Chapter 0 - Teacher's Pet

Hermione’s head raced. It was racing a lot these days, thoughts coming so fast and thick it hurt. With all the dementors, and what happened at Hogsmead, the quidditch match, and most shockingly of all the exams were only a few short months away. She had already started her revision timetable, secretly for now, the boys would laugh. They would laugh anyway once they saw the completed, fully coloured, and carefully sectioned off creation. Still, they would also beg her for help when the pressure mounted.
 
The racing thoughts had kept her awake, long after even the most delinquent Gryffindors had given up and gone to bed. So she had quietly gotten up and, dressing quickly, had slipped down to the common room and out into the nocturnal castle. There were teachers and prefects out patrolling, but Hermione was well practiced. She would never say it out loud, because the boys would never forgive her, but she knew the castle better than just about anyone else. It all began first year, when Harry and Ron had dragged her and Neville down to the trophy room for that ridiculous duel with Malfoy. She had acted outraged when they were nearly killed by Fluffy, but something had been kindled in her. The rush, the thrill the ecstatic feeling that came… When breaking rules.
 
Since then she had sneaked out alone most evenings to roam the castle. Last year security was so lax that it had taken no skill at all to avoid being seen. This year, even with the patrollers, Hermione was well up to the task. She had memorised the various short-cuts and pitfalls in just a few weeks, and now, even without Harry’s cloak, she could move stealthier and quicker even than the caretaker and his cat. Secretly, she felt that if a teacher did actually catch her one night the worst she’d get would be a warning, after all, not many twelve year old witches can perform a Camouflage Charm on anything, let alone themselves. It was an odd sensation, being semi-transparent, looking down at her body and seeing only the vague outline of her legs over the bare floor.
 
On this occasion she met no one, her circuitous route brought her into the entrance hall from the stairs that lead down to the kitchens, quite the opposite direction from Gryffindor tower. Hermione stole over the well-lit space, hoping nobody arrived at the wrong moment, tapped the great doors with her wand, pushed them open a crack and slipped out into the night. She walked a few meters and turned to regard the slumbering castle. Nearly all the lights were out, the familiar lines of corridors dimly lit by the torches within. A few windows glowed, the teachers’ offices, she knew instantly, but at this late hour nobody would be looking sternly out of their window watching for truant girls. Anyway, it was hard enough to spot her cunningly hidden form in the torch-lit corridors, let alone stealing across the dark sweeping shades of the lawns. Turning her back on the castle she looked out at the night. Already her eyes were adjusting; she could make out the whomping willow, silvery branches swaying gently in the breezeless night. Beyond the shimmering grey disc of the lake, off to the side, the glowering bulk of the forbidden forest, with Hagrid’s cabin a nearer, darker shadow in the foreground. Away to the other side, the greenhouses stood out like ghostly, skeletal buildings with the pale, thin moon catching their shape and silhouetting the many plants within.
 
So, what to do… Hermione scanned the grounds with an imperious eye; the lake was nice, with the reflected sky and the faint ripples of the giant squid. Sadly Hagrid’s cabin was darkened, the huge gamekeeper must have turned in early; he often worked at night, doing the gamekeeper-y jobs not so suitable to day time. Skinning animals, setting traps, driving off dangerous creatures, and whatever side projects Hagrid had on at the time (some things just have to be done at night). Hermione had whiled away quite a few nights with Hagrid, watching him work and chatting about things. He was very nervous these days, but then nearly everyone was.
 
Her eyes strayed towards the forest. More and more these days her night-time walks had led her there. Hagrid had admitted to her that there was nothing really dangerous in there, though that was by his own unique standards, she had reflected. She had later found out that it was only ‘Forbidden’ because a former, and, in Hermione’s opinion rather wily headmaster had realised what a large group of magical teenagers really needed was a way to rebel in safety. He figured that those over exuberant students who did not respond to discipline could be allowed to do things they thought were not allowed, it would expend their insubordinate energy, leaving them focused and ready for their school work. Obviously, they could not simply be encouraged to rebel, that would be self-defeating. So the trick was to let them feel like they were, to provide them with some big, obvious and highly intimidating place they were not supposed to enter under any circumstances. It worked phenomenally well.
 
So maps had been changed and the student body had been informed and the Forbidden Forest had been born. Before that, Hermione guessed, nobody had really bothered with it. All the same, she had not ventured very far in, even on her most sleepless nights, and she wouldn’t insult Hagrid by thinking she had any kind of understanding of the winding paths and dark eves while he walked the grounds. All the same, those stealthy walks into the trees had been the most exhilarating, that former headmaster knew what he was talking about. She had seen some interesting things in there. A family of unicorns had approached her one time, and the little foal had chewed leaves out of her hands, with the vast, heaving flanks of its parents very close by, protectiveness radiating from them. She had enjoyed seeing them, but hadn’t stayed long. Then there was that time she had spied the two young centaurs… Now that had been something.
 
And there it was. She was thinking about sex, again. It had been at the back of her mind all evening, silent but insistent. As she lay in bed, listening to the chatter of the other girls, as she wandered the castle, and now as she stared contemplatively at the forest. The image of the two centaurs had been burned in her mind. He was palomino, and she dark roan. They cantered and stamped around in a moonlight glade as Hermione crept as near as she dared. They were far too busy to notice her. She watched, wide eyed as they made love. And love it was. Later she had read up about it and discovered that centaur sex usually lasts all day, with foreplay and penetration alternating for hours, as the pair roams at will around the forest. After an hour she had slunk away, leaving the panting, bellowing creatures alone as he reared onto her back yet again. It had taken some time, sitting, under a tree in the forest, to work the tension from that sight out of her body.
 
Of course, the wizarding, or rather witching, world had interesting views on sex in its own right. There was something inevitable about giving a pubescent girl a phallic object of her very own with a book of what could, frankly, be called ‘settings’. The stories from the older girls had been amazingly instructive to say the least, and Hermione approached them in the same way she approached everything at school. Voraciously. Helpfully there was a roaring trade in that particular kind of book usually published privately by a discreet witch, and had titles like “The Secret Spells” and, capitalising on the ‘new age’ trend in magic during the 1960’s, “The Charm-a Sutra”. Hermione had ploughed through them in one week.
 
She had relished the outrageous tales that the older girls spoke of so boastfully, and before long had started experimenting with her wand. The applications of magic spells in masturbation quite astounded her at first. She wandered vaguely whether the boys knew any of this; maybe it just didn’t occur to people with a penis. All that being said, she had not really thought about the actual physicality of sex, any more than she thought about actually kissing boys. Investigating yourself with a wand gushing pure, warm water was one thing, actually being with a boy was something else.
 
That being the case the confrontation she’d had with the huge centaur penis that night had stayed with her. When she pictured it, all shiny and throbbing as the centaur waved it around trying to find his mate, she could almost feel her childhood slipping away.
 
She realised she’d been half consciously walking all the while she had been lost in reflection. Her feet had taken her down the lawns, in the direction of the forest. Now she looked around again, she was almost level with the darkened windows of Hagrid’s cottage. She could hear his titanic snores from inside; they rattled the windows and shook the slates in the crooked roof. Outside the closed door there was an industriously sifting shape. Fang the huge hound was curled up on the doorstep, licking himself with the kind of focus only a male can muster.
 
Hermione stepped closer and the giant dog looked up, he couldn’t see her, but he could certainly smell her. She could see, however. She could see, revealed by his shifted head, the red object extending from its furry sheath on his underside. It seemed to flow, sliding around with Fang’s deep pants; almost as long as her arm, veiny and angry looking. She was hypnotised by the thing, as Fang continued to sniff hopefully in her direction. She hesitated, thoughts blazing through her mind. Fang, the centaur, huge penises. Possibilities hitherto only known in theory unfolded before Hermione, things said by the older girls crystalized, and the section from “The Secret Spells” that she had only skimmed before entitled “Fantastic Beasts and How To Fuck Them” suddenly felt much more relevant.
 
Lost in her revere, still staring at Fang’s quite epic crotch, Hermione’s body made the decision for her. A hand withdrew her wand and tapped the top of her bushy haired head; a slight chill tingled its way down her body signalling her return to opacity. Fang, suddenly seeing her, sat up. He didn’t bark, she noticed. She had wondered before about Fang. He can’t be the only non-magical creature at Hogwarts, surely. After all, he was Hagrid’s game dog. He was a good deal bigger than a great dane. How old was he anyway? The huge dog met her eye and for a moment Hermione thought there was a certain, knowing glimmer. Perhaps generations of Hogwart’s girls had found their way to him… He could be decades old for all she knew. Maybe… Her mind raced, maybe Fang was an animagus who had worked out how to live the dream… She paused, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, the metaphysics of magic was, though she would only admit it to herself, the only aspect of magic she had genuine difficulty with. But fortunately it didn’t come up in any exams, or in real life for the most part.
 
Fang continued to stare silently at her, his penis pointing accusingly in her direction from between his legs. She edged forwards, waiting for him to bark. But it never came, she stepped right up to stand next to him on the doorstop, Hagrid’s gargantuan snores vibrating the stone beneath her feet. The dog simply stared at her, waiting.
 
Not here. Some deep thought said in a tone authoritative enough to overrule her already mounting libido. She withdrew the hand that had already been reaching for the red canine cock. Coming to her senses slightly she glanced beyond Fang into the darkened cottage; a huge shape rose and fell in the corner. The vague patchwork pattern could just be seen in the gloom. Hagrid was fast asleep, far too deeply to hear her and fang sneaking around the house and away towards the forest.
 
This was indeed the case. She set of purposefully towards the eves, the dog padding calmly by her side. Was that a swagger? Walking briskly in the chilly night air they reached the trees quickly and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione walked aimlessly in the thick, pine scented gloom for a few minutes, putting some distance between her and the open lawns, while glancing around for a likely clearing.
 
Soon enough she spied one through the tangled trunks. A fallen tree. It had dropped recently, probably in the storm last month. It lay now on its side; broken branches holding the trunk a few feet off the ground. The stump was gnarled and twisted, jutting roots making buttresses of wood. That would do. She marched round the stump, selecting a weed free patch of dead pine needles to rest on. Finding one she shrugged off her winter cloak and laid it up against the dead tree and turned to look at Fang.
 
The dog had been on her heels every step of the way and she turned to find his wet nose brushing her tan skirt. He sniffed at the hem, the chill of the air rushing past her thigh as he inhaled made her shiver and set her flesh tingling. The pressure from the probing nose increased, pushing her back against the hollow of the stump. Leaning now on the wood, her legs slightly parted by her almost stumble Hermione bit her lower lip gently as the hounds head disappeared under her skirt. Within the wet nose brushed her legs, the little air gusts tickling her skin.
 
Fang’s tongue lolled out, wetly slavering over her Gryffindor pants, soaking her inner thighs instantly. Hermione’s breath came out in ragged gasps as the rough, slimy muscle lapped over her womanhood. Her legs quivered as the tongue worked tirelessly, before long her knees gave way, and she slid softly down the stump to land in the curled, fur lined folds of her cloak. Her sudden descent left Fang’s head behind and as her skirt was pulled along by her hips, the dog’s head whipped in to view, licking his chops with contented kind of look. He barely paused, however, his eager nose guiding him down and back under the hanging pleats, Hermione’s legs now spread by the bending of her knees.
 
As Fang went to work again a tight moan escaped Hermione and she shuddered. Reaching down she flipped her skirt up, exposing the dog, licking industriously at her sodden pants. She tried to shoo him off, slipping a hand under the elastic to pull them down. The dog was immobile however, his powerful head holding his maw glued to her crux. After a moments struggling Hermione managed to ease the pants over one of her buttocks, sliding it over the wet skin and revealing her flared, glistening lips to the relentless tongue.
 
She let out a yelp as the rough surface dragged over her clitoris, the sandpapery thing almost scratching, sending waves of pleasure through her body and making her legs twitch and spasm as further yelps and cries escaped her. She wriggled and writhed under the pinning snout, grinding against the tongue. One hand held her breast, rubbing a hard nipple with a finger and thumb. Her legs moved further apart, bracing one over a jutting root and holding the other in her free hand she drew the knee up to her face, pinning her un-cupped breast between it and her body, and stretching her aching pussy wide for Fang’s tongue. It entered her to an accompaniment of her moans and cries, her head rolling around. The thing rubbed her insides, flicking back and forth over what felt like every inch of her.
 
Hermione could have lain there forever, letting the lolling, lapping, licking thing do its work, but Fang grew impatient. Lifting his head from Hermione’s cunt, he stepped forward, managing to brandish his penis at her despite not having hands. His hips gave slight thrusts as he panted, making its pendulum-like bulk swing around like an engorged, blindly searching worm. Hermione gaped, as Fangs hot breath misted her forehead and a long slather of spit dangled from his tongue in front of her eyes. Realising slowly what he intended to do to her, Hermione’s mind kicked into action one last time. She drew out her wand and pressed the tip gently between her parted lips.
“Infragilio.” She muttered, as Fang tried to nuzzle her face.
The soft whoosh passed up her vagina and settled deep in her womb. It dissipated, leaving her with a warm tension in her insides. She had not tried this particular erotic spell; it has been in the Fantastic Beasts chapter. Until now she hadn’t properly understood what it really meant to make your insides elastic. She had had things up there before, but they had been but a fraction of the size of the towering cock before her now.
 
She levered herself up on her hands and feet, crablike under Fang’s bulk. The dog’s thing now probed the air in front of her cunt, lubricant dripping. As it hung in the air over her sparsely haired belly, Hermione strained to lift her hips higher. The tip jabbed out with Fang’s movement, catching her milky thighs and off of her raised abdomen. Pre-cum stuck to her skin, leaving long slimy streamers between her body and the tip of the pointed shaft. At the base Hermione could see his knot already swelling, forming a two-lobed roughly spherical bulge framed by his furry sheath. She tried to move closer, to let the probing tip catch her opening and held her breath as the hot poking point strained to find its place.
 
Fang growled low over her head as he continued to thrust half-heartedly in her direction. He was frustrated, she realised, and her legs, still wobbly were protesting having to hold her midriff so elevated. The huge hound stepped back, huge dark eyes staring down at her prostrate form, hot breaths coming in huffing growls that washed over her flushed face. Hermione stared up at the dog’s face, trepidation widening her eyes in mild shock. She would need to… She’d…
 
Mouth dry and skin tickling with nerves she rolled over. Fang’s panting maw was directly behind her head as she lay flat, listening to his breath and feeling it through the back of her shirt. Hermione lifted her rear slowly; every inch she moved made her exposed cheeks tingle as the looming presence of the hound drew nearer. With shaking hands she reached down to slip her panties down over her ass and down her thighs. Fang’s muzzle nuzzled the nape of her neck, the hot puffs of breath ruffled her bushy hair and making her sigh as it brushed over her skin. Her rump inched higher as she brought her knees up under herself.
 
Fang moved suddenly, hitching his forelegs up round Hermione’s shoulders and shuffling his hind legs forward. He pushed his hips forward and she felt the ridged tip of his cock jabbed into the crook of her leg. The pressure mounted as Fang bucked against her, and the tip slithered over the shining, slick skin and caught her. The tip was inside her at once, the first inch making her tight, quivering lips swell. Her hands bunched around the lining of her cloak and Hermione pressed her forehead into it as her shock forced the air from her lungs. Fang paused, for the briefest of moments before resuming his pounding. The cock was expanding, inside her. It probed inwards, her elastic flesh parting before it. She let out a spastic wail, ragged by the shortness of her breath. The sound was continued as the weight of Fang’s hind-quarters hit her own, pale, naked rump forced the air in and out of her paralysed throat.
 
When she felt the imminent bulk of his knot easing its way between her buttocks sense returned momentarily, only to be banished again when Fang rocked forward, pressing her torso down with his ribcage and forepaws and lent all his weight against her engorged hole. The knot pushed and strained and then in an instant plopped in. Hermione’s whole body tensed, her lips trapping the still swelling member. She screamed, but not in pain, as Fang began to set a rhythm. He humped frantically, dragging his enormous cock and expanding knot forward and backward within her. It throbbed and pulsed hot against her insides, and she arched her back, driving the point deeper with each movement from the immense dog’s body.
 
As the knot continued to grow, Hermione could feel her belly swell. It slowly expanded, still held tightly and deeply inside her vagina by her vice like grip. She reached a hand to feel the bulge in her skin. She squeezed it and the whole length of the thing quivered, and Fang’s hot breath behind her head ended in a low, honey covered growl. She massaged the bullet hard bump that had now expanded to the size of a football as Fang desperately tried to drive his cock all the way through her. Hermione’s muscles spasmed as the pressure mounted in her crux, and she moved the hand down to rub manically on her swollen clitoris.
 
She was biting her lip and letting out wails punctuated by gasps and half muttered words that escaped through her daze when Fang’s testicles, which were resting against the hand she had on her clit, tensed and contracted. Her eyes opened wide as suddenly a surge passed up the huge thing and her lips tightened involuntarily as she climaxed. The pressure in her clit that had built up was explosively released and her back shook and her legs thrashed as she cried aloud, wailing to the leafy skies. Fang howled, their voices combined, and at last his hips stopped moving. His cock had penetrated the length of her abdomen, stretching out her womb so that it filled rapidly as more and more cum sprayed in.
 
The swelling was gradual as Fang kept up his amorous pumping. It joined the mass of the know and bulged her whole abdomen outwards, making her gurgle and her eyes rolled up into her head. The hand that had been on her clit now grasped Fang’s balls. She could feel each of their contractions, and then held her breath for the split second it took to reach her body. It would surge up his length before adding to the reservoir of seed that was held in place by the pressure of his huge knot. She barely moved when Fang moved. He had stopped howling, though his body kept going, and he slithered off her sweating and shaking back. He turned in her, the rotating knot making Hermione squeal and her muscles tighten, forcing some of the pressurised cum out. It ran down her thighs, leaving a glistening trail whose chill tingled when a breeze caught it. Fang was facing away from her, panting loudly. He had stopped cumming, but the size of him inside her remained the same.
 
As the echoes of her orgasm faded in the back of her head and in the hugely full sensation from her womb and vagina, a thought struck Hermione that brought her back from cloud nine. What would Fang do now? Would he wait for his prick to shrink? That would take hours, surely. What if he set off back to Hagrids? He was easily big enough to drag her. The thought of being dragged arse-first out of the Forbidden Forest by Fang’s huge knot sent tingles of adrenaline fear through her. She was stuck…
 
Then Fang set off….
 