What Hermione Saw

Hermione came hurrying down the stairs from her dormitory into the Gryffindor common room, her fingers deftly pinning her prefect's badge to her robes. She scanned the room, frowning. It was filled with the usual after-dinner crowd of students, playing, studying, and--

In the case of one Ronald B. Weasley--


The frown on her face deepened to a scowl as she watched her friend--make that her former friend--her former best friend--wrap himself around that disgusting cow Lavender Brown. Honestly, the two of them were making a loud exhibition of themselves. It was quite obvious that Lavender had no shame, but to think that Ron--her Ron--could behave in this manner. Well!

Huffing, she marched boldly up to the pair of them, leaving a trail of silent onlookers in her wake. She tapped Ron on the shoulder. He ignored her, or--more likely--he hadn't even noticed as he seemed to be trying to shove his tongue down Lavender's throat, from which were issuing nauseating little high-pitched moans. Hermione noticed that her roommate had her hands under Ron's jumping, running them up and down his chest.

She tapped again. Sharply. This time Ron pulled away from Lavender with an audible pop! and looked up in surprise. When he saw Hermione, he gaped. He looked like a carp, Hermione thought with satisfaction. A swollen-mouthed, red-faced, stupid, gawping carp.

"It's time, Ronald!" she said sternly. There was a slight titter from behind them, as the entire common room seemed to be eavesdropping shamelessly.

"Er. Time?" Ronald continued his fish imitation. Lavender giggled and cooed in his ear, her hands still playing under his jumper.

"Yes. For rounds, Ronald. Prefect duties? You do remember you're a prefect, don't you?" Or have all your brains deserted your head to go take up residence elsewhere. Her lip curled.

He shifted uncomfortably, saying, "Oh, right. Right! Yeah, um..." He looked at Lavender apologetically. In turn, she gave Ron what she no doubt thought of as an appealing pout. She looked more like a halibut in Hermione's opinion. Perhaps she and Ron were meant for each other after all.

Hermione huffed again (she was getting quite good at that) and glanced at her watch, before crossing her arms over her chest. Ron climbed to his feet, adjusting his rucked up jumper and, Hermione couldn't help but notice, his trousers. Ron gave another glance of apology at Lavender and said to her again, "Yeah, um..."

Lavender batted her eyelashes at him, clearly impressed with his witty banter, and purred, "I'll wait up for you Won-Won. Don't forget about me."

Ron grinning sheepishly, caught Hermione's eye, frowned, blushed, and then stammered, "Right, um, Hermione. I'll-- should I get my prefect's badge d'you think?"

"No, Ronald. We're late as it is. I'll vouch for you in the unlikely event someone doubts your qualifications."

"Oh. Alright. Thanks, Hermione." Apparently, among his many other sterling qualities, Ron was immune to sarcasm.

With brisk strides Hermione led the way out, and the two of them climbed out through the portrait hole. Evening rounds generally took only about half an hour, with Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh year prefects trading off nights so that each year did them once every three days. Tonight it was the Sixth Years' turn. They would be patrolling the entire fourth floor, and half of the third. Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw prefects would be covering the other corridors.

They walked their usual route in pointed silence. At least, it was pointed on Hermione's side; Ron was so often speechless that it was hard to tell with him. Probably he was mooning over Lav-Lav and dwelling on all the sordid and perverse things they would do to each other to make up for this enforced absence from each others lips.

Ugh, thought Hermione. To think I used to fancy this git. Because there had been a time, and not too distant a time, when he'd been the focus of her thoughts and... if she owned up to it, her fantasies. She couldn't count the number of times she'd put herself to sleep at night imagining... well, all sorts of things about Ron. Things she did to him. Things she let him do to her.

His freckles had always played an important role. She used to imagine tracing lines between them with her tongue, following a path down his chest to his hard muscles of his stomach, while he groaned her name and tangled his fingers in her hair. And with encouragement like that, of course she'd move even lower, unfastening his trousers--

There was a scuffling noise ahead of them. From the vicinity of a broom closet. She and Ron stopped. Looked at each other. As was usual in these situations, Ron appeared highly reluctant to do his duty, so Hermione raised a eyebrow and then looked pointedly from Ron to the broom closet.

"Your turn, Ron. You know I've done the last two."

Ron sighed, squared his shoulders, and walked over to the closet door.

He cleared his throat. Loudly. Shuffled his feet. Rattled the doorknob a few times.

Then he said, "All right, you lot. Come out as soon as you're decent. I don't want an eyeful."

Out of the closet came two Ravenclaws whose names Hermione didn't know. Two male Ravenclaws. The disheveled state of their clothes and hair left no question as to what they'd been doing in there. As their attentions were firmly fixed on Ron, Hermione was able to eye them at her leisure without being noticed.

The both sported very... enticing bulges in their trousers. Very large enticing bulges. She grinned. Somehow the idea of two more sexually thwarted students in this school filled her with the tiniest bit of satisfaction. Unfair, perhaps, taking out her own frustrations on others. But at least she was honest.

When Ron had sent the two of them on their way, Ron blushing and stammering through the standard lecture, far more embarrassed than either of the two other boys, the two of them continued their patrol. They left the fourth floor and headed down to cover their half of the third floor corridor. They were late, and it was already ten minutes past their usual stopping time when they reached their turnaround point.

Just as Hermione was glancing again at her watch, composing a sarcastic comment on the time, and how she hoped dear Lav-Lav wouldn't be angry, they heard another noise. This time it was more of a mewing sound, but after six months of prowling supposedly deserted Hogwarts after hours, she was familiar--intimately familiar, you might say--with all the possible sounds that enthusiastic couples could make.

Ron groaned. Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"Alright, Ron. You go on back to dear Lav-Lav. All sort these two out."

Ron gave her a grateful look and a quick, "Thanks," and loped back down the corridor without a backwards glance.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

She crept quietly closer to the door from which the sound had issued. It was the Arithmancy classroom, still in darkness of course, but the door was slightly ajar. Hermione moved closer. Unlike Ron, she didn't generally give her wrong-doers advance warning. She always felt that the element of surprise gave her an advantage, discipline-wise, not having the natural authority that came with Ron's height and build.

She reached the doorway and peeked in. An almost full moon was shining through the tall windows, lighting the room in a pearly radiance. At first, she saw nothing. Then, she heard the noise again, that mew that somehow spoke volumes about need and pleasure.

Her head turned towards the sound and there, in the back of the classroom, leaning against the wall, was

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, his head thrown back, his hair white in the moonlight, his narrow hips flexing as he pumped his dick--his long, wet, hard, red dick--straight into Pansy Parkinson's eager mouth.

So this was what the Sixth Year Slytherin prefects got up to after rounds.