin is burning for your touch, and my pussy is so wet." Hermoine informed him with a sultry voice.
His hand brushed down her neck, then slipped into her hair, gathering it in his fist—not tight, but firm enough to make her breath hitch.
Harry used that chance to pull her into a kiss. The kiss was nothing close to soft and gentle. It was forceful, dominating. Harry took control of Hermoine's mouth and she didn't offer any resistance. Allowing her crush to do as he wills with her.
"Then show me." Harry challenged after pulling back from the kiss, leaving the brown haired girl dazed.
He guided her forward, stepping in front of her again. She looked up at him, and even through the daze her lips parted in anticipation.
Harry was quick to undo his belt and pull his trousers down, releasing his eight inch meat tower, already erected with a small shine of pre-cum leaking from it's purple head.
Hermoine saw her fair share of penises. Be it when she spied on her parents' intimate bedroom parties, or while watching some of the porn they hidden in their room. Harry had one of the biggest tools she saw, and the thought was both scary and exciting.
The first touch of her mouth made him groan low in his throat. And Hermoine had to swallow a moan as his cockhead filled her mouth, slowly and gently. She took a deep breath through her nose as Harry kept pulling her deeper using his hold on her bushy head.
She was glad she had her teeth fixed couple of days ago, because as Harry began to pick up the phase so would have had a hard time with that overbite, thankfully now all she needed to worry about is reigning in the gag-reflex.
Harry was using his hold to bob her mouth over half his cock, each time drawing her deeper and deeper. She moaned around him creating vibrations that seemed to both please him and her. She tried to keep her eyes open but each time he pulled her in it was getting harder, hands resting gently on her thighs as she focused on pleasing him.
As this went on Hermoine could feel the drops of droll escaping her lips, down her ching and dropping straight into her cleavage, moistening her skin.
"H-Hermoine! S-so g-good." Harry moaned as loudly as he could while hiding in the library "Y-you are p-perfect. Y-you are going t-to m-make me c-c-cum." Each time he stutred due to the pleasure she was bringing him Hermoine felt her heart warming.
"Good girl," he muttered, getting a better control of his speech over the pleasure. "You're mine now, aren't you?"
She nodded as best she could, droll flying around and covering more of her face and skin. Her boobs also bouncing a little with the motion. His hard cock still between her lips, she now three-quarters to the base, and her tongue was covered by her crush's pre-cum. Which tested so much better then she imagined.
She moaned loudly, imagining how tasty his cum will be when he empties himself in her mouth.
Hermoine was surprised that with was far as his cock was penetrating her throat she didn't feel her gag reflex yet, but she wasn't about to complain.
Harry pulled her head back so just his cock head was left between her lips.
"Don't swallow!" he commanded in a rush and deep voice.
A moment later she could feel a hot, gooey liquid shooting into her moth, filling it a bit more with every second.
The moment the taste registered in her mind, she moaned loudly around her full mouth and came like she never did before.
Harry pulled her head all the way off his cock and she immediately sealed her lips to prevent any of the precious liquid in her mouth to escape. She finally opened her eyes and found herself staring into the sharp gaze of her new master.
Harry tightened his hold on her hair and growled "Open your lips. Show me your reward."
He watched as Hermoine, with bright look in her eyes, flushed faced that was covered in her own droll opened her lips upwards to show white substance filling her mouth.
Harry looked at her—really looked—and felt something settle in his chest. Power. Connection. Purpose. He couldn't help but smile widely down at her and order "Swallow."
Hermoine didn't even wait a moment to close her lips and gulp everything in her mouth in a single go. A stupid grin stretching on her lips as her eyes closed and she moaned out loud, riding the high she was on.
Harry took her face in his hands, shaking her back to reality. "You sure about this? Do you want more?" His voice is both demanding and hesitant.
"Yes," she said, without pause and with a pleading voice added. "I want this. I want you to own me."
He pulled Hermoine to her feet with pure strength and kissed her then—not soft or hesitant, but deep and claiming. Her arms wrapped around him, and he could feel it—her surrender wasn't weakness. It was strength. It was trust.
When they parted, both of them breathless, he whispered, "Then we start now."
Her eyes shone. "Together?"
He nodded. "As a couple. And a hell of a lot more."
Hermione smiled blissfully. "Yours." Her voice was never so content.
You can find the next four chapters available in This Link: linktr.ee/Mardyn