Chapter 1
Hermione Granger had always been the kind of girl who thrived on control, on understanding, on knowing. But lately, Harry's fixation on Draco Malfoy had begun to fray her nerves. It wasn't just his usual concern; it was an obsession that bordered on mania. He was sure that Malfoy was a death eater and planning something nefarious and was intent on uncovering Malfoy's plans. He had been following Malfoy at night and Hermione decided that it was up to her to prove that he was being paranoid.
So one evening, as the castle of Hogwarts slept under the watchful eyes of portraits and ghosts, Hermione found herself slipping from the warmth of her bed to tail Harry. She moved like a shadow, blending into the tapestry of the night, her heart pounding with a mixture of frustration and concern.
She trailed him through the winding corridors, her breath hitching as she watched him approach the Room of Requirement. Her mind raced with possibilities of what he might be planning, but she knew better than to jump to conclusions. She kept her distance, her own magic simmering under her skin, ready to cast a protective charm at a moment's notice.
Harry attempted to enter the Room of Requirement, his hand pressed against the wall, his lips moving in a silent incantation. But the room remained closed to him. It was already occupied. Hermione could see the frustration etched on his face as he turned away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
She remained hidden behind a towering statue, her breath shallow as she watched Harry retreat back towards the Gryffindor common room. Her gaze, however, was drawn back to the Room of Requirement, curiosity gnawing at her.
Unbeknownst to Hermione, as she watched the door, two figures lurked in the shadows. Crabbe and Goyle, in their polyjuiced first-year guises, were patrolling the area on Malfoy's orders. They had been instructed to ensure that no one disturbed whatever was happening within that secret room.
The dimly lit corridor on the seventh floor was eerily quiet, save for the soft footfalls of two apparent first-year Slytherins making their rounds. To the casual observer, they were merely two young students out past curfew. In reality, they were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, sixth-year students transformed by Polyjuice Potion.
Crabbe, in the guise of a small, dark-haired boy, glanced at his companion. "Any sign of trouble?" he whispered, his voice higher than usual.
Goyle, now a freckled redhead, shook his head. "Nothing yet. Reckon Malfoy's still in there?" He jerked his head towards the blank wall where the Room of Requirement was hidden.
"Must be," Crabbe replied. "Otherwise, why would we be stuck out here?"
They continued their patrol, their minds not entirely focused on their assigned task of keeping watch for Malfoy. Instead, they were preoccupied with their own secret plan - one that had been weeks in the making.
"Run it by me again," Goyle muttered as they turned a corner. "What exactly are we looking for?"
Crabbe sighed, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes as he explained. "We're after one of Potter's inner circle. Preferably Granger. I have been wanting to teach that bitch a lesson forever"
"And once we get her?"
"We stun her and drag her into the Room of Requirement," Crabbe said, patting his pocket where his wand was concealed. "Remember, Stupefy is allowed in Hogwarts. It's only once we're inside the Room that we can use... other methods."
Goyle nodded slowly, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness on his borrowed face. "And you're sure about this Room of Requirement business? That we can do _that_ in there, you know that Hogwarts protections keep us from doing _that_ in Hogwarts?"
Crabbe confirmed with a nod, "Yeah, it was a stroke of luck that led me to the discovery. A while back, I was standing guard over that damn cabinet as Malfoy had instructed, with Pansy Parkinson prattling on about my idiocy. I'd had enough, so I shoved her against the wall and roughly fondled her breasts, grinding my erection against her. Usually, Hogwarts would've immediately struck me down, leaving me unconscious, but this time, nothing happened. Pansy was stunned, and so was I. I didn't waste any time, though; I stunned her too and used a memory charm to erase her recollection of the event. The Room of Requirement is like its own separate realm. The usual Hogwarts safeguards don't apply there. We'll have free rein to do whatever we please to Granger, or any other girl for that matter—whether it's using the Imperius Curse or taking advantage of them while they're out cold."
"And once we have Granger in the room?" Goyle asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Crabbe's lips curled into a smirk. "Then we teach the mudblood a lesson her body won't forget."
As they continued their rounds, both boys were lost in thoughts of their dastardly plan. So focused were they on their ambitions that they almost missed the soft sound of approaching footsteps.
Quickly, they pressed themselves into a shadowy alcove, watching as Harry Potter, stalked past them towards the Room of Requirement.
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged knowing looks. Where Potter went, his friends were often not far behind. Potter grew frustrated in not being able to get the room to open for him left. Sure enough, moments later, they spotted her – Hermione Granger, creeping along the corridor, clearly following Potter. As they watched her come to a stop, confusion evident on her face as she stared at the blank wall where the Room of Requirement's door had been, Crabbe felt a surge of excitement.
"Goyle," he whispered, nudging his companion. "Look who it is. It's like fate handed her to us."
Goyle's eyes widened in recognition. "Granger," he breathed. "Just who we were waiting for."
They watched as Hermione stood there, clearly debating her next move. The corridor was empty save for the three of them, presenting the perfect opportunity for an ambush.
"This is it," Crabbe murmured, a grin spreading across his transformed face. "Our chance to prove ourselves. Remember, we stun her, then we get her into the Room."
They walked out of the hidden alcove and made their way to her. Their young faces, so convincingly altered by the potion, were a mask of innocence that Hermione did not question. She stepped forward, ready to chide these wayward students for wandering the halls after hours, her mind too preoccupied with Harry's strange behavior to consider the possibility of a trap.
Crabbe, with his newfound role as the spokesman, approached her, his voice high and tremulous, a stark contrast to his usual gruff demeanor. "We got lost," he lied, his eyes darting to Goyle, who stood ready, his wand hidden behind his back.
Hermione, none the wiser, began her lecture on the dangers of roaming the castle at night. But as she spoke, Goyle moved with surprising speed, his wand flicking in a sudden, sharp motion.
The stunning spell hit her before she could even register the threat, the light from the wand striking her like a physical blow. Caught completely off guard, Hermione had no time to react and she crumpled to the floor without a sound.
Crabbe and Goyle rushed forward, their hearts pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear.
"Quick," Crabbe hissed, "help me move her. We can't leave her in the corridor."
They grabbed Hermione's arms and began to drag her towards a nearby abandoned classroom. The corridor remained mercifully empty as they maneuvered her unconscious form through the door.
Once inside, Goyle nervously peeked out into the hallway. "What now?" he whispered.
Crabbe was already casting a silencing charm on the room. "Now we wait. Malfoy's got to come out of the Room eventually. When he does, we make our move."
The minutes ticked by slowly as they kept watch over Hermione's still form. Every so often, one of them would cast another stunning spell to ensure she remained unconscious.
After what felt like hours, they heard footsteps in the corridor. Peering out, they saw Malfoy emerging from the now-visible door of the Room of Requirement. He looked tired and frustrated as he stalked off towards the Slytherin dungeons.
"This is it," Crabbe said, his excitement palpable. "Let's go."
They levitated Hermione's body between them. Carefully, they made their way back to the blank stretch of wall.
Crabbe paced back and forth three times in front of the room of requirement, concentrating hard. _We need a place where we can do anything we want to Hermione... We need a place where we can do anything we want to Hermione... We need a place where we can do anything we want with Hermione Granger..
The door swung open to reveal an expansive, circular chamber, the air thick with enchantment. At its center stood a grand four-poster bed, its ancient oak frame alive with magically carved creatures that subtly shifted and moved. Moonlight-woven drapes enveloped the bed, promising both seclusion and safeguarding against dark forces.
To one side, a fireplace danced with flames that morphed from warm gold to cool blue, illuminating a mantel laden with arcane artifacts and whispering heirlooms that beckoned with secrets for those attuned to their silent speech.
Beside a tall, arched window, an ornate writing desk and its accompanying chair seemed to breathe with life, the desk's wooden surface undulating and the chair hovering to accommodate its occupant perfectly.
The walls were graced with magical paintings whose subjects freely roamed and offered counsel, while a chandelier mirroring the stars through an enchanted skylight cast a celestial glow over the room.
Beneath their feet, plush rugs depicted ever-changing magical vistas, and in a quiet corner, a mirror offered visions beyond mere reflections, revealing other realms and eras.
The chamber reeked of affluence and arcane might, a sanctum befitting a wizard or witch of considerable standing.
"We get to fuck this mudblood in a wealthy pureblood's room," Crabbe said to Goyle, a cruel grin playing on his lips. "Just like the mudblood deserves."
Crabbe and Goyle hoisted Hermione up to the bed, gently laying her upon it. Unable to contain his eagerness any longer, Crabbe clambered onto the bed to begin disrobing Hermione. With his stout fingers fumbling with the buttons of Hermione's blouse, Crabbe's burly figure towered over her motionless body. Goyle remained at the bed's end, his meaty hands lingering near the edge of her skirt, his gaze gleaming with eagerness.
They had incapacitated her and brought her to this place, and now they were about to claim the reward of their plot. Crabbe's breathing quickened as the blouse parted, exposing the curve of Hermione's chest, her lace-trimmed bra straining to hold her in. She had always been the uppity mudblood witch who had looked donw on him and Goyle, he had never imagined that he would get to have her, but now, with her being unconscious and helpless before him, a raw urge to possess her overwhelmed him.
Goyle, not to be left behind, slid the skirt down Hermione's slender hips, his gaze fixed on the curve of her behind. The sight of her lying there, vulnerable and exposed, sent a jolt of excitement through Crabbe. He had never seen her like this, away from the judging eyes of their peers, away from the hierarchy that had always placed him below her.
They stood there for a moment, silently admiring the Muggleborn witch who had always been out of their reach. Her bushy hair fanned out on the pillow, the rise and fall of her chest the only sign of life. Crabbe's eyes traced the contours of her body, from the soft mounds of her breasts to the gentle slope of her stomach, down to the delicate lace that barely covered her modesty.
Goyle's voice broke the silence, a low growl that seemed to echo the lust that Crabbe felt stirring within him. "She's... beautiful," Goyle murmured, his fingers brushing against the fabric of Hermione's undergarments.
Crabbe nodded, his throat tight. He had never thought of Hermione in such terms, but now, as she lay before them, he saw her in a new light. She was more than just the annoying uppity Gryffindor bitch that followed potter around; she was a woman, with a body that could stir the darkest desires in a man.
Together, they removed the last scraps of her clothing, revealing Hermione in all her naked glory. Crabbe's gaze lingered on the curve of her hips, the firmness of her arse, and he felt a stirring in his groin, a hunger that he had never known before.
Goyle, stared at her, his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing heavy. They exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They would have their fun with Hermione, make her regret ever crossing their path.
Crabbe reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he traced the line of Hermione's jaw. Her skin was soft, warm to the touch. He imagined her waking up, her brown eyes wide with fear and confusion, and the thought sent a thrill of anticipation through him.
But for now, she remained unconscious, her body theirs to explore and enjoy. And explore they would, with no one to stop them, no one to judge them. In this room, they were the masters, and Hermione Granger was their willing, if unknowing, canvas.
He wanted to have her for himself first but Goyle was his partner and they shared everything fairly. A game would decide who would savor Hermione's charms first.
He turned to Goyle, his accomplice and friend, whose eyes mirrored the same hunger that gnawed at him. They shared a nod, and without a word, their fists shot out in a quick succession of rock, paper, scissors. The game was crude, but it was their way, and it would settle the matter at hand.
Goyle's paper covered Crabbe's rock, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of Goyle's mouth. Crabbe's heart sank for a fraction of a second, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a gruff nod. It would be a while before Goyle had his fill, and Crabbe had plans of his own to pass the time.
He reached into his robe and produced a small, intricately carved box. With a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation, the box unfolded into a wizarding camera, its lens gleaming in the dim light. Crabbe's lips curled into a smile as he readied the camera, the thought of capturing every moment of Goyle's conquest adding a new layer of excitement to the proceedings.
Goyle needed no further invitation. He climbed onto the bed, his large hands immediately finding Hermione's breasts. He kneaded them, his thick fingers circling her nipples until they hardened under his touch. Goyle's mouth followed, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of her chest as Crabbe began to film.
The involuntary soft whimpers that escaped Hermione's lips only seemed to spur Goyle on. He moved lower, his hands gripping her hips as he buried his face between her legs. Crabbe watched, his own desire growing with each passing moment. The camera captured every lick, every moan, every quiver of Hermione's body under Goyle's relentless assault.
Goyle's hands roamed freely, fondling Hermione's arse, squeezing the soft flesh as he continued his oral exploration. Crabbe moved in closer allowing the camera to capture the lewd display in vivid detail. The sight of Goyle devouring Hermione, of her body writhing in response, was mesmerizing.
Crabbe's breath came in short, sharp bursts, his erection straining against his trousers. He adjusted himself, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. Goyle was thorough, leaving no part of Hermione untouched, unkissed, unexplored. And Crabbe documented it all, the evidence of their dominance over the Muggleborn witch who had always been just out of reach.
The room was filled with the sounds of Goyle's feast, the wet smacks of his mouth, the soft whimpers that Hermione could not contain. Crabbe's pulse raced, the anticipation of his own turn with Hermione building within him. But for now, he was content to watch, to record, to savor the visual feast that lay before his lens.
After he had taken enough pictures, he put the Camera away. He then undressed slowly, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. He shrugged off his robes, letting them pool on the floor beside the ornate four-poster bed. His trousers followed, and he stepped out of them, his engorged member springing free. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch Hermione if he so desired, yet he kept his hands to himself. This vantage point offered him the perfect view, and he began to stroke himself slowly.
Crabbe watched, his role as a silent observer heightening the voyeuristic thrill that coursed through him. Goyle, with a savage grace, maneuvered Hermione onto her stomach, her bushy hair cascading over the pillow like a dark waterfall. Goyle's large, rough hands, capable of both violence and surprising gentleness, seized her hips, tugging her up onto her knees. Then, with an almost clinical detachment, Goyle grasped her arse cheeks, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh as he spread them, revealing the prize that lay between. The sight of her thus, exposed and vulnerable, sent a jolt of lust through Crabbe.
A low growl of approval rumbled in Goyle's throat as he took in the sight of Hermione's most private place. Crabbe's breath caught in his throat as he watched his friend lean in, his tongue darting out to taste the forbidden fruit before him. Goyle's actions were a revelation; Crabbe had always known about his friend's preference for the backdoor, but seeing him in action was something else entirely.
The sight of Goyle's face buried between Hermione's cheeks, his tongue probing and licking her most secret hole, was almost too much for Crabbe to bear. He tightened his grip on his shaft, his hand moving with deliberate slowness, ensuring he didn't reach his climax too soon. He wanted to save that for when it was his turn with Hermione.
Crabbe observed as Goyle spat on to his hand and rubbed the spit onto Hermione's asshole, the spittle providing a scant slickness. Goyle's thick index finger then commenced its penetration into the depths of Hermione's backside. Her involuntary cry of discomfort echoed through the room, stirring a fierce arousal within him. The vision of Hermione, the epitome of propriety and intellect, being claimed and pleasured in such a lascivious and unrestrained fashion, was utterly captivating. The anticipation of his impending opportunity with her stoked the flames of his passion, the promise of it amplifying his craving.
He continued to stroke himself, his gaze locked on the erotic tableau before him. Goyle's finger disappeared and reappeared in a rhythmic dance, Granger's asshole clenched and unclenched around the invading digit, each thrust eliciting a response from Hermione that was music to Crabbe's ears. The room was filled with the sounds of their Hermione's involuntary graons, the scent of their arousal mingling in the air.
Crabbe's own excitement built as he watched Goyle add a second finger, stretching Hermione's tight hole, preparing her for what was to come. The anticipation of what he would do when his turn came had Crabbe on the edge. He knew he had to slow down, to savor this moment, to make it last until it was his time to claim Hermione for himself. His hand slowed, his breath came in ragged gasps, and he watched, he waited, he anticipated the moment when he would finally get to feel Hermione's warmth around him. But for now, he was content to watch, to imagine, to pleasure himself to the sight of Goyle's fingers thrusting into Hermione's arse.
The air in the room was thick with the scent of arousal and the unmistakable musk of sex. Crabbe's heart pounded in his chest, his hand stilled on his shaft as he watched Goyle prepare to claim Hermione in the most intimate and dominating way possible.
Goyle's heavy breaths filled the room, his face flushed with desire. He had enjoyed his feast, his fingers and tongue coaxing sounds from Hermione that he had never imagined he'd hear. But now, it was time for the main event, and Goyle could hardly wait.
With a grunt of effort, Goyle withdrew his fingers from Hermione's arse, a strand of saliva connecting his glistening fingers to the abused hole. He took a moment to appreciate the sight, his cock standing proudly against the fabric of his trousers, straining for release.
Crabbe watched, his own arousal pulsing with anticipation, as Goyle freed his member from the confines of his clothing. The sheer size of it made Crabbe's eyes widen. He had seen Goyle's cock before, but in this moment, it looked even more monstrous than he remembered, the veins along the shaft throbbing with pent-up desire.
Goyle's hand wrapped around his length, giving himself a few firm strokes as he lined up with Hermione's virgin asshole. The tip of his cock kissed the Hermione's tight puckered asshole.
With a swift, merciless thrust, Goyle pushed into Hermione's arse. Her body tensed, a gasp of pain escaping her lips as her tight hole was stretched beyond its limits. Goyle didn't stop, didn't give her a moment to adjust to his girth. He drove forward, burying himself to the hilt with a triumphant grunt.
Hermione's face was a mask of pain, her unconsious body struggled to accommodate Goyle's impressive size. But Goyle was past the point of no return, his need overriding any concern for her comfort.
Goyle began to move, his thick cock sliding in and out of Hermione's still tight asshole. Each thrust forced another whimper from her lips, the sound mingling with the wet slap of flesh on flesh. Goyle's hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he set a brutal pace.
The room was filled with the sound of flesh slapping flesh as Goyle's balls slapped against Hermione's cunt as he pushed his cock ever deeper into Hermion's asshole.
As Goyle's pace quickened, his breaths coming in short, sharp pants, Crabbe knew it wouldn't be long before his friend reached his climax. And when he did, it would be Crabbe's turn to claim Hermione.
With a grunt Goyle came her hard, his grip tightening on Hermione's hips as he rode out his orgasm, his dick buried deep in Hermione's asshole. Crabbe watched in glee, knowing it would be his turn soon. The sight of Goyle's pleasure, the way his body shuddered with release, only heightened Crabbe's own arousal.
Goyle, spent, pulled out of Hermione's arse and stepped back to admire his work. He had come a lot, and some of it was leaking out of Hermione's arse even though he had come so deep within her. The sight was lewd, a testament to how much he had cum, and it sent another jolt of lust through Crabbe. Goyle, satisfied for now, moved back and signaled to him. "Your turn," he said, his voice hoarse with exertion.
Crabbe needed no further invitation. He lunged onto the bed, his body moving with a desperation that surprised him. He turned Hermione's prone form over, revealing her flushed face and half-lidded eyes. She was still lost in the haze of unconsciousness, her body limp and pliable under his touch.
He hungrily kissed her sleeping form, his lips trailing across her cheek, down her neck, to the soft swell of her breasts. His hands squeezed her breasts hard, his fingers pinching and rolling her nipples until they stood erect. The sensation of her soft flesh beneath his rough hands was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but groan with pleasure.
Crabbe then trailed kisses down her body, stopping at her breasts. He took one rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking on it as if willing it to spurt milk. The thought of defiling Hermione in such a primal, possessive way sent a thrill of excitement through him. His cock throbbed painfully, eager to claim what Goyle had just enjoyed.
His body moved on its own, overtaken with lust. He positioned himself between Hermione's legs, his hands spreading her thighs apart. The sight of her glistening pussy, still slick from Goyle's ministrations, was too much to resist. He lined himself up with her entrance, the tip of his cock teasing her wet folds.
Crabbe looked down at Hermione, her body laid out before him like a feast for the taking. The anticipation of what was to come had him on the edge, his entire being focused on the exquisite pleasure that awaited him.
Crabbe's body shook with anticipation, the gravity of the moment not lost on him. This was no mere conquest; he was about to take something from Hermione Granger that could never be returned. Goyle had already claimed her other virginity, and now it was Crabbe's turn. He positioned himself at her entrance, the evidence of her innocence still intact and beckoning.
With a savage thrust, he speared her virgin pussy in one stroke, burying his cock to the hilt. Hermione's response was a low, pained moan that resonated in the room. The sound was muffled, the stunning spell ensuring she remained in the realm of unconsciousness, a doll for them to use as they pleased.
The sensation of Hermione's walls clenching around his cock, fighting against the unwanted entry, sent waves of pleasure coursing through Crabbe. Her body's resistance only served to heighten his arousal. But amid the haze of lust, a thought struck him—a reminder of an opportunity that should not be wasted.
He pulled out abruptly, his cock glistening with the proof of Hermione's deflowering. The sight of blood coating his shaft filled him with a primal satisfaction. It was a potent ingredient for certain magical rituals, and Crabbe was not one to let such a prize slip through his fingers.
"Goyle, the strage crystal," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Goyle, still recovering from his own exertions, nodded and rummaged through Crabbe's bag, producing a small, enchanted crystal. Crabbe took it from him, his hands steady despite the throbbing need that pulsed through his veins.
He carefully collected the blood that was leaking from Hermione's cunt, pressing the magical crystal against her cunt. The crystal quickly absorbed the blood and glowed, the runes flashing, marking a successful collection of the powerful magical ingredient. Crabbe gave the crystal back to Goyle who stored it back into Crabbe's bag. Satisfied that he had secured a powerful magical ritual ingredient, Crabbe eagerly returned to the task at hand.
He pushed back into Hermione's tight pussy, the sensation of her protesting walls pressing against his cock nearly driving him insane with pleasure. But he reined in his desire, determined to savor every moment. He started to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one a demonstration of his control.
But control was a tenuous thing, especially when faced with the exquisite pleasure of Hermione's virgin pussy. It didn't take long before Crabbe lost all semblance of restraint. His movements became wild, his body pressing into hers with bruising force as he fucked her with reckless abandon.
He licked her face and neck, tasting the saltiness of her sweat. The room was filled with a heady scent, the sounds of their fucking echoing off the walls. Hermione's unconscious form whimpered and groaned, her body writhing beneath him as he claimed her with a savagery that surprised even him.
Crabbe's climax was building, a relentless tide that threatened to sweep him away. He pounded into her, his movements erratic, his cock pushing as deep as he could go. The sight of Hermione's face, a rictus of pain, only served to spur him on.
Finally, with a guttural roar, Crabbe lost all control. He came hard, spilling his seed deep into Hermione's womb. The force of his orgasm was overwhelming, leaving him spent and gasping for breath as he collapsed onto the bed beside her.
The room was silent save for the sound of their ragged breathing. Crabbe's gaze lingered on Hermione's prone form, satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment washing over him.
Crabbe rememberd the crystal that had absorbed Hermione's virgin blood. He smiled, his mind already racing with possibilities for the powerful ritual that lay ahead. But that was a pleasure for another day. For now, he was content to bask in the afterglow of victory.
Crabbe rose from the bed, his legs still shaky from the intensity of his release. He stretched, feeling a pleasant ache in his muscles, a reminder of the victory he and Goyle had just claimed. He walked over to where he had discarded his clothes, retrieving his wand from the pocket of his trousers.
"Let's clean her up," he said, turning to Goyle, who was still watching Hermione with a look of hunger that hadn't yet been sated. Crabbe understood that look; he felt it too, the desire to claim Hermione over and over again. But they had to be smart about this, to cover their tracks, to ensure they could continue to use her without arousing suspicion.
"We will find a way to have her again," he assured Goyle, who nodded, his gaze still fixed on the naked witch sprawled on the bed. Her body, marred from their rough fucking, was a testament to their dominance over her, a canvas upon which they had painted their dark desires.
They both took a moment to admire Hermione's body, cum leaking from her ass and pussy—evidence of their ownership. Crabbe's eyes lingered on the crimson stain on the sheets, the visible proof of the magical marks they had left upon her. The blood, taken from her innocence, was a potent force, and they had it with them, ready for use in a powerful magical ritual.
While they may not have been as proficient or at all in the more mundane aspects of magic as Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle had been raised in the shadow of darkness, taught spells by their families that were designed to erase evidence and heal wounds—skills honed during their family's forays into the muggle world.
Crabbe's father had also taught him a family spell, a rare spell that could restore a woman's physical virginity, though the magical signature of her lost innocence was irreversible. This knowledge gave him a sense of power. Hermione, with her muggle upbringing, would have no clue about the subtleties of magical virginity, and thus, she would remain oblivious to what they had done to her.
He approached the bed, Goyle at his side. Together, they began to cast the cleaning and healing spells they knew so well. With careful precision, they erased the evidence of their dominance from Hermione's skin, their wands weaving patterns of light over her body, closing wounds, soothing bruises, and ensuring that her body would betray none of what had occurred.
As Crabbe cast the final spell, the one that would reconstruct Hermione's physical innocence, he felt a twinge of regret that their masterpiece would be hidden from the world. But he took solace in the fact that they could always return to this room, to this bed, and claim her again. With each spell they cast, they ensured that no one would ever know of the dark symphony they had played upon Hermione Granger's body.
When they were finished, Hermione lay before them as pure and untouched as she had been before they had found her. Satisfied that they had left no trace of their encounter, Crabbe and Goyle dressed silently, each lost in the memory of their conquest.
Crabbe and Goyle moved around the room, collecting Hermione's clothes that lay strewn like fallen leaves in autumn. The garments whispered of the urgency that had gripped them, their eagerness to claim what they had long desired. Crabbe's hands lingered on Hermione's blouse, his fingers brushing against the fabric as he recalled the way her skin had flushed beneath his touch.
He approached the bed, his gaze drawn to Hermione's still form. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the only indication that she was more than a lifeless doll. Crabbe took a moment to drink in the sight of her, the lines of her body softened by the aftermath of their brutish attentions.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers, his kiss a gentle counterpoint to the savagery that had come before. The taste of her was intoxicating. His hand found her breast, his fingers tracing the curve of her flesh, the softness of her skin contrasting with the hardened peak of her nipple.
With a final squeeze, he reluctantly stepped back, his eyes dark with unspent desire. He reached for Hermione's bra, fastening the clasp with practiced ease, though his hands trembled slightly with the effort of restraint.
Goyle, moved to assist with the rest of Hermione's clothing. But as he reached for her panties, the scent of their coupling wafted up to meet him, a heady mix of sweat and sex that reignited his lust.
Unable to resist, Goyle spread Hermione's arse cheeks, revealing the tight pucker of her anus—healed, yet still marked by their presence. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to trace the rim of her hole, the taste of her arousing him anew. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of her stoking the fires of his desire.
"I can't wait to fuck her again," Goyle groaned, his voice thick with longing.
Crabbe's grin was a slash of white in the dimly lit room. "We are going to have many more chances, many, many more," he promised, his mind already racing with plans for their next encounter.
Together, they continued the task at hand, dressing Hermione making sure to not leave any more physical mark on her. They pulled her skirt and blouse into place, fastened her shoes, and ran their hands over her one last time, their fingers tracing the contours of her body through the fabric of her clothes.
When they were done, Hermione looked as though she had simply lain down for a nap, her clothing neat and unrumpled, her hair the same as it was before. There was no sign of the struggle that had taken place within these walls, no evidence of the violation that had occurred.
Crabbe and Goyle lifted Hermione from the bed, her body limp in their arms as they carried her back through the enchanted room. The door opened for them once more, revealing the cold, stone corridors of Hogwarts beyond. They made their way in silence, until they reached the spot where they had first waylaid her.
They laid her down gently, taking care to position her in such a way that she would not suspect anything amiss when she awoke.
Crabbe and Goyle melted into the shadows behind a towering stone statue, their eyes trained on the unconscious form of Hermione Granger. They watched silently waiting for the girl to awaken.
It did not take long, Hermione stirred, a groan escaping her lips as consciousness returned. Her hand instinctively went to her head, a clear sign of the discomfort that lingered from the stunning spell. She moved slowly, her fingers trailing over her body in an unconscious search for signs of injury or wrongdoing.
The boys held their breath as they observed her, the silent seconds stretching out between them. But then, Hermione shrugged, an act of dismissal, and sat up, shaking her head as if to clear it. The gesture was so innocuous, so devoid of awareness, that Crabbe felt a surge of dark triumph. She had no idea what they had done to her, no notion of the ways in which they had violated her.
The sight of Hermione, blissfully ignorant of the defilement she had suffered, made him smile. He and Goyle exchanged grins, a silent pact of shared depravity passing between them. The mudblood had no clue, and they intended to keep it that way for now.
Just as they were about to slip away, satisfied with the outcome of their illicit venture, Hermione spoke. Her voice, barely above a whisper, carried clearly in the stillness of the corridor. "I shouldn't have come here alone," she murmured, her fingers absently playing with a loose thread on her blouse. "Next time, I'll bring Ginny along with me."
At her words, Crabbe felt a jolt of surprise, quickly followed by a thrill of anticipation. His eyes met Goyle's, and he could see his own excitement mirrored in his friend's gaze. Ginny Weasley was not only a pretty witch, but she was also Harry Potter's girlfriend—a delectable prize by any measure.
The prospect of not only defiling Hermione Granger again but also corrupting the fiery Ginny Weasley filled Crabbe with a sense of dark possibility. The game had just expanded. With a nod to Goyle, Crabbe stepped back into the shadows, his mind already churning with plans for their next encounter.
They watched Hermione stagger to her feet, swaying slightly as she got her bearings. Once she seemed steady enough, she turned and walked away, her steps echoing softly in the empty corridor. Crabbe waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded entirely before he stepped out from behind the statue, a grim smile playing on his lips.
Goyle clapped him on the shoulder, his expression one of eager anticipation. "Next time," he said, his voice low and full of promise.
Crabbe nodded, his cock harderning in his trouses. "Yes, next time," he agreed, his thoughts whirling with the endless possibilities that lay ahead.
They slipped into their dormitory, the chilly night air clinging to their skin, a stark reminder of the taboo pleasures they had indulged in. The room was silent, the other Slytherin students lost in their own dreams and schemes.
Vincent Crabbe lay in his bed, the thick drapes of his four-poster casting long shadows across the room. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one circling back to the night's illicit events. The memory of Hermione Granger—her soft, heaving breasts, the sweet tightness of her cunt—stirred his desire anew, the sensation as palpable as if he were still buried deep inside her.
His hand drifted down to his already hardening cock, the flesh pulsing with need. With a low growl of anticipation, he began to stroke himself, each movement a mimicry of the way he had thrust into Hermione's virgin pussy. His mind conjured the image of her lying beneath him, her body writhing in a mix of pleasure and pain, her cunt milking his cock for all it was worth.
The memory was intoxicating, a potent cocktail of lust and conquest that drove Crabbe to the brink of orgasm. He could almost feel the clench of her walls around him, the way she had struggled to accommodate his girth. It was a sensation he would never forget, a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
He came with a strangled gasp, his seed spilling over his hand in hot, sticky ropes. The force of his release left him momentarily spent, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.
With the edge of his desire blunted, Crabbe reached for his wand, which lay discarded on the bedside table. A flick of his wrist, a muttered incantation, and the evidence of his arousal vanished, leaving the sheets beneath him pristine once more.
He settled back against the pillows, his eyes drifting closed as exhaustion finally claimed him. His last thought before sleep took him was a promise to himself—a vow to claim Hermione Granger again and again, until the reality of their joining was as indelible upon her soul as it was upon his.
As sleep pulled him into its embrace, the image of Hermione's face, flushed with the heat of their passion, lingered at the forefront of his mind. It was a reminder of the victory he had claimed, a triumph that would only be magnified when next they met.
In the silence of the dormitory, with his fellow Slytherins lost in their own dreams, Crabbe surrendered to the darkness, his dreams filled with the sweet, forbidden pleasures of the night.
A/N This is a oneshot for now, with an opening left in it for further stories.