Chapter 2: Old Haunts
The sharp, clean scent of pine disinfectant hit Hermione’s nostrils the moment she pushed open the heavy oak door to the Prefects' Bathroom. It was late, far too late for any students – or even Filch – to be lurking. The war had left its mark here too; the once shimmering mother-of-pearl surfaces looked dull under the harsh, unyielding glare of the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Sterile white tiles stretched floor to ceiling, reflecting the cold light until the room felt like the inside of an ice cube. The air hung heavy with damp and the ghost of a thousand adolescent anxieties. Silence, thick and absolute, pressed in, broken only by the drip… drip… drip of a leaky faucet somewhere unseen.
Hermione barely registered the chill seeping through her thin Ministry robes. Her skin still felt hypersensitive, raw from the earlier, frantic self-violation in her apartment. The phantom ache in her arse was a dull throb, a reminder of the desperate oblivion she’d clawed from her own body. And Kingsley’s urgent summons to St Mungo’s… the guilt was a lead weight in her stomach, but it was buried under a deeper, darker current. An emptiness yawned, wider and more demanding than before. The cucumbers… consuming them hadn’t filled it. It had only sharpened the hunger.
Her gaze swept the cavernous room, landing immediately on the solitary toilet standing starkly in the center of the vast tiled floor. Its lid was raised. And beside it, discarded carelessly on the wet tiles, lay a cucumber. Plump, dark green. Identical to the ones she’d just devoured. A jolt shot through her. How? Paranoia prickled, but it was instantly drowned in a wave of fresh, liquid heat between her legs. Her cunt clenched, wet and needy.
Yes.
It wasn’t a thought. It was a compulsion. A destination.
She stripped quickly, efficiently, robes, blouse, skirt, knickers – a damp, discarded puddle on the tiles. The cold air raised goosebumps on her bare skin, but her core burned. She approached the toilet, her bare feet slapping softly on the wet floor. She didn't look at the cucumber yet. Her focus narrowed on the gleaming chrome faucet protruding from the wall above the cistern. Standard. Functional.
Perfect.
Her wand was already in her hand, the wood warm against her palm. She traced the cool metal of the faucet, her touch light, assessing. This wasn't just Engorgio. This required precision. Finesse. The cold, sterile environment sharpened her intent. She wasn't Hermione Granger, Ministry drone. She was an engineer of sensation.
"Forma Mutatio," she whispered, the spell tingling down her arm. Not enlargement, but transformation. The chrome shivered, flowed like liquid metal under her wand tip. It thickened, lengthened, the smooth cylindrical base tapering slightly before flaring into a realistic, bulbous head glistening under the harsh lights. Veins appeared, subtle ridges etched into the chrome surface. She trailed her wand lower. "Tactus Simulacrum." The chrome lost its sterile gleam, gaining a soft, yielding texture, almost rubbery, warm now under her fingertips. Finally, a sharp jab. "Motus Pulsus!"
The transformed faucet pulsed. Once. A slow, deliberate throb that vibrated through the metal and into Hermione’s fingers. Then again. A steady, deep rhythm began, a mechanical heartbeat promising relentless penetration.
Hermione’s breath hitched. She glanced down. The cucumber lay there, an accusing green curve on the white tile. A challenge. A reminder of the other hole that ached with a deep, bruised emptiness. Later. This was for here. For now.
She climbed onto the closed toilet seat, the cold porcelain shocking against her bare thighs and arse. She positioned herself carefully, knees wide, feet planted on the seat for leverage. Below her, the open toilet bowl gaped like a dark maw. She leaned back slightly, one hand braced against the cold tile wall, the other guiding the warm, throbbing chrome cock towards her soaked cunt.
The broad, textured head nudged her slick entrance. She was drenched, her arousal slicking the chrome, making it gleam obscenely under the lights. She pressed down.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped as the thick head stretched her, pushed relentlessly inside. The textured ridges dragged exquisitely against her inner walls. It wasn't cool cucumber. It was warm. Alive with magic. Throbbing. She sank down, taking it deeper, the steady pulsations vibrating through her entire pelvis. Her inner muscles fluttered, trying to grasp the invading thickness. The stretch was perfect. Filling. But she needed more.
She adjusted her stance, lifting her hips slightly before driving down hard, impaling herself fully on the magical shaft. A sharp cry tore from her throat, echoing off the tiles. The head pressed deep against her cervix, the rhythmic pulsing massaging it. She began to move. Not gentle exploration. Fucking. Hard, desperate strokes, riding the chrome cock like her life depended on it.
"Harder," she hissed to the empty room, her voice ragged. The faucet couldn't hear, but her magic could. She concentrated, wandless this time, pouring her need into the enchantment. "Intensio!"
The pulsations deepened. Harder. Faster. The throbbing became a relentless pounding deep inside her. The textured veins scraped deliciously against her G-spot with every downward plunge.
The textured veins scraped deliciously against her G-spot with every downward plunge. Sweat slicked her skin, mingling with the steam rising from the toilet bowl beneath her. Her thighs burned, muscles straining as she fucked herself ruthlessly on the enchanted chrome cock, its relentless thump-thump-thump vibrating her bones.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The curses ripped from her throat, raw and guttural, bouncing off the sterile tiles. Her head fell back, exposing the frantic pulse in her neck. She was close, so close, the coil tightening unbearably low in her belly. The chrome shaft glistened with her juices, plunging deep, stretching her obscenely wide with each desperate slam of her hips. The rhythmic pounding inside her echoed the frantic hammering of her own heart.
The heavy oak door creaked open.
Hermione froze mid-thrust, the chrome cock buried deep inside her pulsing cunt. Her head snapped towards the sound, eyes wide with shock and a sudden, icy dread that cut through the haze of arousal. Harry Potter stood silhouetted in the doorway, his expression unreadable in the harsh fluorescent light. His gaze flickered from her flushed, naked form straddling the transfigured faucet, down to the discarded cucumber lying near the toilet, then back to her face.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The chrome cock pulsed insistently against her cervix. Hermione didn't move, couldn't breathe. Shame warred violently with the persistent, demanding throb inside her. His eyes, usually so warm, were dark pools reflecting the sterile white tiles and her own debasement.
He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft, final click. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the cavernous room. He walked towards her slowly, his footsteps unnervingly quiet on the wet tiles. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on hers. There was no anger, no disgust she could readily identify. Just… intensity. A raw, unsettling focus that pinned her in place.
"Busy?" Harry asked, his voice low, rough. It wasn't mocking. It was… assessing.
Hermione swallowed hard, the chrome cock still vibrating deep within her. "Harry… I…" Words failed her. Explanations died on her tongue. What could she say? The evidence of her depravity was starkly visible: the cucumber, the throbbing metal cock impaling her, her own slick coating her thighs.
He took another step closer. His eyes dropped again, tracing the line where the chrome disappeared into her glistening folds. "Looks… effective." His voice was flat, devoid of judgment, yet charged with something else entirely. A flicker of… hunger? Recognition? Hermione couldn't decipher it through the panic.
He reached out, not towards her, but towards the discarded cucumber. He nudged it with the toe of his boot. "Leftovers?" His gaze lifted back to hers, holding hers captive. The chrome pulsed again, a sharp reminder of her own desperate need, even amidst the paralyzing shock. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Then, without breaking eye contact, Harry slowly, deliberately, began to unbuckle his belt.
Hermione watched, mesmerized and terrified, as he freed his cock. It was already hard, thick and flushed, standing rigid against his stomach. The sight sent a fresh jolt of wet heat through her core, momentarily overriding the shame. He stepped closer, until his hips were level with her face where she knelt on the toilet seat. The chrome cock inside her throbbed incessantly.
"Suck," Harry commanded, his voice low and thick. It wasn't a request. It was an order, echoing the relentless pulse inside her.
Hermione didn't hesitate. The switch flipped instantly, the shame dissolving into pure, desperate need. She leaned forward, her lips parting. The musky scent of him filled her nostrils, primal and intoxicating. She took the swollen head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the sensitive ridge. Salty pre-come coated her tongue. "Mmmph," she groaned around him, the vibration making him twitch.
"Deep," Harry gritted out, his fingers tangling roughly in her bushy hair. He pushed forward, forcing his thick cock past her lips and down her throat. Hermione gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but she forced herself to relax, hollowing her cheeks, sucking hard as he fucked her face with short, brutal thrusts. Her nose pressed against his coarse pubic hair. The chrome cock pulsed inside her own cunt, a counterpoint rhythm to Harry's thrusts. Spit and pre-come slicked her chin.
"Yeah, choke on it, you filthy witch," Harry growled, his hips pistoning. "Suck my fucking cock like you mean it." His balls slapped against her chin. Hermione moaned around his girth, the vibrations earning a sharp groan from him. She reached up, gripping the base of his cock, squeezing as she bobbed her head, taking him deep into her throat again and again, her eyes watering. The dual sensations – cock in her mouth, cock in her cunt – were overwhelming, pushing her towards the edge she’d been chasing alone.
Harry pulled back abruptly, his cock slipping wetly from her lips with a lewd pop. Hermione gasped for air, saliva stringing from her mouth to his glistening shaft. He looked down at her, his eyes blazing. "Turn around," he ordered, his voice ragged. "Ass up."
Hermione scrambled off the toilet seat, the chrome cock sliding wetly out of her with a slick, obscene sound. She felt instantly empty, aching. She bent forward, bracing her hands on the cold porcelain rim of the toilet bowl, presenting her arse to him. Her cunt lips glistened, swollen and exposed, her arsehole clenched tight. She heard him spit, then felt the warm, wet glob land directly on her puckered hole. She flinched.
"Spread," Harry commanded, his fingers digging into the cheeks of her arse, pulling them apart roughly. Hermione whimpered, pushing back instinctively. She felt the blunt, hot pressure of his tongue, broad and wet, licking firmly over her tight rosette. "Oh god!" she cried out, the sensation shocking, intimate, degrading. He laved her hole, circling it, pressing insistently against the tight muscle. Then he speared his tongue inside, fucking her arsehole with it, deep and probing.
"Fuck! Harry! Oh fuck!" Hermione moaned, pushing her arse back against his face, desperate for more. The wet, slurping sounds echoed in the tiled room. He ate her arse with single-minded intensity, his tongue delving deep, loosening her. She felt herself opening, relaxing under the relentless assault. Pleasure, sharp and unexpected, radiated from the intrusion. "Yes! Eat it! Eat my fucking arse!" she begged, grinding against his mouth.
He pulled back, leaving her hole wet and gaping slightly. She heard the rustle of his clothes, then the slick sound of him stroking his cock. She braced, expecting him to plunge into her cunt or her arse. Instead, she felt something else press against her wet, loosened hole. Cool. Smooth. Hard. The discarded cucumber.
Hermione gasped. "Harry, no—"
"Shut up," he growled, pushing the blunt end firmly against her sphincter. "Take it." He pressed harder. The cool intrusion burned, stretching her impossibly wide after the warmth of his tongue. She cried out, a mixture of pain and shock, as the thick vegetable breached her tight ring. He pushed it deeper, inch by inch, until it was buried inside her arse. She felt impossibly full, stretched obscenely in both holes now, the cool cucumber a stark contrast to the lingering heat of his tongue.
He stepped back. Hermione panted, trembling, filled front and back. She heard him move, then felt his hands on her hips again. But he didn't enter her. Instead, he guided her backwards, away from the toilet. "On your knees," he ordered. Confused, aching, Hermione sank to her knees on the cold, wet tiles. She looked up at him. He held her wand, which she hadn't even realized she'd dropped.
He pointed it not at her, but at the chrome cock still protruding from the wall. "Gemino!" he incanted sharply. A shimmering duplicate of the chrome cock materialized beside the original. Then, with another flick and a muttered "Motus Pulsus," the duplicate detached itself, hovering in the air, throbbing with the same relentless rhythm. Harry caught it, the chrome warm and vibrating in his hand. He looked down at Hermione kneeling before him, her arse still plugged with the cucumber, her cunt dripping. A cruel smile touched his lips.
"Your turn," he said, his voice cold. He tossed the chrome cock onto the tiles in front of her. "Strap it on."
Understanding dawned, cold and exhilarating. Hermione scrambled for the duplicate chrome cock. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with a conjured harness Harry summoned – simple leather straps that buckled around her hips. She secured the thick, vibrating shaft, the bulbous chrome head jutting obscenely from her groin. It felt heavy. Powerful. She looked up at Harry. He was already stripping off his trousers and pants, kicking them aside. He turned his back to her, bending forward slightly, bracing his hands against the cold tile wall. He presented his arse to her – pale, firm cheeks clenched tight.
"Fuck me," Harry commanded, his voice tight. "Hard. Now."
Hermione rose to her feet, the chrome cock bobbing heavily between her legs. The power shift was instant, intoxicating. She stepped behind him, her own arousal a slick flood between her thighs. She spat onto her palm, then slicked the throbbing chrome shaft generously. The cold metal warmed instantly against her skin. She guided the broad, veined head to his tight hole. He tensed.
"Relax," Hermione murmured, her voice surprisingly steady, commanding. She pushed. The resistance was immense. She pressed harder, using her hips, driving the thick chrome head relentlessly against his clenched sphincter. "Open up for me, Harry," she hissed, grinding the head against him. "Take it."
He groaned, a deep, pained sound, but pushed back slightly. The thick head breached him, stretching him impossibly wide. "FUCK!" Harry yelled, his knuckles white against the tiles. Hermione didn't stop. She pushed forward steadily, relentlessly, sinking the thick chrome cock deep into his arse. He was tight, clenching around the invading metal like a vice, hot and resistant. She bottomed out, the flared base of the harness pressing against his arse cheeks, the entire throbbing length buried inside him.
"Full?" Hermione asked, her voice low and dangerous. She gripped his hips hard.
"Y-yes," Harry gasped, his voice strained. "Fuck… so full…"
Hermione pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, letting him feel every ridge, every vein scraping his sensitive inner walls. Then she slammed forward, hard. Harry cried out, his body jerking against the wall. She set a brutal pace immediately, fucking his arse with deep, powerful strokes, the chrome cock pistoning in and out of him. The thump-thump-thump of the enchantment vibrated through both of them, amplified by the tight clench of his hole. The wet, slapping sound of her harness slamming against his arse filled the room.
"Harder!" Harry groaned, pushing back against her thrusts. "Fucking harder, Hermione! Ruin me!"
She obliged, driving into him with savage force, her own hips snapping forward. The cucumber shifted inside her own arse with each thrust, a constant, distracting fullness. Sweat dripped from her brow onto his back. She watched the thick chrome shaft disappear repeatedly into his stretched hole, glistening with lube and his body's reluctant acceptance. "You love this, don't you?" she panted, landing a sharp smack on his arse cheek. "Love getting your arse fucked raw?"
"Yes! Fuck! YES!" Harry yelled, his voice cracking. "Don't stop! Please! Fuck me harder!"
She felt him trembling, heard the desperate edge in his voice. He was close. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his hole clenched rhythmically around the invading cock. She slowed abruptly, pulling almost all the way out, leaving just the head inside him. He whimpered, a high-pitched sound of pure frustration. "No! Please! Need it! Fuck me!"
"Beg properly," Hermione commanded, her own breath ragged, the chrome cock throbbing against her clit through the harness strap. She gave him a shallow, teasing thrust.
"Please!" Harry sobbed, pushing back futilely. "Please, Hermione! Fuck my arse! Fuck me hard! I need it! Need to come! Please!"
"Not yet," she growled. She pulled out completely this time. Harry cried out in anguish, his body shuddering. He turned his head, looking back at her, his eyes wild with desperation, tears streaking his face. His gaze dropped to her feet, bare and dirty from the wet tiles.
"Your toes," he gasped, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Let me suck your toes! Please! Anything! Just let me come! I'll suck your filthy toes, Hermione! Please!"
The request was bizarre, degrading. Perfect. Hermione stepped back slightly, lifting one foot. "Suck," she ordered, her voice cold.
Harry scrambled on his knees, turning clumsily. He grabbed her ankle, pulling her foot towards his mouth. He pressed his lips to her big toe, sucking it greedily into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. He sucked another toe, then another, his movements frantic, sloppy, desperate. He moaned around her toes, his cock rock hard and dripping pre-come onto the tiles beneath him. The sight of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, debased and sucking her toes while his arse gaped, was profoundly obscene. Hermione felt a fresh surge of wetness soak her thighs.
"Enough," she said, pulling her foot away. She stepped behind him again, guiding the slick chrome cock back to his stretched, quivering hole. She pushed in slowly, deliberately, watching his face contort with relief and renewed agony. She sank deep. "Now," she hissed, gripping the base of his cock tightly. "You come when I say." She began to stroke him, her fist tight and fast around his shaft, twisting on the upstroke. Simultaneously, she started fucking his arse again, hard and deep, the chrome cock pounding his prostate relentlessly.
Harry screamed. His body arched, then convulsed violently. "HERMIONE! FUCK! I'M—"
"Come!" she snarled, tightening her grip on his cock, fucking his arse with brutal precision.
Harry's entire body seized. Thick ropes of come erupted from his cock, splattering the white tiles in front of him, then his own stomach as his body bucked uncontrollably. "AHHHH! GOD! FUCK! YES!" he bellowed, his voice raw. Hermione didn't stop. She kept milking his cock, her fist pumping relentlessly through the diminishing spurts, squeezing out every last drop. She kept fucking his arse, the chrome cock slamming into his oversensitive prostate, prolonging the agony of his climax.
"More!" she demanded, her own climax building from the friction of the harness and the sheer power of dominating him. "Give me everything!" She squeezed his softening cock brutally, twisting, pulling another weak spurt from him. He whimpered, a broken sound. His body trembled violently, his legs giving way. He slumped forward against the wall, barely conscious, his breathing ragged gasps. Still, Hermione kept stroking, kept fucking him, milking him dry even as his eyes rolled back.
"Please…" he slurred, his voice barely audible, thick with exhaustion and overstimulation. "Stop… can't… please…" His head lolled. His body went completely limp.
Hermione gave one final, deep thrust, burying the chrome cock fully inside him. She held it there, feeling his arse clench weakly around it. She released his spent cock. Harry didn't move. His eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow, uneven. A thin line of drool escaped his slack lips. He was out cold. Hermione stood over him, panting, the chrome cock still throbbing inside him, her own body humming with unsatisfied tension and dark, absolute power. The cucumber shifted inside her as she took a step back, leaving Harry slumped unconscious against the cold, wet tiles, come drying on his stomach, her chrome cock still buried deep in his arse.