A Life at Hogwarts
Chapter 13 - Part 4
Daphne hummed in agreement, pushing forward until her nose brushed against his stomach. She held him deep in her throat for a long moment, swallowing around his thickness, her grey eyes watering but locked on his face. She pulled back slowly, lips dragging along every vein, then sank down again with wet, deliberate strokes. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside, working him expertly while her hands rested on his thighs.
"You feel so good in my mouth," she murmured when she pulled off for air, strings of thick spit connecting her swollen lips to his cock. She licked along the side, kissing and sucking softly. "I love tasting all of it. Tasting how you used both of us. I'll always be better for you… I promise."
Roland's fingers tightened in her blonde hair, guiding her rhythm. "I know you will. You're my good Greengrass girl. So graceful even when you're choking on my cock." He started fucking her mouth a little harder, hips rocking forward in slow, deep thrusts. The wet, obscene sounds filled the quiet office again — loud slurping, soft gagging, the occasional moan vibrating around his length. Daphne took it all, relaxing her throat and letting him use her, tears slipping down her cheeks as she breathed carefully through her nose.
Her firm tits swayed with every bob of her head, nipples brushing against his thighs. She reached up with one hand to gently massage his heavy balls, rolling them in her palm while she sucked harder. "Please," she gasped around his cock when he pulled back enough for her to speak. "Cum for me. Let me swallow everything. I need it."
Roland groaned deeply, gripping her hair tighter. He held her head down and came again, flooding her throat with another thick, heavy load. Daphne swallowed frantically around him, throat working visibly as she took every spurt, not letting a single drop escape. She kept sucking gently even after he finished, cleaning him thoroughly with long, loving strokes of her tongue until he was spotless.
When he finally pulled out, a thin string of spit and cum connected her lower lip to the head of his cock before breaking. Daphne stayed on her knees, breathing hard, lips shiny and swollen, a few tears still tracking down her flushed cheeks.
Roland looked down at her, thumb brushing her jaw again. "No cumming for a week. That's your penalty for losing tonight. Understand?"
Daphne nodded slowly, voice hoarse and rough. "Yes… I understand. I'll wait. I'll be good."
"Good girl." He leaned back, watching her for a long moment. "Clean up and go back to your dorm."
She stayed kneeling for a long moment longer, forehead resting lightly against his thigh, catching her breath and composing herself. Then she gathered her scattered clothes from the floor, dressed quietly, and slipped out of the office without another word, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
***
That same night, after both girls had slipped out, Roland stayed alone in his office for a long while. The heavy door had clicked shut behind Hermione first, then Daphne, leaving the room in a thick, intimate silence. The air still carried the unmistakable scent of what had happened — sweat, sex, the sharp musk of two soaked cunts, and the faint, expensive trace of Daphne's perfume mixed with Hermione's more innocent soap smell. It clung to the rug, to the leather of the couch, and even to his own skin.
Roland poured himself a glass of elf-made wine, the deep red liquid catching the low lamplight as he swirled it once. He took a slow sip, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied exhale. Hermione had won tonight, and she had earned every bit of it. The way she had worked Daphne over in that final round — fingers curling just right, that calm, focused determination in her voice even while her own thighs were shaking — showed how far the brilliant little bookworm had come. She wasn't just eager anymore. She was learning how to use pleasure as a weapon, how to read a body and push it over the edge on purpose.
Daphne had fought hard, though. Her desperation after the holidays had given her real fire in the second round. The way she had bounced on him with that athletic grace, clenching and rolling her hips like she was trying to prove something with every thrust… it had been impressive. She had almost had him. But in the end, Hermione's experience and that quiet, intellectual hunger had won out. It was exactly the kind of rivalry he wanted to keep stoking.
He thought about the public favor he now owed Hermione. Something visible. Something that would make students whisper and teachers raise eyebrows. Maybe a special "research assistant" role announced in class, or a private "advanced lesson" that everyone would notice her attending. The thought made him smile faintly into his wine. That would be fun to arrange. It would keep Daphne sharp and jealous, and it would give Hermione another public layer of his attention.
A faint ripple in the castle's magic pulled his attention away from his glass. Dark. Hungry. Moving steadily toward the third floor. Quirrell. Roland set the wine down, slipped on his outer robes over his open collar, and stepped quietly into the corridor. He didn't rush. He simply moved through the shadows, observing.
Not far ahead, Harry and Ron were crouched behind a large stone statue, following the Defense professor at a careful distance. Quirrell was moving faster than usual, his turban sitting crooked on his head, one hand constantly rising to adjust and scratch at the fabric like something underneath was driving him mad. His eyes darted around nervously, wide and glassy in the torchlight.
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, voice tight with tension, "he's heading straight for the forbidden corridor. Straight for that door. Hermione wouldn't come tonight. Her dorm mates said she was already asleep. Again. What's with her lately? She's been… off."
Harry nodded, one hand unconsciously rubbing at his scar. "Yeah. She's been different. Quieter some days, then glowing like tonight. But we can't wait for her. If Quirrell's going for the Stone tonight, we have to do something. Even if it's just watching."
They crept forward, sticking close to the walls and staying in the deepest shadows. Roland remained further back, silent and still, watching everything unfold with calm interest. He saw Quirrell reach the heavy door that guarded the three-headed dog. The man paused, muttering something under his breath — a low, frantic string of words that sounded like half a spell and half a plea. Then he slipped inside, the door creaking shut behind him.
Harry and Ron hesitated at the entrance, pressing themselves against the wall. Ron's face was pale in the low light. "We can't go in there without a plan. We know there are traps set up. If we mess up, we're done."
Harry kept his eyes on the door. "We don't go in tonight. We just watch. But we need to figure those traps out properly. Hermione's notes are the best for this. We have to keep sabotaging him somehow before he reaches the Stone. We can't let him get it."
Roland stayed hidden in the shadows a little longer, listening. Smart boys. They were learning caution. He turned and headed back toward his quarters without interfering. Let the plot move forward a little on its own tonight. It kept things interesting, and he had his own pieces to manage.
The next morning at breakfast, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual post-Valentine's chatter, though most of the floating hearts had finally been cleared away. Hermione looked noticeably different as she sat down between Harry and Ron. Her skin had a healthy, almost luminous glow, like she had slept deeply and woken up renewed. Her eyes were bright and focused, and there was a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips as she buttered her toast. She moved with a subtle confidence — shoulders relaxed, posture easy, like someone carrying a pleasant secret that made every step feel lighter.
Harry and Ron both noticed right away. Ron raised an eyebrow but didn't comment immediately. Harry kept glancing at her while he ate, the unwanted visions from the previous day still lingering at the edges of his mind.
"Valentine's was completely mad yesterday," Harry said, trying to keep the conversation light and normal. He launched into the story with more detail now that breakfast was properly underway. "There were cards singing everywhere. One of them followed me all the way from the corridors to the common room — kept belting out this awful song about my 'brave green eyes and messy hair.' I had to duck into the dorm and hide behind the bed curtains until it finally gave up. And the chocolates… I must have gotten at least twenty boxes. Girls kept stopping me in the halls to hand me more."
Ron poked at his eggs with clear envy, his freckled face flushed. "Lucky you, mate. I got one single card. From Mum. It literally said 'Happy Valentine's, Ronald. Remember to eat your vegetables and study harder.' That was it. No girls even looked my way. I walked past half the castle and it was like I was invisible. Feels like I'm the only bloke in Hogwarts who got nothing."
Hermione listened quietly, cheeks still carrying a faint pink that could have been from the morning chill or something else. She took a bite of toast before speaking. "It sounds chaotic. But at least you got some attention, Harry. Better than nothing. And Ron… there's always next year. Or Hogsmeade weekends."
Harry lowered his voice, leaning in over the table so only the three of them could hear clearly. "We saw Quirrell last night. He was sneaking toward the third floor corridor, looking worse than ever. Turban all crooked, twitching like mad, eyes darting everywhere. We followed him for a bit but didn't go inside. We need to figure out those traps properly. We have to keep sabotaging him somehow before he gets anywhere near the Stone."
Ron nodded, still looking a bit dejected but focusing on the serious topic now. "Yeah. And we need your notes, Hermione. You're the best at figuring this stuff out. You always have the best ideas for counter-spells and plans."
Hermione leaned in closer, her voice turning sharp and focused, the satisfied glow from earlier mixing with her usual brilliant intensity. "I've been reading everything I can get my hands on. If we study the patterns and plan moves in advance, we can work as a team. We should meet tonight after dinner and go over it step by step. No more waiting around. The Stone isn't safe with Quirrell acting like this."
Harry studied her as she spoke. She sounded exactly like the old Hermione — brilliant, organized, already several steps ahead with practical solutions. But there was something extra in her energy today. She looked refreshed, almost energized in a way that went beyond normal excitement about research. He pushed the thought aside for now. "Alright. Tonight after dinner in the common room. We'll figure this out properly."
The three of them kept talking quietly for the rest of breakfast, heads close together over the table. Hermione was fully engaged, scribbling quick notes on a scrap of parchment with her usual neat handwriting, suggesting specific spells and counter-measures for each trap. Harry tried to focus on the planning, nodding along and adding his own ideas about brooms and timing, but his mind kept drifting back to the way she had smiled when Roland called on her in class yesterday, and the late nights she kept having that she brushed off as studying.
By the time they finished eating and started gathering their things, they had a rough but solid plan forming. They would practice some of the counters in empty classrooms during free periods, keep a closer eye on Quirrell's movements, and meet again that night to refine everything. The Stone wasn't safe, and they weren't going to let Quirrell get anywhere near it without a real fight.
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