The Coven of Prefects - Harmony Version

canoncansodoff

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 10/06/2008
Last Updated: 03/12/2008
Status: in_progress

Hermione and the other new fifth-year female prefects are surprised to learn that they have additional responsibilities that aren't described in the Prefect's Handbook. Her work as a member of the subversively gay-tolerant Coven of Prefects forces Hermione to think about more than just books. Harry benefits.

Chapters

1. So Now That You're a Prefect...

2. So Now That You're a Coven Member...

3. So Now That You're a Conspirator...

4. So Now That You're a Lifeguard...

5. So Now That You're a Camper (Part 1)

6. So Now That You're a Camper (Part 2)

7. So Now That You're a Camper (Part 3)

1. So Now That You're a Prefect...

The Coven of Prefects

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Chapter 1 : So Now that You're a Prefect

oo00OO00oo

Freshly-minted fifth-year prefect Hermione Granger frowned when her Slytherin counterpart entered the unused classroom.

“What are you doing here, Parkinson?”

“I was invited,” the pug-nosed witch replied. “Presumably just like you.”

The truth behind Pansy’s statement was supported when Hannah Abbott and Padma Patil entered the room.

“Oh…must be a meeting of new female prefects,” said Padma, as she took a seat next to Hermione.

“And you need to be a Ravenclaw to figure that out?” snarked Pansy.

“No,” Padma replied evenly. “But you might need to be a Ravenclaw in order to figure out why it wasn’t the Headmaster that called this meeting, or why the male prefects aren’t involved.”

“Either a Ravenclaw or Hermione,” said Hannah, with a nod towards the Gryffindor.

“You’ll all find out soon enough, if you take a seat,” said a voice from the doorway.

The young witches complied as Septima Vector entered the classroom and cast both locking charms on the door and silencing spells on the walls, floor and ceiling. Once the room’s security had been adequately addressed, the Arithmancy professor turned to the four younger witches and smiled.

“Let me begin by congratulating you on your selection as Fifth-Year Prefects…I am certain that over the next three years you will all serve both your school and your sister witches with distinction.”

“Sister witches, Professor?” asked Hannah. “I’ve read through the Prefect’s Handbook twice, but don’t recall seeing any gender-specific responsibilities listed there.”

“Nothing in Hogwarts, a History, either,” added Hermione.

Vector smiled. “That is because both books were written and edited by wizards,” she explained. “Your prefect responsibilities to the female population at Hogwarts are codified by unwritten rules that have been secretly passed down through the years, from one witch to another.”

At the sight of four confused faces, the Arithmancy professor asked, “Perhaps some background is in order?” When the four fifth-years all nodded, the elder witch began her story.

“You have, no doubt, heard stories about Hogwarts’ broom closets being used for activities unrelated to cleaning supplies? Perhaps one or more of you have even had personal experience with this kind of activity?”

The four new prefects cast furtive looks at each other, and considered if any or all of them were in the latter camp.

“Having all read the Prefect’s Handbook,” Vector continued, “you know the rules, and your obligations as prefects should you discover snogging couples during your nighttime patrols.”

“Yes, Professor,” the witches all replied.

“Well, I’m hear to reveal a sad reality,” said Vector. “These rules are unevenly applied, and within our patriarchal system it’s the witches who always come out on the short end of the broomstick.”

“How so, Professor?” Hermione asked.

“In any number of ways,” Vector replied with a sigh. “With the two most important involving love potions and lesbians.”

“What?” asked the four female prefects (using slightly different words that were nonetheless voiced at the same time and with the same incredulity.)

“Love potions and lesbians,” repeated the professor.

“Lesbians using love potions?” asked Padma.

“No, no…separate issues,” Vector replied. “Take love potions first….you four have heard of them, I suppose?”

“Amortentia?” asked Hermione.

“That, along with nastier potions that involve compulsion, memory loss, or lowered inhibitions,” the elder witch stated. “Over the years, hundreds of male students have likely either used them on unknowing witches, or tried to escape sanctions by claiming that they were the victim of a love potion once they were caught in the act.”

The Fifth-Years sat silently and considered the disturbing possibilities.

“I could see how wizards could use magic to lure their victims into broom closets,” Hermione stated. “But how would they use love potions to escape blame once they’re discovered?”

“They could dose themselves after the fact,” Pansy Parkinson said quietly. “Probably carry a vial of love potion with them, and down it after they’d been caught with their robes down around their ankles.”

“So that they could claim that it was the witch who had enticed him into the broom closet by giving him the potion?” asked Hannah.

“Sneaky bastards,” hissed Padma. “So what happens when the witch claims their innocence?”

“The wizards take care of their own,” Vector said bitterly. “Even when the boy gets caught trying to take the potion after the fact, their crimes are waved off with the attitude that ‘wizards will be wizards’.”

“What about the lesbians?” Hannah quietly asked (leading the others to wonder if there was more than idle curiosity behind it).

Vector snorted. “What lesbians?” she asked. “Don’t you know that lesbians don’t exist within the wizarding world?”

“That would seem to be a statistical impossibility,” said Hermione.

“Oh it is, it is,” the Arithmancy professor replied ruefully. “But that doesn’t keep the Ministry or our beloved Headmaster from trying to make it so.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione. “Is there some magical ‘cure’ for homosexuality?”

“No,” replied the elder witch. “But there are wizards in positions of power who can cast powerful memory charms, and aren’t afraid of using them in the name of the so-called common good.”

“What common good could be served by brainwashing?” Hermione asked.

“Keeping an adequate supply of breeding stock on hand,” offered Pansy. “Use your brain, Granger…what good is a pure-blood witch if she isn’t willing to spread her legs for a pure-blood wizard and produce pure-blood magical heirs?”

“Is this true, professor?” Hermione asked warily.

“I’m afraid so, Miss Granger,” the Professor replied.

“So there are laws proscribing lesbian acts?”

“No,” Vector replied. “Female homosexuality is treated as a serious mental ailment, rather than a crime…something to be needs to be cured.”

“Cured with memory charms?” Hermione asked incredulously. “How can you cure someone that is inherently born a lesbian by altering her memory?”

“You can’t, at least not completely,” Vector admitted. “But that doesn’t stop them from trying.”

“So,” Pansy asked, “What would happen if Granger and Patil were caught snogging in a broom closet?”

“What?” Hermione demanded.

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist,” the Slytherin snarked. “It’s just a hypothetical question…everyone knows that the only thing you’d want to hump is a thick book with a ribbed spine.”

“That’s outrageous…I’ve never…”

“Yeah, you’ve never…just like I said,” Pansy shot back.

“Enough, Miss Parkinson,” the professor testily interjected. “Now, to answer the extremely hypothetical question, Hermione and Padma would be brought to the Headmaster’s Office,” Vector stated. “The Headmaster would use a spell to invade each of their minds, and review their memories and feelings towards each other. If there’s any indication that the snogging was more than curious experimentation, then he would plant a strong suggestion deep into their minds that they fancy wizards rather than witches, and alter any memories of their lesbian activity by replacing their female lover with a wizard.”

“A wizard?” asked Hermione with alarm. “So what if Padma and I were doing more than just snogging…what if I was caught with my head in between her legs?”

“Speaking hypothetically, Granger?” Pansy asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” Hermione quickly replied, flushing just a bit at the question.

Vector cocked her chin slightly, as she considered the exchange of words. “Well, Hermione,” she then replied, “Dumbledore would alter your memories, so that instead of performing oral sex on Padma, you would remember sucking off a male classmate, and enjoying it just as much as you had the cunnilingus.”

“Ewww,” shuddered Hannah. “Would she have any say in which wizard she thought that she had blown?”

Vector shook her head.

“So how does the manipulative old bastard decide?” asked Pansy.

“It varies,” the Arithmancy professor replied. “In the three of four cases that I’ve heard about during my career here, it’s either been to the closest male friend of the witch, or to a wizard that would make a favorable political alliance.”

“Favorable to the Headmaster, I would imagine,” stated Pansy, with Vector nodding in agreement.

Hermione shuttered at the thought, and her face turned pale.

“What’s the matter, Granger?” asked Pansy. “Don’t fancy the memory of going down on The-Boy-Who-Lived?”

“No,” Hermione replied weakly. “I don’t fancy the thought that Dumbledore might swap Harry’s for Ron’s.”

“Not that Hermione has to worry about being placed in that situation, right, Hermione?” asked Padma.

“Of course not,” Hermione quickly replied.

“Yeah, right,” snorted Pansy.

“Getting back on track,” said Hannah. “What can we, as prefects, do about these things?”

“You can, and will, protect the witches of Hogwarts,” Vector replied. “Should you come across a heterosexual liaison during your patrols, you will ensure that the witch is there of her own free will, and keep the wizard from trying to displace any blame.”

“And if it’s a homosexual couple in that broom closet?”

“You will keep their secrets for them,” Vector replied. “Even if that requires you to memory charm the male prefect that you are patrolling with.”

“Memory charm?” asked Hannah. “I don’t know how to cast one of those.”

“You will be taught,” Vector replied.

“By you professor?”

“No, by the Coven.”

“Which Coven?” Hermione asked.

“The Coven of Prefects,” Vector stated.

“Excuse me, professor,” asked Hannah, leaving the existed of a coven for a moment, “Would he help keep gay wizards in the closet as well?”

“Yes,” Vector replied. “They get the same treatment from the Headmaster, and apart from the fairness of it all…you wouldn’t want to run the risk that Dumbledore would make a wizard think that he really fancied one of you, would you?”

“Depends on the wizard,” snarked Pansy.

“So, let me get this straight,” Hermione said. “We’ve just been selected as prefects to uphold the school’s rules, but we’re also being unofficially asked to break school rules to protect sexually active witches and gay wizards.”

“That’s the gist of it,” Vector replied.

“Why?”

“I thought that I just explained why,” the professor stated.

“She’s asking what’s in it for her,” said Pansy.

The older witch pursed her lips as she looked at her young charges.

“Well…to be honest, it was the opinion of both past and present female prefects that at least a few of you might want to act out of motivated self-interest.”

As the professor’s words quietly sunk in, each of the teen-aged witches blushed bright red, either from anger, embarrassment, or a combination of both.

“Are you accusing us of being witch’s witches?” Hermione asked.

The Arithmancy professor closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“No, not at all. But even if I thought you were all lesbians, I couldn’t ‘accuse’ any of you…that would imply that I considered my own sexual preferences to be wrong in some way.”

“You mean that you’re…”

“Involved in a closeted loving long-term relationship with another witch?” asked Vector. “In a word….yes.”

“So how did you…what makes you think that….I mean, we were so careful about it….” Hannah stammered.

“We’ve been tracked from the start, I imagine,” Padma said quietly. “Assessed for certain tendencies, or our reactions to the tendencies of friends or family, then groomed for the job.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Vector admitted.

“So all of the female prefects are gay?” asked Hannah.

“No, not all,” the professor replied. “Only some of the current or former prefects are lesbian. Others are bisexual, or ‘experimented’ in their younger days…but most are nothing more than gay-friendly straights.”

Pansy grinned. “You better have an ‘asexual’ category if Granger is going to be involved.”

Hermione frowned. “You sound disappointed, Pansy. Fancy a snog so that I can prove you wrong?”

“You wish, Granger.”

“Not presently, but if you play your cards right I’ll keep you in mind,” Hermione said sweetly, as she batted her eyelashes.

“Ladies…” warned Vector.

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione replied. She then paused for a moment, and frowned.

“Does this mean that being selected a prefect had nothing to do with our accomplishments, and everything to do with our sexual orientation, or gay-friendly attitudes?”

“Not at all, Hermione…not at all,” Vector replied quickly. “There’s no way that any of you could have been made a prefect without your classroom accomplishments. Especially Padma and Pansy, given the fact that it’s the Heads of Houses that nominate prefects.”

“So the male heads aren’t involved with this…this grooming…but the female heads are?” Hermione asked.

Vector paused to bite her lower lip, then finally nodded. “The Coven has been active for more than two hundred years, and Professors McGonagall and Sprout were both prefects during their careers as students.”

At sight of Hermione’s raised eyebrow, the elder witch quickly added, “But even their nominations have to be approved by Dumbledore, and he certainly isn’t in the know on this.”

Seeing that Hermione didn’t seem convinced, Padma reached out and touched the Gryffindor witch’s shoulder. “Hermione…you know that you deserve it.”

“But…”

“Besides,” Padma added with a grin. “You and I both know that if cleaning out another witch’s cauldron was the only requirement, that McGonagall would have picked either my sister or Lavender.”

“Both Lavender and Parvati are…” asked Hannah wondrously.

“Hush, now,” Vector asked. “Loose lips sink ships.”

“In more ways than one,” said Hermione.

“The specific example is instructive, however,” the professor stated. “The witch that keeps quiet when her dorm mates share a bed, but forget the silencing charms, is more likely to be sympathetic to our cause.”

“Same for a witch whose sister shares all of her secrets with her?” asked Padma.

“Exactly.”

“So, what if I deny liking witches,” Pansy asked, “and refused to go along with this scheme, or to work with these other…hag-shaggers?”

The Arithmancy professor scowled, and drew her wand. “Mind your tongue, missy. I can’t take points or issue a detention for fear of explaining why, but that wouldn’t stop me from hexing you.”

“Same for us,” Hermione stated sharply.

Pansy turned toward the other students and found three wands pointed towards her head.

“Denying it, and buying into self-loathing will only hurt you in the end,” said Hannah.

“I agree,” said Vector. “But to answer your second question…none of you are required to do anything. That said, any of you who refuse to join the Coven, and to take the required unbreakable vows, will be obliviated, and more than likely replaced as prefect.”

"What?" Hermione demanded. "So unless we're willing to join this subversive coven of vigilante lesbians and employ mind control techniques on others, we'll be ourselves made the vicitms of mind control, and lose the leadership positions that you say we've earned?"

There was a stunned silence as the others processed this accusation.

"There's no other way," Professor Vector finally replied.

"Of course there is," Hermione countered. "There's always another way."

"What's got you so twisted, Granger?" Padma demanded. "Losing a bit of your memory, or your prefect position?"

"Both," Hermione retorted. "I can't believe how casually the use of mind control techniques are being bandied about...to think that someone thinks they have the right to enter a person's mind without their consent, or to erase their memories..."

Vector sighed. "If it's any consolation, Hermione, you wouldn't be the first muggleborn to object to the wizarding world's views on privacy matters."

"Is that supposed to make it easier for me to accept, Professor?"

"No, not at all, it's just....let me try to explain," said the Arithmancy professor, as she leaned back against the desk in front of the room.

"Hermione, what do you think is the primary responsibility of the Ministry of Magic?"

"To drag Harry Potter's name through the mud?"

"Yes it might seem like that these days," Vector admitted. "But keeping Fudge's questionable actions separate, what's the core responsibility?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, the primary responsibility of any national government is to provide for the collective security of its citizenry."

"Wow, Granger, where'd you memorize that from?" Pansy snarked.

"Hush," Vector admonished. "So, Hermione, if you're right, how should the Ministry of Magic go about this task?"

"By believing Harry about the Dark Lord's return and doing something about it," Hermione replied.

Professor Vector nodded. "That, I'm afraid, is only a secondary concern."

"Right," quipped Hermione. "What could be more important than keeping witches and wizards safe?"

"Keeping their secrets safe," said Hannah.

Vector nodded. "Keeping the secrets of the wizarding world safe from muggles is the primary responsibility of the Ministry of Magic, and every other magical government in the world."

"How could that be?"

"Because dark lords come, and dark lords go, but if the muggles found out about us we'd all be dead," said Pansy.

"Really?" asked Hermione. But even as she spoke the question, her mind was mulling over the available evidence that supported this claim.

Vector nodded. "Right or wrong, Hermione, it's been the Ministry's charge for more than three hundred years."

"So where are we going with this history lesson for the ignorant?" asked Pansy.

The Arithmancy professor ignored the slight, and pressed her point. "Hermione, in order for the Ministry to keep our world's secrets safe, it does things that you might consider to be a terrible invasion of privacy, but the wizarding world as a whole accepts as necessary."

"Like what?"

"Like monitoring and tracking every use of magic within Britain," Vector stated. "There are wards and sensors in place that keep track of every spell cast...where the magic was performed, and when. Every time a witch casts a contraceptive charm in her bedroom, they know. Every time a wizard magically lengthens his penis, they know. Every magical cure for flatulence or bad-breath...every stick transformed into a dildo, every body cavity magically cleaned prior to sex..."

"Even at Hogwarts?" asked Hannah, not having considered some of these possibilities in the past.

Vector snorted. "Hogwarts is about the only place in Britain where that's not the case...the ambient levels of magic are so strong, that there's only a few spells they can track here."

"Which ones?" asked Pansy.

"The Unforgivables, mainly," Vector replied. "The point is, Hermione...everybody in the wizarding world knows that this monitoring is happening, but it's accepted as a part of life. Just as memory charms and mind reading are accepted in certain situations."

"Like when?" Hermione asked.

"Like when we were all sorted," Pansy snarked.

"Or when muggles are obliviated when they see magic performed," added Vector.

"So is that how it's rationalized?" asked Hermione. "Because the Ministry obliviates to protect the wizarding world's secrets, it's okay for the Coven to obliviate to protect the secrets of gay witches and wizards?"

"It's not a case of two wrongs making a right," countered Vector. "If there wasn't a threat of Dumbledore trying to convert lesbian students into straights, we wouldn't need to do what we do!"

"But is that the only way?" Hermione demanded. "Why not try to change the laws, or society's attitudes?"

"It's not like we haven't tried," said Vector. "But within our patriarchal society, it's slow-going. And within Hogwarts...well, it might be different if there were a Headmistress rather than Headmaster, but..."

"So change out Headmasters," Hermione said with a shrug.

"If only it were so simple," Vector said with a sigh. She did a quick Tempus spell and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but we can't risk spending much more time here in this unprotected classroom."

"But your wards..."

"Could easily be overpowered by the Headmaster," the professor replied. "I'm afraid that I need to ask you to make your decisions now."

"And you really would cast a memory charm on me if I say no?" Hermione demanded.

Vector bit her lip. "If it comes to that, I'm afraid so."

The Arithmancy professor wasn’t surprised when Hermione asked to speak with her privately, or that once they moved to a corner of the room that Hermione was able to cast a strong localized silencing charm.

“Professor, I’m not sure what I should do,” said Hermione.

Vector nodded in sympathy. “It is an awful lot to accept all at once."

“That the Headmaster would be that evil, and the wizarding world so patriarchal and misogynistic…”

“Well, it is called the ‘wizarding world,’ isn’t it?”

“And that you and this Coven could rationalize manipulating the prefect selection process, or threaten memory charms...”

“I'm sorry that you think that way,” the professor said sympathetically.

"And what's worse is the fact that if I refuse to go along with this, I'll go on blindly trusting the Headmaster, my Head of House, you..."

“I'm sorry that you feel that way about me, Hermione."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Maybe because you know that our world is as misogynistic and patriarchal as I claim it is... think for a moment, Hermione…when you found out about the magical world, it explained the strange things that had happened earlier in your life, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re a smart and observant witch...are there things that happened while you were in Hogwarts that make more sense, within the context of what I’ve said tonight?”

Hermione mulled over the fact that she’d never seen an openly gay couple in the wizarding world, and recalled the panic in Parvati’s eyes when Hermione suggested that she and Lavender use a silencing charm at night. And then there were the rumors…

“The two witches from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff last year?” asked Hermione. “The ones that were supposedly more than best friends, but suddenly ended that friendship and gained boyfriends at the same time?”

Vector closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m afraid so…Carol and Denise were too indiscreet for their own good, and got caught out by Filch despite our best efforts.”

“That’s horrible!” Hermione exclaimed, thinking that the situation was just as bad as the plight of the house elves. "But do the ends justify the means?"

Professor Vector sighed. "Hermione, I am not unsympathetic to your views, even though I have more to lose that you would if my inclinations were revealed. But if you want to see changes made in how the Coven protects witches, then do it from within."

Hermione shook her head at the bad choices before her. Her voice then softened, and she asked, “Will this Coven force me to do…things…things with other witches…that I might not be ready to do? I mean, I hate to admit it, but Pansy wasn’t far off the mark in terms of my lack of experience.”

Vector nodded sympathetically. She considered placing a comforting hand on the young witch’s shoulder, but was afraid that it might be taken the wrong way.

“Hermione, dear…the Coven doesn’t force any of its members to do anything beyond keeping its secrets and coming to the aid of other witches. You won’t be asked to snog a witch to prove your loyalty…although you will encounter situations where you’ll be in the company of witches openly showing affection for each other.”

“Been there, done that,” Hermione said ruefully.

“So we discovered last year,” Vector replied with a sparkle in her eye.

"What if I want to leave this Coven after I learn more about it?"

Vector shrugged. "It hasn't happened since I've been a member, but if you wanted to leave, the magical oaths that you'd take tonight would prevent you from spilling our secrets."

"Really?"

Vector nodded. "So from that perspective...either way you won't be able to reveal the Coven's secrets, but if you joined the Coven and left later, at least you'll still have your ability to protect your mind through Occlumency, and to cast a wicked Obliviate spell."

Hermione considered her options. The whole situation stank, and made her reconsider her long-term future within the wizarding world. But over the short term...being a prefect and learning mind control charms might help Harry.

“Okay, I’m in,” she said.

“Wonderful!” her professor exclaimed. She made to wrap Hermione into a hug, but hesitated.

“Oh, relax, Professor,” Hermione said with a smile, as she stepped forward and embraced the older witch. “Sometimes a hug is just a hug.”

After a few moments, the two witches stepped back from each other, and Hermione cancelled the silencing spell.

“So is that a yes, Hermione?” Padma asked with a smile.

When Hermione nodded, the Ravenclaw prefect said that she was also willing to go forward.

Hannah Abbott stood and said, “Me too…if for no other reason than to learn the true motives of someone I expect is on the other side of that wall.”

“Becky?” asked Padma.

When Hannah confirmed the identity of the seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect who had shared her bed, she was pulled into a hug by her Gryffindor and Ravenclaw counterparts.

“I’m sure that the feelings were there,” Padma whispered into Hannah’s ear.

“I hope so,” the Hufflepuff replied, as a single tear streaked down her cheek.

“Have faith, Hannah,” counseled Hermione.

The three then turned towards the last to decide.

Pansy Parkinson scowled and sputtered, but eventually stood.

“Okay, fine, count me in,” she snarled. “Just don’t expect me to join your pathetic group hug, much less your beds.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Pansy,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Excellent….just….excellent,” Vector said brightly. “I’m so proud of you…of all of you. To be so brave…”

“Or cunning?” snarked Pansy.

“Yes, or cunning,” the professor admitted.

“So about this initiation ceremony?” Hannah asked. “Are we going to have to do something painful or disgusting?”

“No,” her Arithmancy professor stated a smile. “Just a few drops of blood to seal your vows, and your loyalty to the coven.”

The elder witch then began to unbutton her own robes. “All initiates need to strip down completely for the ceremony,” she explained, adding, “But don’t worry…it will only be other Coven members in the room, and we’ll be naked as well.”

“Gaah…I have to see Granger’s bits?” whined Pansy. “I thought that you said that we didn’t have to do anything disgusting?”

Hermione laughed at the insult as she dropped her robes. “Oh Pansy…I’m so glad that this isn’t going to change things between us.”

“It certainly won’t.”

But Pansy’s words were betrayed by her fears, once their clothes were shed, and Professor Vector placed blindfolds around each girl’s head. As the older witch used her wand to open the hidden doorway, Pansy grew nervous and reached out towards the others. After some fumbling and inadvertent gropes, the Slytherin caught the hands of two others. She thought that it was Hannah and Padma, but it was Hermione who gave Pansy’s hand a squeeze as they were led naked into the adjacent candle-lit room.

2. So Now That You're a Coven Member...

A Coven of Prefects – Harmony Version

Disclaimer: Not my Characters, No money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo

Chapter Two : So Now that You're a Coven Member

The first thirty minutes of the Coven’s initiation ceremony involved ritual dancing, as the four initiates stood blindfolded in the center of a large circle. At first, Hermione focused on the chanting, her mind uncharacteristically began to drift, and she pondered how life within the Coven might influence her sexual attitudes and potential sexual experiences.

Not that there was anything firm enough to influence.

Simply put, Hermione Granger didn’t know if she was gay, straight, or somewhere in between, and it was beginning to frustrate her. She had read that sexual fantasies were a reliable indicator of sexual preference, but Hermione’s imaginary sex life had been muddled from the start (a start which began, like most things for her, with a book).

One day during the summer between Second and Third Year, Hermione’s mum packed her into the car and took her on a trip to Hermione’s favorite muggle bookstore. The young teen was confused…it was her father who shared her love of books, not her mother. The explanation came when her mother took her by the hand and parked her daughter in front of the "Relationships/Sexuality" section that had heretofore been forbidden territory.

After a few eye-opening minutes spent skimming the titles, they purchased the latest edition of Our Bodies, Ourselves, and a guidebook on teen-aged relationships. The next day, Hermione rode her bicycle to the bookstore and sucked up the courage to purchase a third book that she didn’t dare ask her mum to buy for her...a primer on female solo orgasm.

That night, Hermione began to read and review the practical lessons offered in the newest purchase. She approached the task as if she was learning a new spell…left hand holding the opened book, while the right hand practiced the correct motions. Although the primer suggested that the neophyte practice with their eyes closed, so that the mind could focus on a fantasy lover, Hermione kept her eyes wide-opened. How else would she be able to evaluate her technique against the book’s instructional illustrations?

And so it was, that Hermione’s first orgasm was attained while her opened eyes focused on a pen-and-ink drawing of a reclining woman’s fingers buried in her engorged vulva.

Now, you might think that having mastered the finger movements for a "lie on your back in bed" orgasm that she would stick with that for a while, and replace the book with some naughty images running through her brain. But not our Hermione…no ma’am. There were seventeen different positions described within the pages, and she was hell-bent on mastering all of them with book in hand.

The binding on her beloved primer became thoroughly broken-in that summer, as she studied illustrations of women masturbating in different positions. On their stomach…on their stomach with a pillow underneath…on their side…on their side with one leg-crossed…in the lavatory with a hand-held shower head (a transparent plastic bag kept the book dry as Hermione practiced that last one).

This frequent practice produced a predictable conditioned response…when she eventually decided that she was competent enough to ditch the book and close her eyes, it wasn’t flesh-colored bums and bits that she saw, but those same black-and-white book illustrations.

Hermione adopted a rational attitude towards this situation. The fact that she focused on pictures of female bits when she diddled didn’t necessarily mean that she was a lesbian. The pictures were focal points of concentration… total abstractions. And since she had no interest in moving from self-love to a physical relationship (with someone of either gender), it just didn’t matter.

This adopted style of detached sexuality worked for Hermione through most of her Third Year. She didn’t think about boys (or girls)…she thought about her studies. And when those studies got stressful, she had her curtained bed, a killer silencing spell, and the book to help her out.

But then she straddled Buckbeak, and flew through a moonlit night with Harry’s bum pressed firmly against her bits, and her breasts pressed firmly against his back. It was the highlight of her year…and since that was the year that she mastered use of a time turner without breeching the time-space continuum, that’s saying something.

It was the first time that she had reached orgasm without the book, without her fingers, and without the black-and-white images in mind. She would have liked to think that she did it without Harry knowing, but that may have been too much to expect. The noise of the wind may have masked her friction-induced moans, but Harry had to have felt her involuntary thigh contractions, or her bullet nipples that strained against the several layers of fabric between them. Her only hope was that Harry was clueless when it came to these clues, and that the erection her hand grazed against (when Buckbeak banked hard to the left) wasn’t a reaction to her reaction.

Harry didn’t say anything about it afterwards, and Hermione was too embarrassed to broach the topic herself. And so, the only thing that changed was Hermione’s focal point…no longer static, black-and-white, and feminine, it flew by in vivid colors, and was decidedly masculine.

The summer between Third and Fourth Year brought more changes for the muggleborn witch. Her parents took her on their usual holiday in the South of France, and Hermione took along a two-piece string bikini. It covered all of the right places with room to spare, but left uncovered her new self-identification as a young woman. She paid far more attention to what the other beachgoers were wearing (or not wearing) than in years past, and these observations fueled night-time fantasies involving a raven-haired friend dressed in a thin Speedo. The dreams progressed over time…from innocent playing on the beach, to rubbing sunscreen on each other, to hands that just rubbed, in places where the sun couldn’t reach.

When Hermione returned from France to spend time at the Burrow, she shared a room with Ginny, who either didn’t know how to cast a silencing spell, or didn’t care if Hermione heard her rub through her flannel nightgown. Hermione found this more annoying than arousing, giving support to the idea that she fancied boys (or, more specifically, a certain boy). But then school started up. Hermione loved all of the time spent with Harry researching the Tasks, but given the risks involved, did far more worrying over him than wanking.

And then Lavender and Parvati started to share a bed, and loudly share each other (at least until Hermione eventually taught them a proper silencing spell). Hermione might have seemed annoyed, but instead found the sounds of bumping bits very thought provoking. She tried not to over-analyze as she got off on the guttural groans, and gasps, and whispered endearments. But when she did think about it, she realized that for every night she dreamed about sharing a bed with another witch, she dreamed of a night in a certain wizard’s arms. So it was still an open question…a question that got no closer to resolution with Viktor Krum and the Yule Ball. She had befriended the Bulgarian Champion in the library, and played the role of gallant knight when he asked her to the Yule Ball. She wished Harry had asked, but he didn’t…and Viktor needed her help fending off the cloying fan-girls. And if being asked by an eighteen-year-old International Quidditch star stroked her ego and boosted her self-image, so much the better.

Of course, Fourth Year had ended terribly, and the kiss on the cheek that she’d given Harry at King’s Cross was supposed to convey warmth, and caring. Hermione felt guilty when memories of that kiss morphed into something much more sexually charged, but not so guilty as to avoid using them as effective nighttime catalysts.

She had hoped to suck up the nerve to ask Harry if a kiss could mean more than friendship for him too. There should have been opportunity to ask at Grimmauld Place, once Harry arrived from his relatives. But there was the dementor attack, and the trial, and the supervised doxie disposals, and did she mention that Molly Weasley hovered something terribly?

Ginny was almost as bad…quite insistent that Harry and Hermione never be left alone in a room. And again, there was the annoyance of sharing a bedroom with Ginny, complete with her flannel fumbling and thrashing about. Ron the git was no different. How disappointed she was in how he’d treated her over the year…Hey, Hermione…you’re a girl…Ginny claimed that he fancied her, but Hermione couldn’t see how, and certainly didn’t feel that way about him. It took all of her very best acting skills to appear pleased that Ron had been made prefect, rather than Harry.

"Well at least I now know who mucked that one up," Hermione thought, as she stood within the circle.

The fifth-year prefect was about to shift her mental focus from Harry to the Headmaster when the initiation ceremony’s focus shifted from the circle’s perimeter inward. The blood letting was more than enough to bring her mind to the present, as was the magical strength behind the vows that she spoke. When a warm tingling flowed up her arm from where she’d cut her own finger, she was told that the ceremony was complete, and that Hermione could remove her blindfold.

The Gryffindor prefect found herself facing a beautiful middle-aged witch, whose intense stare unnerved her.

The Fifth-Year made a beeline towards the row of silk dressing gowns that hung from hooks along a wall. She quickly slipped into a gown, closed it tightly across her front, and tied the attached sash with a double knot. It was only then, once she was completely covered, that she let out a held breath and turned back towards the room.

"Why so quick to cover up?" Padma asked, as the Ravenclaw walked towards the robes at a far more relaxed pace.

Hermione looked at the light-brown skinned beauty and shook her head. "I’ve got more reason to be modest," she replied, giving Padma’s ample breasts and curvy hips a review.

"Yeah, right," Padma replied, as she reached for a robe and covered herself. "You’re a very attractive girl, no matter what you might think."

The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow, considered a snarky response tinged with innuendo, but held her tongue. Things were weird enough without learning if your female friend fancied you.

"So how did your bits get to be as brown as mine, girl?" Padma asked with a smile. "Tanning salve, or a potion?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nope, I did it the muggle way…good old-fashioned sunshine."

Padma’s eyes danced in delight. "Why you little witch…sitting out in the open without any clothes on…."

"Hey, I was wearing a thong…I’ve still got tan lines…"

"Yeah, that’s all they are girl…lines…so you must tell me all about it."

Hermione glanced around the room, wondering if she could talk without being overheard by anyone they knew.

"Alright," she replied. "My parents took me to France over hols."

"France?" asked Padma. "So it’s normal for French muggles to walk about wearing bits of strings and patches of fabric?"

Hermione shrugged. "It is on the beaches, at least," she replied. "Actually, some of the beaches were clothing-optional, and I would have fit in completely starkers."

"Oh my, how scandalous," said Padma. "So did you?"

"No," said Hermione. "Thought I was being daring enough going topless with my dad and other men within sight of me."

"And you were wearing some kind of stringy knickers?"

Hermione nodded. "All of the girls were wearing thongs. Didn’t care for them at first…having a string wedged up my cheeks, and needing to shave every day…"

"So that’s the reason," Padma said with a grin. "When you stripped off your knickers in the other room I thought you might have been hit by a hair-loss hex."

"Hush," Hermione admonished.

"Not that some of our new sisters couldn’t stand a good depilatory charm," Padma snarked.

The fifth-year Gryffindor slapped Padma’s arm for her cheek. But even as she did so, she was forced to admit that her friend had a point. The amount of body hair on display was significant. Most of the Coven hadn't bothered with covering themselves as they broke into small groups and engaged in small talk. And many of the witches who had taken robes down from the hooks hadn't bothered to tie them, leaving wide, continuous swaths of exposed flesh down their fronts.

"Well," Hermione said in assessment, "they all look pretty good to me, even if they don’t shave…especially considering how old some of them are." She nodded towards a grey-haired witch and added, "I can only hope my arse is that firm when I'm her age."

Padma grinned. "You still are a babe in the woods, aren't you luv? Magic is the cure-all for saggy breasts and cellulite."

Hermione sighed, and look down towards her chest. "So why, then, isn't there a potion to grow tits?"

The Ravenclaw prefect giggled." Again with the poor self-esteem…they look fine, Hermione," she said in reassurance. "Besides, would you trust Snape to brew that potion for you?"

Hermione smiled, and admitted that she would not.

"It’s kind of nice talking with you about something other than classes," she stated.

"Yeah, I think so too," Padma replied with a grin, reaching out for Hermione’s hand. The Ravenclaw immediately pulled back at first contact, though, afraid that the innocent gesture of friendship might be misinterpreted.

"Sorry," Padma said quickly. "Didn’t mean to…"

"Mean to what…make me wonder if you share your sister’s interest in girls?" Hermione asked with a grin.

"Well…"

Hermione laughed and grabbed Padma’s hand tightly. "No worries, Padma…Parvati told me last year that sexual orientation isn’t something that identical twins always share…not that there’s anything wrong with that…"

Padma snorted. "No, of course not…if we thought there was, we wouldn’t be here, would we?" She then took a risk and asked, "So, Hermione, are you a gay-friendly het, too?"

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "I’m more like a gay-friendly harrysexual."

The lilting laughter that came from Padma’s lips floated across the room.

"Harrysexual…I like it," she told Hermione. "And I daresay that you aren’t the only one of those in the room right now."

Hermione pursed her lips as she looked towards a certain witch that she’d spotted earlier. The edges of those lips turned downward as she once again took in the perfect nude form of an older Ravenclaw who was chatting with Pomona Sprout (whose form was only perfect if your perspective was Reubian).

"Cho Bloody Chang," she hissed. "Of course she has no need for robes…there ought to be a law against tits that big on a frame that small."

"Oh, jealousy doesn’t become you, sweetheart," Padma said sympathetically. "Even if Cho does make a play for him."

"So there really was something behind her stares during the feast?" Hermione asked.

Padma shrugged her shoulders. "I overheard Cho talking with her fried…she wants to meet with Harry for sure, but maybe…maybe it’s about Cedric?"

Hermione nodded. "Those two were close last year, weren’t they?" She paused, then quietly…"makes you wonder how many of our new sisters are true lesbians."

Padma snorted. "Care to make a formal survey?"

"Yeah, like that loaded question wouldn’t be misinterpreted."

There was a lull in the conversation, as the two prefects decided to make their way towards a table set with refreshments. With cups of punch in hand, they turned around and completed another visual survey. Hermione startled when she spied the who had stared her down during the ceremony. The middle-aged witch was chatting quietly with the new Slytherin Prefect.

"So, who's the blonde that Pansy's talking with?" asked Hermione.

"Don't know," replied Padma, following her companion's gaze. "My family is clearly not a part of her social circle."

The black-haired witch then looked beyond Pansy and smiled. Hannah Abbott had also forgone the immediate benefits of covered bits, and gone straight to Becky, the seventh-year prefect. Only a few words of reassurance appeared necessary for the two Hufflepuff witches to lock themselves into a tight embrace.

"Well that's nice to see," said Padma, as she pointed the couple out to Hermione.

"Yeah, but how much more will they show us if they keep at that?" asked Hermione.

The Ravenclaw giggled. "At least they’re amongst friends."

Hermione nodded in agreement. Hannah and Becky weren't the only witches who were using very public displays of affection.

"Now," Padma snarked, "if we could only convince some of the witches who should be covering themselves to wear their robes…."

"Padma!"

"Am I wrong?"

Hermione sighed, but was forced to agree when she spied Minerva McGonagall approaching.

"Not when it comes to my Head of House," she muttered behind a pasted-on smile.

The Ravenclaw Prefect followed Hermione’s gaze and smirked.

"Nice pussy."

"Padma!"

"What? I was talking about her tattoo."

Hermione did her best not to roll her eyes at the double entendre… her open-robed Head of House did indeed have a magically-animated tattoo...a crotch-level tabby cat, who was perched on top of the Professor's unruly triangular mound of hair.

Hermione almost died when the small cat pounced, and swatted at a few stray pubes as if they were a ball of yarn.

She really almost died when she looked up and realized that McGonagall had caught her staring.

The Transfiguration smiled slyly, as she closed the distance between them and closed the front of her robes.

"Hermione, I trust, for propriety’s sake, that you were admiring my tabby tattoo?"

"Erm…yes, of course, Professor," Hermione stammered, as she inspected the condition of her own toenails.

"None of that formality here, if you please," the Professor stated. "Coven members use their sister's given names…at least when it is safe to do so."

"Yes, Profess…erm, Minerva."

"That's better," the Gryffindor head said. "Now, would you allow this old witch the honor of welcoming you into the coven with a hug?"

Hermione smiled, and nodded (after she reassured herself that her robes were appropriately concealing).

"You too, Padma," the Transfiguration Professor declared, pulling the Ravenclaw into a separate embrace.

"Oh, there's so much to talk about...but we'll have plenty of time for that. I should introduce you to the alumnae before we sneak them back out of the castle."

"Sneak them out, Profess..erm, Minerva?" Hermione asked.

Her Head of House nodded. "It wouldn't do for the Headmaster to wonder why fifty witches descend upon the castle on the first day of school each year."

"So…where are we?" Padma asked, taking a good look around the room.

"The Coven's Lounge," McGonagall replied. "When we aren't performing initiations it serves as your female prefect's lounge, protected by Male-Repelling Wards that affect anyone with a penis."

"So that includes the Headmaster, then?" Padma asked.

"Do you think that I'd really be in a position to know?" the Assistant Headmistress teased.

"Erm, no…not really."

"Well I strongly suspect that he does, in any event," Minerva replied. "But even if he didn't...there's the castle to fall back on."

"The Castle?"

Minerva nodded. "Over the years the Coven has enlisted the help of Hogwarts herself to keep the Coven's secrets."

"Hogwarts, herself?" asked Hermione. "As in, the castle is sentient, Hogwarts, herself?"

Minerva smiled. "Yes…it is semi-sentient, at least. The castle serves the Headmaster, just like the portraits in his office. They can commune, or at least Albus claims that they commune, on matters affecting the castle's security and its wards."

"But it keeps quiet about the Coven, and this room?"

The Transfiguration Professor smiled. "At the time of its construction, each of the Four Founders sacrificed a small part of their own souls to make Hogwarts come alive. And since one of the female Founders loved to lick cauldrons..."

"Really?" asked Hermione. "Which one?"

Minerva patted her young charge on the shoulder and nodded towards a bank of bookshelves." You'll find the answer within the Coven's library, Hermione," she said with a smile. "There's enough there to support a hundred Masteries in Witch's Studies, were the Ministry ever to recognize the value of such a course of study."

Hermione's eyes began to glaze over as she gravitated towards the rows of ancient tomes.

"Down, girl!" said Padma, pulling on Hermione's arm as if it were a leash.

"Yes, Padma," Hermione sighed.

"Later, Hermione...plenty of time later," added her Head of House. The older witch then led the two towards their first introductions...an ancient witch who said that she expected great things from Padma and Hermione when she returned at the end of the school year to proctor their O.W.L.s. From there they moved onto a Chaser that played for the Harpies, then to the Matriarch of the House of Cadwell. These interactions spanned the next ninety minutes of time, and involved all four of the new initiates, with Professor Vector shepherding Hannah and Pansy around the room.

It was, Hermione later reflected, a rather eclectic group…not just in terms of professions, or social status, but with respect to "Light" and "Dark." The latter was no more starkly illustrated by the last two to be introduced by the Assistant Headmistress.

"Padma, Hermione," Minerva said, "allow me to introduce you to Amelia Bones and Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione Granger was startled to discover that the blonde-haired which who’d been flirting with her eyes from circle’s edge was the mother of Draco Malfoy. She shook her head, and gathered her wits, relieved to note that Narcissa looked more bemused by Hermione's stare than angry.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Hermione," purred the Malfoy Matriarch, as she gave the younger witch's hand a firm squeeze, and caressed the back of the hand with her thumb.

"I'm sorry, Narcissa, but I didn't realize that we had met before," Hermione replied.

The taller witch smiled and pulled the sides of her opened robe tightly against her chest. Adopting a dismissive expression that looked as if something foul-smelling was perched under her nose, she then asked, "Perhaps this might refresh your memory?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Of course...you were in the boxes at the Quidditch World Cup last year."

When Mrs. Malfoy gave a confirmatory nod, Hermione added, "But you look so different that way, so much more..."

"Haughty and irritated?"

"Erm, well..."

Narcissa smiled and dropped the grip on her robes, which allowed both her warm expression and her magnificent breasts to return to view.

"I'm afraid that I always look irritated when I'm within twenty yards of my husband."

"Oh...really?" asked Hermione. "Does that mean that..."

Narcissa shot her hand out and stopped Hermione mid-question with a firm grasp of her arm. "In a moment, dear," she told the younger witch. She then turned to the Assistant Headmistress, who'd watch the exchange with great interest, and asked, "Have you finished bringing these two lovely witches around for introductions, Minnie?"

The Gryffindor Head of House snorted when Hermione gasped at the familiarity of Narcissa's question.

"I have indeed, Cissy."

"Then would you allow me to steal your young charge away for a few moments? I'd be more than happy to give Hermione the complete tour of our little lair."

Minerva's eyes narrowed as she quietly assessed Narcissa's intentions.

Amelia Bones had been exchanging a greeting with Padma, even as she monitored the exchange between Narcissa and Hermione.

"Excuse me for a moment dear," she asked the Ravenclaw. Amelia then turned towards the Assistant Headmistress and said, "I'll be more than happy to stay by Cissy's side as she completes Padma's and Hermione's tour."

McGonagall frowned, turned towards Hermione, and reluctantly replied, "I'll leave it to them to decide."

Hermione bit her lower lip. There was some heady politics at play here, and she didn't like feeling as if she were a piece in a chess match.

"So now I know how Harry must feel at times," she thought to herself.

Amelia tried to expedite the decision by stepping forward and whispering into Hermione's ear. The younger witch was only mildly distracted by the fact that this act placed the naked breasts of the most powerful witch within the Ministry of Magic against her arm.

"There is much more to Cissy than her status as the Lady Malfoy," stated Amelia. "She and I both need to talk with you privately before we leave tonight, and the tour will present the perfect place to speak."

Hermione squinted in confusion. She turned her head so that she could whisper a response into the older witch's ear. "Why are we whispering? Can't you just cast a privacy or silencing charm?"

Amelia's eyes sparkled, and nudged Hermione's cheek with her nose so that she could whisper back. "If you haven't already noticed, I've no place to store my wand."

Hermione glanced down at the MLE Director's nude body and snorted as the older witch finished her whispered sales pitch.

"Hermione, I promise you that you and Padma will be safe, and that you can trust Narcissa."

Hermione frowned, and pulled the older witch into a whisper-friendly hug. "Why do you trust the wife of Lucius Malfoy, Director Bones?"

Amelia nodded and smiled. Deciding that her reply was worthy of sharing, she took a step back. Speaking quietly enough for only their little group to hear, she replied, "Because even though Cissy knows where I sleep at night, the only thing that she's ever attacked me with is her tongue."

The look of surprise on the faces of the two younger witches was surpassed only by the Assistant Headmistress's gobsmacked expression. "Amelia? You and...You and Cissy?" Minerva stammered.

The MLE Director turned towards the Lady Malfoy, shrugged her shoulders, and reached out her hand. "We knew that this might be necessary, luv."

Mrs. Malfoy snorted. "Yes, but as long as it is necessary, I'm not going to settle for just holding hands…"

As the blonde witch moved closer to kiss her monocle-wearing secret lover, Amelia kept her distance.

"Save it for later, sweetheart…no need to get reckless."

The Lady Malfoy pouted. "Alright, but you owe me a tongue lashing later on."

"Which I'll happily provide, dear," Amelia said in quiet reply.

Hermione Granger had followed this back-and-forth risking the entrance of nargles into her opened mouth. She was forced to close it when the secret lovers both turned towards her.

"Well?" asked Narcissa.

Hermione paused, then turned towards Padma. When the Ravenclaw shrugged and nodded her head, Hermione turned back towards the Headmistress and said, "We'll be fine…go ahead, Prof….Minerva. Or is it Minnie?"

The Transfiguration Professor snorted. "Don't push your luck, Hermione."

With one more questioning glance towards Amelia Bones (that was answered by a head nod), the Head of Gryffindor House hugged the two young witches and retired for the night.

"Right, then," said Narcissa firmly, as she grabbed Hermione's hand. "Let's give you two the grand tour."

As Amelia took Padma's hand and followed closely behind, the Lady Malfoy pulled Hermione forward at a very brisk pace. "So, we're presently in the Coven's Lair...this main area will ordinarily be set up like a common room, with desks and comfy chairs. Moving on, this is the lavatory..."

Hermione tried to peak into the lav as the older witch pushed its door open, but was prevented by the tug on her arm and Narcissa's strident pace.

"So that's the lavatory, and here's the last part of the tour...the Private Dining Room."

Draco's mother turned the gold handle that was mounted on the green door and pushed in, dragging Hermione into a space that looked, smelled, and sounding nothing at all like the Great Hall at dinnertime.

The large, low-ceilinged room was dark, and illuminated by only a handful of scented candles. Instead of tables and chairs, there were plush carpets and soft pillows. Instead of uniformed students sorted by house, there were naked witches sorted only by orientation. And instead of forks and knives, there were...well, from Hermione's standpoint there were no equivalents of forks and knives, since the kind of eating that was taking place in the room didn't require utensils (unless you labeled the toys some were using on each other as such).

"So, ladies, this is our Private Dining Room," said a leering Narcissa to the two new Coven members. "The Room has rules and traditions to be followed, just like the Great Hall...although the rules themselves are quite dissimilar."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hermione asked, as she tried hard not to stare at the threesome writhing closest to the door.

"The first rule is...what happens in the Dining Room, stays in the Dining Room...it's part of the secrecy vows you took earlier tonight.

"Does that include unintentional disclosures, say from use of Veritaserum or a Legimens attack?" Padma asked.

"Yes," replied Amelia Bones. "Don't worry, you'll be given Occlumancy lessons over the next few weeks, and until that time the wards on the door we passed through will reinforce your vows."

"Second rule," Narcissa stated. "Abandon clothing, all ye who are about to enter." The Malfoy matriarch backed up her statement by shrugging off her opened robe and letting it drop to the ground.

"No need to delay, ladies," the blonde witch stated, gesturing towards the closed robes that still covered Hermione and Padma.

The two younger witches looked at each other. They both then looked towards the MLE Director, who gave the two witches a reassuring nod. With that in hand, they untied their robes and let them fall to their feet.

"Lovely, just lovely," Narcissa said with a wide grin.

"What's lovely?" Hermione quipped. "Our compliance with the rules, or the sight of our naked bodies?"

"Must I make a choice?" the Malfoy matriarch replied brightly, her eyes darting back and forth between the two students as if there were more than one choice to be made.

"Hem-hem," interrupted Amelia, using her best imitation of her least-favorite Wizengamot colleague.

"Must you remind me of that loathsome toad?" Narcissa asked.

"The third and final rule, Cissy?" asked Amelia.

"Yes, yes...the third and final rule of the Dining Room involves common courtesy...no gawkers allowed."

"That makes sense," Hermione said. "So that's the tour then?"

"Not just yet, dear," Cissy replied. "We need to talk."

"But if we do that here, won't it look like we're voyeurs?"

"Yes."

"So..."

"So we should pair up, or form a group of four, and continue our conversation."

Hermione nervously asked, "Is this really necessary?"

"What?" asked Narcissa. "Are you telling me that you're going to pass on the chance to join in the fun as I whisper the Dark Lord's secrets into your ear?"

"Oh, you make it sound so romantic," snarked Amelia. She stepped in between Narcissa and the two younger witches. "Can’t you see that they aren’t interested in playing with two old hags like us?"

"No, no, it’s not that," said Hermione, afraid that she’d offended a couple of very powerful witches. "I’m sure that…if I fancied witches…it’d be a tempting offer."

Amelia laughed. "Of course, Hermione." The monocle-wearing witch looked into the room, then towards the exit.

"Everything we’re saying now is protected by the room’s wards," she stated. "If Cissy and I took turns holding you two in loose embraces, and pretended to snog where we stand now…we could talk without raising suspicions."

"Spoiled sport," hissed Cissy. But she sorted through her priorities and agreed to the plan.

Hermione realized that Cissy had agreed to the plan only after the older witch grabbed her bum and pushed her hard up against the wall.

"Mrs. Malfoy…"

"Please dear, it’s Cissy…"

"Do we need to be this close to pretend?" Hermione asked, as she clamped her legs together to keep Narcissa’s knee from parting them.

"Need to be convincing, dear," said Draco’s mum, as she smashed her breasts against Hermione’s breasts and buried her face in Hermione’s hair.

Coven sister or not, Hermione was pissed-off at how the Lady Malfoy was manhandling her. Deciding that two could play the game, she pushed a hand in between their bellies then turned it down in between Cissy’s legs.

"Feels like you don’t want to pretend, Hermione," Cissy cooed triumphantly. But her tune changed abruptly when the fingers that had snaked their way into the Lady Malfoy’s pubic hair clamped together and pulled upwards.

Hard.

"Ouch!" yelped Narcissa, as she was held by her short and curlies.

"Now, now, Cissy…you like to play rough, don’t you?" Hermione whispered sharply.

"Not quite that rough," the witch hissed.

Hermione relaxed her grip just enough to take the edge off of the pain. "You’ve got thirty seconds to talk before I yank with all my muggleborn might."

"Okay, okay," the older witch hissed. "I hate my husband...always have...forced into an arranged marriage…about only time I get laid is during these Coven meetings…I want out of my marriage, and the Head of the House of Black is the only one that can help."

"What’s that got to do with me?"

"Don’t be coy, child…I have it on good authority that either you or your friend Potter have met with him this summer."

"How?"

"Doesn’t matter…pass the word along that Cissy needs help. He’ll understand."

"Why should I help a Malfoy?"

"Because it’s the right thing to do, and once I’m released from my marriage vows I’ll be released from the bonds that keep me from spilling Lucius’s dirty little secrets."

"Anything else?"

"Not now."

Hermione nodded and released her grip. Giving Cissy a fake smile she pushed her back and said, "Now, then, that wasn’t too hard, was it?"

Draco’s MILF of a mum shook her head in wonder.

"Hope that the Coven knows what it’s in for with you."

"I hope so too," Hermione replied brightly. She then looked to her side, where Padma and Amelia were watching with wide-eyed interest and a loose embrace more appropriate for waltzing than snogging.

Turning back to Narcissa, she asked, "Now, can I trust you for a few seconds with my friend?"

The Lady Malfoy shuddered and laid a protective hand over her mound.

"Yes, Hermione," she replied, as she walked towards the young Ravenclaw and kept her distance.

The exchange of words with the MLE Director was much more cordial, and far less physical.

"So, very quickly, Hermione...Dolores Umbridge is a complete bitch, but also a very dangerous witch. She's so far inside Fudge's pocket that she could deep-throat his house keys."

"Now there’s a disturbing image," said Hermione. "Though I’d rather think of her in Fudge’s pants rather than inside this room."

Amelia shuddered. "Talk about nasty imagery…not that she ever had a chance to be a Prefect.

"Too much a stickler for the pure blood agenda and the rules?"

"Too stupid," Amelia replied. "Doesn’t matter whom you fancy when you can only manage three O.W.L.s."

Hermione snorted. "So why tell me?"

"Because I need to know what’s going on inside the castle, and I need to know that I’ll be called on when help is needed."

"Why not just ask your niece?"

"Susan’s a wonderful girl…could trust her completely…but she’s afraid that she’d stick out in her house if she reached out for my help. And even though she’s got the worst kind of crush on your best friend, she doesn’t really know him."

"You mean Ron Weasley?"

"No, silly…Harry Potter."

Hermione compartmentalized the knowledge that Susan Bones wanted to jump Harry’s bones for later processing.

"Why do you need someone close to Harry?"

"Because Umbridge is making a run at him this year. Already has, actually, and wants to finish the job here."

"Well that’s not good," Hermione said. "So you want me to be your eyes and ears in the castle?"

"Yes...I don’t trust the Headmaster."

"But what about Minerva?"

"Too closely watched...she thinks Dumbledore’s starting to cotton onto the Coven, and needs to keep her head low so that she can help when and where she can."

"So she's not going to make waves for fear of being sacked?"

"Correct.

"But how will I contact you?"

"The Prefect's badge that Minnie sent you is charmed for two way communication with my Auror’s badge," Amelia replied. "Ask Minerva when you’re wearing it."

Hermione paused to look down, only to silently berate herself…of course she wasn’t wearing her Prefect’s badge.

"Okay, I will," Hermione promised. "So is there anything else, Amelia?"

"Nothing that can't wait."

Hermione smiled, and gave the MLE Director's hip a squeeze. "Thanks for wanting to help Harry…and thanks for your help at the trial…he said that you were more than fair."

"Glad that I was in a position to help, dear," Amelia replied with a smile. She pushed back and asked, "Is there anything else that I can answer for you?"

Hermione snorted. With a glance towards the interior of the room, then towards the Lady Malfoy, she shook her head.

"Cissy said this is just about the only night of the year that she’s gets laid," she told the MLE Director. "Far be it for me to keep her from that."

"Careful, Hermione," Amelia said with a smile, "Your low opinion of my occasional lover just might be improving."

"Perhaps," the young witch said with a smile, as she took Amelia by the hand and led her to the other two.

"Switch?" she asked.

Cissy Malfoy smiled. "Yes, I think I will…it was a pleasure meeting you again, Hermione…and a pleasure meeting you as well, Padma. I look forward to seeing you again."

Hermione nodded. "So long as it involves seeing me in more than I wearing right now, that’s fine."

The older witches laughed as they said their good-byes and walked hand-in-hand deeper into the room.

Hermione looked at Padma.

"So…quite a night, huh?"

"That’s for sure."

With a glance over her shoulder, she asked, "Ready to call it a night?"

Padma nodded as she reached for her robes.

"Not that there’s anything wrong with that," she said, motioning towards a pile of naked witches.

"Of course not,"

"But if you wanted to stay, Hermione…I mean…"

"Thanks, but I’m ready to leave," the Gryffindor replied, as she wrapped her own robe around her body.

"Besides," she said, as they walked towards the door, "I’d be able to see the same sort of thing from the comfort of my own bed, if I wanted to."

Padma frowned. "Please, Hermione…it’s one thing to know that your sister is gay…doesn’t mean that I want to know the details behind it."

Hermione snorted. "Are you sure?"

Padma looked past Hermione back into the room. She spotted Amelia Bones on her hands and knees, moaning as Cissy Malfoy licked her bum and pinched her hanging nipples. The thought of her doing that to another witch, or her sister doing that to Lavender Brown, caused the Ravenclaw prefect to shudder.

"Yes, Hermione," she firmly replied. "Even after tonight, I’m quite sure."

3. So Now That You're a Conspirator...

A Coven of Prefects – Harmony Version

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Chapter 3: So Now That You’re a Conspirator

Given the late hour, Hermione Granger was worried that the Fat Lady would be asleep, or worse...that she was off wandering through the castle's portraits, making it impossible to enter the Tower. But to Hermione's surprise, the pink dress-wearing portraiture was not only awake, but also entertaining.

"Oh, there you are, dear," the Fat Lady said brightly. "You've met my friend Violet, haven't you?"

Hermione glanced towards the woman who was sitting next to the portal guardian and nodded.

"Erm, yes...last year during Yule, I think."

"Ah, what a splendid memory," remarked Violet, who was dressed in a Restoration-Era gown. She then raised the goblet of wine in her hand and said, "We’ve been waiting to toast the newest female Gryffindor Prefect."

"Erm, thank you," Hermione replied, taking note of the three empty bottles of wine on the table.

The guardian of Gryffindor's portal emptied her wine glass, set it on the table, then leaned forward in her chair. Looking beyond the picture frame to ensure Hermione was alone, the Fat Lady beckoned the young witch to put her ear against the canvas.

The muggleborn witch frowned a bit, but turned her head to one side and leaned against the painting.

"We just wanted you to know," the Fat Lady whispered, "that we're with you, Sister."

Hermione's eyes went wide as she jumped back from the canvas and turned back towards the Fat Lady. The portrait giggled and put her finger up against her lips.

"Sssshhhhh!" she said with twinkling eyes. The portrait raised her other hand up from under the table, showing Hermione that it was grasped to the hand of her guest. Bringing her companion's hands to her lips for a kiss, the Fat Lady winked.

"We've had our eye on you for some time, Hermione," she proclaimed. "Should you need help completing your assigned Coven tasks, or want some tips on how to catch the eye of a witch you might fancy...."

Hermione bit her lower lip, trying desperately not to imagine the intimate activities of the portrait-bound witches (much less exactly how and where they'd been watching her).

"Thanks," she finally was able to spit out. "I'll be sure to remember that...Mimbulus mimbletonia."

"Of course sweetheart," the portrait replied, as the doorway swung open. "Sweet dreams."

"Erm...you too."

When the door closed behind her, Hermione put her hands to her head and sighed. She'd seen a lot of very strange things within the wizarding world, but a portrait coming out of the closet had to rank high on her list of odd.

The Common Room was surprisingly empty. Sure, it was almost one in the morning, but Hermione had expected at least one or two students awake, trying desperately to complete their summer assignments before the first day of classes. She was disappointed that Harry hadn't stayed up and waited for her return, but she also understood why he probably hadn't...if the dinner table whispers and stares had carried over into their Common Room, he would have sought refuge behind the curtains of his bed.

Hermione made her way up the stairs to the girl's dormitories, anxious to reach her own refuge from what was a thought-provoking (and memory-searing) evening. Her school trunk still needed to be unpacked, and her books sorted out...any other year she would have waited until morning, afraid that her activity would wake the others. But given the covert, lust-filled glares that Lavender and Parvati had shared across the Gryffindor table earlier that evening, she fully expected them to be awake and bouncing. Bouncing not off the walls of the dorm, but off of each other.

As she approached the shared Fifth-Year's dorm, Hermione opened the second season of the mental game show that she'd made up the previous year...a take-off of "Let's Make a Deal."

She called it "Let's Guess Where They Squeal".

The object was to determine whether Lavender and Parvati were sharing a bed (and each other) behind Curtain #1, or Curtain #2. The game's challenge came from the fact that they usually used a silencing spell...Hermione would then have to look for secondary clues...like a foot sticking out from the curtains that had the "wrong" skin tone. Or two feet sticking out from the curtains with different skin tones.

The hushed whispers coming from Parvati's bed ended the game almost before Hermione entered the room. She smiled, shook her head, and made her way to her trunk. The muggleborn made no efforts to listen into the conversation...while it was great fun to eavesdrop as Lavender talked dirty to her black-haired lover, Hermione had gotten more than enough titillation during the initiation.

But as she was reaching for a handful of books to transfer to her bookshelf, she thought that she heard the name "Harry" whispered. Hemione froze, glanced at the curtained bed across the room, and wished that whispering was loud enough to make out what was being said. The muggleborn witch would have shrugged it off, until she glanced back down into her trunk and spied her Extendable Ear (that the Weasley Twins had given her in a preemptive effort to soften up their new Prefect). Against her better judgment, she grabbed the magical device and goaded the working end to sneak up underneath Parvati's bed curtains.

What she heard made her blood boil.

Taking barely enough time to retrieve the ear and pocket it, a furious Hermione Granger strode across the room and whipped open the bed curtains.

"Lavender Brown, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

The brown-haired witch, who had been rolling her own nipples between her fingers as she sat naked upon Parvati's face, looked up at Hermione with a "caught in the headlights" look.

"Eeeep!"

She leapt up and off of the face and hid behind her lover's body. Parvati, meanwhile, turned onto her side and pulled a bed sheet up to cover their bodies.

"I thought that you were okay with us," she said. "You...you haven't gotten all Percy-ish now that you're a Prefect, have you?"

"No, not at all...that's a separate issue...although how Lavender can be bad mouthing Harry while you’re mouthing her bits...."

"Ah, so that's it," Lavender replied, popping her head up to speak. "It's about your boyfriend."

"Harry is not my boyfriend, you bint," Hermione hissed. "Otherwise, yes...this is about Harry. How dare you suggest that he's lying about You-Know-Who's Return, and that his brain has gone as soft as his dick!"

"You know otherwise, Hermione?"

"Yes, of course I do," Hermione replied. "He's telling the truth, no matter what the Daily Prophet writes and you parrot back."

Lavender snorted. "I think you're awfully protective of somebody that you say isn't your boyfriend." She then looked down and asked, "What do you think Parv?"

Padma's twin shot her eyes towards Hermione and frowned.

"I think that it's time Little Miss Prefect shove off," she stated, and reached to close the bed curtains.

But Hermione didn't consider the conversation finished. She blocked the curtains with one hand and drew her wand with the other.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"What the..."

"Petrificus Totalus!"

With her dormmates silenced and immobilized, Hermione pushed the two rigid bodies away from the edge of the bed so that she could have a seat. As Lavender had been riding "reverse cowgirl”, this motion shoved Parvati’s crotch over Lavender's face, and Hermione had to make some adjustments so that she could see both sets of eyes.

"Sorry about that, although...it's not like that's a new position for you two," Hermione said with a smile.

"So, Ladies...if you two can trust me not to report you bedtime activities to the Head of House or worse...the Headmaster...then you two damn better trust me when I say that Harry Potter is telling the truth. He isn't lying, the Headmaster isn't senile, and V-V-Voldmort is back."

The eyes within the two naked bodies showed fear. Hermione thought at first it was because she had dared to say the Dark Lord's name, but then considered the possibility that they were worried that she'd out them. The Fifth-Year prefect then started worry to that she was already abusing her power, and threatening to do something that the vows she had made earlier wouldn't allow her to do.

"Look, I sorry about getting angry...well, no I'm not. I'm sorry that I jinxed you when you both were clearly wandless. It was just so frustrating to see the reactions towards Harry at the Opening Feast...he's got enough to worry about then to have to deal with that crap."

There was a pause in the one-way conversation, as Hermione pondered what to do. Thinking back to her Coven vows, and what they entailed, an idea struck. She took her wand in hand once more, but this time aimed it at herself.

"On my life and magic, I swear that I have no reason not to believe that Voldemort has returned, or that Harry Potter lied to me about the manner of that return."

Hermione held her breath for a moment, chiding herself for not thinking through the vow more carefully. She then pointed her wand towards her nude dormmates and said, "Finite Incantatum."

To her great relief, the spell was powered.

Lavender's eyes went wide, once the spell cancellation allowed her to moisten them with several blinks.

"Risking your life and magic just to bolster's Harry's reputation? Merlin, Hermione...you do have it bad for him."

"No matter."

"Of course it matters! Tell me...have you two snogged yet?"

"He's not my boyfriend, Lavender," Hermione protested. "We haven't snogged."

"Haven't snogged yet?"

"No."

"Willing to make another magical vow on that?"

Hermione scowled, and slapped her roommate playfully on the bum.

"Of course not...can't get into the habit."

"Into the habit of kissing Harry?"

"No, silly...the habit of making unbreakable vows...magic has a way of twisting your words."

The three witches then engaged in a conversation that bounced back and forth between Hermione's imaginary love life, the other two's real love life, and Harry Potter. The awkward disparity in amount of attire was reduced when Hermione got up to change into her nightgown. That act expanded the conversation farther, as the bushy-haired witch was once again forced to explain her minimal tan lines and Brazilian cut.

It was more of a girly gossip session than Hermione had ever had with her Lavender and Parvati, and she was surprisingly happy about that. Ron and Harry were still her closest friends, and it looked like she might have a new close friend with Padma, but that didn't mean that Hermione didn't want (or yearn for) the occasional opportunity to engage in girl talk within the sanctity of her bedroom.

By the time they finally fell asleep, Hermione was fairly hopeful that she'd been able to bring both Parvati and Lavender around to Harry's side of the story. They were only two of the many who had doubted, but one had to start somewhere. This comforted her enough to push her fears for Harry's mental well-being aside, which allowed her to push her knickers aside, so that she could think of Harry's physical side...and what she'd want to eat if only the Coven's Private Dining Room was co-ed.

oo00OO00oo

Not wishing to miss Harry before he left for breakfast, Hermione forced herself to rise early the next morning, despite her lack of sleep. This had the added benefit of getting her to the gang showers before the other girls did...there was enough to do without explaining her nearly all-around tan over and over again.

As the warm water flowed down over her tanned skin, Hermione thought back on the brief conversations with Amelia Bones and Narcissa Malfoy. Cissy’s claim that she had reason to believe Hermione had been in contact with Sirius was very disturbing, given the fact that Lucius had been on the station platform when Sirius, in animagus form, had escorted them onto the train. It also gave support to the theory that Draco had used the word “dogging” within their semi-annual carriage confrontation on purpose, intimating that he knew about their connection to the Azkaban escapee.

Sirius had been much too reckless for his own good. And for Harry’s own good as well, she decided. Hermione desperately needed a way to contact him, and to warn him to stay hidden behind Grimmauld’s wards. But how was she to do that, given Mad-Eye’s warning to assume that every letter sent out by owl would be monitored?

That question was still rolling around her head as Hermione packed her bag full of books, pinned her prefects badge above her left breast, and bounded down the stairs.

The Weasley Twins' advertisement for willing test subjects caught her eye while she waited for Harry. She shook her head as she tore the sign from the board, upset not only at the Twins, but at Ron. He had been in the tower last night while she was at the Initiation Ceremony...he could have and should have dealt with this sort of thing.

Not that she expected him to.

Hermione loved Ron like a brother, but he really had no business being a prefect. She decided to raise the issue when she had her private meeting with Minerva....erm, Professor McGonagall, that is (must learn to keep situations straight, she thought to herself). Harry was the obvious choice, although...if she was on patrol and was forced to memory charm the male prefect walking with her, much better that it be Ron. Unless she could convince the Coven to let Harry in on their secret. After all, Amelia Bones had expressed her desire to help Harry the night previous. Except that her offer might have been a personal one, rather than on behalf of the Coven…

The weave of disparate motivations within the game she'd just been thrust into was most vexing.

Harry walked down the stairs and into the Common Room an angry young wizard. Hermione asked what was wrong, and was told that Seamus had set him off. Hermione thought she was just moving the conversation forward when she mentioned that Lavender had also expressed doubts, but Harry took her head off, deciding that it must have meant that she thought that way too. Stung by the rebuke, she pointed out that she had believed him from the start, and in fact made an effort to convince Lavender and Parvati to give Harry the benefit of the doubt...at least until evidence came forward one way or the other.

The raven-haired wizard had just muttered an apology to his best friend when the two Doubting Tomasinas in question walked into the Common Room giggling. They stopped short when they saw the other three, and swallowed their laughter. Parvati made eye contact with Lavender and nudged her towards the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I'm sorry, Harry,” Lavender told him. “I know it's not an excuse, but between Teen Witch Weekly and my mum and dad...they believe whatever the Ministry tells them to believe, and well...I'm supposed to be a Gryffindor, but it's hard to go against your parents...know what I mean?"

Harry shot the witch a hard stare. "No, Lavender, I don't know what you mean."

The brown-haired witch blanched. "Oh, Merlin, I'm so...what a stupid thing for me to say."

"S'okay," Harry said glumly.

"Of course it isn't, Harry," said Lavender, who then leaned forward and kissed Harry on the cheek.

"What was that...?"

"You looked like you could use a hug."

"But you... it wasn't a hug."

"Oh, my goof, then," said Lavender as she pulled him into a hug. "There, that’s it."

Parvati looked on with amusement...she would have been hard pressed to say who amongst the Golden Trio looked the most shocked. Giving her friend a three-second count, she stepped up and touched lover's shoulder.

"My turn, Lavender."

Harry pulled out from his awkward hug and stared at Hermione, wondering why she hadn't mentioned Parvati’s betrayal as well.

"So you believed the lies about me lying too?"

"Not really...hard to with my sister talking back to the newspaper each morning."

"Then why is it your turn?"

"Because I didn't defend you when others were gossiping on the train," Parvati replied, before planting a chaste peck on Harry's opposite cheek.

"Oh, well...that's okay..."

"No it isn't, and I'm going to do my best to stop the gossiping."

"Wow, that's saying something, isn't it?" Ron asked.

"Shut it, you," Harry said. "Look, Parvati...you don't have to...I mean...why would you?"

"Because you're worth it Harry...even if you and Ron were lousy dates last year."

"And I'm going to have an even lousier attitude if I miss breakfast this morning," Ron proclaimed. He pulled Harry away from the girls and said, "Let's go eat, mate."

As they made their way out of the portal, the three witches heard Ron ask, "So do you think you'll get a kiss every time somebody changes their opinion about you?"

Harry shook his head. "If that means that Seamus will eventually try for a snog, I certainly hope not."

Hermione waited until the portal closed before she turned on her dormmates.

"I hope, for Harry's sake and your own that you two were sincere."

"Of course we were," Lavender replied.

"And what's with the kisses? And the hug?"

“Jealous, Hermione?" Parvati asked with a smile. "Have to admit, the physical contact did seem to calm him down."

"It did, didn't it?" asked Lavender. "Maybe we should catch up in case there's some stares and whispers along the way?"

"I'll take care of that, thank you very much," said Hermione.

"Well, then go, girl," said Parvati. "Wouldn't do if Ron was the only one within snogging distance of Harry."

"Not that there’d be anything wrong with that," Lavender giggled.

Hermione shook her head and left the room as a catty reply from Parvati caused her lover to giggle even louder.

oo00OO00oo

Breakfast was just as tense as the previous night's feast. If it weren't for the fact that the Firsties needed shepherding, Hermione would have suggested that they grab some rashers of bacon and eat out on the front steps. The stares and not-even-close-to-a-whisper comments were so biting and nasty...if her dormmates were correct about physical contact being an effective countermeasure, Hermione would soon need to duck under the table and blow Harry off.

Which was a lovely, if impractical, thought.

When their Head of House finally did come around, Hermione's gaze involuntarily migrated towards the older witch's crotch. It was of course, covered with robes, but that just made Hermione wonder what the tabby cat might be doing while it was out of sight.

"Searching for something, Miss Granger?"

"Erm, not really Min...erm, Professor."

The Transfiguration Professor snorted. "Well, here are your schedules, then."

Hermione nodded as she glanced at her parchment. "Are we...."

"Very busy today?" asked Minerva, as she glanced nervously towards the Head Table. "Yes, I think we all are."

"But last...."

A quick shake of the Professor's head shut down Hermione's question.

"Oh, right then." Hermione looked back down at her schedule and asked, "Why do I have time blocked out for the Infirmary this afternoon?"

"You have a job interview with the Hogwarts Matron."

"A job interview?"

"That's what I said, Miss Granger...need we make time for a hearing test as well?"

"But...what kind of job?"

"Madame Pomfrey takes on a student each year to serve as a Nurse's Aide," the Gryffindor Head stated. "It is usually given to a sixth-year, but I suggested to the Headmaster..."

Minerva gave Harry a glance and smiled. "Well, given Mr. Potter's talent for finding injurious situations, I suggested that he would benefit from having a friend who was trained in basic methods of healing and hex removals."

"No need to make Hermione's schedule any busier on my account," offered Harry.

Hermione whacked Harry in the arm. "Stop that, you."

"Ouch, what are you trying to do...make me your first patient?"

Shaking her head, the Fifth-Year Prefect looked back towards the Transfiguration Professor.

"I'm not so sure that it's...I mean it is our O.W.L. year... and I have prefect duties..."

"This was discussed during our last staff meeting, Miss Granger. All of your professors expressed confidence in your ability to successfully manage your time."

"All?" asked Ron, glancing towards the Head Table. "Even Umbridge?"

"That's Professor Umbridge, Mr. Weasley...perhaps I should have said all of the teachers in attendance at the meeting."

"So that means Snape, too?" asked Harry.

At Minerva's raised eyebrow, Harry spat out, "I meant Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape's silent response was interpreted as a glowing recommendation," Minerva stated with a wry smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish distributing schedules."

As soon as the Head of House turned her back on the three, Ron exclaimed, "Bugger!"

"Language, Ron!"

"Well, you look at Harry and my schedules, and see what you say! History, Double Potions with Snape, Divination and DADA? All on the first day?"

"Brutal," Harry muttered.

"Oh, please, you two...it's just as busy for me...I've got that interview while you're wasting time with the fraud...and dare I ask what you'll be doing Wednesday afternoon while I've got Runes and Arithmancy?"

"Flying, I hope," Ron said.

This response brought the conversation back around to Quidditch, and Angelina's announcement a few minutes previous that she'd been made captain of the Gryffindor squad. Rather than feign interest, Hermione got up and moved down the table to have a little chat with the Weasley Twins.

Pulling the folded advertisement from her pocket, she announced, "You know that you two aren't going to be allowed this."

Fred and George looked down at their posting and frowned.

"But how else are we going to test market our products?"

"Test market?" Hermione asked. "You two seriously thinking about starting a business?"

Fred shrugged their shoulders. "Can't see us at the Ministry...already seen what a few years of that has done to our prat of a brother."

"Not that Percy wasn't that way before he left school," said George.

"Too true, brother, too true."

"So you plan on...doing what this year?"

"Market research and new product development," Fred replied. "Though we've already been set back on that account."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"McGonagall came 'round this morning and confiscated some of our product line," George whined.

"Oh, well that's too bad."

"You sound so heartbroken, Hermione," Fred snarked. "And here we had such high hopes for our pre-emptive rewards program."

Hermione smiled, thinking of how she'd already put their Extendable Ear to good use. She then thought about Amelia Bones's statements, and how the Twins might help keep Umbridge at bay. And then her smile turned sinister as she lowered her voice.

"Look you two, I'm on your side, really...I'm just saying that you need to be a little more discreet about your testing. And maybe work on testing your products on targeted individuals who might deserve any nasty side effects that come their way."

Hermione lowered her voice even further and then said, "And I might be working in the Infirmary this year...if you did do some clinical trials, wouldn't it be better to do them when I'm there to cover for you two?"

The Weasley Twins absorbed Hermione's statement, then looked at each other with glee.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Don't I usually, brother of mine?"

They turned back towards Hermione and smiled.

"We do hope…"

"That the Headmaster…"

"Didn't know what he was getting…"

"When he selected you to be Prefect."

Hermione returned the smile. "I hope that he didn't either."

oo00OO00oo

The morning's classes ran pretty much true to form from past years.

The History lesson on giants strained even Hermione's ability to pay attention, though her focus would have been better had she not spent so much time scolding her boys for playing hangman in the margins of Harry's parchment notes.

The much more eventful Double Potions revealed Snape in all of his disdainful glory, as he abused the Gryffindors to the delight of their Slytherin counterparts. The potion that they were tasked with brewing was really too complex for the first day...while there was no reason not to read ahead, the practical skills needed to prepare the ingredients were certainly subject to atrophy over the summer hols. Not that Hermione's version of the Draught of Peace was a failure...quite the opposite, actually. But Harry had forgotten to complete one of the steps, resulting in a failed potion that his greasy-haired nemesis had vanished with glee. The Boy-Who-Lived stormed out of the room in a huff, not bothering to clean up his work station.

Once Hermione had decanted a sample of her potion into a flagon and presented it to the Potions Master, she found that there was still quite a bit remaining in her cauldron. Now, standard procedure was to cast a cleaning charm on the dregs, but given the fact that the Draught of Peace was supposed to relieve stress and anxiety...and given the fact that her best friend had both in abundance...she developed an alternative means of disposal. She quietly reached over to Harry’s station, nicked his unused flagon, and filled it with the remaining contents of her cauldron.

Hermione's deviance from standard procedures didn't go unnoticed. As she slipped the flagon into her bag, she looked up and noticed Pansy Parkinson staring at her.

Had it been any other year, Hermione could have counted on Pansy ratting her out to her Head of House. But given the night previous, and the new bond she shared with the female Slytherin Prefect, she decided to take a chance.

Acknowledging the fact that she'd been caught out, Hermione stared straight at Pansy and mouthed the word, "Please?"

The Slytherin witch narrowed her eyes, thought for a few moments, and gave quick glances on her side of the room to determine if she was the only one to have noticed. With that assurance in hand, Pansy returned to Hermione's gaze, gave her a barely perceptible head nod, then followed up with the mouthed words, "You owe me."

Hermione acknowledged the debt with a second nod of her head. As soon as Ron had finished clearing up his station, she shouldered her bag and pulled him by the hand out of the door.

"What's the rush, Hermione?" Ron asked.

She turned to her friend and gave what was, for her, a measured response.

"Lunch."

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, as he matched her pace. "Good point."

oo00OO00oo

Ron and Hermione were afraid that they'd find Harry taking out his anger and on those who either didn't deserve it or didn’t cause it. They were surprised, therefore, to discover their friend leaning against the end of the Ravenclaw table, talking amicably with Cho Chang.

One look towards the Ravenclaw prefect was enough to send both Ron and Hermione's nerves on end. Ron was upset that Cho was wearing a button supporting the Tornados Quidditch team. Hermione was upset that Cho might be trying to wear Harry's robes, given how close her body was to them.

Harry's back was turned, so that Cho was the one to notice Harry’s friends. She ignored Ron's indignant look, and replied to Hermione's glare with a coy smile and hand wave. Ron and Hermione watched as the Ravenclaw pointed them out, and placed a friendly hand on Harry's arm. He replicated the gesture with his hand on her opposite arm, then broke the contact and strode back towards the Gryffindor table with a small grin on his face.

"What's that all about?" Ron asked, as Harry took a seat.

"Cho just wanted to say hi, and ask about hols," Harry replied.

"That's all then?" Hermione asked.

Harry glanced back towards the Ravenclaw table, where Cho was whispering into Marietta Edgecombe's ear. "Erm, yeah...more or less...guess that she did say she thought the Daily Prophet was rubbish, and that she was looking forward to getting back onto the playing field with me."

Hermione internally fumed at the potential for double entendre within that seemingly innocent comment. Despite her anger (or maybe because of it?), she took Cho's side when Ron went off on the button, arguing that the Ravenclaw should be given the benefit of the doubt…at least until Ron could prove that Cho had jumped onto the Tornado’s bandwagon.

When Harry asked that his friends stop bickering, Ron shifted his verbal assaults to their Potions Instructor, in terms that ordinarily would have provoked a separate argument. But Hermione failed to take the bait when Ron blamed Dumbledore for keeping a "greasy-haired Dark Lord-serving bootlicker” on staff.

"So, Hermione," Harry asked, "why aren’t you sticking up for Dumbledore? You always have before...starting to think he's gone soft in the head, then?"

Hermione sighed. "No, Harry...I'm trying to honor your request. You did ask that Ron and I not bicker, didn't you?"

Harry chewed on his lip, and eventually decided that she had a point (or at least an excuse not to defend the Headmaster).

"Hey, speaking of trusting professors, would you look at that?" said Ron.

Harry and Hermione turned in the direction that Ron had nodded towards, and spied Professor McGonagall taking a seat at the Head Table next to Dolores Umbridge.

"Why'd she choose that seat, when there were still some at the end of the table?" Ron asked speculatively.

Neither Ron nor Hermione had a good idea. That, of course, didn't keep Ron from spouting off.

"Maybe she's sucking up," he offered.

"Or maybe she's following the muggle maxim, 'Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer'."

"What's a maxim?" Ron asked.

"A wise saying."

"Sounds stupid to me...that'd mean that it'd be best if we ate with the slimy snakes."

"Well, the Sorting Hat did urge the four houses to work together this year..."

"Fine, you go sit on Draco's lap."

Hermione scowled at Ron, then turned to look over at the Slytherin table.

"Too late, looks like Pansy beat me to it."

Harry smiled when he confirmed Hermione's observation. He made an effort to read lips as the two Slytherin prefects talked with each other, but that effort failed when Ron forced his attention back towards the Head Table.

"Hey, have a look, McGonagall's gone and chewed on something that didn’t agree with her."

Harry and Hermione watched the Transfiguration Professor's face turn white and clammy.

"Hey Fred!" came a comment from halfway down the table.

"Hey George!"

"Do you see what I'm seeing?"

"I usually do."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking."

"As I said..."

"Look...there's the smoke from the nostrils, which would mean that it's..."

"Five"

"Four"

"Three"

"Two"

"One"

"Zed!"

The Transfiguration Professor had caught the eye of most of the Great Hall, even without the running commentary. As a result, hardly anyone missed the huge spray of projectile vomit that launched out of Professor McGonagall’s mouth, and onto Umbridge's pink cardigan.

"Brilliant!"

"Taking notes, Fred?"

"Got it all down, George."

"What are you two on about?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," his brothers replied in tandem.

By now some of the students were screaming with delight. Those sitting at the staff table not covered with vomit were just as delighted, but far more disciplined at hiding their reactions. The staff also collectively decided to hide their ability to bring a Scourgify spell to bear on the bits of masticated Shepherd's Pie that covered the screaming toad.

The Headmaster also appeared to suffer from some selective hearing, as he ignored his frantic DADA professor and instead focused on his Transfiguration professor, who was still retching onto the floor.

"Miss Granger?" the Headmaster called out. "Would you please come here?"

Hermione nervously rose from her chair and approached the Head Table.

"Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"I believe that you were scheduled to meet with Madame Pomfrey right after lunch?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you wouldn't mind arriving a bit early, would you be willing to escort Professor McGonagall to the Infirmary?"

"Yes, of course, Headmaster," she replied. Hermione walked around behind the table, grabbed Minerva's elbow, and slowly walked with her towards the entrance of the Great Hall. The grim expression on the Gryffindor Head's face broke only long enough for her to toss a wink towards Fred and George as she passed by.

"Unbelievable," said Fred.

"Unbelievable, but brilliant" echoed George with a wide grin.

"What are you two talking about?" Ron asked.

"Our clinical trials," Fred replied.

"I don't understand," whined Ron.

"I'm not surprised."

oo00OO00oo

"Madame Pomfrey? Are you there?"

"A bit early, aren't you Miss....oh Merlin, what happened?"

The Hogwarts Matron mirrored Hermione's aid and rushed to support the nauseous Transfiguration Professor's other arm.

"Must have eaten something that disagreed with her," Hermione stated.

Poppy glanced down at the vomit-strewn robes and said, "Well it was nice that you brought what she ate with you."

"Should I Scourgify her robes, Madame Pomfrey?" Hermione asked.

"Certainly not, girl...I'll need to run scans to see what set this off, and the soiled robes will save me a trip to the Great Hall." She then turned to Minerva and said, "Let's get you out of those robes, then."

McGonagall nodded weakly as she was led to a bed and made to sit.

"Pull the privacy curtain, would you dear?" Poppy asked Hermione. "Wouldn't do to have a sick wizard walk in and get an eyeful, would it?"

"Certainly not," Hermione replied, thinking of what Ron or Harry might say if they caught sight of the tabby cat tattoo.

"Do you know a decent silencing spell as well, dear?" the Nurse asked, as she helped Minerva out of her robes. "If you are to work here, you'll need to understand patient confidentiality requirements, especially when it comes to the treatment of staff."

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione replied. She drew her wand and cast a strong silencing spell, taking the time to include the floor and airspace above the drawn curtains. When she turned back to the bed, she spied McGonagall, who was now dressed in a half-slip, trying to fish something out of her soiled robes.

Hermione was a little disappointed...it appeared that her Head of House was searching for her wand, so that she could reinforce the silencing spells. But then Minerva pulled a half-eaten piece of chocolate from a pocket, and tried to pop it into her mouth. Unfortunately, the confection’s smell was enough to set her stomach off, and she fell into another round of dry heaves.

"Miss Granger, do you have any idea?"

"Yes, but I'd have to ask Professor McGonagall to confirm..."

"Well she's in no condition to reply, now, is she?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well?" asked Poppy, as she held the hair of her patient away from her face.

"It may be due to a potion, or potion-laced bit of food, rather than food poisoning."

"Hmmm...worth a try," the Nurse mused. "Miss Granger, if you would pull open the drawer of the table by your side, there should be a supply of bezoars within a tin container."

Hermione nodded, and retrieved one of the small shriveled objects.

"Now, I'll get her mouth open, which should allow you to pop it in...."

The young witch waited until the nurse had immobilized her patient's head with her hands, and placed the bezoar within her professor's mouth.

"Keep her from spitting it out while I grab my wand, please."

Hermione replied, disappointed with herself for worrying more about a vomit-covered hand than Minerva's health. Meanwhile, the Nurse placed the tip of her wand against the patient's throat, and cast a spell that forced her to swallow.

"Right then, you can remove your hand, Miss Granger," Poppy replied.

Hermione complied with the request, and watched as McGonagall's breathing became less labored.

"How long will the bezoar take to work?" she asked.

"Should be seeing more an effect by now," Poppy mused.

With the immediate situation somewhat under control, Hermione remembered something, and went down onto her hands and knees.

"Miss Granger?"

"Think that she dropped it when...here we are," Hermione said brightly, as she picked up the bit of candy that had rolled underneath the bed. She held the half-eaten chocolate in front of Minerva and asked, "Still want to try, Professor?"

Minerva nodded, and popped the offered sweet into her mouth.

"Miss Granger, I like to think that I keep a clean Infirmary, but to offer something that's been on the floor...."

The Nurse's admonishment ebbed as she watched the color rapidly return to her patient's face.

"Morgana's milk teeth, what was that?" the Nurse demanded.

The suddenly revitalized patient turned towards Madame Pomfrey and smiled. "That, Poppy, was a necessary bit of subterfuge."

"No, okay, fine... subterfuge...but still, what was it?"

Minerva snorted as she reached back into her robe pockets for her wand. She cast a diagnostic spell towards the curtains, then cleaned her robes of the bits of pie and bile that hadn't had enough momentum to reach their intended target.

"The Weasley boys call them Puking...Puking Pasties...Pasttimes..."

"Puking Pastilles?" asked Hermione.

Professor McGonagall touched her index finger to her nose, then pointed it towards her protege. "That's it...Puking Pastille."

"You just pranked the new DADA professor, didn't you?" Hermione asked with amazement.

Minerva shrugged. "As I said, a necessary bit of subterfuge. By the way.... excellent privacy charms, Hermione."

"Thank you, Profess...."

"It's Minerva, right now."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the request. To call her professor by her first name implied that....

"Yes, Hermione," McGonagall said with a grin. "This is a Coven matter, and Poppy is one of your new Sisters."

Hermione's furrowed her eyebrows a bit, and she turned towards the Nurse. "But I didn't see you last night."

"Had a room full of patients...couldn't get away," Poppy replied with a smile. She then turned on Minerva and asked, "So what's this all about then...the nausea, and that chocolate?"

"Needed a bit of privacy to talk with Hermione," McGonagall explained. "But with Umbridge and Albus both marking me closely this morning, I needed a diversion, and a safe place to talk."

“So you used the candy that you confiscated from Fred and George?" Hermione asked with wonder.

Minerva smiled. "By any means necessary, Hermione, by any means...even if they are unpleasant. Not that I didn't enjoy spraying Umbridge’s hideous jumper."

"Yes, well I imagine that they were still prototypes fashioned over the summer...I caught them trying to round up test subjects this morning."

"Will one of you please explain what you're talking about?" asked Poppy.

Minerva snorted, and replied. "The Weasley Twins have decided to develop their own line of pranking products."

"Oh Morgana help me," Poppy said, the blood draining from her face.

"Quite," said Minerva. "One of their experiments involves sweets that induce instant illnesses, with the goal of selling them to students who wish to skive out of class."

"So that bit of chocolate you were trying to swallow..."

"The antidote half of the nougat,” Hermione replied. "Looks like they need to play with the dosages, though...the antidote won't work if you're vomiting too violently to swallow it."

"Agreed," Minerva replied.

"So this was all a ruse, to gain a bit of time to talk behind these charmed curtains?" asked Poppy. She shook her head and sighed. "Whatever...I'm running an infirmary, here." She turned to McGonagall and said, "Were this an actual case of food poisoning, I'd have fixed you up by now...if you don't want to be missed, I'd keep your meeting short." Turning then to Hermione, she said, "Come to my office when you're done here."

And with that order, the Hogwarts Matron turned on her heel, and stepped outside of the curtains.

Minerva offered Hermione a conspiratorial smile. "I think Poppy might be angry at me."

"I agree," said Hermione. "But as to the meeting's purpose?"

"Right...it's about your prefect's badge," the Professor replied. "Did Amelia have the chance to talk about it?"

"She said that it's been charmed as a two-way communications device, but I was to ask you how it operates."

Minerva nodded. "Simply put, it employs a crude means of muggle communication...are you familiar with Morse’s code, Hermione?"

The young witch nodded, not bothering to correct the misplaced possessive. "I've read about it...telegraph hasn't been used in the muggle world for ages."

"Look in the Muggle Studies section of the library, then...it will probably be written up as the latest bit of their technology."

Hermione's mouth flew open at the comment. While it was clear that there was far more to her Transfiguration Professor than she'd imagine, she was still wrapping her mind around the concept of Minerva offering candid critiques, and treating her as a peer.

"So how is communication started?" she asked.

"Tap out the word 'start' on the center of your Prefect's Badge, using your wand tip and Morse’s code," McGonagall explained. "You'll then compose your message, and punctuate it with the tapping of the word 'end'."

"And to receive a message?"

"Your message will cause Amelia's Auror badge to vibrate in brief bursts."

"Like a telephone ring?"

"You'd know better than me, Hermione," Minerva replied. "Your badge will do the same when Amelia sends a message. Three wand taps to the badge will allow the message to be relayed. If you want to respond to a message, you follow the same procedure...begin with the word 'start' and finish with the word 'end' in your reply. Any questions?"

"About the badge?" Hermione asked. "No, but I have many other questions about..."

Minerva silenced the young witch with a finger pressed against her lips. "Are they life-threatening?"

"Erm, no..."

"Then they need to wait, Miss Granger," the Professor replied, as she slipped her robes over her head. "I must get to my next lesson."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied, recognizing the shift in status by the use of her last name. She cancelled out her own silencing spells and drew open the privacy curtains.

"Thank you for your aid, Miss Granger," Minerva said, as she gave her head a slight jerk towards a painting on the other side of the room. "It is readily apparent that you have the makings of a fine Nurse's Aid."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, glancing at the magical portrait of a male Healer who watching the exchange with interest. "I will do my best to live up to your expectations."

"You always do, Miss Granger," Minerva replied warmly. "You always do."

ooo000ooo

A/N: Credit for coining the term “harrysexual” in Chapter 2 to Mike Cole. Thanks to chem prof, hellishlord, Seel’vor and others for the story development advice and comments posted on Seel’vor’s Yahoo! group.

4. So Now That You're a Lifeguard...

A Coven of Prefects

Chapter Four: So Now That You're a Lifeguard...

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

When Dolores Umbridge banished Harry Potter from her class, Hermione Granger’s mind went blank.

What now?

In danger of complete shutdown, her conscious mind pulled the "In Case of Emergency" alarm and summoned her seldom relied upon subconscious. Her subconscious mind showed up with an armful of CDs, assessed the situation, and slapped a classic from The Clash into the player (it often had to resort to extreme measures to gain attention).

The searing guitar launched into the iconic hook that resonated inside Hermione’s head. The chords jumpstarted her brain like a heart revived by electronic defibrillator. It wasn’t the answer to her problems, but it was the right question.

"Should I stay, or should I go?"

The pump was primed for her booking…she’d enraged the toad almost as much as Harry… all she’d probably need say was, "Harry isn’t lying, Voldemort has returned," and she’d be sent off. Or, she could keep her mouth shut, her arm down, and her head low, and make it through the last ten minutes of class without a detention.

If she stayed, there would be trouble…Harry would immediately assume that he wasn’t behind her 100%, or that she agreed with the toad’s reprimands. But if she walked out of the DADA classroom…more than trouble doubled, she imagined.

The others had been shocked into silence…or maybe it was more like shocked into submission? It was so quiet that Hermione could hear Harry’s steps as he stormed down the stone-floored hallway towards McGonagall’s office.

Professor Umbridge’s eyes were fixated on the door. The triumphant smile on her face made it look as if she’d just caught a juicy fly out of the air with her tongue. Her attention thus diverted, Hermione glanced around the room towards the other students. Surprisingly, most were looking to her for instructions.

What now?

Hermione glanced down at her wristwatch. Now only nine minutes to go.

With wary reliance upon her intuition, she shook her head, looked down towards her desk, and for the first time that period opened the text in front of her.

Tension broke in the room as the other Gryffindors followed her lead and kept their heads low.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught the doubly-satisfied smirk that formed on Umbridge’s fat face. The Fifth-Year Prefect’s conscious mind ignored the response, as it was entirely focused on developing talking points for the inevitable "discussion" with her best friend.

Hermione’s subconscious mind, though…its reaction was different. It simmered in outrage and cried out for justice. It had all the right adrenalin-pumping anthems at its fingertips, just waiting to support the conscious mind when it rallied supporters to the barricades.

But the call to arms didn’t come. Hermione’s rational thoughts firmed up their hold on her decision-making, and her adrenalin levels dropped. The subconscious pouted, and called Hermione’s logic all sorts of names behind its back. It wasn’t until her conscious mind started forming plans for revenge that the subconscious was placated.

It could wait for the right moment, just as well as logic and reason could.

Hermione’s subconscious placed the CDs of "Jerusalem," and "La Marseillaise" back onto the shelf, and began to search for supporting soundtracks that had a more subversive and cunning beat to them.

oo00OO00oo

She found him, after a half-hour’s search, sitting in the rain down by the lake.

"It’s raining, you know."

Harry turned towards Hermione and pushed the wet fringe of hair away from his glasses.

"Suits the occasion, don’t you think?"

Hermione snorted, and looked towards the clouds from underneath her umbrella. A thin smile formed on her face as she pulled the umbrella shut and tossed it on the ground.

"Yes, I think it does," she replied, sitting down on the wet rock next to her best friend.

The two sat in silence for a few moments.

"I thought that you would furious with me once I found you," Hermione finally said.

Harry turned towards her and frowned.

"Rain took the piss out of me."

"So you were angry that I didn’t anger the toad enough to join you in a night of detention?"

"It’s a week."

"What?"

"My detention…every night for a week, starting tomorrow."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, grabbing lightly on his rain-soaked sleeve.

"I was still angry with you," Harry added. "But then…"

"Then what?"

"Then McGonagall offered me a biscuit, and I realized that you…you were more openly defiant than I was in class…Umbridge was just too stupid to realize it."

"What do you mean?"

Harry chuckled. "So the toad tells us to take out our textbooks…a text that you hadn’t even read in advance of class, mind you…and orders you to start reading. But you didn’t…you didn’t even crack the cover! For Hermione Granger to ignore a Professor’s instructions to read a book…that was more of a challenge to her authority than I could have ever conjured! Well done, Hermione."

The pride that started to swell within Hermione’s chest was stomped down by her subconscious mind, which reminded her of her tactical submission to Umbridge with images of catapult-tossed cattle and cries of "Run Away! Run Away!"

"So what did Minerva have to say?" she asked, trying to change the topic.

"First name basis with her, Hermione?"

"Erm, course not," Hermione stammered, feeling foolish about the slip of tongue.

"Well, Minerva said that it was a good thing that I listened to you," Harry replied, with a very slight smile. "But she also said that speaking truth to power is a rather foolish thing to do."

"She did?"

"Yep, she told me to keep my head low and don’t make waves," Harry replied. "Not something that you’d expect out of the mouth of the Head of the House of Gryffindor, is it?"

Giggles started to bubble up from inside Hermione.

"What’s so funny about that?"

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione replied in between chortles. "What you said…reminded me…I don’t think Umbridge expected projectile vomit out of McGonagall’s mouth either."

Harry snorted, and laughed despite his mood.

oo00OO00oo

Harry and Hermione had braced for even more blatant Great Hall whispers and stares, now that he had a confrontation with Umbridge under his belt.

They were only partially correct.

There was a lot of staring, and whispering, but the stares were directed towards the Head Table, and the whispering involved retellings of how (and onto whom) the Transfiguration Professor had lost her lunch.

Dolores Umbridge was too busy basking in the glow of her Harry Potter slap-down to notice student reaction as she entered the Great Hall. But that didn’t mean that the well-developed reptilian portion of her brain was on holiday…it bore down on the fact that McGonagall wasn’t at the Head Table, and guided her towards a seat that had professorial buffers to each side.

The Hogwarts Potions Professor nodded as Umbridge sat down next to him. A half-hearted greeting was lost with the cheers and applause of students responding to their Transfiguration Professor’s grand entrance.

"It appears that the students are happy to see that Professor McGonagall has returned to health," Snape drolly said.

"That is one possibility," Umbridge was forced to admit.

When McGonagall was halfway towards the front, Snape pushed his chair away from the Head Table and stood.

"If you’ll excuse me, Professor Umbridge," he said.

The hooked-nose professor was gone before Umbridge could finish her half-formed protest. With his back now to the Head Table, Snape offered a slight tilt of his head as he passed his colleague in the aisle.

"I am pleased to see that you have recovered, Minerva," he said quietly.

"Thanks for keeping my seat warm, Severus," she replied with a smile.

True to her comment, McGonagall made a direct path towards the seat that Snape had just vacated.

"I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall," she said, grabbing the seat back. "But Professor Snape was sitting here."

Minerva smiled and gestured towards the Slytherin’s table, where their Head of House had joined his Firsties.

"Professor Snape often dines with his new First-Years at start of term," she replied. "I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind…do you?"

Umbridge pasted on a weakly manufactured smile. "Of course not, Professor."

"Excellent."

The Headmaster called down the table once McGonagall was settled.

"I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your noontime discomfort."

"Thank you, Albus," Minerva replied. "I am pleased as well, and…well, I am rather hungry, as you might expect."

Dumbledore nodded his head and smiled. "By all means, then…tuck in."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

The Transfiguration Professor turned back to her place setting. In response to some silent command, the evening meal appeared in front of her.

"Ah, liver…my favorite," she said with delight.

The DADA professor watched with ill ease as Minerva sliced off a piece of meat and poked it into her mouth.

"Delicious," she declared after swallowing. "And such a lovely looking color, too…matches your cardigan far better than that Shepherd’s Pie, don’t you think Delores?"

The turkey-necked witch shook her head and jowls. "I’m afraid that my appetite’s suddenly a bit off, if you’ll pardon me?"

"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that…hope that this isn’t an outbreak of Wizard’s Flu…would you like an escort to the Infirmary?"

"Erm, no…no thank you," Umbridge replied, as she backed away from her chair. "I’ll just retire for the night."

As Umbridge made her way towards the exit, a Second-Year Hufflepuff decided that it was a good time to call out to his friend sitting over at the Ravenclaw table.

The friend’s name was Ralph.

Given the flinch that this drawn-out enunciation provoked, Ralph quickly became a very popular student whenever Umbridge was within earshot.

oo00OO00oo

Dolores Umbridge’s hasty retreat from the Great Hall had placed Harry, Hermione and Ron in far better moods than they otherwise would have been as they made their way back towards the Gryffindor Common Room. But as they found their favorite seats by the fireplace and started in on homework, the reality of workloads during their O.W.L. year took hold. This was particularly true for Ron and Harry, who (thanks to a pointless row that Ron had instigated), could no longer rely upon Hermione's largesse when it came to assignments.

The three were about two hours into their efforts when Michelle Sachs, the Sixth-Year Gryffindor female prefect, came through the portal.

"It’s meeting time, Hermione," she announced.

"Oh, yes…thanks for the reminder, Michelle," Hermione replied. "I’ll just run my books up to the room…"

"No, that's okay," replied Michelle. "I'm fetching my own...we can stop by the library afterwards and study together."

"Okay."

When Hermione turned back towards the fireplace she discovered Ron’s attention more focused on Michelle’s backside than his Potions essay.

"Well, she had a nice growth spurt over hols, didn’t she?" Ron asked, to nobody in particular.

Harry had been tracking Hermione’s reaction to Ron’s reaction to the Sixth-Year, rather than the Sixth-Year herself.

"Didn’t actually notice…did she?"

"Michelle looks no taller than she did at the start of summer," Hermione said tersely.

"Thinking more outwards than upwards," Ron blurted.

Hermione growled, and swung her bookbag towards Ron’s side. Blocking the bludgeon with his forearm, he asked, "What…am I wrong?"

"Time and place, you berk," Harry hissed.

Hermione turned her ire from friend to best friend.

"So, Harry, are you suggesting that there is a right time and place to drool over your house mates?"

The Boy-Who-Lived pursed his lips and he flayed about for a safe recovery.

"Well, certainly not in the Common Room, or where it would upset others…"

"Yeah, Hermione," added Ron, "Tell us that Lavender and Parvati don’t gossip about boys in your dorm."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly as her mind raced. What would Ron’s reaction would be if he knew why Lavender and Parvati did not engage in boy talk? Why hadn’t Ron thought to she would be included in a conversation about boys? Was she that asexual in his eyes? At least it was Ron, not Harry…

"Boys!" she finally exclaimed in exasperation.

Ron grinned widely. "Gotta love us, right?"

Hermione responded with an incredulous stare, thinking, Actually, no…witches don’t have to love wizards…saw that first hand last night.

"So...where are you off to with Sachs?" Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It’s a meeting of all the female Prefects…good enough excuse?

Harry snorted. "Good enough for me, I'm about to head up to bed anyway."

Ron, however, was more persistent. "What's the meeting for?"

"Going over rules and beginning of term things, I imagine."

"Thought you had one of those last night," said Ron.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "So there's a lot of things to go over in the Rulebook."

"But the meeting's just for girl prefects?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine, Ron," she hissed. "You caught us out. We're really going to go down to the Prefect’s Bath, take of all of our clothes, rub hot oil over our bodies, then frolic in the bubble bath. "

Ron's eyes started to glaze over at the thought.

"Sounds rather sexy to me," he proclaimed.

"Ugh!" Hermione shouted. "Is that all you blokes think about? Sex?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"Not all the time, actually…there is Quidditch."

Hermione shouldered her bag, then threw her hands in the air.

"I give up!"

Harry decided that Hermione could use some help yanking on Ron’s chain.

"So Ron, when are you getting naked with the other male prefects and rubbing hot oil over their bodies?"

The look of horror on Ron's face made Harry wish (for once) that Creevy was around with his camera.

"That's just not right, mate," Ron finally stammered.

Hermione’s eyes brightened with appreciation for Harry’s slam. "Oh, I don't know,” she said with a smile. “Sounds rather sexy to me.”

Ron scrunched up his face. "That's it...I'm off to bed."

"Sweet dreams," Hermione called after him, as he ran up the stairs.

oo00OO00oo

Michelle Sachs and Victoria Ludhaven, the Gryffindor Seventh-Year female Prefect, returned to the Common Roon soon after Ron left. Hermione gave Harry a much more sincere wish for his pleasant dreams, and then followed the other two witches as they walked out of the portal.

The trip through Hogwarts’ halls was made quietly; there were plenty of questions that Hermione could have asked, but the hallways had ears. So instead of asking questions, Hermione mentally fumed over Ron’s boorish behavior and Michelle’s bouncing bits.

Standing at four-foot eight (142cm) in stocking feet, Michelle Sachs was one of the few upperclass Gryffindors (male or female) that was shorter than Harry. That said, nobody would have called the witch tiny, especially when she began to develop. By the end of Hermione’s Fourth Year, Michelle was a 34D, and from what she had seen the previous night, Michelle’s breasts had grown even bigger over the holidays. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the now Sixth-Year had cut her hair, and now sported a neck-exposing bob that only accentuated her curves further.

Gryffindor’s newest female Prefect wondered if the emphasis was intentional…Michelle had always seemed more interested in hiding her profile than exposing it with neckline-plunging robes. And now there was even more reason to give the Sixth-Year the benefit of the doubt…she didn’t have a boyfriend (that Hermione knew of), and was a Coven member. She therefore had to at least be sympathetic to lesbians…maybe one herself?

Hermione scolded herself for focusing on Michelle’s physical attributes, and for forgetting how the witch had acted the year previous. As a Fifth-Year Prefect, Michelle had done little to dissuade the House from its rude and isolating behavior towards the reluctant fourth Tri-Wizard Tournament Champion. She had also been one of the last Gryffindors to apologize to Harry for thinking that he had lied about entering his name into the Cup.

“But at least she did apologize,” Hermione noted. “Unlike the other Prefect…”

Seventh-Year Prefect Vicky Ludhaven had been just as aloof as Michelle at the start of Fourth Year. She eventually stopped acting as if Harry was a liar, and hadn’t been one of the Gryffindors to whisper and stare this year…but she also hadn’t come around to apologize, or admit that she’d acted badly.

As far as Hermione knew, the Seventh-Year Prefect had not said more than three words to Harry since the night of the Third Task. And until Vicky did come around and apologize to Harry, Hermione had no intentions of acting friendly towards the Seventh-Year…even with her new status as a Coven "sister."

“A Coven sister,” she noted with satisfaction, “whose tits weren’t any bigger than mine.”

Hermione shook her head…she was thinking about breasts again, in terms that would have shocked her friends had they been voiced. The Fifth-Year then thought about her alibi…“tits” was what her mum always called them. And the thought of her mum led Hermione’s thoughts back to an eventful mother/daughter conversation held at the start of hols.

Hermione had pulled her mum aside and asked her opinion about going topless at the beach that summer. Emily Granger was sympathetic. She rarely said, "Do as I say, not as I do,"…in fact, she said it about as often as she wore a top whilst sunbathing (i.e. almost never). But after promising to both help Hermione shop for a thong, and to help Hermione’s father accept the choice of attire, Emily asked her daughter about the kinds of things that teen-aged girls (whether muggle or magical) loathe to discuss with their parents…boys, and developing bodies, and peer pressure.

When Hermione expressed disappointment in the extent of her physical development, Emily had tried to be sympathetic. She noted that her own breasts weren’t large by any means, and neither were Hermione’s grandmothers on either side. But then Emily went off into "To Much Informationland" and declared that the size of her tits had never kept Hermione’s father from playing with them at every opportunity (as well as a few instances that were too public to be considered opportune). When Hermione protested, her mum steered back towards her daughter’s self-image issues, and proclaimed that, "the boys who can’t get beyond the bits weren’t worth the bother." She then asked whether Hermione’s two male friends were worth bothering about.

Hermione was quick to place Ron with the Neanderthals. As for Harry…Hermione wasn’t sure. He didn’t blatantly stare at witches like Michelle, but he had certainly crushed on Cho, and her breasts were perfect…but then again nearly everything about Cho was perfect. She was smart, had a hard body, and played Seeker just like Harry. How could Hermione blame him for his interest?

That question had lingered over Hermione’s head all summer long. It still hovered in Hermione’s thoughts, even as Victoria and Michelle led her into an unused classroom and magically sealed the door.

"Isn’t this supposed to be a meeting of all of the female prefects?" she asked.

The Seventh-Year held up her hand in a "wait" signal until she overlapped a silencing charm onto her Colloportus.

"It is, and we’re almost there," she replied, turning her attention from Hermione to Michelle. The Sixth-Year had her wand drawn, and was touching a series of points along the wall opposite the doorway. Once the sequence was complete, a six-foot wide portion of wall slid to one side.

"There are four hidden entrances into the Coven’s Lair," Michelle explained to Hermione, as they entered the opening. "Keeps the foot traffic down at any one entrance, bolsters plausible alibis."

"This entrance is used by Gryffindor Coven Members…if somebody spies you entering or leaving the classroom, just tell them that you wanted a quiet place to study, and that Michelle and I helped you find one….we’re running a bit late, so we’ll show you the touch sequence to open the passageway on the way out."

Hermione nodded as the other two witches lit their wand tips with magic. Once inside the hidden passage, she was shown the proper stone to touch so that the door closed behind them.

"It’s a bit redundant, given that there are wards on the entrance to the classroom door that I magically locked and silenced," Victoria stated. "The male repelling ward alone screens out half of the problems."

"But since there are witches who aren’t necessarily sympathetic to the cause…" added Michelle.

Hermione snorted. "Umbridge?"

Michelle nodded as they turned to face a set of upward leading stairs.

"So the classroom that is adjacent to the Coven’s Lair?" Hermione asked. "The one we used to meet with Professor Vector before we entered the Initiation Ceremony?"

"That’s Hufflepuff’s, normally," the Seventh-Year replied.

"Lucky witches," Michelle muttered. "Don’t always have to traipse up and down stairs…"

"Oh, stop whining, Michelle," said Vicky. "Looks like you put on a few pounds over summer…the exercise will do you good."

"Yeah, five pounds and it all went straight into my bra. You try carrying all of this extra weight up and down these steps."

The lanky, small-chested Seventh-Year shook her head. "Take the bad with the good, I guess," she muttered.

After climbing two full sets of stairs, the passageway came to a dead-end. Victoria placed a hand against the wall, and called out the password that she’d established for the year.

"Cramps."

Hermione thought the choice of passwords suited the Seventh-Year rather well.

Light spilled into the passageway when the secret door swung out. The three Gryffindors crawled on hands and knees through the last bit of tunnel, and onto the floor of the Coven’s Lair.

The main room looked quite different now that it was furnished, and its occupants dressed. The Gryffindor’s secret entrance was next to a magical version of a kitchenette, set in one corner of the room. The long wooden table that had been used for refreshments during the Ceremony was now pulled out from the wall, and had benches and chairs around it.

When Hermione pulled herself up to full height, she got her first view of the Lair’s other furnishings. Dark wooden desks were set up in front of the bank of the bookcases that held the Coven’s private library collection. Large fireplaces were set into every wall except for the one opposite, which hosted the doors that led into the lavatory and Private Dining Room. Between Hermione and those doors were groupings of comfortable leather chairs and sofas. The light-tan upholstery matched the warm earth tones found within the carpets and wall hangings. Hermione decided that this was fitting…they were neutral colors for what was essentially a fifth Common Room used by members of the all four Houses.

The other two Gryffindor prefects broke off to join small groups separated by year. Pansy Parkinson was on a sofa, hovering by the Seventh-Year Slytherin Prefect, while Hermione’s Ravenclaw counterpart was in the corner library.

Hermione walked over to Padma, whose back was turned as she browsed the Coven’s bookshelves. "Hey," she called out, "find anything interesting?"

The black-eyed witch turned and smiled. "I’m a Ravenclaw, Hermione…what do you think?"

"I think the Sorting Hat got it right," Hermione replied brightly. "The Fifth-Year Ravenclaw is studying in the library, while the Fifth-Year Slytherin is sitting back and watching how her Seventh-Year counterpart interacts with the Head Girl…very cunning. So where’s Hannah?"

Padma snorted. "Our Hufflepuff is in the Dining Room with her friend…no doubt proving her loyalty and working hard to get her Housemate off."

Hermione smiled. "Okay, so what should I be doing right then?"

"Ah, yes…Gryffindor," Padma replied with a giggle. "I imagine that a brave Gryffindor ought to be recklessly charging into the Dining Room to join Beck and Hannah."

Hermione squinted at Padma, thinking how best to respond. She reached for the black-haired witch’s hand and replied, "Okay, Gryffindors do lead the way…which means that others follow…coming with me?"

The Head Girl cut the bantering short when she stood and counted heads.

"We’re two short…Hey Tway, think you can resist temptation and fetch Nojon and your newbie from the Dining Room?"

"Sure thing, boss," replied Ann Smith, the Sixth-Year Hufflepuff Prefect.

Hermione wondered how the nicknames "Tway" and “Nojon” came about as Ann made her way through the Green Door. Cat-calls and whistles greeted Hannah and Becky when they emerged with faces flushed red (whether from embarrassment or passion, Hermione couldn’t tell). The Head Girl then told everyone to grab their bags and follow her into the lavatory.

Hermione’s fears that this was the start of some type of scatological hazing were quelled when the Seventh-Year Ravenclaw marched into an opened stall and pulled the toilet tank out from the wall. Behind the commode was yet another secret door, in front of stairs that led downward.

Wand tips were lit with Lumos spells as the group began their descent into the darkened passage.

"Think you can handle that spell, Granger?" snarked Pansy Parkinson, who had managed to queue up behind Hermione.

Hermione turned and smiled, as she wandlessly conjured bluebell flames and lit her wand tip.

"Thought we were supposed to be on a first name basis, Pansy?" she asked.

"Ooops, must have slipped my mind, Herm-o-ninny."

One of the Seventh-Years turned towards the two witches and hissed, "Shut-it …don’t need others in the castle tracking our movements by your bickering."

Hermione nodded and mouthed a "Sorry" to the older witch.

The witches traveled down too many stone steps to count, before the passageway leveled off and ran straight for several hundred feet.

"Taking your dinner underneath the Slytherin Table?" Pansy whispered along the way.

Hermione scowled. "What are you on about?"

"Thinking about how you’ll pay for my silence in Potions," the Slytherin hissed in reply. "Maybe I’ll make you wear a button that reads “I’m Draco’s Bitch”."

"Thought you had one that covered already," Hermione whispered nastily.

"Sssshhhh!" admonished the Head Girl.

Pansy waited a few minutes before starting back in.

"So why’d you nick the potion?" she hissed. "Stress of being Pot-head’s friend getting to you?"

Hermione fumed, but held her tongue.

"Weasley’s shagging so horrible that it gives you nightmares at night?"

Still, Hermione stayed silent. She had counseled Harry many times about not taking Draco’s bait, and she’d be damned if she ignored her own advice.

Two or three more nasty comments were hissed into Hermione’s ear before the passageway ended with an abrupt dead end. The Head Girl asked for a leg up, and became the target for a super-sized Leviosa by the Seventh-Year Slytherin behind her. The lead witch then used her lit wand-tip to inspect the stone ceiling, and touched a number of stones in a sequence that caused the roof to slide back. A rope ladder was found after a bit of reaching about, and used by the Head Girl to climb out of the tunnel. Once she cleared the opening the others followed.

The group had arrived in the small basement of a private residence. Boxes of clothing and personal items stood stacked against the wall, while bundles of herbs and potion ingredients hanged from the ceiling to dry. There was scant room to move, which unfortunately meant that Hermione couldn’t easily get away from Pansy’s creative, and often disgusting suggestions on how Hermione’s debt might be discharged.

The Head Girl climbed the stairs leading to ground level and knocked on the wooden door. A few moments later, the door opened, and the basement filled with light as a witch dressed in dark blue robes joined the group.

The witch’s name was Flo, as was made clear when the older Prefects greeted her warmly. The forty-something witch (or at least she appeared to be forty-something to Hermione’s eye) had a well-tanned face and a bright smile as she hugged each of the older students witches. When she reached the four new Prefects, Flo addressed each by name.

"Good evening, Sisters and welcome to the Coven," she said. "I hope that your trip here wasn’t too dank or dusty?"

The witch didn’t pause for answers before asking a second question. "So what do any of you four know about what’s to happen tonight?"

The four Fifth-Years traded nervous looks, and admitted that they didn’t know anything about the meeting.

"No ideas?" the witch asked incredulously. She turned to the other eight. "Don’t tell me you kept secrets any better than those who’ve gone before?"

"No, we’ve been good about it, honest," Michelle Sachs replied.

The blue-robed witch snorted. "Well never mind…the whats and wheres and hows will come out soon enough." She then turned to the Fifth-Years and announced, "I’ll be one of your guides over the next week…we’re going to have so much fun!"

"Next week?" asked Hannah. "But what about classes?"

"No worries for you Sister Hannah, there will be plenty of instruction for you over the next seven days."

Padma asked "How?" but was provided only a wave in response as their guide pulled a silver chain from her neck that held a box-shaped pendant. When she placed the necklace on the floor and touched it with her wand-tip, the box expanded into a full-sized trunk with two separate locks on the lid. A key fished from Florence’s robes opened the left-hand lock, and she lifted the lid to reveal a huge hourglass suspended in thin air.

"Bunch up girls, you know the drill," Flo said, as she carefully lifted the hourglass from the trunk. A long silver chain was attached to the hourglass, which Flo held out to the Head Girl.

"Lend a hand, will you Fanny?"

A snicker came from the prefects as the Head Girl admonished the group to "get friendly." Once the others were packed firmly into a tight circle, "Fanny" Edwards looped the silver chain over their heads and instructed those on the outside to grab hold.

"Make room in front," Flo instructed, as she closed the trunk, shrunk it down to pendant-size and slipped the necklace back over her head. She then stepped inside the chain with the Head Girl and lifted the hourglass.

Hermione had more of an idea on what was about to happen than the other three Fifth-Years, having had personal experience with a much smaller Time-Turner. She wondered whether the larger size was needed to accommodate a larger group of time-travelers, or to travel back further in time with each swing. The answer came when the guide yelled out "Here we go, then," and swung the hourglass in precisely one full rotation.

A light blue light enveloped the group for ten seconds of time. When the blue light cleared, Hermione looked up at the ceiling and noted with satisfaction that some of the hanging plants had gone missing, and that others weren’t as desiccated as they’d been a few moments before.

With a satisfied smile, Flo announced, "Welcome, Sisters, to last week!"

Whispered conversations broke out, as the older witches explained time-travel to the newbies (Hermione took care to play along). The Head Girl and guide reversed their "future" efforts…the younger witch gathered the silver chain while the older resized her trunk pendant and opened the left-hand lock, so that the magical object could be safely stored. A different key was then used for the right-hand lock. The second compartment was empty, save for a thin golden hoop that the guide removed and set to one side.

"So, are you ready for a crash course in mental magic?" she asked the Fifth-Years.

The four witches looked around the hand-dug basement. Hannah asked, "Isn’t it going to be a bit cozy for all of us to spend the week down here?"

Flo laughed. "It would be, if this were both our temporal and spatial destination." She pointed towards the trunk and added, "You can stow your book bags and any clothes that you care to shed in there."

"Clothes?" asked Hermione. "Is this going to be another naked ritual?"

The older witch smiled and shook her head. "Not unless you wish it to be, my dear."

"What’s the tide tonight?" asked one of the older Prefects.

"Heading towards a high high at 2230."

"Brilliant," the witch replied, as she stepped out of her shoes and socks.

"Tides?" asked Hermione. "So there’s a possibility of getting our feet wet?"

"Definitely."

"So…should we take our shoes and socks off, then?" asked Padma.

"Take off as much as you care to, luv," the older witch replied. "Just take care not to use your wands at the other end until you are told that it safe to do so."

Hermione noted that the older students were removing far more than socks and shoes.

"So drying charms are out, and if our robes get wet they’ll stay wet until we get the all clear to do magic?"

"That’s right."

Using an Impervious spell on her robes came to mind, but Hermione decided to follow the older Prefects’s lead, especially once Flo slipped her robes off and revealed that she hadn’t been wearing anything underneath.

Padma grabbed Hermione’s arm and whispered, "What are you going to do?"

"Nervous?" she whispered back.

Padma nodded.

Hermione shrugged as she unbuttoned her robes. "Not that different than last night, right?"

The Ravenclaw nodded again as she grasped the front of her opened robes. "You’re right, except…bit of a difference between stripping down in front of you three, and stripping down in front of all of the older Prefects…and what if there are men where we arrive?"

Hermione reached out and gave Padma’s hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"Not all of the older girls are stripping down starkers…shall we do bra and knickers, and take them off only if they get soaking wet and cold?"

Padma smiled, and squeezed her friend’s arm. "Thanks, Hermione."

"Where do we put our wands?" Hannah asked from across the room.

The question drew some snickering and lewd suggestions from the older girls, while Hermione noticed that Hannah had either stripped off her bra, or left it behind in the Coven’s Lair.

"Ah, yes…would you like me to stick you?" asked the guide.

The question drew more snickering.

"Pay them no mind," said the older witch, as she walked up to Hannah. "Right-handed, dear?"

When the Hufflepuff nodded, the witch took Hannak’s wand and said, "A bit too long, for your arm…turn to your left for me."

When Hannah made the requested quarter-turn the older witch placed her wand tip on the side of her right leg, just below her knickers, and dragged it down towards the knee and back again as she muttered a incantation.

"The muggleborns call this the Post-it Charm," she explained, as she stuck Hannah’s wand lengthwise against her thigh. "It’s a modified sticking charm that will hold your wand against your skin until you pull it off."

"And it can be reused?" asked Hermione.

When the older witch nodded, the muggleborn immediately asked to be taught the spell. The guide laughed, and said that there wasn’t time (which seems a bit off, given the fact that they’d just gained so much of it). She did, however, promise to teach the spell later as she cast it upon Hermione and Padma.

Once her wand was holstered against her bare thigh, Hermione tucked her shoes and clothing into her book bag, thankful for its expansion charm. She then stowed the bag into the trunk along with the others. Once the trunk lid was closed, and returned to its pendant size and location, the guide picked the thin golden hoop back off of the floor.

"How many of you new Prefects have used a portkey before?"

All four witches raised their hands.

"Good, then grab on…it’s time to move.

The four Fifth-Years gathered around the hoop with the other witches.

"How are we all supposed to fit around this?" asked Pansy.

The guide smiled. "Hook a finger, dear, and squeeze together. You’ve done it once, and if you aren’t all friends yet, you soon will be."

Hermione had made an effort to distance herself from Pansy, but in doing so ended up with a now-naked Cho Chang behind her, so that when they all squeezed in, the Ravenclaw’s breasts were mashed up against Hermione’s back. Was it a not-so-subtle reminder of the disparity in their bustlines?

She jerked a bit when Cho’s hand grabbed hold of her left thigh.

"Sorry," Cho muttered. "Lost my balance."

"It’s okay," Hermione replied, not bothering to look back.

“Sure she lost her balance,” Hermione thought. “Must be saving it all up for Quidditch.”

The sensation of a hook pulling behind her navel kept Hermione from other catty thoughts as the portkey activated.

oo00OO00oo

Hermione tried to replicate her only other portkey experience and stepped out of the portkey’s bright lights. But as the established arrival point was within the intertidal zone of a presently submerged beach, a running landing didn’t work very well. She fell awkwardly into the water and was promptly bowled over by a crashing wave.

The Fifth-Year Gryffindor Prefect gained her footing, spit out a mouthful of salt water, and tried to get her bearings. They were seaside, obviously. It was a moonlit night, so probably still in Britain. Waves were lapping up against thirty-foot high chalk cliffs about fifty yards in front of her. These cliffs formed an enclosed cove, roughly two hundred yards long.

Hermione was ready for the next wave, and held her ground as the water washed around her. She looked for the others and spied Padma and Hannah struggling to their feet. Meanwhile, all of the older Prefects (who had obviously been prepared for a water landing) were either laughing at the Fifth-Years or playing in the surf.

“I really hope that this isn’t the start of a week of hazing,” Hermione thought to herself.

A cry for help coming from Hermione’s left shook her out of her musing. She turned, and spied Pansy Parkinson about ten yards distant, thrashing about in the surf.

"Help!" she cried out. "I can’t swim!"

Hermione frowned as the Slytherin’s head went under. The water was only waist-deep, but that was more than enough to drown if someone panicked.

Years of swimming lessons in the backyard pool and beach hols in France kicked in, as Hermione dove towards Pansy and started to crawl stroke.

"Pansy," she called out, as the other witch’s head broke the water’s surface. "Calm down, you’re going to be alright."

"But…can’t swim…help!"

The Slytherin prefect grabbed hold of Hermione’s outstretched hand and tried to push her down into the water. It wasn’t an atypical reaction to somebody being rescued, and the muggleborn was ready for it…as her head was forced underwater she dropped her feet to the sandy bottom, pushed into Pansy’s midsection, and hoisted the Slytherin’s body up onto her shoulder.

"Pansy!" she shouted, once her head cleared the surface. "It’s shallow water…you can stand in it!"

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but the Pansy eventually calmed down enough to allow herself to be set feet first back into the water. As promised, her head remained above water when her feet hit the surf-covered sand.

An incoming wave spooked the Slytherin when it splashed against her back, and she clamped her arms tightly around Hermione’s neck.

"I’ve got you," the Gryffindor said, wrapping her arms underneath Pansy’s back and legs.

Hermione cradled Pansy against her chest and walked towards the shallows. When the water level dropped below her knees, she gently dropped Pansy’s legs, but kept her arm firmly wrapped around the other witch’s waist.

"You saved my life," Pansy sputtered, as they walked side-by-side towards shore.

"Not even close to a life-debt, Pansy," Hermione replied. "Let’s just say we’re even from Potions, okay?"

The Slytherin witch shuddered as water evaporated off of her bared skin.

"Okay," she finally replied, with chattered teeth.

Hermione smiled, thinking of the sight they must be making as they approached the base of the cliffs. What would Harry say if he saw her hugging Pansy Parkinson’s side, both dressed in sopping-wet, nearly transparent bras and knickers?

"Alright there, you two?" asked their guide, as she waded towards them.

Hermione nodded.

“Yeah,” she thought. “That’s exactly what Harry would say.”

5. So Now That You're a Camper (Part 1)

A Coven of Prefects – Harmony Version

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo

Chapter 5 - So Now That You're a Coven Camper... (Part One)

That the beach that the witches had portkeyed to wasn’t the final destination became clear once Hermione heard a very passable imitation of Hagrid's voice.

"Fifth 'ears, o'er 'ere...Fifth 'ears, o'er 'ere...no more than eight to a boat."

The Gryffindor prefect turned towards the Head Girl's voice and spotted two house-elf piloted Zodiaks "motoring" up over the breaking waves. Wind-resistant, water-wicking robes were passed out that kept the witches cozy as the small inflatable watercraft carried the thirteen witches to a single-masted sloop anchored four miles offshore. Once aboard, a foul-mouthed wizard captain ordered the house-elves to make sail, and ordered the witches below decks. Sixty minutes later (travel times are always short when house-elves can fill the sails with magic), the sloop's hatch was opened and the witches were allowed back outside.

They had entered a small cove guarded by an imposingstone fortification on cliff’s edge. Those Prefects old enough to disapparate found their own way to shore, leaving Hermione and the other Fifth-Years to once again board an inflatable boat that put them ashore. The house-elf steered straight for a small beach at the base of the cliff and the Coven guide led the younger witches to steps that ran from the base of the bluff upon to the top of the fortress walls. Halfway up the stairs, a hidden doorway was opened for their use, and the witches were led into a torch-lit hallway.

“This used to be a muggle fort…now it’s a wizard’s inn,” Flo noted along the way. “We’ll be here for the rest of the time-turned week.” She then showed the four Fifth-Years to a small alcove, where two rooms with opened doors faced each other.

“You’ll bunk two to a room. Keep the robes…they’re your camp uniform for the week. The lav is down that hall, the dining room is two levels up, and breakfast is at eight. Good night.”

As the guide left, Hannah asked, “So how should we split up?”

They sat there for a moment in silence, before Pansy sneered at the other three and entered one of the rooms. "Figure it out yourselves," she called over her shoulder.

As the Slytherin crawled into a bed the other three looked at each other.

“Reckon she doesn’t care whom she bunks with, then?” Hannah asks.

Padma nodded. Decide using “Rock, Parchment, and Wand?”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

Hermione lost.

Hermione entered Pansy’s room with slumped shoulders, closed the door, and hung the white water-wicking robe that she'd been wearing upon a hook.

It was going to be a long time-turned week.

oo00OO00oo

It was one of those semi-conscious early-morning dreams that incorporates "reality" far more than anything that sprung from REM-sleep.

Hermione had again popped out of nowhere over a moonlit beach and begun falling. But rather than appear five-feet above the waves, she was free falling from a point hundreds of feet above the water. Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs as she fell...and fell...and fell...and suddenly she was safe. She was safe because Buckbeak-riding Harry Potter had caught her out of mid-air, and swung her around so that she was sitting behind him, both mounted on the hippogriff's back.

As Buckbeak pulled out of his intercepting dive and began to flap his wings, Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's chest and pulled him close. Her hardened nipples pressed against his back as her crotch ground up against the nexus of Harry's bum and Buckbeak's back. There was contact of flesh against flesh and feather...so Hermione wasn't wearing any clothing, and Harry wasn't wearing any clothing, and Buckbeak wasn't wearing any clothing (not that he would be normally).

On cue the hippogriff turned sharply, and Hermione's hand accidentally-on-purpose fell into Harry's lap...and onto his erection. She pulled her hand back in shock, muttered apologies, and prayed that the dream wouldn't end there. But of course it didn't...Harry (who hadn't spoken a word the whole time) smiled, and reached for the offending hand. He brought Hermione's fingertips to his lips and kissed them tenderly, before dragging them back down his chest towards the place they both wanted her fingers to be.

Buckbeak altered course one final time, and began climbing towards the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sheltered beach. Hermione's fingers wrapped around the head of Harry's shaft, then slipped down to the base with one smooth stroke. Sensing room for than a single-handed grip, left hand took hold as well. Harry gasped as Hermione began to stroke him lovingly. Leaning forward into his mount, he reached back with both hands and took hold of Hermione's bared flanks. His arse ground back against her mound, as he pulled her forward with his fingers.

The hippogriff took the two lovers to his massive eyrie (constructed with saplings instead of twigs. Harry and Hermione swung their legs off of Buckbeak's back and landed in a mass of silky-soft hand-sized pinfeathers. They waved as their steed flew off into the night, then melted into the tightest of embraces. Hermione and Harry both knew what they wanted to do (shag) and when they wanted to do it (as soon as possible). But where? A still-silent Harry broke the embrace and started to lead Hermione towards the center of the nest, where the cushion of feathers was thickest. But Hermione shook her head, and led Harry in a different direction.

It was Harry's turn to ride behind her.

The wall of interlocked branches that formed the seaward side of the eyrie was just the right height for Hermione to bend over. So she did. Hermione's breasts grazed against the interwoven foliage as she propped her elbows against the edge and wiggled her bum in open invitation. Harry didn't need to be asked twice. A lust-filled growl escaped his lips as he slipped behind Hemione, positioned the head of his shaft against her swollen lower lips, and penetrated deeply. It was now Hermione's turn to gasp, as she grabbed hold of the nest's edge and pushed back into his thrusts.

"Oh Harry! Oh Harry! Oh Harry! "

The enormity of their love and passion was heightened by their surroundings. As Harry loved her from behind, Hermione could look out onto the moonlit sea, and hear the crashing waves, and smell the salty air, and feel the cool breeze on her bared skin. She was convinced that she was with the perfect lover, at the perfect time, and in the perfect place...

Until Pansy Parkinson started to pee.

Hermione groaned in frustration as dream Harry and their dream shag in the dream location faded away was replaced by the early morning reality of an unshared bed within a shared bedroom. She was laid out on her belly, with only a thin sheet to disguise the fact that her right hand was buried in between her legs. Hoping desperately that her temporary roommate was focused more on her aim than anything else, Hermione slowly and carefully slipped her hand out of her knickers and slipped it to her side. It was only then that she opened her eyes, and found herself nearly face-to-face with a smiling witch who was squatting over a magical chamber pot.

"Sorry," Pansy said impishly. "Couldn't hold it any longer, and there isn't much room to set the pot in between our beds."

With a frown, Hermione replied, "You do know that there is a proper loo just down the hall, right?"

The Slytherin's grin grew wider as she finished her business and slipped her knickers back up.

"Of course I know," she said. "Just couldn't tear myself away from your performance."

"What performance?"

Pansy's eyes lit up as she bent down and placed her hands on the side of Hermione's bed. As she thrust her bum back and began to bounce, saying, "Oh Harry! Oh Harry! Oh Harry!..."

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

It was going to be a long time-turned week.

oo00OO00oo

Too embarrassed to stay in the room with Pansy, Hermione grabbed her wand and robe and headed for the lavatory. It seemed a bit strange not to have to a bath attached to their room, given the luxuriousness of their accommodations, but then the wizard-run inn did cater to a world in which magical chamber pots were the preferred nighttime means for relieving oneself.

Hermione raised an eyebrow when she entered the lavatory and spotted a bidet mounted on the wall next to the toilet. She was no stranger to their use, having gone on many Continental holidays with her parents. But they had always been in muggle locations...Hermione had never seen one within the wizarding world. Of course, her experiences as a witch had been limited to Britain, and bidets were rare within muggle Britain, so maybe that explained it.

Her curiosity piqued, Hermione gave the fixture a closer look, once she was finished with the toilet. There was no doubt that it was a magical bit of plumbing...rather than just having knobs for hot and cold water, or to direct the spray of water,there were a dozen different levers, as well as a full panel of buttons whose labels ranged from logical to befuddling. It was easy enough to suss-out the buttons pushed based on whether the user was male or female, but what did it mean to have those gender choices applied to the bidet water itself?

"Don't fancy experimenting when I'm squatting over it," Hermione muttered. "Wonder if this comes with an instructional manual."

"Is Miss needing some help with the bee-day?"

Hermione startled, pulled her Post-it charmed wand from her thigh, turned, and aimed turned towards the question's source...a house elf dressed in a red tunic emblazoned with gold lions.

"Eeep!" the house-elf chirped, before popping away.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione exclaimed. Not wishing to scare off the oppressed hotel staff, she holstered her wand against her bare thigh and called out, "Hello? I'm sorry to have scared you, could you please come back?"

A nervous looking house-elf popped into the corner of the lavatory and crouched behind the toilet tank.

"Does Miss need Tizzy?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry that I frightened you. Do you work here Tizzy?"

The house-elf nodded vigorously. "Tizzy be bonded to Master Doe-Tell's family all her life."

Hermione bit off a scowl, and wondered whether one of the knit caps that she had stashed in her book bag would fit the house-elf's head.

"Master doe-tell...do you mean the maitre d'hotel?"

The house-elf frowned. "Tizzy is sorry that Tizzy spoke wrong. Tizzy must be punished!"

Hermione reached out and stopped the house-elf from slamming the toilet seat down onto its head.

"Please, you didn't do anything wrong...you don't have to punish yourself!" Hermione pleaded.

The house-elf looked up at the witch with tears in her eyes.

"You don't want to punish Tizzy?"

"No, I don't," Hermione replied gently. "Your French was perfectly understandable."

The house-elf's eyes watered. "Miss is the most kind guest....what can Tizzy be doing for Miss?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could explain how this bidet works."

The house-elf nodded her head vigorously, and moved to the young witch's side. After a somewhat embarrassing series of questions and comments, a programmed sequence of events was "dialed" into the magical controls. Hermione was about to press the "start" button when she noticed that the house-elf was still by her side.

"Erm...thank you very much for your help, Tizzy...I think that I can take it from here."

The house-elf nodded and popped away after instructing Hermione to call whenever she needed assistance.

In anticipation of bidet settings that would switch from “scourgify” to “stimulate,” Hermione cast locking charms against the door, and silencing charms against all four walls, the floor and ceiling. She then tested the strength of the silencing charms during a powerful water-aided orgasm.

Once the bidet helped Hermione attain the sexual release that had been delayed by Pansy's antics, a second round of cleaning was performed. A content smile crept onto the witch's face as her bits were then "hand-dried” by magic. This smile was wiped off of Hermione’s face when she heard a loud knock and a catty question.

“So now that you’ve gotten off, can you get off the bidet so somebody else can use the lav?”

Flushed with embarrassment, Hermione grabbed her robe, pocketed her knickers, and canceled the locking and silencing charms. Standing on the other side of the door was a grinning Sixth-Year prefect.

“Sorry if I was too loud,” Hermione muttered.

“No worries, Gryff…couldn’t hear a thing?”

“Then how…”

“Lucky guess,” the Slytherin replied. “Should we start a wank schedule, then? Or maybe keep the door open so others can use the loo while you squirt and squat?”

“Erm, no, that’s alright,” Hermione stammered, her face flushed with embarrassment. She slipped past the leering Slytherin and did a mini- “Walk of Shame” down the hall.

It was going to be a long time-turned week.

oo00OO00oo

Hermione escaped up to ground level, where she found a stack of newspapers sitting on an empty reception desk. They were all dated Wednesday, August 27, consistent with the notion that they had traveled back in time exactly one week. Hermione also noted that the stack included both muggle and magical dailies, written in both English and French. Having already read the Daily Prophet for that day whilst at Grimmauld Place, Hermione grabbed the wizarding version of Le Monde and stepped through a glass patio door out into a small garden.

The ground-floor of the inn was housed within a stone-walled building that sat within the center of the fortress’s footprint. Many of the perimeter battlements had been converted into raised planting beds, and filled with a variety of flowers in full bloom. When Hermione walked to the edge of one of these waist-high granite walls, she spied the small, sheltered beach that they had landed on the night before. Out beyond the crashing waves, she spotted a second beach thatstretched out along a distant shoreline.

“Have you guessed where you’re at yet, dearie?”

Hermione turned and found herself in front of an elderly woman who wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and carried a basket full of freshly-cut flowers. Taking note of the flag that was flopping in the wind over the woman’s shoulder, Hermione asked, “Channel Islands?”

“Well, done…you must be the new Ravenclaw prefect…or perhaps a muggle-born?”

“Gryffindor, actually, but yes, my parents are both muggles.”

The woman nodded as she shifted the basket handle into the crook of her arm and held the other out for a handshake.

“I’m Helene Brixton, and welcome to The Inn at Fort Quesnard.”

“Hermione Granger…pleased to meet you.”

“Have you been to the Channel Islands before?”

“No…I recognized the coat of arms on the flag. Which island is this?”

“We’re on the western tip of Aldernay. That’s Normandy over there, but you probably already knew that.”

“Lovely flowers…are they from your garden?”

“Yes, they are,” the woman said with pride. “I was about to set them out inside…could I get you some tea, or coffee?”

“Erm, no thanks, I can wait until breakfast…if that’s not far off?”

The older woman looked at her watch. “Thirty minutes, or so…why don’t you join me as I put these in water?”

Hermione agreed, and followed the woman back into the stone building. Along the way, and during the flower arranging, the owner of the inn told her some of the history of both the fort and the Islands.

Despite their proximity to the northern coast of France, Aldernay and the other Channel Islands had been under muggle British control for hundreds of years, save for a short period of time during World War II. The original fort had been constructed in 1855 to defend British control of the island chain. When Nazi Germany defeated France in 1940, Churchill and his muggle government decided to abandon the fort and evacuate the islands. But before the muggle Germans could arrive and replace nineteenth-century cannons with modern anti-aircraft batteries, Grindelwald’s forces swept in and commandeered the facility. Strong muggle-repelling wards kept the occupation forces from realizing exactly what they were missing, as the German wizards established a magical surveillance post.

Helene Brixton (nee Caldwell) was a muggle-born witch who had been born and raised in Aldernay. The Hufflepuff had just finished her second year, and was home on hols with her muggle family when the evacuation orders came. The young witch helped her family escape to England, then helped them return to their home at war’s end in 1945, right after her graduation. She was the first to notice that the fort located just down the road from her parent’s house had gained some magical protections…the German wizards had abandoned their facility in haste, and hadn’t bothered to bring down the wards, or remove the extensive magical modifications that they had made to the structure.

Sensing an opportunity to live within the wizarding world without leaving her island home, the young witch proposed that the French Ministry of Magic allow the fort to be converted into a holiday resort. This idea found favor with the beleaguered and busy French, especially when the muggle British decided not to garrison troops there after the war.

When Hermione expressed some confusion as to why the French Ministry would have authority over the fort, the Inn owner explained that the Channel Islands were beyond magical sensor range of the British Ministry of Magic. Since keeping the magical world secret was far more important than mirroring muggle political boundaries, and since the Channel Islands were within sensory range of mainland France, the ICW had awarded magical jurisdiction of Aldernay and the other islands to the French Ministry of Magic.

Hermione was quick to think of Gibraltar and Hong Kong as other examples where the reach of muggle Britain likely extended beyond the Ministry of Magic’s purview. The inn owner confirmed these guesses, then went on to extol the virtues of living under “foreign” magical jurisdiction. Voldemort’s First War had never touched the Islands, and the French Ministry of Magic had a much more relaxed attitude towards not only homosexuality, but to the use of Obliviate and Legimens spells. This was why "Camp Coven" had been held at the Inn for over thirty years, despite the effort required to secretly transport the female prefects away from Hogwarts.

The Coven members were introduced to the staff of "Camp Coven" as they dined on a breakfast mix of British and French cuisine. Aside from Flo (who was both the Transportation and Camp director), there were witches with specific expertise in Occlumency and the Obliviate spell. Breakfast was followed by a lecture/workshop titled “Time Travel for Dummies.” The talk laid down the ground rules for time traveling, and instructed the students on how to avoid paradox. Schedules were handed out after the lecture ended, and the prefects were divided by year. The Sixth and Seventh Year Prefects would spend the rest of the first day reviewing their Occlumancy and Obliviate skills with the respective instructors, while the Fifth-Years undertook an extended orientation session with the Camp Director.

Once the group broke up, Flo gathered the new prefects and led them in a tour of the Inn's facilities. Along the way, she entertained questions.

"Are we going to have to wear these white robes all week long?" Pansy asked.

"Your nardy is your Camp uniform," Flo said with a smile. "So the answer is yes, unless you want go skyclad."

"Nardy?"

"Skyclad?"

Flo smiled. They were the same questions every year.

"Your hotel robes are called“nardies,” after the Inn's name. As you discovered last night, they're lightweight, wind-resistant, and charmed to keep you warm and dry. There's really no need to wear anything else, as you'll be restricted to the Inn and its private beach, and only come in contact with other Coven members. And that's why skyclad is also an option."

"A clothing-optional resort?" Hermione asked with a smile.

Flo nodded. "Optional indeed. Nobody will force you to go skyclad, but it is important for you new Coven members to get used to casual nudity even if you stay robed...once you return to Hogwarts, you'll find that the Coven's Lair is also...as you say...clothing-optional."

"Nothing optional about clothing in the Private Dining Room," Padma whispered to Hermione.

When the tour was finished Flo shepherded the Fifth-Years into a small library and sat then in a close circle.

“So now that you know about the Inn, I want to know more about all of you,” she said. The older witch passed out pieces of parchment, adding, “I’d like each of you to answer the questions that I’ve passed out."

Hermione looked down at the list of questions and frowned.

“Will our responses be considered confidential?” she asked.

Pansy snorted. “What’s a matter, Granger…to embarrassed to admit that your favorite hobby is mentally reorganizing the library shelves?”

“Hush!” admonished the older witch. “First names, ladies, and…yes, Hermione, what happens here in Aldernay stays in Aldernay.”

“Oh, darn,” snapped Pansy. “And I was so looking forward to recounting last night before a full audience.”

“What part?” asked Padma. “When a Gryffindor saved you from drowning in four feet of water?”

“No, the part where that Gryffindor was fluffing her muff and moaning out Scarhead’s name in bed.”

“Miss Parkinson!” admonished the older witch.

“What happened to first names, Flo?” the Slytherin shot back.

“If you can’t behave in the spirit of the Coven’s sisterhood, then…well, it’s not too late to arrange for your Slytherin badge to be delivered to a different witch.”

“Wouldn’t that create a paradox?” Hermione asked.

“No, it’s been done before,” the older witch replied. “So, am I clear, Pansy?”

“Crystal.”

“Well, you can go first, then.”

“Fine,” the Slytherin snapped back. She looked down at the card, and barked out rote replies in a robotic tone of voice.

“My name is Pansy Parkinson. I was born in Lincolnshire. I have one older brother. His name is Edward. My best friend is Tracy Davis. My favorite food is beefsteak. My favorite class is potions. My favorite hobby is raising crups. Something that the others won’t know about me is that…my favorite color is yellow. There, I’m done.”

Pansy’s “secret” caused Padma to snort, Hermione to smile, and Hannah to cough out the word “Hufflepuff!”

“Erm, lovely, dear…thank you,” said the discussion leader. She then nodded towards Hermione and smiled.

“Oh, my turn, right,” the brown-haired witch said nervously. “Well, My name, of course, is Hermione Granger. I was born and raised in Weybridge…that’s in Surrey…I’m an only child, and my best friend is…well, if I had to choose, I’d say that my best friend is Harry Potter.”

You mean, “Oh, Harry?” teased Pansy.

Hermione frowned, but continued without a rebuttal. “My favorite foods are raw veggies, my favorite hobby is reading, and something that the others won’t know about me is that…hmmm…I once helped smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts.”

“A dragon?” asked Padma. “Oh, that’s a story I need to hear.”

“Perhaps later,” said Flo with a nod. “I should have been clearer about favorite hobbies, though…anything besides reading, dear?”

Hermione bit her lower lip, in thought, and then said, “Well, I did do a lot of knitting over the summer.”

“Really?” Flo asked. “I love to knit as well. What were you making?”

“Hats,” Hermione said brightly. “I actually have some with me,” she added, as she reached for her bag and retrieved two small caps.

“Oh, they’re lovely,” said Flo, as she admired the tight knots. “Are they for infants?”

“No, for House Elves,” Hermione replied reflexively.

There was a moment of silence. Padma and Hannah looked down towards the ground, as if they were embarrassed for their fried. Pansy, in contrast, stared straight at Hermione and began laughing uproariously.

“Ha, ha, ha…still trying to SPEW something that will liberate the house elves! Oh, that’s hilarious!”

The group leader frowned, and asked for clarification. Hermione was perfectly happy to get up onto her soapbox as if it were a Sunday in Hyde Park, and to preach on the evils of house elf slavery. That led into some righteous indignation about the fact that they were staying at an Inn that enslaved a house elf, and a scathing commentary that asked why a Coven that worked so hard against female oppression would tolerate house elf enslavement.

The older witch patiently listened to Hermione’s sermon, then offered a calm, but devastating rebuttal that brought Hermione to tears. Regardless of right or wrong, house elves needed to magically bond with a house or family. If they didn’t, they would be driven insane within two years, and die within three. Dobby was either an exception that proved the rule, or had secretly bonded to Harry Potter. Hermione hadn’t bothered to interview the other house elves and collect the data needed to make a rational assessment. And she had decided that she knew what was best for the house elves despite their wishes, and despite their very natures…just like Dumbledore decided what was best for lesbian witches when he messed with their minds and “cured” them of their homosexuality.

Hermione was crushed, embarrassed, and, well…extremely depressed. She had worked so hard over the past year championing a misguided cause that would irreparably harm the beings she thought she was going to save. She had been so certain…and now shown to be so foolish. And naïve. And arrogant in her self-righteousness.

The bushy-haired witch silently muddled through the balance of the day, making no effort to stand up to Pansy’s taunting, or to keep her from spreading the news to the older Prefects. She skipped dinner and hid in her room, too ashamed to show her face even when “Muggle Game Night” was announced as that evening’s entertainment.

Pansy returned to their shared room later that evening in high spirits…not because she enjoyed playing horrid muggle parlor games, but for the unfettered access she would have to crush what was left of Hermione’s self-esteem. Her Gryffindor roommate was feigning sleep, but that didn’t keep Pansy from loudly asking whether she was going to dream about humping liberated house-elves on hippogriffs.

Twenty minutes into the assault, Pansy stopped long enough to answer the door. Seeing that it was the Seventh-Year Slytherin prefect made her even happier…verbal assaults were always better when provided in stereo. But her attitude soon changed when the older witch stopped Pansy’s snark with the wave of a wand and a Petrificus spell.

Hermione lifted her head out from underneath her pillow and turned to give the Slytherin a querying look.

“Coven comes first,” the Seventh-Year said with a shrug. “Pansy needs to learn that before the week is out.”

“Erm, thanks,” Hermione said.

The Slytherin nodded as she reached for the robe that hung by Hermione’s bedside.

“C’mon…up, Hermione,” she said, as she placed a room key into the pocket of the robe that she held out open. “We’re reshuffling room assignments.”

“What?”

“You’re going to bunking with Padma,” the Slytherin stated. “That will allow me to, erm…help…Pansy re-educate herself.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but didn’t dare ask what the reeducation process might involve.

“Also helps out Nojon,” the Slytherin noted.

It took Hermione a few seconds to remember that “Nojon” was Becky’s nickname.

“You bunked with Becky last night?”

The Slytherin smiled. “She’s a sweet girl, but I’ll wager that Hannah puts up with her snoring better than I can.”

“Are…are you sure?”

“Yeah, get dressed.”

Hermione bit her lip, embarrassed that she was only wearing knickers underneath her sheets. But the Slytherin wasn’t moving, so she sucked up her courage, pulled back the sheets, and stood up. The older witch helped Hermione slip into the “nardy,” pointed her towards the opened door, and gave her bum a slap.

“Off you go, then.”

Hermione jumped at the spank. “Thanks, erm…’Itty,’ isn’t it?”

The Slytherin laughed as she hefted her robe-covered D-cup breasts.

“Yeah…isn’t it obvious?”

Hermione smiled weakly and slipped out into the hallway. As she crossed over towards what had been Hannah’s room, she heard a moan coming from down the hall. Hermione turned, and spied Hannah Abbott pinned up against the hallway wall by her lover’s body. Robes were opened and hands and lips were roaming over exposed flesh.

Had she felt more up to it, Hermione would have yelled for the two Hufflepuffs to “Get a Room!” Or, she might have stayed and watched, wondering what it would be like if she were Hannah and Becky was Harry. But instead, she slipped quietly into her new room without the other two witches noticing. Once the door was closed she turned and leaned back against it.

A voice from inside the room called out, “Hey, Roomie!”

Hermione turned and smiled at Padma, who was sitting on her bed, reading a book. She sat on the bed opposite and asked, “So is this bed mine, then?”

Padma nodded. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,” Hermione replied. She then stood back up, slipped off her robe, and turned down the sheets.

“Well, it’s been a long day,” she stated, looking down towards her knickers. Deciding not to slip them off, she slipped under the covers.

“Almost twice as long as normal, huh?” Padma asked with a grin. "So you've finished the reading for tomorrow already?"

Hermione nodded. "I skimmed over it...it's material that I've covered before, so..."

"You've already learned Occumency?"

"No...I know how to meditate," Hermione replied. "That's something muggles do too, you know."

"So when did you learn how to meditate?"

"Started when I was seven."

"Seven years old? Why? How?"

Hermione snorted as she thought back. "Well, my mum always said that my brain liked to run in seven different directions all at the same time, and that my mouth was never far behind. It was like I couldn't talk fast enough, and I'd let new thoughts and new observations distract me. It was driving my parents batty, so they gave me a book on meditative techniques, and enrolled me in some classes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"And it made a difference?"

"What, can't you tell?" Hermione asked with a tired smile. "If you think I'm bad now, you should have seen me back then."

Padma nodded, and closed the book.

"Right, so thanks for the warning...I won't be out of sorts when you test out sooner than I do."

"Why would you...it's not like we're in competition, right?"

Padma snorted, and chose not to go down that path.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Padma?”

“Are you okay?”

“Better now, thanks…didn’t fancy putting up with Pansy for the whole week.”

“It doesn’t matter, you know.”

“What doesn’t?”

“That you made a mistake…everybody does.”

“But…thanks, but S.P.E.W. was more than a simple mistake.”

“Perhaps, but…it’s what you do after the mistake is revealed that matters.”

Hermione stared at Padma for a moment. What her new roommate said made sense, but it needed time to sink in.

“Thanks for everything, Padma.”

The Ravenclaw smiled, and reached across to grab Hermione’s sheet-covered arm. “You’re welcome.”

When Hermione saw Padma's eyes dart towards the chamber pot, she asked, "Shall I get the lights, and give you a bit of privacy?"

Padma smiled. "No, you're fine...I was trying to decide between that or making a trip down the hall to test drive that bidet."

Hermione smiled, in spite of her moodiness.

"Did you see how Flo forgot to show us some of the more...stimulating settings?"

"No, I didn't," Padma said with interest. "Care to share?"

"Sure, it's the least I can do for my new roomie."

Padma smiled and slipped out of bed. She looked at the door and asked, "Next question...am I brave enough to walk down the hall in only my knickers?"

Hermione giggled. "Would your brave Gryffindor sister have that problem?"

"You tell me."

"I thought you didn't want to hear any of the sordid details about Parvati's love life."

"True enough." After a moment's pause, Hermione whipped back the sheets and asked, "Would it be any easier if I joined you?"

"No, that’s alright…”

"C'mon, Padma," Hermione said, as she grabbed her roommate’s hand and led her towards the door. She then opened the door, and stuck her head out for a look.

"Oh, good," she said. "We won't have to step over Becky and Hannah to get there."

Padma was about to ask for a clarifying statement when they both distinctly heard the phrase, "Yes, Mistress," coming through the door of what was now Pansy's and Itty's bedroom.

Hermione and Padma covered their mouths with their hands and dashed down the hall to the loo.

Not so that they could pee or use the bidet, but so that they could laugh out loud without fear of discovery.

oo00OO00oo

Hermione's dreams that night involved much more humiliation than hippogriffs, and the thought of having to face Flo, Pansy and the other Coven members soured her mood the next morning. Not even the forced apology that Pansy delivered under Itty's wary eye could brighten her spirits.

It took the start of the Fifth-Year's Occlumency training to pull Hermione out of her morning funk.

"Right, so first things first," their instructor stated, once the four witches found her ersatz classroom. "My job is to teach you how to keep a secret...both the Coven's, and your own. Unfortunately, this means that by the end of the week, I'm going to end up knowing all of your most embarrassing, humiliating, pervy secrets. It can't be helped...I'll need to jump into your minds to test your defenses, and until those shields are developed, you'll be broadcasting your deepest and darkest thoughts."

"Erm, why would we do that?" asked Hannah.

"Because you won't be able to help it," the instructor explained. "Already, as a result of my warning, each of you are dwelling over something embarrassing in your past, or fretting over whether I'll suss out who makes your knickers moist. It's only natural...if I tell you don't think of something, you'll do it, until you learn not to."

There was silence in the room, as each of the new prefects sorted through their mental closet for skeletons...it really was a natural response.

"Now, some of you are going to think that this isn't fair. Well, it isn't...I can read your minds, but you can't read mine. And that's bad, because it's making all of you tense and nervous, and you can't worry about being tense and nervous and learn how to meditate. So I'm going to help level the playing field."

The instructor pulled the sheet off from a medium-sized pensieve that sat on a table in the center of the room. She explained what it was, and how it functioned, and then made a provocative request.

"Okay, so here's what we're going to do...each of you gets to ask me to show you a personal memory. Any thing that you want to see, just tell me, and I'll pop it into the pensieve and project it."

The four students looked at the instructor as if she were crazy. Or an exhibitionist. Or both.

"Are you serious?" asked Hermione.

"Absolutely...and just for asking, you get to go first."

Hermione's eyes went wide and she blushed. She didn't want to pry into this woman's life, but if it was part of her teaching methods....

As Hermione fretted over what the instructor would see within her brain, she realized what kind of memory would truly level playing field when it came to her most embarrassing moment.

"Erm, hope that this isn't too personal..."

"No worries, dear...I've done this over twenty years of Coven camps, so I've probably already heard it and shown it before."

"Right then....show us your most embarrassing moment."

"Need to be a little more specific."

"Have you ever been caught out masturbating?"

Pansy snorted. Padma took in a sharp breath. Hannah gulped, as the question caused her to think of her own response (and realize that it was now at risk of exposure).

The instructor smiled. "Well, you don't pull punches, do you?" But then, without any hesitation, she extracted a silvery string of mist from her temple and dumped into the basin.

Ten seconds later, the Fifth-Years were watching the projected image of a young witch in the shower as she tickled her cervix with four fingers and a thumb. The image was actually a bit arousing for Hermione...at least until the witch was caught out by a group of older girls and teased mercilessly.

When Pansy went next and asked if the instructor had ever been spanked, Hermione wondered if the other requests would be just as self-referential as hers was. There was plenty more wondering when the answer was yes, and the memory was shown. Instead of seeing a child bent over a parent's lap, they watched with shock and awe as their adult instructor’s arse was flogged raw during an intense BDSM scene with a dragonskin-clad dominatrix.

Padma went next, and asked about being caught out naked in public. The instructor laughed and said that she had plenty of memories of public nudity...even public sex (thereby confirming Hermione's suspicions that their instructor was an exhibitionist). When asked for specificity, Padma narrowed it down to an embarrassing, unintentional exposure. She was rewarded with the memory of a Sixth-Year version of their teacher getting pranked, and unknowingly walking naked into the Great Hall.

Hannah went a different route, and asked to see the Instructor's most cherished lovemaking session with a current or recent lover. This caught the older witch off guard...it was a new question, and not one she was ready for. But she was game, and produced a very long string of mist from her temple. The string was converted into a fifteen-minute long lesbian sex-scene that was just as explicit as it was romantic.

A pin dropped from a mile's distance could have been heard when the memory ended...at least, if you were able to ignore some poorly-disguised heavy breathing. Most of the panting was coming from the front of the room, though, as the instructor's cheeks flushed red (this time, due to arousal).

"Erm...right, that concludes the first portion of my lecture," the older witch said, without moving her eyes away from the basin. "Let's take a fifteen minute break."

When there wasn't an immediate rush to the door, the instructor said, "Go on, get a drink, get a snack...spend some time outside, doesn't matter."

The students got the hint and left the room with knowing smiles on their face as their instructor opened her robes and reached for the "replay" rune on the pensieve.

6. So Now That You're a Camper (Part 2)

A Coven of Prefects – Harmony Version

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo

Chapter 6: So Now That You're A Camper... (part 2)

The matron of The Inn at Fort Quesnard stumbled upon a skyclad Hermione in the garden that afternoon. Stumbled, that is, in the literal sense...the elderly witch didn't see the Fifth-Year stretched out on a towel behind a raised planting bed, and tripped over her legs. A bucket of garden tools went flying when hands stretched out to keep her from falling.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Hermione exclaimed, as she scooted to her knees and began to gather the stray implements. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine dear, I just wasn't expecting you to be there," Helene replied. Noticing for the first time that Hermione wasn't wearing a robe, she added, "Did you know that there are notice-me-not charms protecting our beach? I saw a few of the other guests down there right after lunch."

"Erm...yes, we were told that, sorry," Hermione replied, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about her nudity. "I'll just transfigure the towel back into my nardy and get out of your way."

"Oh, please...don't feel that you have to on my account," Helene replied, placing a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. "If you feel more comfortable sunning alone, rather than with the other witches, then by all means, stretch out."

Hermione considered the older witch's words for a few moments, before she nodded.

"Thanks...are you certain that I won't be in the way?"

"Not at all...I was just going to do a bit of pruning on the opposite side of that planter, don't mind me."

Hermione smiled, then laid back down on her transfigured towel while the inn owner took out her muggle pruning shears.

"Are you adequately protected, dear?" Helene asked.

Hermione lifted her head and took in a sharp breath, before realizing that the older witch was probably not talking about a contraceptive potion.

"You mean from the sun, right?"

"Yes, dear."

"I took the sunblock potion this morning, thanks," Hermione replied. She turned her face away when she laid back down, hoping that the older witch didn't see her blush. Not that it was her fault that she'd been daydreaming about shagging Harry. How could she not, after having had some of her more elaborate and explicit fantasies exposed and replayed in her head during Occlumency training that morning?

"It's a shame that you can’t work on your tan while you're here," Helene noted.

Hermione's eyes widened, but she kept her head down and turned away as the older witch carried on.

"I mean here you are, with the perfect opportunity...but it does make sense. Wouldn't do to have you head off to a nighttime prefect's meeting at Hogwarts and seemingly return an hour later with sun-bronzed bits."

"I guess."

"So you spent part of your hols on the Continent, then?"

Hermione turned to face the older witch.

"Erm...yes...Cote d'Azur...how did you know?"

"Your tan lines, dear," Helene replied smiling, nodding towards Hermione's torso. "Topless sunbathing and thongs are still outside of the norm on English beaches, no?"

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, I guess that you're right...so how is it here?"

"Here?" asked the inn owner. "Still rather Victorian, I'm afraid, especially when there's a mix of witches and wizards."

"No, I meant on the muggle beaches."

"Oh...well, as a matter of fact, my tan lines aren’t much wider than yours.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "But I thought you said that swim costumes here are Victorian?"

"Oh they are, dear, they are," Helene said with a smile. "But the muggle beach down the road, well...it is a tad more tolerant."

"I see," Hermione said with a grin.

"If it wouldn’t be so disgusting for you, I’d ask if I could you join you."

"What? Why would you say that?"

"Because you are young and beautiful, while I am old and flabby."

"Oh, hush," Hermione replied quickly. "I could only dream of having a body like yours when I'm your age." She looked down towards her chest and mumbled. "Or at my age, for that matter."

"Now it is you who is being silly," Helene replied. She looked around the grounds, then asked, “So would you like some company?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Sure.”

“Thanks,” the older witch said, as she slipped her robes over her head and transfigured them into a cushioned-charmed beach blanket. She got down onto her knees, and then called out, "Tizzy?"

A house elf popped up next to the two witches.

"Yes, Mistress Doe-Tell?"

"Some sunscreen, please...both the SPF15 and SPF50."

"Yes, Mistress Doe-tell, right away!"

The house elf popped away, and quickly returned with a tube of muggle sunscreen in each hand.

"Neutrogena?" asked Hermione.

"Can't find a decent magical sunscreen," Helene replied. "It's all or nothing...either the total block, like you took, or go without and use a burn salve afterwards."

"Mistress?" asked Tizzy.

"Fifty on the white parts, fifteen on the rest," the inn owner replied.

"Yes, Mistress," the house elf replied. A moment later, the petite magical being's hands were kneading lotion into the older witch's skin. Hermione watched with a mixture of interest and concern.

There was a lull in conversation, as Helene relaxed in contentment as Tizzy undertook a full body sunscreen application/massage. The silence wasn't broken until the house elf started to scold.

"Why is Mistress been doing Tizzy's garden work, again?" she asked, after noting dirt underneath Helene's fingernails.

"Because gardening isn't work in my eyes, Tizzy...you know that."

"But work isn't work in my eyes too," the house elf replied. "And there be not enough to do."

Helene let out a sigh, and turned towards Hermione. "We have this discussion all the time," she explained.

The younger witch looked down towards her towel as embarrassment built inside her.

"It was hard for me to accept it too, if it makes any difference," said Helene.

"Accept what?"

"Bound house elves," the inn owner replied. "You know, I'd think less of any muggleborn who didn't object at first."

Hermione only sighed.

Helene then asked, "Have you ever heard the phrase about career planning...the one that says find a job that you love, and you'll never work a day for the rest of your life?"

"Erm...I think so."

"Well, the same goes for Tizzy," Helene said with a smile. "Except she loves every job...isn't that right, Tizzy?"

"Yes Mistress," Tizzy replied. "Every job except the job of keeping you from doing my jobs."

Helene's laugh morphed into a surprised "eep!" when Tizzy switched over to the SPF50 and squeezed a dollup of the cool lotion onto her bum.

"Did you do that on purpose?" she asked with a grin.

"Yes, Mistress," Tizzy replied matter-of-factly. "You asked Tizzy to use the fifty on your white bits."

Helene shook her head and flipped over.

"I'll do the rest myself…thanks, Tizzy," she said.

The house elf scowled a bit, but eventually nodded and left the sunscreen on the towel beside her mistress. Once she popped away, Helene sat up and placed some lotion onto her fingers.

"It would be easier just to use one sunscreen," Helene noted, as she rubbed the lotion onto her most sensitive bits of skin. "But there isn't a clothing optional beach on the island, and my husband rather likes the contrast."

Hermione snorted, and changed the subject.

"So your husband helps you run the Inn?"

"Yes, dear," Helene said with a smile. "Every week but this one...he gets to sail off on his own during Coven Camp."

"Oh...so the captain of the boat that brought us here..."

"Yes, that was John, my husband," Helene said with a smile. "Was he doing his best imitation of a foul-mouthed pirate?"

"Erm...yes, it was quite convincing."

Helene laughed, and then asked, "So does Harry fancy your tan lines as much as John fancies mine?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Harry Potter, your boyfriend?" Helene asked quizzically. "Or hasn't he seen them yet?"

Hermione blushed deeply at the thought of Harry inspecting her almost all-over suntan.

"Erm...despite what you might have read in the papers, Harry Potter isn't my boyfriend."

"Oh, I'm so sorry...how embarrassing," Helene stammered. "I had heard otherwise."

"Really? From whom?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," the older witch quickly replied. "Again, my apologies...I should know better than to trust gossiping witches and The Daily Prophet.

"Well, it is an easy mistake, if all you knew of us is what that rag publishes."

Helene nodded as her face turned serious.

"You know, Hermione...the French papers have been far more supportive of both Mr. Potter and Headmaster Dumbledore."

"No, I didn't...has there been much coverage?"

"A fair amount," the older witch replied. "The Third Task was front page news, of course, given the participation of Beauxbaton. And since then, the newspapers have been quick to cover the French Ministry's position on Voldemort's return."

Hermione was startled.

"I'm amazed at how easily you say his name," she stated.

"It is just a name, no?" Helene asked. "I have never believed in this taboo business, and well...it has been a few seconds, and yet there are no uninvited guests in black robes surrounding us?"

Hermione snickered. "It is rather silly," she replied. "I'd say it myself, except that every time I do everyone around me screams and gets all fidgety. Accept for Harry, of course...but even he's tired of the response. So when he's not calling him 'The Dork Lord' he just calls him 'Tom'."

"Tom?" asked Helene.

"Yeah, Tom Riddle...that's his real name."

When the older witch's face turned pale, Hermione asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Are you saying that Voldemort is really Tom Riddle?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, he told that to Harry himself," Hermione replied. "Well, it was the diary that said it, actually, but..."

"I knew a Tom Riddle at Hogwarts," Helene whispered.

Hermione's eyes went wide, and then wider when she recalled her first conversation with the Inn owner.

"Of course," she said softly. "You said that you graduated in 1945...just a year before he did."

"How did you..."

"The trophy case," Hermione replied. "He's listed as Head Boy, and then there's that Special Services Award that he didn't deserve..."

"For the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Oh, yes...you would have been there during that time as well," Hermione replied. "Then you overlapped with Hagrid...did you know that he was innocent, and should have never been expelled?"

"Erm..no I didn't"

"And then when the Chamber reopened they expelled him, and broke his wand, even though he had nothing to do with me being petrified, or the basilisk set free..."

"Basilisk?"

"I guess the real story never got out to the public."

Helene nodded. "I would love to hear that real story."

Hermione took pause, and suddenly realized that she'd been blabbering on rather indiscreetly.

"Well, it's not my story to tell, I was petrified when most of it happened."

"Oh...that's alright," Helene said quickly. "I understand...loose lips sinks ships, and all that."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, during which time Hermione considered just how well the war slogan applied to their own present day case. They really were in a war, now, and that was a pretty scary thought.

A stray thought flashed across Hermione's mind that broke her suddenly sullen disposition. She reached out and touched the older witch's arm.

"Well," she said with a slight grin. "At least I know that you aren't one of Voldemort's Death Eaters."

"How is that?"

Hermione squeezed Helene's arm and gently twisted it towards her.

"No Dark Mark," she said impishly. "Either on your arm or, as you've quite clearly shown, anywhere else."

The joke broke the tension that had built between them, and they both had a good laugh. Helene then stood and changed the subject.

"Well, I need to make a run into town...is there anything I can get for you while I'm there?"

Hermione sat up, then shook her head. "Can't think of anything right now."

"Maybe for later at Hogwarts, then?" Helene asked. "Won't have much access to a muggle store once you return to the castle."

Hermione nodded, and mentally reviewed her "To Do" list. She didn't need anything, really, unless...

"Harry fancies Mars bars," she stated. "I've got some muggle currency back in my room..."

"Oh, that's not necessary," Helene announced with a wave-off. "Anything else?"

"Well," Hermione replied, thinking of the small risk that she could take. Taking a good look at an Inn owner, she finally said, "This might seem like a strange request, but is there a bookstore or library in town?"

"Yes, both...what could I get for you?"

"I'm interested in learning Morse Code," Hermione replied. "If there's a book on that, or maybe a reference from an encyclopedia..."

The older witch looked carefully at the Fifth-Year for a moment, then nodded. "I'll see what I can do." She then smiled, and transfigured the towel into a muggle sundress. Once she slipped it over her head she said, "Thank you , Hermione...I very much enjoyed our conversation."

"I did too," Hermione replied.

"Maybe we can do this again sometime?"

Hermione snorted. "We'll have to see...I only had this time off because I tested out of meditation."

Helene nodded. "Of course, dear...then I'll see you at dinner tonight."

As the inn owner headed back towards the main building, Hermione thought back over their talk, and noted where there were lingering issues to ponder, such as the plight of house elves, Tom Riddle, and the French newspapers.

Helene Brixton was doing the same thing. She had much to consider, and a mobile telephone call to make.

oo00OO00oo

Hermione couldn't decide why Cho Chang was smiling as the Ravenclaw prefect buzzed by her perch on the Fort's parapets. It could have simply been the fact that Cho was close to capturing the snitch during a pick-up game of Quidditch. Or, it could have been that she'd just pulled off a perfect Wronski Feint, and sent the other seeker splashing into the notice-me-not protected waters. But Hermione thought it more likely that the witch's cheerful disposition came from the fact that she was playing on the "skins" side of the "robes on skins" game, and riding bare-arsed on her broom. This likely provided not only some pleasurable crotch-on-broom handle friction, but the chance to once again flaunt her perfect nude form in front of the competition for Harry Potter's heart.

Though she didn't play the game, Hermione had seen enough of Harry's matches to know that a seeker didn't restrict their search patterns to the airspace directly in front of the audience. They didn't wiggle their bum for the crowd, or simulate giving the handle a hand-job, or lewdly thrust their hips up and down as they hung in a sloth hold.

An impartial bystander might have thought that Cho was revealing an interest in Hermione, given her focus and the prevalence of lesbian behavior within the Coven. But Hermione knew better...she knew that Cho was a gay-friendly straight, like herself, and she knew that Cho's interests lay in getting laid by The-Boy-Who-Lived. This was alpha-bitch behavior...Cho was showing off her body and marking off her territory. Harry was hers, and a bushy-haired witch with B-cup breasts and a bit of a tummy could not do a damn thing about it.

Unless, of course, the bushy-haired witch had a secret weapon.

Hermione whipped out a vacuum cleaner hose, switched on the power, and sucked Naked!Cho and the other Quidditch-playing Coven members into
the canister.

She would have enjoyed the sensation more if emotions hadn't inhibited the ability of a witch to properly condition her Occlumency shields.

Her thoughts thus cleared, Hermione waited for the next idle thought to pass by.

...She now was back at Hogwarts, holding her how-to-wank book in hand as she tickled her G-spot behind the closed curtains of her dormitory
bed....

An embarrassing memory, for certain...but not one that endangered the Coven, and a memory that a teen-aged witch would be expected to have readily available for prying mental eyes. Hermione had no choice but to release this memory, and let it roam free.

...She is now sunbathing alone, and fully nude for the first time. It's making her adventurous and horny, so she spreads her legs and gives her bits their first clear look at the sun...

The Gryffindor prefect reviewed the memory dispassionately. It had happened two days before, right before Helene had joined her, and all memories of the Fort and Coven Camp needed to be fully protected. But there wasn't anything within the memory that pinned down her location, unless....

Hermione couldn't think of an "unless," but she'd left enough explicit memories out there for Snape and Dumbledore to perv on. The vacuum cleaner came out, and Sunbathing!Hermione got sucked behind shields.

oo00OO00oo

It had only taken four hours of instruction and fourteen hours of practice for Hermione to develop the kind of impervious "lock-down" shielding that she wrongly assumed was the beginning and end of Occlumency. Her instructor had been most impressed by the nested defenses...a stone-walled island fortress guarded by dragons that a Legimency attack would reach only after spanning a near-infinite ocean. But then she gave Hermione the bad news...that these kind of Occlumency barriers weren't enough to guard the Coven's secrets.

The problem involved managed expectations. Occlumency training wasn't part of the standard Hogwarts curriculum, so it would look highly suspicious if Dumbledore or Snape probed a Fifth-Year student's mind and suddenly ran up against impenetrable walls. Why would a female student occlude her mind, unless she had secrets to hide? Not that there weren't uses for secure, inclusive shields..."lock-down mode," when deployed during a duel or in battle, would keep an opponent from anticipating spell selection. It also served as a last-resort "fail-safe" under a full-scale mental assault. But in a situation where legimency was employed more as a surveillance tool than a weapon, a different set of shields were required.

They were called "stealth shields"...a hidden set of defenses that protected only a small subset of memories. This left almost all of a witch or wizard's mind open to mind probes, so that the casual mental eavesdropper would think that there were no defenses at all. But hidden underneath all of the random stray thoughts and memories that criss-crossed a person's mind was a barrier that didn't look like a barrier.

It was protection through deception.

Vacuum cleaners were often the easiest mental construction for a muggleborn witch's stealth shields, and Hermione had dozens of available memories of this type. So with the instructor's help, she had chosen one specific memory and brought it to life.

It had been earlier that summer, about two weeks after returning from Hogwarts. She had wanted to work on her base tan before hols in France, but her mum had insisted that Hermione do some house cleaning before she used their outdoor pool. As a result, Hermione had spent fifteen minutes pushing the upright vacuum cleaner around the house whilst dressed in her new two-piece bathing costume.

The bikini made it easy for Hermione to distinguish this vacuum cleaner memory from all of the others. The vacuum cleaner (and its various attachments) made it easy for Hermione to visualize the process. Any memory that required safeguarding would be "sucked" into the vacuum cleaner and stored there for safekeeping. The only way to gain access to these memories was to mentally empty out the vacuum cleaner bag. And since anyone raised in the wizarding world wouldn't know how a vacuum cleaner operates, they wouldn't know how to attack the vacuum...or even realize what it did and what it could stand for.

Once her "Hoover shields" were established, Hermione spent several hours mentally sucking up any memories associated with the Coven. Once that bulk job was complete, she needed to test the effectiveness of her stealth shields by monitoring her idle thoughts. And this is why, in the early morning hours of her fourth time-turned day, Hermione was in a deep meditative state, sifting through stray thoughts.

In real life, she sat in a lotus position on the Fort's walls, wearing an unfastened white robe. Mentally, she was dressed in her string bikini, and standing guard with vacuum hose in hand.

...Helene Brixton giving her a chart used to learn Morse Code...hoover.

...Walking into the girl's showers and catching Lavender performing cunnilingus on Parvati...definitely hoovered.

...Her dad's reaction the first time she removed her top at the beach this summer....reluctantly let go.

...Having the Inn's owner approach as she meditated and hoovered up sensitive memories...not just something that needed protection, but something that was happening in real time!

Hermione opened her eyes, turned her head and smiled.

"Good morning, Helene."

"Happy Saturday," the Inn owner replied with a smile. She looked out over the Channel and said, "Don't suppose you can tell me if it rains today?"

"What, and risk paradox?" Hermione said with a smile. "You'll just have to be surprised."

"Ah well, worth a shot... so how’s the training going?"

"Well, I think," Hermione replied. "Hope to move on to the Obliviate spell today."

"And the dots and dashing?"

"Dah-dah-dee, dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah, dah-dee-dee," Hermione replied brightly.

The Inn owner snorted.

"I'll assume that means something."

"So what's got you up with the sun?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, just some pesky owl that kept at it until I opened the window for him," Helene replied. She glanced over her shoulders, and not seeing anyone, slipped an envelope into Hermione's hand.

"Erm...wow...so soon? You just sent it yesterday!" Hermione asked.

Helene shrugged. "It was only a domestic trip for the owl, no?"

Hermione nodded. "Thanks again for your help...it really means a lot."

"It was nothing, and yet something that friends do for each other, n'est pas?"

Hermione snorted. "Your French is showing."

Helene shook her head, reached out, and closed the front of Hermione's robes.

"And so are your bits, mon cherie," she snarked.

"And this is a problem?"

"Have you had the sunblock potion yet today?"

"Erm...good point," Hermione decided.

"I'll leave you to the correspondence, then," the Inn owner said with a smile. "Don't miss breakfast."

"I'll be there," Hermione replied.

As the older witch walked back towards the main building, Hermione shook her head with wonder. She would have never have thought that she could gain a friend as quickly as she had with Helene...especially a friend who was old enough to be her grandmother. Or her Head of House, for that matter.

That last realization brought a smile to Hermione's lips. Over the past two days she had swapped many different stories with Helene Brixton. She had come to trust the older witch enough to share her experiences at Hogwarts...from First-Year's Halloween troll to that year's bow-headed toad. Helene, in turn, had recounted her years at Hogwarts, telling the younger which everything she could about not only Tom Riddle, but her Gryffindor classmate "Minnie" McGonagall (including the story behind her pubic-perched tabby cat tattoo).

It had gotten so that Hermione was spending more time with the Inn's owner than with any of the other coven members, including the Fifth-Years. This wasn't an intentional slight, mind you...Hannah always seemed to be glued at the hip (and lips, and bits) with her girlfriend, while Padma had been corralled into mandatory study sessions with the other Ravenclaw prefects (who took seriously their house's reputation for academic success). And Pansy...well, she was just as busy, doing things behind closed doors that Hermione could occasionally hear from the hallway, but didn't want to imagine.

Hermione looked down at the letter that Helene had left her. It was both the latest favor, and the biggest favor...an unsanctioned paradox-tempting correspondence with the Headmistress of Beauxbatons.

A quick check over her shoulder told the Fifth-Year that she was alone on the ramparts. Yet she was till a bit nervous, so Hermione hopped off of the wall and slipped into one of the fort's many unused outbuildings and ripped open the letter, which was written in French:

29 August

Dear Madame Brixton,

Thank you for your letter dated today, and your interest in the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, expressed on behalf of your friend. Respecting your request for a timely response, I will provide answers to your questions that may be incomplete (although they are, to the best of my knowledge, accurate).

Yes, it is certainly possible for students to transfer from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons. It is always easier when the student(s) in question are younger, but there have been Fifth-Year students that have successfully made the transition. We prefer that the students make the change at the start of the school year, but recognize that there are special circumstances that would justify mid-year transfers. Please note that while the Hogwarts term begins on the first of September, our classes are already in session.

Regarding the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts, our current professor has been at his post for fifteen years. He is a retired member of the French Auror Corps, and has produced many, many outstanding graduates who have gone on to successful careers both in law enforcement and the dueling circuit. As for the specific subject matter, I have attached a syllabus summary for each year. You will note that practical wand work is considered to be an integral part of the DADA tutelage.

The costs to attend Beauxbatons are comparable to those at Hogwarts. Our boarding fees are slightly higher, but one would expect that given the dreadful quality of the meals served at Hogwarts (on this point I speak from personal experience). Mid-year transfers to Beauxbatons would be charged on a pro-rated basis. I do not, unfortunately, know anything of the refund policies at Hogwarts. Scholarships may be available to students who demonstrate both financial need and strong magical potential.

Individual students who wish to transfer must make a request in writing, using the attached forms. Non-native speakers also need to demonstrate proficiency in the French language prior to their admittance.

Please let me know if you have any other questions or comments.

Sincerely,

Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

After finishing the cover letter, Hermione quickly skimmed through the attachments. The admissions forms appeared fairly straightforward...the only thing that stood out was the need for the signature of a student's parent or magical guardian. She wondered whether Sirius would be able to sign for Harry, should it come to that.

Thinking it best not to be absent for breakfast, Hermione used magic to shrink the correspondence down to the size of a postage stamp. She then hid the documents inside the hem of her robes, and made her way towards the dining room, trying to hide her nervousness.

She hadn't done anything illegal...hadn't even violated the rules of time travel, as it had been Helene who had written the letter, and received the response. Still, it was probably bad form for her to be thinking about transferring to a different school while she was receiving special training as a Hogwarts prefect. And the adage about "loose lips" could well apply...Hermione hoped that it wouldn't be necessary for them to leave Hogwarts and Britain, but she had promised Harry that she'd look into the option, just in case. And she wouldn't put it past certain people to try and block their escape.

In that regard, Hermione stopped short of the main building, and took a moment to hoover the memories of the letter and response to a spot safely behind her mental shields.

7. So Now That You're a Camper (Part 3)

A Coven of Prefects – Harmony Version

A/N: Here’s an update to satisfy those who might not be following my focus on Muggle Summer. For those who have been following along, I’ve gone back and swapped out the previous chapters with revisions that contain some relatively minor edits, in response to some reviewer comments. Nothing major…just toned down some of the gratuitous one-off comments and made Hermione a little more reluctant to join Team Obliviation. But she still does, and so the story pushes forward…

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

oo00OO00oo

Chapter 7: So Now That You're A Camper... (part 3)

When the sun had risen on the fourth time-turned day, Hermione Granger had mentally wielded a vacuum hose against a memory of Cho Chang. Fourteen hours later, as that same sun set over the fort's walls, she pointed a "real" wand towards a "real" pig.

Hermione tried to keep this humorous comparison tamped down in her brain as she focused on intent and proper wand movement.

"Obliviate!"

The pig's reaction caused Hermione to frown.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked.

Her obliviation instructor snorted.

"What...were you expecting him to squeal, or something?"

Not waiting for an answer, the older witch pointed her wand towards the porcine test subject.

"Legimens!"

After a few moments of silence, the instructor lowered her wand and turned towards Hermione.

"Congratulations...you just gave tomorrow's dinner a severe case of amnesia."

Hermione smiled.

"So it was a complete wipe?"

"That's not always easy to say, but with the lack of any kind of images...you completely emptied out its short- and long-term memory."

"Didn't realize that there was a difference for farm animals."

"Yes, well lucky for us there is, else you'd be using each other as teaching aids."

"Not like that's any different in DADA," Hermione replied. "Except for this year, of course."

"Yes, I've heard about your new DADA instructor from the older prefects" said the instructor. "I'd like to hear about the Fifth-Year class, but later."

With that disclaimer stated, the older witch pointed her wand back at the pig and cast Finite Incantatem and Legimens in succession. Fifteen seconds later, she broke off the spell and smiled.

"Excellent work, Hermione...you got it right the first time!"

The Fifth-Year blushed. "How could you tell?"

"Because I was able to restore what you had taken," the Obliviator replied. "The proper total mind swipe can be countered by somebody with the right expertise. Had you overpowered the spell, the cancellation would havefailed either in part or in whole."

The pig let out a loud squeal that almost seemed confirmatory.

"So now he remembers that he hasn't eaten since lunch and is hungry?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe," the older witch replied. "There's still a lot of instinct that's preserved...the stomach would send signals to the brain that would trigger a response to eat, even if the pig couldn't remember that that empty stomach feeling had been countered before by a good meal."

"Fascinating," said Hermione. "So why wouldn't the Finite have worked had I cast it?"

The instructor snorted. "Little Jack was right...you are an infinite fountain of questions."

Hermione looked down towards the grown. "I'm sorry, I can't help myself sometimes."

"No, no, it's quite alright," the older witch quickly countered. "Especially tonight, when you're my only student."

"But you could still be helping teach the others Occlumency," Hermione countered.

"No, they're close, and you've only just begun your memory charm training."

Hermione nodded. "Do you think I'll be able to complete it all?"

"No," the instructor replied with a smile. "That's too much to expect, even from someone who is reportedly the brightest in her generation."

"So how far..."

"At this pace, I'll be thrilled to see you finish up the time-dependent variations," the instructor replied. "But that depends on the others as well...have to get them up to this point by Tuesday night."

Hermione nodded, and readied herself for the next bit of practical instruction.

oo00OO00oo

Hermione had covered the theory behind mind charms and the possible variations ofthe Obliviate spell earlier that day. The simplest (and crudest) version that she had performed produced a massive wipe that completely and indiscriminately scrubbed a victim’s mind of its memories. All of the prefects needed to learn this basic version of the spell in cases of emergency…if they got into an untenable position, they would cast the spell, then bring the victim to one of the Coven mind charms experts at Hogwarts (Professor Vector was the go-to witch there). The expert would reverse the damage, then perform one of the more focused versions of the spell.

Over the next two days, Hermione mastered the next level, and gained competency with a range of time-dependent memory charms. At first, she learned to separate out short-term memories from long-term, and to only target the former. Once this refinement was mastered, the next step was to target short-term memories over a specific period of time. Most of the upper year prefects were at this level, as it was the most useful over the course of their duties at Hogwarts. Take, for example, a Coven prefect doing rounds with her male counterpart. If they were to catch two witches making out in a broom closet, the Coven member would cast a memory charm on the male prefect that removed any recollection of what happened after they opened the broom closet door.

After mastering time-dependent obliviation, the next level of complexity involved content-dependent memory charms...instead of removing in bulk all memories over a certain period of time, the spell caster would enter the target's mind, search for the specific memories that needed to be altered, and either remove them or swap them out with less dangerous alternatives. In the two witches in a broom closet example, the Coven prefect would invade her partner's mind, fish out images of the lesbian activity, and replace them with planted (or borrowed) images of that same broom closet, only empty.

The problem with this level of spell lay in the need for the spell caster to learn not only the Obliviate spell but Legimens, and learning to read minds was an art that required far more than a few days training, no matter how intensely it was taught, or how intently it was learned. This was especially true given that Hermione had only recently learned Occlumency, and needed to spend more time than she would otherwise need to maintain her shielding.

oo00OO00oo

As the time-turned week reached an end, two opposing forces took hold over Coven Camp, especially amongst the Fifth-Years. On the one hand, they were working furiously on their training in the mental arts, both in class and on their own. But working counter to these intentions was the physical need for their brains to rest and recharge. The instructors began to force rest periods during the day, during which time the witches were told not to busy their brains with anything of consequence. And this was why Hermione Granger and Padma Patil were doing something a bit out-of-character (at least for the Ravenclaw) on the afternoon of their pentultimate day on Aldernay.

“Tell me again why we’re lying about naked?” asked Padma, as she turned onto her side and dropped her head onto the chaise lounge.

“Because we were given a half-hour break and told not to think...at least not to think too much. And also because it will be too cold to do this once we return to Hogwarts.”

“But what’s the point?”

“Isn’t this relaxing? Doesn’t the sun’s warmth feel good?”

“Doesn’t the risk of sunburning your bits worry you?” asked Padma.

“Not after we backed up the sun block potions with muggle sunscreen."

“Sure that it wasn’t an excuse for you to rub oil all over my body?”

“Hush…you did your own bits. Besides, it’ll just get the gossip girls chattering.”

“As if they aren’t already?”

“Who?”

“Cho and her buddy,” Padma replied, as she pointed towards the garden. “They’re over there now, checking us out.”

Hermione sat up and turned to look for herself.

“So what?” she decided, rolling over onto her own stomach. “It’s not like they haven’t walked around the hallways starkers.”

“But it’s not normal to just be lying about outdoors without clothes on.”

“Of course it’s normal,” Hermione replied. “That’s what millions of Muggles do on holiday.”

"Really?"

"Erm, no, probably not millions...but they might, if they were able to do it behind privacy wards like we have here."

“Even still,” Padma countered. “It’s not something that witches and wizards do.”

Hermione shook her head, before recalling that Puritanical attitudes towards public nudity existed in the muggle world as well.

“So what do you think they’re saying about us?”

“That we’ve become lesbian lovers.”

“Really?”

“Well...it's either you and me, or you and the inn owner.”

"Oh, Merlin, Helene's old enough to be my granny!"

"Which is why the smart money is on me being your girl."

Hermione lifted up her head. “Do you want to go inside, then, Padma?”

“Why? So that we can return to our room and make mad, passionate love?”

“I’m serious.”

The Ravenclaw smiled, and took a sip from her glass of iced muggle lemonade. “No, the gossip girls can sod off…this is rather nice, actually.”

“Even if it fuels the rumors?”

Padma shrugged. “What do the rumors matter? We know the truth. And…there might even be advantageous.”

“How so?”

“They take me off the market,” Padma said with a smile.

Hermione snorted. “Were you really on the market for a female lover?”

“I didn’t think so, but the Sixth-Year Puff had been awfully flirty with me until you and I became a hot item.”

“Oh, so it’s like I’m your cover girlfriend, then?”

“Maybe.”

“Should I be jealous that nobody has tried to get into my robes?”

"I don't know, Hermione...are you sure that Helene doesn't want to be more than just friends?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Fine...then how about Pansy?”

“What? Go on!”

“No, no…can’t you see it?” Padma asked with a teasing smile. “All of the bickering, and teasing…could be a massive dose of unresolved sexual tension.”

“Well, if bickering means you fancy somebody, then I should have started shagging Ron ages ago.”

“Oh, now there’s a scary thought,” Padma said with a shiver. "Yule Ball almost made me swear off wizards and really qualify for Coven membership."

"Really?"

"I said almost."

“Well,” Hermione said, “anybody who falls for that unresolved sexual tension tripe is crazy.”

Padma smiled. “You don’t bicker with Harry, though, do you?”

“Stop, Padma,” Hermione whined.

“Come on, give it up, Hermione,” replied the Ravenclaw. “You know you fancy him. I know you fancy him…I’ve shared a room with you the past few nights, remember?”

Hermione’s face paled.

“I haven’t been talking in my sleep, have I?”

A thin smile formed on Padma’s lips. “No worries, your wet dreams are safe with me.”

Hermione moaned in embarrassment, and dropped onto her back and buried her face in the crook of her arm...thankful that the long, embarrassing, time-turned week was almost at an end.

oo00OO00oo

More potential study time was taken up that evening by a bonfire ceremony.

The Inn’s fire pit was located on the Fort’s western battery, next to the temporary pigsty and opposite of the gardens. When Hermione, Hannah and Padma arrived fifteen minutes before sunset, as directed, they found Helene Brixton alone, stoking a large fire. A sharp cool breeze off of the channel whipped the flames, and encouraged the witches to stand close to the fire.

Pansy joined the small group a few minutes later, but chose to stand on the opposite side of the pit. Nobody bothered to go beyond a basic greeting for the Slytherin. Instead, the three prefects chatted with Helene about some of the Inn’s famous guests, and watched the sun set behind the nearby lighthouse.

Just as the last bit of sun sank over the horizon, a gong sounded, and the other fifteen hooded Coven members walked out from the Inn’s main entrance. When the procession reached the fire pit, the older Coven members stopped, while the others split up and flanked each of the Fifth-Year prefects. At the sound of a final gong crash, the lead witch threw back her hood and showed her face.

“Padma, Hannah, Pansy and Hermione,” Flo intoned. “When you were born and joined the word, you were named by your parents. Now you have joined the Coven, it is time for you to be named by your sisters."

The camp leader then smirked, took a step forward, and announced, “My Coven name is Flo. This isn’t a shortened form of Florence, but rather a refection of my tendency to, erm...squirt just a bit during sexual release.”

“Only just a bit? Closer to a gallon, I think,” snarked the Occlumency expert that stood to Flo’s left. She then stepped forward and said, “My Coven name is Little Jack. As you've all seen in my pensieve, on the second night of my first visit to Aldernay, one of the older prefects caught me in the lav rubbing one off. Well, I wasn’t rubbing so much as…”

“Fisting?” asked one of the other witches.

“Erm, right, so…sticking a thumb into my pie...just like Little Jack Horner.”

“Oh crap!” Hermione thought. “First night, with Pansy catching me, or next morning with me squatting over the bidet…this is bad…this is very bad…”

Hannah’s girlfriend, the seventh-year Puff, pulled her hood and stepped forward next.

“Hi, my nickname is ‘Nojon’…my last name is Thomas, you see, and I was pretty open about being a witch’s witch during Fifth Year camp, so the other girls decided that there would be ‘No John Thomas’ for me.”

Hermione started to sweat. “If they know I’m hot for Harry, will they play off of that?”

Hannah was skipped over, as were the other new prefects as the explanations went full circle.

The sixth-year Puff was nicknamed “Tway” because she was bisexual, and went two ways. The seventh-year Slytherin “Itty” was next, explaining that she only had “itty-bitty titties” during her Fifth-Year. The nickname had grown ironic, of course, as she had grown huge ones the following summer.

The sixth-year Slytherin was “Hatty”…a play off of her last name Johnson and rumors of her fellatio skills (She allegedly "Had A Johnson" in her mouth). Michelle “Nibbles” Sachs, the sixth-year Gryffindor, was similarly victimized by her surname.

The seventh-year Gryffindor prefect claimed that her nickname, “Dicky” was given because it rhymed with “Vicky,” and not because she owned a strap-on dildo. The Seventh-Year Ravenclaw whose first name was Francine also claimed that she was “Fanny” because it rhymed with "Franny."

Cho Chang rounded out the circle. She stepped forward, and spoke with a bit of sadness in her voice.

“Most all of you know that I was already playing seeker for Ravenclaw at the start of my fifth year. But for a nickname, it was decided that I was, erm…more of a chaser, like I was chasing after the other boy seekers, you know? So that’s why I’m called Chase.”

“Certainly couldn’t call her ‘Chaste,’ after her antics with Diggory last year,” the Sixth-Year Gryffindor muttered behind Hermione’s back.

“Yeah, shame about Cedric...not that it's going to keep her from chasing our seeker,” her Seventh-Year housemate whispered back.

Hermione, who had heard this exchange, narrowed her eyes. With all of her focus on the competition for Harry’s attention, Hermione missed hearing the explanation provided by the Mind Charms expert. She was fuming, but not with so narrow a focus that she failed to hear Flo announce that it was time for the new nicknames to be given.

Cho and the Head Girl pushed a nervous-looking Padma forward.

“We wanted to commemorate Padma's rather distinctive response to manual stimulation.”

“First-hand experience, then?” asked one of the other students.

“Not yet,” the Head Girl said with a smile and mock-sigh. She handed Padma a small card and encouraged her to read it out loud. The brown-skinned beauty looked down at the card with wide eyes, and swallowed.

“Sisters,” she began to read, “My name Padma Patil, but my Coven nickname is ’Shivers,’ because shivering is what I do when I give myself an orgasm.”

Padma flushed bright-red with embarrassment as the other witches applauded.

Hannah Abbot yelped as a hand that had been wrapped around her waist dropped down and gave her bum a squeeze.

“Your turn, luv,” the Seventh-Year Puff said with a smile. She pulled Hannah forward and said, “I’ve had all sorts of suggestions from the other witches about what name I should give Hannah. Most of them are too smutty even for this lot,” she added with a laugh. “And I’ve heard all sorts of whining by those who are afraid that the nickname would be fluffy and endearing, but….”

“Hey…‘butt’ was my suggestion,” one of the Slytherins called out cheekily.

“Anyway,” Becky said loudly, “It was Tway that came up with something that I thought was rather brilliant, and we’ve gone with that. Hannah Abbott, your new Coven nickname is…Bubbles.”

“Bubbles?” snarked the other snake. “What were you saying about it not being fluffy or endearing?”

The sixth-year Hufflepuff prefect whispered something into Hannah’s ear that made her break out into a blush that stretched from her cheekbones half-way down into her nardy (which, thankfully they had not been forced to remove).

Hannah was pushed forward a step, and given a card to read.

“Go on, then,” hissed Tway.

Hannah nodded, let out a deep sigh, and said, “My Coven nickname is Bubbles, because of all of the time that I spent in the Prefect’s Bath last year."

“But you weren’t a prefect last year,” noted Fanny.

The Sixth-Year Puff smiled. “No, but her lover was.”

Hannah was allowed to step back during the ensuing laughter, and it was Pansy Parkinson’s turn.

“Right,” said Bitty, the Slytherin seventh-year. “Pansy here made our job easy…had her nickname picked out on the first night we were here.”

Pansy’s eyes bulged when she read the card placed into her hand, and required a good deal of prodding before she stepped forward and quietly read the written words.

“My name is Pansy Parkinson. My Coven nickname is ‘Mermaid,’ because if I had been a mermaid last week, then I wouldn’t have needed a Gryffindor to save me from drowning.”

Amidst the applause and jeering, the Seventh-Year prefect caught Hermione’s eye and gave her a wink.

“A wink!” Hermione thought to herself. “Maybe this thing about sisterhood crossing house boundaries really meant something!”

Further musing was stifled when Hermione felt herself being pulled forward.

“Oh no…here it comes,” she thought.

“So what can we say about the new Gryffindor prefect?” Dicky asked. “Like Hannah, we had many, many suggestions to help us out. Some we didn’t quite understand...maybe Hermione can tell us why somebody suggested ‘Smurf'?”

Hermione cringed, but only the few muggleborn witches caught the joke.

“Bookworm, was an obvious choice,” Dicky continued. “But our Hermione loves books so much that it’d have to be something far larger than a worm, and ‘Booksnake’ doesn’t easily roll of the tongue. Couldn’t really play off of her name, so we were left with her bits and body parts.”

Hermione flinched, thankful that her teeth had been resized the year previous.

“Now Hermione does have a cute little bum, as I'm sure you've all noticed by now, but...I'll let her take it from here."

Dicky placed a card in Hermione's hand. Hermione read its contents, then snapped her head towards the Seventh Year. It was embarrassing...but it could have been a lot worse.

"How am I going to explain this to Ron or Harry should they learn of it?" she hissed.

"Just read the card," the older prefect instructed.

Hermione let out a deep sigh, and then announced, “My Coven nickname is Hooters.”

There was some laughter and snickering around the fire in response.

"Keep going...tell them why," said Nibbles.

"Right...erm...because when I'm aroused or cold, my nipples are as hard as an owl’s beak. And because I’m always up late at night studying. And because I’m Harry Potter’s other bird.”

“Am I right or what?” Dicky shouted out, as she pointed towards the points on Hermione’s robe front.

Cheers and laughter rang out at the naming. Hermione was embarrassed, and not at all happy about her new nickname, until she happened to glance towards Cho Chang. The Sixth-Year obviously wasn’t happy either, although that probably had to do more with the explanation than the nickname itself.

Hooters’s spirits lifted, and she decided that it might not be such a bad nickname after all.

oo00OO00oo

Later that evening, Padma and Hermione decided to practice Occlumency in their room. Padma sat on her bed and meditated, while Hermione stood and watched. "Hooters" was aiming for the more difficult task of hoovering memories on the fly, without a formal meditation exercise. At the same time, she dealt with any stray memories that were triggered by what she was observing.

...Padma sitting in a lotus position, with her nardy riding high enough on her thighs to reveal her pubes....hoover.

...Grabbing hold of Narcissa Malfoy's pubes in the Coven's Dining Room...savor for a moment, then hoover.

...Ron clearing the Gryffindor Table during dinner with a fart worthy of his brother's dung bombs...Worthy of self-obliviation, but barring that...released.

...Padma concentrating with her eyes closed, and her tongue peeking out so that she can lick her lips....hoover.

...Harry licking his chapped but extremely kissable lips as he comes in from the cold at Hogwarts...released.

...Padma sneaking a hand underneath the hem of her robes and dragging her fingers up her inner thigh...

"Padma!" Hermione chided.

The Fifth-Year Ravenclaw's eyes flew open almost as quickly as her fingers withdrew from her lap.

"What?"

"You know what," Hermione said with a grin. "What I want to know is who."

"Who what?"

"Who was causing your bits to itch?"

"Never you mind."

"Terry Boot?" Hermione teased.

"Oh, please," Padma whined, as she stretched out her legs and adjusted the hem of her robes. "He'd be the last one to show up in one of my racy memories."

"Even behind Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Ugh! Thank you for planting that disgusting image in my mind."

"At least you won't have to shield it," Hermione quipped. "So Michael Corner, then?"

"Yuck!" spat Padma. "And no, it's not Goldstein, either."

"Another House, then?"

"No."

"Another gender?"

"Hermione!" Padma said with exasperation. "If you must know..."

"Yes, I must...it's only fair...you don't talk in your sleep like I do."

"Right," the Ravenclaw sighed. "Eddie Carmichael."

"Oh, an older man, then," Hermione said with a smile. "Still, a whole lot better than a Crabbe and Goyle sandwich."

"Hermione!"

"Okay, I'll stop," the Gryffidor promised.

A rapping on the window was distracting enough to help Hermione keep that promise, especially once she opened the window.

"Hedwig!" Hermione exclaimed, as the white snowy owl swooped into the room and landed on the bed next to her.

"What are you doing here?” she then asked. “Did you bring me a message?”

The owl cocked its head, and then looked down towards its feet, as if to say “You don’t see any letters tied to me, do you?”

“Oh, of course you didn’t,” Hermione said with a chuckle. She then turned serious and asked, "Is Harry in danger...does he need my help?"

Another "Are you daft?" look from the owl caused Hermione to process her own question.

"Of course he isn't, is he?" she asked. "He was just fine tomorrow morning, especially after Lavender and Parvati grabbed hold of him."

Padma ignored the time-turned verb tenses and asked, “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Hedwig. Hedwig, meet my good friend Padma Patil.”

The white owl stared at the Ravenclaw for a few moments, then bobbed its head up and down.

“Oh good, you pass inspection,” Hermione said with a smile. “I’m afraid that your sister hasn't done as well.”

“What…Hermione, you know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, not really,” Hermione replied. “At least, not as good as Harry can, right girl?”

Hedwig nodded her head up and down.

“Fascinating,” Padma said. “And Hedwig is Harry’s familiar, not yours?”

“That’s right, I’ve got Crookshanks.”

“I see,” Padma said. “But you’ve spent time with her?”

“Mostly when Harry is around,” Hermione replied. “But she has spent some time with me over the summer...always seems to know when I need to send a letter, don't you girl?"

Hedwig gave Hermione something close to a glare.

"Oh, right...I'm sorry about the other day," Hermione replied. "But it needed immediate attention, and you would have been recognized."

Padma shook her head in disbelief.

Hermione bit her lower lip. “But now you’re here because I need to send another letter?”

Hedwig stared at Hermione…and would have arched an eyebrow if she had any.

“Yes, well, I guess I would know that already, wouldn’t I?” Hermione asked. “But you’ve flown in from Hogwarts, haven't you?”

Head bob up and down.

Hermione frowned. “You must be tired, then…let's go see if Helene has a spare perch, and maybe some owl treats?"

Hedwig’s response was to fly up onto Hermione’s nardy-covered shoulder.

"Want to come along with us, Shivers?" the young witch asked, as she stood up.

"Erm...no thanks, Hooters," she replied. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of you bonding with your boyfriend’s familiar.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hermione insisted.

Padma shook her head dismissively, closed her eyes and sighed.

“Okay, fine,” she replied. "Hey Hedwig, what do you think...is Hermione Harry's girl?"

The owl cocked her head, but neither nodded nor shook it.

"There you see?" Hermione asked. "Hedwig is Harry's girl, aren't you?"

A feather-covered head bobbed up and down.

"See I told you," said Hermione.

Padma snorted, and decided that it would be pointless to point out the obvious.

oo00OO00oo

Hedwig's arrival at Coven Camp caused quite a stir on that last day of camp, and not just from those who saw it as another good reason to double down on the their bets in the "Hooters vs. Chase" pool. Some of the other campers complained about the fact that they hadn't been allowed to bring their familiars along. These concerns were addressed when, after congratulating each other on their choice of nicknames, they confirmed that Hedwig was Harry's familiar, rather than Hermione's.

The Camp leaders worried about the time-paradox issues until Hermione told them that she hadn't seen Hedwig at all during her first two days at Hogwarts. She also made a simple suggestion that Hedwig stay at the Inn with Helene Brixton until after the group returned to Hogwarts.

Hermione had gone as far as she could with her Obliviate training, and her instructors were busy working the other three Fifth-years hard to get them to the same point. She therefore had most of the day free, and used the time to pester Nibbles, the Sixth-year Gryffindor prefect, with all kinds of questions about O.W.L.s.

The two older Coven members who had served as instructors that week said their goodbyes at dinnertime, telling the group that they would be traveling separately back to Britain using muggle methods. Flo, their tour group leader, then instructed the female Prefects to pack what little they had brought with them and to head down to the beach, where they would be ferried back out to the sloop for the trip back across the Channel.

Hermione and Padma found Helene Brixton waiting outside of their room.

“Mind if I walk with you down to the beach?” she asked.

Padma snorted. “Go on, you two…I’ll make sure that Hannah and Nojon aren’t straggling under their sheets.”

Hermione was about to protest before Helene touched her elbow.

“That’s a good idea, Shivers,” the older witch said with a smile. “Wouldn’t want them to miss the boat.”

Once the Ravenclaw headed down the hallway, Helene hooked her arm in Hermione’s elbow and began to lead her down different passage.

“I hope that you have enjoyed this past week, Hermione,” the older witch said.

“It was brilliant,” Hermione replied with a smile. “Thanks for all of your help with…well, with everything...especially with Hedwig.”

“It was my pleasure, ma cherie,” the inn owner replied. “I will have your friend in the air with her messages to your parents and Monsieur Snuffles as soon as you set sail.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you certain I am not allowed any more clues as to the identify of the latter?” Helene asked with a smile.

Hermione snorted and shook her head slightly. “Yes, Helene, I am certain.”

“He is not some secret lover who will fight with your beau for your affections?”

Hermione smiled. “Harry isn’t my beau, Helene.”

The older witch snorted. “I could point out that I said nothing of Monsieur Potter, and that it was you who made the connection, but I will not.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s kind of you.”

As the reached the stairs that led down to the beach, Helene said, “I would ask you to stay out of danger, but as you will be by your beau’s side I know that to be impossible. So instead, I will tell you to stay safe.”

Hermione squeezed the older witch’s arm.

“Thank you…I’ll try.”

“You have the petit souvenir?”

The younger witch nodded. “Yes, Helene, I have it. Would it be ill-mannered for me to hope that we won’t need it?”

“But of course you will have need for the portkey,” the inn owner replied. “If not in an emergency, then over Christmas holidays.”

“Thank you for the offer, but you really don’t have to….”

“Of course I do,” the older witch said with a grin. “Christmas would be a wonderful time for you and your family to visit us…and Beauxbatons, if you like…I have already held two rooms for your use.”

Hermione frowned. “There’s no need for two rooms…one would do, actually. I’ve shared a room with my parents on other hols.”

“Perhaps, but have they shared a room with your Harry?” the older witch said with a grin.

Hermione blushed. “Helene…”

“Hermione…one last thing,” Helene asked. “Please remember that the split muggle/magical jurisdiction of Aldernay and the other Channel Islands offer certain opportunities for those British citizens who are…shall we say…not popular within your Ministry of Magic. The French Magical Ministry is far more tolerant, especially in cases of extreme injustice.”

The Fifth-Year’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Aren’t there extradition treaties in place?”

A hint of a smile crossed Helene’s lips.

“I am certain that there are books in the Hogwarts library that cover the ICW and international wizarding law,” the inn owner said with a smile. “And on the off chance that there are no such books…”

Helene reached into her pocket and withdrew a small package wrapped in ribbon.

“Another going away gift,” she explained. “You can reverse shrinking and featherlight charms, n’est pas?”

Hermione smiled, and pulled the older witch into a bear hug.

“Thanks again, Helene…for everything.”

The older witch smiled and patted Hermione on the back.

“You are very welcome…now go, before the other witches see us and start to gossip.”

“Let them gossip,” Hermione said.

“No…save this hug for your beau tonight,” Helene replied, as she pushed the younger witch away. “And say hello to Minnie for me as well.”

Hermione smiled. “I will.” She then turned, and ran down to the waiting elf-piloted Zodiak.

As she waved back, Helene silently apologized to her young friend for her many omissions of fact, and prayed that there would never come a time when her duties as an agent of the magical branch of the French DGSE would put her at odds with what she thought was best for her young friend…and her young friend’s beau.

oo00OO00oo

The return trip to Britain was uneventful, save for the opportunities taken by the older prefects to test the Occlumency barriers of the Fifth-Years. Hermione’s shield clamped down hard on those few times when she thought that Cho might be fishing around in her brain, and offered no apologies for doing so.

It was dark by the time that the sloop sailed within sight of the English coastline. They were dropped off at a cove nearby the one where Hermione had rescued Pansy, where the beach was deeper and not completely submerged at high tide. Their guide enlarged a ring-sized portkey into a hoop large enough for all to grab (this time while they were all clothed), and they were transported back to Hogsmeade Village.

The portkey delivered the group into the upper level of the house that stood over the basement that they had used to turn back time and portkey to the coast. They waited there until a clock-watching Flo gave the all clear, and then climbed back down the trap door in the cellar into the secret passage that led them back to Hogwarts and the Coven’s Lair.

A wizarding picture was waiting for the group, taken when Hermione hadn’t been watching a week earlier. The witches used that picture to check their appearances, and ensure that there weren’t any continuity lapses between how they looked then, versus how they looked either an hour or a week previous (depending on perspective).

Hermione had been very quiet during the trip, and spent most of the time worrying about any number of things…what she would do as a member of the Coven, what she would do with Helene’s cryptic comments and offers of help, what she’d do with her newfound knowledge of house elves, what she’d do about Umbridge, and last (but certainly not least) what she would do about Harry. As she got closer and closer to returning to Gryffindor Tower, her thoughts naturally gravitated towards the last of these concerns.

The older Gryffindor prefects stopped Hermione just before they reached the Fat Lady’s painting.

“So, Hooters, if there’s anything we can do to help, let us know,” offered Nibbles.

“Thanks,” Hermione said. “I’m caught up with my assignments.”

“Oh no, we weren’t talking about homework,” replied Dicky, the Seventh-Year. “We were talking about Harry.”

Hermione snorted. “I suppose your galleons are placed on me, rather than Cho?”

“Got to support the home team, don’t we?” said Nibbles.

“Yes, well…don’t do anything drastic,” Hermione advised. “He’s been in a right state given all of the stares and snarky comments he’s gotten, not to mention his detention with Umbridge.”

“Professor Umbridge,” the Seventh-Year corrected automatically.

“Yeah, right,” Hermione fumed, as she barked the password to the portrait, and climbed through the passageway.

Hermione didn’t think that the Common Room was nearly as crowded as when the three female prefects had left it a week ago. “Or an hour and a half ago,” she corrected herself. The Weasley Twins were in a corner with Lee Jordan, hovering over a clipboard and firing questions towards some First Years. Ron had made good on his intentions to go to bed early, leaving Harry sitting alone as he stared into the fire.

The Seventh-Year Prefect rolled her eyes when she glanced over at Fred and George.

“I’ll take care of these guys,” she said.

Hermione nodded, and made her way towards Harry.

“Go team, go!” chirped Michelle, as she passed Hermione on the way to the dormitory stairs.

“Hush!” Hermione hissed, as she sat on the couch by Harry’s side.

Harry looked up from the fire and smiled.

“Hey, how was the nude frolicking?” he asked.

“What?”

“You know…the hot oil treatment and bubbles down in the Prefect’s Bath.”

“Oh…right,” Hermione replied, once she remembered the context of Harry’s question. “It was fine, but I wouldn’t recommend you sitting in when it’s Ron’s turn.”

“No worries there.”

“So what are you still doing up?” Hermione asked.

“Doing my homework.”

“Looks more like your being mesmerized by the flames.”

“Oh, well…actually, I was waiting for you to get back.”

“Really?” Hermione asked with a smile. “You aren’t just waiting for wanker Seamus to fall asleep so that you don’t have to deal with him?”

“Hermione!”

“What?”

“What is right! What language!” Harry replied with a smile.

“What…am I wrong?” Hermione asked.

“No, but…but Hermione!”

“Yes?”

Harry snorted, and shook his head.

“I really was waiting for you, you know.”

“Aw, Harry…that’s so sweet,” Hermione replied, as she “casually” reached an arm around his waist. Harry stiffened his back at first, but relaxed a little once she leaned her head on his shoulder.

It was a position not unfamiliar for the two during the past year…in a completely platonic way, of course. But somebody else in the room obviously didn’t think so.

“Good night, Hooters,” the Seventh-Year Prefect said with a wink, as she finished up with the Twins and headed up into the girl’s dormitories.

Harry’s gaze jerked away from the fire at the comment.

“Hooters?” he asked, with a look of confusion on his face. “Did she just call you Hooters?”

“Damn her,” Hermione thought to herself. She immediately wondered whether this would be an appropriate first test of her Obliviation skills, but then thought better.

Hermione looked down towards the floor as her ears tinged red with embarrassment.

“I’m afraid, so, Harry.”

“But why?”

Hermione snorted, and tried to make light of the situation.

“Why Harry, isn’t it obvious?” she asked, waving a hand in front of her chest.

Harry shook his head. “What isn’t obvious is why I shouldn’t hex Ludhaven next time I see her.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said with a sigh. She reached over and grabbed his hand. “It’s just a joke.”

“At your expense, though,” Harry noted.

“What, you don’t think the nickname is appropriate?” Hermione asked.

“Merlin, Hermione…how am I supposed to answer that?”

“Well…the truth usually works.”

“But…”

“Wrong bits.”

“Hermione!” Harry hissed. “Are these Prefects corrupting you?”

“You make it sound like that would be a bad thing.”

Harry gave her a funny look.

“Who are you and where have you stashed my Hermione Granger?”

“Your Hermione?”

“You know what I mean,” Harry replied with a chuckle.

Hermione nodded. There was a preplanned explanation, even if it was a bit embarrassing.

“Relax, Harry…there’s a tradition that the older witches give the Ickle Fifth-Year Prefects slightly…off-color…nicknames. Haven’t you ever wondered why Sachs and Ludhaven are nicknamed Nibbles and Dicky?”

Harry shook his head. “I’ve tried not to think of those two much at all, after last year.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione replied. “I’m sorry for being so thoughtless.”

“Oh, no, no, no….” Harry said, waving a finger in front of his smile. “I’m not letting you off that easy about this Hooters business.”

“You would if you were a friend,” Hermione replied.

The comment caught Harry off-guard, and he leaned back from her sharply.

“Sorry I said anything,” he muttered, turning back towards the fire.

“Bollocks!” Hermione thought to herself. Trying to fix the mess, she pulled Harry back in.

“No, I’m sorry if I snapped,” she replied, as she once again “casually” leaned her head onto his shoulder. “It could have been worse.”

Harry shook his head and muttered (presumably without thinking), “It doesn’t make sense, though…they’re just the right size.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. So did Harry’s once he realized what he’d said…and more importantly, what she’d heard.

“Erm, well…geez, getting late, isn’t it?” he stammered, adding in a yawn for good measure.

Hermione let out a chuckle that covered her musing. Things were getting a bit awkward, and she decided that they might both benefit from a bit of time. Deciding to let Harry off the hook, she stood and said, “Yeah…it is.”

Harry smiled, relieved that Hermione was letting him getting away with the comment. He gathered his books, gave a nod to the Twins and Lee, then turned to Hermione.

“You know that I’m going to hold you personally responsible if I dream about Ron, hot oil and bubbles tonight,” he said with a smile.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and took a calculated risk.

“Well if it helps, feel free to dream about me instead.”

Harry laughed, and decided to take his own leap.

“Mind if I insert myself into that dream bath, instead of Nibbles and Dicky?”

An eyebrow arched up towards a bushy brown hairline as Hermione gave a “casual” glance over her shoulder. As she predicted, Lee, Fred and George were shamelessly listening in on the banter. She therefore pulled Harry close, and whispered into his ear.

“If the choice is me sharing a bath with either them or you, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Harry choked on a bit of spit.

Hermione patted his back and let out a very un-Hermione-ish giggle.

“Sweet dreams, Harry,” she said.

Harry shook his head in disbelief as the broke towards their separate stairwells.

“You too, Hooters.”