Witch Training

A/N: This fic is inspired by Akabur's Witch Trainer, or to be more accurate, the 'Russian' pirate edition of it. However, as will be clear quickly, I am not following the game's plot or format, just taking elements of it. Like the game this will not be safe for minors.

Expect some bashing and a pretty divergent AU, divergence point in 1981 but this takes place in what would be seventh year, without Voldie to mess things up.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.


To say Hermione Granger was not popular at Hogwarts was an understatement. Most students ignored her and if they knew of her at all it was as 'that bookworm' or 'that teacher's pet', while those that did pay attention to her tended to insult her or prank her mercilessly whenever she was caught alone. The worst culprits by far were a boy from Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, and one from her own House, Ron Weasley. Their 'pranks' used to range from hexing her in the hallways to making her trip and cause her books to fall to the ground, but as of the start of their seventh year they had begun taking it further. Only last week Malfoy had cast something on her that made her to flip upside-down and hover in the air, causing her robes to fall down over her head and revealing that she wore Muggle clothes under it for all the world to see. Hermione shuddered to think what would have happened if she had worn her school uniform's skirt instead, her knickers would've been out on display for all the world to see.
Fortunately the harassment ended when a teacher came by, unfortunately this teacher took five points from Gryffindor for her being out of uniform. Since she didn't want to cost the House more points she had to find some way to get the bullies to stop… which led to her walking up to the door of the Head Boy suite.
Head Boy Harry Potter was the polar opposite of Hermione in many ways. Popular, famous, charming… everyone knew who he was, being the son of Lily The-Witch-Who-Stopped-Him Potter and adoptive son of Wizarding Britain's number one eligible bachelor and playboy Sirius Black. That popularity, among with the fact he had never once joined in on her teasing or harassment in their years together, made her seek him out know. Steeling her resolve, Hermione knocked on his door.

"Who is it?" came from inside.
"Hermione Granger. Can I come inside?"
"Sure, the door is open."
Hermione stepped through and found Harry Potter sitting at his desk, writing some parchment. He looked up as she entered. "Sorry, do I know you?"
Hermione felt mortified. "Hermione Granger… I'm in Gryffindor House, like you? We share every class..."
"Oh! Number two on the class list!" Potter exclaimed. "Sure, I know you. You're the mousy girl that always used to speak up with your answers until second year."
She wasn't sure if she should feel flattered he remembered that about her—she had only stopped answering every question because it made the teasing worse whenever she did, now she only spoke when called upon — or if she should feel insulted about the 'mousy girl'. As for him knowing her 'number two', well she supposed it was obvious that the top student in their year would keep track of the competition. She herself was very aware of Padma Patil from Ravenclaw and Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin snapping at her heels, too.
"So, what brings you here?" Potter asked. "If it's a date you wanted, sorry to say I'm all booked throughout the next four Hogsmeade weekends. I could fit you in for some fooling around on the Astronomy Tower for next week, though."
Hermione blanched. Apparently the stories the other girls in her dorm were telling about Harry Potter were not that far off from the truth.
"I, I'm not here for that!"
"So, what are you here for then, Granger? I don't mean to be rude, but I'm working on my Arithmancy N.E.W.T. assignment and would rather get back to it soon. Unless you do want that date, I'm sure I could show you a good time" Potter said.
"I want to be more confident, like you," Hermione said, looking down to fight the blush threatening to appear on her face. This was the first time a boy had even just hinted at being interested in her, even if it was in this rather sexist way.
"Not sure how I could help, but tell me why and I'll consider it," Potter said.
So she told him about their past six years, and how Weasley and Draco had steadily gotten worse over time. She also mentioned her fear they would not stop at publicly embarrassing her, and that she really wished to learn to stand up to them.
She saw Potter muse over her words for a while. "Okay, Granger, I think I can help you. Report here every day after dinner and we'll turn you into a confident young woman who knows what she wants, in no time."
"Really? Oh thank you, thank you!" Hermione beamed at him. "So how do we start?"
"Let's start with something simple. I want you to take off your outer robe and stand in front of the desk."
"O...kay?" Hermione took her robe off as requested and stood back in front of the desk, watching him.
Potter got up, walked around his desk, and stopped straight in front of her. "Turn around slowly, Granger."
"Look, if this is going to work, you're going to have to do what I say without questioning every step. I want you to turn around slowly."
"Yes sir," slipped out, automatically. Feeling his gaze upon her she turned around slowly, until she faced him again.
"Good work, Granger. Now, stick out your tongue as far as it can go and keep it there."
"We went over this. Tongue, now."
"Sorry," she said, and she stuck out her tongue. It felt awkward, to say the least. Potter just leaned back against his desk, watching her as she stood there with open mouth. She hoped he would tell her to stop soon, because she felt a bit of drool flowing over it.
"Caw I shov nowh?" she asked, finally.
"Yes, we're done," Potter said. He waited until she swallowed, then asked, "How did this make you feel, Granger?"
"Awkward. Embarrassing," she said, flushing against her will.
"Why? All you did was stick out your tongue."
"But you were looking into my mouth!"
"So, has no-one ever done that before? Have you never been to the dentist's, Granger?"
"My parents are dentists, I'll have you know. So of course I have."
"And were you embarrassed there?"
"No, but… no, not really," she admitted.
"That's what I thought. Okay, we're done for the day. I expect you to be here after dinner tomorrow."
"Yes sir," Hermione said, putting her robe back on and departing. Their first meeting hadn't gone how she expected, and she wasn't sure what benefit—if any—it brought her, but she wasn't willing to give up just yet.


The next day in classes was pretty standard, with one exception. Every time she looked at Potter, she couldn't help but blush. The distraction went so far that she even missed it when Weasley and his gang hung back at the end of Potions, and so she was not prepared when she was pulled into an empty classroom after leaving class, and was thrown against Weasley.
"Watch where you're going, bookworm," Weasley said, pushing her back. Hermione stumbled on her feet, only to bump into Dean Thomas.
"You want to start something, teacher's pet?" Thomas asked, pushing her forward and causing her to bump into Weasley again. Well, almost, for he had his hands up and caught her by placing his palms over her breasts.
"Looks like the bookworm wants to hang out with us," Weasley exclaimed, grinning as he gave them a slight squeeze.
"Let go! Please!" Hermione yelled, unable to move back because Thomas had moved up against her. Too late she realized he had also taken her right arm, and Finnegan, another of Weasley's goons, had her left.
"What's a bookworm like you need such nice tits for?" Weasley asked, squeezing her breasts. "It's not as if you ever had a boyfriend."
"Maybe she wants us to have fun with them instead, Ron," Finnegan spoke up.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind giving her a pity fuck," Thomas added.
"Let's not be hasty, lads, I'm sure Granger will give us all a go," Weasley said, grinning evilly as he squeezed them once more.
Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes. It was too late, she was going to get raped and nobody would care. Then, a loud voice came from the door to the room.
"What the hell is going on here?" Professor Snape asked, walking up to them.
Quick as lightning, Weasley dropped his hands and both Thomas and Finnegan let her go.
"Nothing, Professor, just some messing around," Weasley said.
"I'm sure," Professor Snape drawled. "Ten Points from Gryffindor—each. Now off you go, your next class should be starting soon. I don't want to find you four in here again, understood?"
The boys mumbled variations of "yes sir" as they hurried out, leaving a flustered Hermione to pick up her bag and calm her nerves.
"Are you all right, Granger? Do you need to go up to the Hospital Wing?"
"I'm fine, sir," Hermione stammered. The last thing she wanted was more attention from her stern Potions teacher.

She made sure to sit as far from Weasley's gang as was possible for the other classes and at dinner, and after dinner she found herself in Potter's office again.
"Lose the robe, Granger, and stand in front of the desk. You can tell me about your day," Potter ordered.
As she started to do as he asked, she noticed his right hand was hidden below his desk. She had just made it to the end of Potions class when she realized his right arm was moving in a rhythmic pattern. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"It's a relaxation technique," Potter said. "Keep going."
She went on to talk about The Incident (labelled with capital letters in her mind) when she noticed him shudder, and he slumped forward over his desk. She couldn't believe her eyes. Was he… to her?
"Are… are you mastur—"
"Never mind me. Go on," Potter said, rising back up. She saw him adjust himself, then take some tissue with his left hand and reaching below the desk. Yes, he definitely had been.
"I… I..."
"Go on, Granger. Or don't you want my help?" Potter prompted. She couldn't keep her eyes of the suspiciously sticky tissue that emerged from below the desk and was thrown into a waste bin near the door.
Reluctantly, she went on with the story.
"I see. Not a fun day, I guess. Here, I want to try something." Potter stood up and walked around his desk until he was standing in front of her. "Now how was he holding you? Like this?" He placed his hands over her tits.
"Potter! What are you doing?" Hermione shrieked, stepping back and causing him to lose his grip on her.
"I asked you a question, Granger. How was he holding you? Was it like this, then?" Potter stepped closer, grabbing onto her breasts this time.
"Unh," she heard herself say. It was as if her speech centre shut down from shock. She made no further move to get away, though.
"Or was it more like this?" Potter asked, kneading her breasts slightly.
"Like… like that," Hermione stammered. "Potter… Harry… what are you doing?"
"Harry is it now? So can I call you Hermione?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead finding her left nipple with his right hand and giving it a slight pinch that she felt even through her clothes and bra.
"Harry!" she exclaimed, twisting away from his grabbing hands. She raised her left arm to cover her breasts as she glowered at him. "How dare you!"
Potter—Harry—looked undisturbed. "I was teaching you a lesson, Gran—Hermione."
"What kind of lesson could possibly require you to… fondle… my breasts?"
"I wanted to get a reaction from you. You managed to escape my grasp easily enough, twice. So why couldn't you earlier today?"
"But there were three of them!" she exclaimed, still covering her breasts defensively with her arm and glaring at him.
"So? You could've yelled for help. Or kicked. Instead, from your own words you just stood there and let him touch you. Are you sure you didn't like it?"
"Of course I didn't! How dare you even suggest that!"

Harry smirked. He walked around his desk and sat back down. "Lesson over, Hermione. I expect you here tomorrow. Oh, and I want you to unbutton the first two buttons of your school shirt and keep it that way."
"You touch my breasts without permission and are now demanding I reveal more of myself to you? What the hell do you think you are doing?" she demanded, growing angrier by the second.
Harry sighed dramatically, even rolling his eyes. "Hermione, you're going to have to trust me. Let me ask you this… are you still embarrassed? Or are you angry… and confident now?"
"You..." she stopped her retort to think it over. He was right, she realized with a shock. All the feeling of embarrassment from The Incident was gone, and instead she was now angry. She supposed that could count as confident, too. "You're right," she admitted.
"Lesson complete. See you tomorrow, Hermione, and remember your instructions." He got up from his desk and walked out the room through the back door, that she assumed led to his bedroom. Hesitatingly she reached for the top two buttons of her shirt and unbuttoned them. It was quite all right, she reasoned with herself, it wasn't as if she was revealing much other than that she actually had some cleavage. At least the school robe would cover it during classes. As she put on her robe, her eyes were drawn to the waste bin near the door. For a moment, she considered reaching in and getting the tissue… but she ran outside before the treacherous thought could take hold further.


The next day of classes went by in a blur. She was keeping an eye on Weasley's gang though, and for some reason she felt whenever Pot—Harry glanced over her that he could see through her robes, but the day went by pretty fast. At the end of the day she made her way over to his chambers, went inside when he called on her, and hung her robe on a hook near the door.
Harry looked her over and she felt his gaze linger on the unbuttoned shirt for a moment before he looked up at her eyes.
"I want you to tell me something about yourself," he ordered.
"Erm… just talk? What about?"
"Anything, really. Your day, or your friends, or your family—whatever you like. Just talk."
"Okay. Well, I'm an only child, and my parents are Muggles. Dentists," she started. She noticed his right arm was under his desk again and gave a look of distaste at him when she realized he had begun… pumping.
"Keep going, Hermione," Harry prompted as she had fallen still.
"Right. Well, I learned to read when I was five and quickly fell in love with books. All kinds, really, from fiction to history to cheap novellas, and—" His arm movements were increasing in speed.
"Uh huh. Keep talking," Harry grunted.
"My first accidental magic was when I summoned a book to my bed from the high shelf—Harry, please, stop!"
"Stop what? Keep talking," he grunted, leaning forward.
"I… I… I didn't have many friends, any friends really, and I never dated, and I—"
A loud groan from Harry interrupted her and she looked on in morbid fascination as he shuddered, then finally sat back up and brought tissue beneath his desk. Her eyes seemed glued on the tissue as it followed its parabolic arc to the waste bin near the door, disappearing from sight as it fell in.
"Enough talking. Hermione, your skirt is too long. Shorten it by a few inches."
"What?" she asked, turning to face him again.
"Like I said, your skirt, it's too long. Shorten it."
"But it's perfectly according to school regulations," Hermione protested.
"Actually, school regulations say nothing about skirt length, just that girls have to wear one. And while a knee length skirt is appropriate for bookworm Hermione Granger who lets bullies walk all over her, aren't you trying to be someone else?"
Hermione sighed. "Fine. Anything else?"
"Now that you ask, sure. Show me your knickers before you go."
She blanched. "What? How dare you ask me that?"
"It's a simple request, I just want to see what kind you're wearing," Harry said.
"Never!" she yelled at him, daring him to say more with a glare.
"Fine, I won't insist. You're making it needlessly difficult to help you, though," he said, standing up. "Let yourself out, and see you tomorrow, if you still want my help." He walked out the other door, leaving her standing there, fuming a bit.
"Show me your knickers, really? What kind of girl does he think I am?" she muttered to herself, grabbing her school robes and throwing them on. Then her eyes caught sight of the waste bin again. Hesitatingly she stepped closer and, keeping an eye over her shoulder at the door Harry disappeared through, leaned down over it. As she somewhat expected it was crumpled up and overall disgusting… but there was just something about she smell. She reached for it, and shuddered as her fingers came in contact with something wet and sticky. Bringing her fingers back up she inspected them closely for a moment, before shuddering once more and wiping them on her robes. She ran out the door and back to her dormitory as fast as her feet could take her.