kennahijja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kennahijja) wrote2005-10-08 09:14 pm
kennahijja) wrote2005-10-08 09:14 pm
FIC: Remedial Healing (R to NC-17, Pomfrey/Hermione)
My Fall Femmeslash Fest entry, which seems to have cured my writer's block, thank heavens! Deadlines can do wonders... Plus, I'm still over 24 hours ahead of deadline, which has to be a first :).
Title: Remedial Healing
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Poppy Pomfrey
Rating: between R and NC-17
Warning: I'm pretty sure menstruation does not warrant a 'bloodplay' warning, but there is potential squickiness here. Naughty teacher-student touches, underage for Australians.
Summary: Hermione has a problem – Madam Pomfrey has a solution, of sorts...
Note: Written for the Fall Femmeslash Fest. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seventines and waterbird for an incredibly fast beta, and to fpb for the midnight input :). And hugs to cursescar for organising the Fest!
"But I'm writing an Arithmancy test tomorrow!"
Poppy Pomfrey sighed and stared down at the agitated Gryffindor from her one-inch height advantage.
"Miss Granger, I've given you five doses of Draught of Murtlap in the last two months already, not to mention that I suspect the 'emergency ration' I handed to Miss Patil yesterday went down your throat as well."
Soft pink spread into the girl's white face. "You've forbidden me to use Muggle medication," she objected with a small pout. "It's never been so much of a problem before. I need to be able to study!" she finished on a near-panicked note.
Poppy sighed inwardly.
"Miss Granger, you're taking Advanced Potions this year. As long as Professor Slughorn insists on taking a leaf out of Professor Snape's book and feeds you the resulting concoctions, no matter how faulty, you're forbidden to use any more drugs, especially any of non-magical origin."
Noting Granger's wounded look, as if 'faulty' and 'potion' should never appear in the same sentence in her case, Poppy snorted delicately. She recalled only too well the girl's six-week stint in fur after playing around with Polyjuice Potion. Granger had the grace to blush.
Poppy took in the girl's pinched face, her slightly stooped posture and the way she grimaced every so often, and softened a little. Witches in puberty could suffer from very bad monthly cramps when their increasing hormonal activity reacted with all the magic they were doing. And this one handled more magic than most, not to mention that she might still feel the aftermath of that Death Eater curse from last summer, which had wreaked havoc on her intestines.
"Have you... asked your dorm mates to help you?" she inquired, as gently as possible.
The girl stared, confusion written all over her face. "But... you said they shouldn't sneak me painkilling potions!"
Poppy gave another long-suffering sigh and remembered that this girl was Muggleborn. And Muggles could sometimes be very strange about very simple things.
"There are naturalmeans of dealing with the cramps," she explained. "Massage, for example, is quite helpful..." Granger's expression vacillated between puzzled and inquisitive, without showing any sign of dawning comprehension. "So is orgasm, Miss Granger."
The girl's cheeks turned a bright red that would have been amusing if her embarrassment wasn't so painfully acute.
"Oh bugger," Poppy heard her mutter, and then her hand flew to her lips.
"Not quite, Miss Granger," Poppy drawled. "That might be too extreme, considering your age and condition."
Not to mention that despite Harry Potter's saviour complex and young Ronald Weasley's painfully obvious infatuation, neither would be prepared to help out with this.
"That's not-" Granger pressed one hand against her burning cheek and looked down at her shoes.
"Not appropriate, I know. I apologise."
Poppy recalled that the girl was not only Muggleborn, but that she also spent part of her holidays at the Weasleys'. And Molly Prewett-Weasley, as Poppy recalled from her own school days at Hogwarts, had been the worst prude of a witch ever. Just how she'd managed to produce seven children with that attitude was a mystery to rival that of the Philosopher's Stone.
"What did you mean to say, Miss Granger?"
The Gryffindor squirmed, as most Prefects would after using profanity in front of the staff.
"I... just remembered Parvati and Padma asking if I needed... 'helping out'," She bit her lip. "I didn't get it. They found it pretty funny."
Poppy studied the embarrassed face in front of her. There were so many more important things to worry about than an adolescent's period pains, and yet...
Almost against her will, Poppy offered, "Look here, Miss Granger, it's time for me to attend to Miss Bones's Splinching trauma..." She paused. "If you really want me to... 'help you out', make yourself comfortable over there-" she nodded at one of the curtained examination cubicles – "and wait until I can make time for you."
Granger stared at the curtains, and Poppy smirked to herself. This particular cubicle had to be quite familiar to her. After all, Granger had spent a month behind those curtains a few years back, recuperating from felinisation. The ears, Poppy recalled, had been rather adorable.
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked over to the potions shelf and picked up the Animans Unguent she would need. Behind her, the curtains quietly rustled shut.
***
The Hufflepuff girl was right on time, limping ever so slightly over to the winged armchair Poppy had Summoned from her office. Bones slumped down into it with a sigh of relief.
"No walking stick?" Poppy inquired and put the jar of unguent on the table.
Bones smiled wanly. "It feels better today."
Poppy nodded and pulled the girl's skirt up and her knee sock down, then drew her wand to prod the girl's thigh. It hardly quivered, though Bones grimaced a little. Her knee did not protest the prodding either, nor did her calf. But when Poppy tried her ankle, it delivered a spirited kick in her direction. Poppy evaded it easily and tutted at the forward limb.
"It seems much improved," she told Bones. "One or two more rub-downs and you should be as good as new." She cast a quick nonverbal "Immobilis!" on the rebellious ankle, lifted it up onto the footstool, and began to apply the sweet-smelling Unguent to Bones' leg, paying special attention to the foot.
While a Splinching injury was usually easily mended – provided they found the misplaced body parts in time – convincing limbs cast away in extreme concentration that they actually wanted to belong to the body again was trickier. Especially for a beginner who had not yet mastered the skill of reassembling herself after Apparition. Still, Bones was well along on the path to full corporeal unity again.
And yet the girl did not look much happier when the salve had soaked into her skin, even after her leg had been unspelled and her ankle seemed more docile than before.
"Are there any other ailments?" Poppy asked suspiciously.
The girl bit her lip, then buried her face in her hands. "Why did it have to happen to me," she burst out. "Mum and dad have so many other things to worry about, and I wanted to make them proud of me, for-" She broke off.
"For your aunt?" Poppy asked, suddenly understanding. When Bones just nodded miserably, Poppy put her hand under her chin to lift her head. The girl's eyes were brimming. "Look here, Miss Bones," Poppy began sternly. "Have you any idea how rare it is for students to manage any kind of movement during their first Apparition lesson? It shows that you have a gift for Apparition – as, if I remember right, had both your father and your aunt Amelia. Unless you work yourself into a state of panic over a minor slip, I'm sure your Apparating skills will be a credit to your family."
"Are you sure?" the Hufflepuff mumbled.
"Quite, Miss Bones," Poppy replied. "Now I'd like to see you again tomorrow afternoon at the same time – and I'm positive that you will be able to participate in next week's Apparition lesson without any adverse effects."
This time, the girl's smile looked a bit more sincere as she made her good-byes and walked out, her step considerably lighter than when she'd come in.
***
Through all of it, Granger had been as quiet as a mouse in her cubicle, if indeed she hadn't slipped out and left already. Perhaps she'd lost her nerve and decided to return to her dormitory to experiment on her own, Poppy mused, half-hopeful.
But when she rounded the corner and pulled back the heavy curtain, the girl was still there, sitting on the bed with her shoes slipped off and her knees pulled up protectively against her chest. She immediately let go to sit properly as Poppy stepped inside, but the slight hunch of her back and the pinched face told Poppy that she was still hurting.
Albus would not approve, she knew. But then Albus had more important things to worry about – himself, most of all - and wasn't likely to have ever suffered from monthly cramps either.
"Well, Miss Granger, you may start by lying back," Poppy addressed the Gryffindor matter-of-factly, and watched the girl bite her lip before she pulled up her feet again and gingerly sank back on the crisp white sheets.
Poppy remembered that strong set of front teeth, recalled shrinking them after a nasty hex a few years back, reducing their slight oversize. She'd played along then, feigning ignorance and inwardly smiling at the girl's guilty delight. Those Muggle parents of hers would have let her walk around with metal mesh in her mouth, where magic could fix the problem in a heartbeat.
Poppy shook her head and sat down on the corner of the bed, careful not to corner the Gryffindor. Granger was nervous enough as it was.
The girl had grown into a young woman over the past few months. There was the slight swell of breasts underneath the white school blouse, which had not yet been visible during the frantic scramble to save her life from the Death Eater curse a year ago. Poppy reached for the blouse where it was tucked into the loosely fastened waistband of the skirt, and tugged it free. Considering how most girls of Granger's age wore their skirts as tight as possible to create a slender silhouette, Granger was obviously in pain. That, or just plain sensible.
"Relax as much as you can," Poppy advised as she undid the three lowest buttons to bare the girl's stomach. "Close your eyes if you like. Don't think about anything – just let your body respond as it wants."
Granger's skin was pale, but very soft under Poppy's fingers. She ran her hand over that tempting skin, firmly but without pressure, more massage than caress. Granger's nervous breathing quieted into a soft murmur as Poppy rubbed her belly gently, loosening the cramped muscles that quivered under her fingertips. As soon as the girl's eyes drooped shut under the steady touches, Poppy moved to undo the hooks of her pleated skirt, leaving both ends to slither off her hips like discarded snake skin.
The brown eyes snapped open again, wide and accompanied by a nervous 'v' above the bridge of her nose.
"You are to relax, Miss Granger," Poppy repeated, as businesslike as you please. "That means as little constriction of your stomach and reproductive parts as possible." She administered a stern look. "Of course you are free to depart at any time should you feel any discomfort."
Granger's throat moved visibly as she swallowed, but she made no move and finally shook her head a little.
"Very well, then." Poppy did not suppress the twinkle in her eye, since Granger was unlikely to notice. The girl was famous for reading books, not people. In a tickle that had nothing of the soothing massage she'd applied before, she ran her index finger down the girl's exposed lower stomach, swirling it once around her navel only to see the strong teeth leaving a small dent against the pink of Granger's lower lip, before tracing the waistband of the girl's knickers. No-nonsense underwear, Poppy registered with approval. Plain white – if soft – knickers with only a little bit of lace trimming at the waist. None of the garish minimal cuts some of the Muggleborns sported on occasion, which had even the house-elves gasping in shock during washing duty.
Through the half-undone blouse, she could see that the girl's bra was a matching white with a bit of lace inlay. Poppy knew that Granger would be more comfortable if she undid the bra too, but decided it would be too much for the Gryffindor's high-strung nerves.
She traced the waistband a few times, then slipped inside to caress the ample swell of the girl's hip. Supple and healthy without being thin, her nurse mind registered. Perhaps a bit too pale from too little fresh air and too much poring over dusty tomes in Irma Pince's realm. Straying lower, Poppy felt the crisp prickle of the girl's pubic hair under her palm, as untamed as the springy brown mass of Granger's hair.
Although her spectacular appearance at the Triwizard Yule Ball had been the talk of the school, beauty was not something that came naturally to young Hermione Granger. Having been a plain girl herself who grew up into a plain woman, Poppy admired the Gryffindor's seeming disregard for her appearance; she seemed to court homeliness almost actively. Devoid of robes and most of her clothing, however, Poppy had opportunity to observe the advances that approaching adulthood had made on the girl. A strong, smooth body, the sweet curve of her breasts under the school blouse... No, not quite so plain out of floor-length robes and for once not staggering under a bulging bag of books or covered in blood and curse marks from battling Death Eaters.
"Would you turn your legs a little to the outside, please," she requested in a polite tone of voice designed to soothe the girl. Clearly embarrassed but heartened by the minimal demand, Granger finally turned her knees, exposing more pale thigh and nicely rounded calves. Both her knee socks had spiralled down around her ankles.
Smiling to herself at this display of obedience, Poppy trailed one nail a bit further along the girl's mons, leaving a distinct, if gentle line. She couldn't fail but register the instinctive flex of Granger's buttocks, or the way her knees twitched in the desire to press her legs together.
"You're not wearing a Muggle tempo, are you, Miss Granger?" Poppy asked, only to be surprised at the mischievous grin that curled around the Gryffindor's mouth. If she smiled like this more often, no wonder the youngest Weasley boy had been bouncing around her like a lovesick Crup for years.
"No, I'm not using a tampon." Then Granger stilled, and her smile wore off. "You're not... I mean, I'm... you can't touch me there." She was very flustered now, and Poppy decided on the spot that no, she would never need to know how Severus Snape - or Horace Slughorn, for that matter - got his supply of monthly blood for potion-making. Perhaps Slytherins really lived up to their reputation. He'd certainly never asked her, nor had any other female colleague ever owned up to it. Minerva would have killed him! Maybe you could buy it bottled in the apothecary's, like Armadillo bile?
"No, Miss Granger, I think there are less... sticky options," she told the flushed girl who, predictably, reddened even more. Poppy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you can't be completely unfamiliar with the concept of self-pleasuring?"
The way Granger's teeth dug into reddened lips was just too delightful for words. "Yes – but not... never at those times. It's..." She fell silent.
Dirty, Poppy finished mentally, and sighed. Muggleborns could be so forward in some respects, and so full of hang-ups in others.
"We'll make sure to preserve your modesty then." She let her hand travel between the girl's thighs, probing gently. There was the small bump of a sanitary pad, flimsy but rough under the soft inlay of the knickers. "Muggle or magical protection?"
"Magical," Granger said, eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. "Mum owled me pads though half of third year, but Ginny showed me the magical ones over the summer at the Burrow."
Poppy, who had instructed her share of Muggleborn witches in the advantages of wizarding hygiene products, nodded her approval. A handy Vanishing Charm on the surface took care of the bleeding without spills or leaving a lot of rubbish to be disposed. It was much preferable to the Muggle thing, really.
She traced the outline of the little bandage, noting the girl's twitch. No hint of scent either. The obnoxious floral compositions some of the newest pads sported gave particular offence to Poppy's potions-refined nose. A very sensible young woman, indeed!
Splaying one hand on the girl's belly to resume her careful stroking, she slipped the other one teasingly between Granger's legs, moving along the opening of her vagina on the way down, teasing the downy insides of her thighs on the way back up, every so often slipping a finger underneath the elastic to tickle that most vulnerable point where hip met thigh.
Granger's breathing did come more laboured, threatening to hitch every time Poppy skimmed down the crotch of her knickers. Poppy could distinguish the folds of labia underneath cotton and pad, peeking slightly open like a shy snapdragon. She was aware of the small nub of the girl's clitoris before she even brushed it, just from the way Granger's muscles trembled every time her thumb approached it. Poppy's other hand kept running over the soft skin of Granger's belly to soothe the aching ovaries below, alternating gentle dips underneath the waistband of the knickers to card through pubic hair with feathery brushes along the lacy rim of the girl's bra under the half-unbuttoned shirt. The Gryffindor shivered at the way the lace scraped against the sensitive undersides of her breasts.
Poppy had the thoroughly unprofessional urge to cup her hands around the soft entirety of those breasts, to brush her thumbs over the nipples in their lacy covering until they hardened into tight, aching redness. And then to peel off the bra and attend to them with lips and tongue, teeth... Which, regretfully, would be completely improper, not to mention guaranteed to spook her little patient.
Instead, she swirled her thumb with provocative pressure over the pad where it hid the girl's clitoris, as if to take her own wayward impulses out on Granger. The girl gave a strangled sound and unconsciously raised her hips, biting down on her innocent bottom lip once more. It wasquite swollen from repeated abuse now, giving Granger's face an almost pouty quality. Poppy returned to trace the outlines of the girl's flushed nether lips right down to the perineum where the pad ended and where running a nail along the fabric of Granger's knickers produced a shudder and another shifting of hips. Discarding the straightforward approach, she gave the clitoris a wide berth now, although her constant rubbing on the pad had to translate into a light but maddening friction against that most sensitive nub, until Granger squirmed in frustration.
Poppy found a gentle rhythm of stroking between the girl's legs, rubbing cloth and bespelled fabric against swollen flesh, always keeping a keen eye on the Gryffindor's face to make sure the stimulation did not cross the line between rough and painful. From the tensing muscles in thighs and calves, and the delicate flush that spread from face to neck, she had to be quite aroused. But the pad's Vanishing Spell swallowed any trace of wetness – blood and juices – without fail, which put poor Granger at an even greater disadvantage; the friction was much more acute without any fluids to soothe the rub.
Fleetingly, Poppy wondered what – or whom – the girl saw against the shuttered insides of her lids; the Weasley boy, famous Harry Potter, Weasley's pretty sister, or some vague ideal? It didn't matter, really, although the image of Ginevra Weasley's spectacular hair fanning out over Granger's pristine white underwear and pale skin was quite enticing.
The girl's mouth was half open, teeth bared in a feral grimace that a lover would feel compelled to soften with a kiss. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her hair was coming free of its ponytail, hanging in a snarled mass around her shoulders. Hands fisted restlessly in the sheets under her, crumpling the crisp fabric. Poppy could smell Granger's scent as she twisted under her fingers. A healthy whiff of iron – life's blood, so very different from the injuries she was used to treating – sweat from the creases of her thighs, and above all the earthy-sharp tang of arousal. Granger's hips moved to increase the pressure of Poppy's fingers on her clitoris, urgent and unrhythmic.
Without warning, the girl's back arched like a young cat's as she thrust her pelvis against Poppy's hand in frantic urgency, securing herself a rough, final scrape against her core. For one short moment, her whole body sang like a bowstring drawn to breaking point, her head, thrown back into the pillow, highlighting the sharp triangle of her chin. She drew air into her lungs in the near-painful mewl of a strangled kitten, then slumped back, her eyes still screwed shut.
Poppy looked down at Granger's legs, splayed artlessly on the mattress as if her bones had been Vanished. A thin line of red ran down her thigh where the pad must have slipped during her writhing. Quickly, Poppy wet her index finger and caught the trail before it could spill onto the sheets. She stuck the finger in her mouth, tasting the drop of blood with the tip of her tongue, metallic and primal, flavoured with just the slightest hint of the girl's juices.
She smiled down at the slack face, the moving eyelids, revelling in the secret taste that would mortify the Gryffindor if she knew.
Winded as she was, it took Granger less than half a minute to open her eyes, and Poppy could read an impulse to curl into a ball and roll away in the taut lines of Granger's thighs and calves.
"Don't!" Poppy admonished quickly, splaying a palm on the girl's belly. "Calm down. Breathe. Let the heat fill your belly. Feel how it chases out the pain." She smiled thinly as the girl obeyed with a shuddering breath, sinking back down on the bed, her face softening and her flight response arrested for the moment.
"Commit the sensations to memory, Miss Granger. Protective warmth and pleasure. If your body knows it, you'll be able to conjure it up again when you need it – even if there is no time to slip away and touch yourself." She smirked wickedly as Granger's eyes peered open in shock at her candour. "Quite like that wandless spellcasting that Professor Snape is trying to teach you." She looked at the sharp line that crinkled the girl's brow. "No, it's not magic – just a reminder for your body that it knows how to fight those cramps."
The fine, wild curls plastered to the girl's temple looked so inviting that it hurt almost physically not to press a kiss to them. Poppy compromised and carefully brushed the strands behind the girl's ear.
"You have done exceptionally well, Miss Granger," she said, aware – staff rumour being as virulent as it was – that the Gryffindor was highly susceptible to praise. The girl nodded mutely as she sat up and reached for the buttons of her blouse.
Experiencing an irrational moment of bitterness, Poppy took hold of her wrist, stopping the jerky movement and commanding the girl's attention. After a moment, Granger looked up at her with lost brown eyes.
"You are a witch, and a woman, Hermione," Poppy said, her voice low and intent. "That body of yours may hurt you from time to time, but it also has the means to more than make up for that." Surely Granger, whose name was bandied about in the staff room as the most gifted student at Hogwarts since Tom Riddle of ill fame, had to understand this.
"There is nothing-" she gave Granger's arm a squeeze of emphasis – "nothing about it that you should ever feel ashamed of."
She let go of the girl's wrist and slipped off the bed. Her shoes clattered audibly on the polished stone floor. She looked back at the faraway expression on the girl's face against the backdrop of rumpled sheets, and added, "It would make me quite happy if you could come to accept that."
Granger sat there with both hands resting in loose fists on the mattress. Poppy watched the near-imperceptible upward tilt of her chin, the glint of determination that crept into her eyes and crinkled their corners. As easy to read as any Gryffindor, although Poppy would gladly admit that she'd have made a worthy addition to her own Ravenclaw house.
When the girl finally rose, her movements had regained a degree of fluidity that she had not displayed before. She deftly redid her buttons, fastened her skirt over the hem of her blouse, and bent over to fastidiously pull up her knee socks - which displayed the curve of her buttocks to advantage. Finally, she rescued a wayward piece of red Muggle elastic from her disheveled hair. She wound it around the unruly mass twice, taming it into a half-knot. Her eyes met Poppy's, calm, brown and bright as a falcon's, although her breath was still coming fast and her cheeks were warm.
"I will think about it," she said, the tiniest twitch tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I should get back to the library. Thank you for your advice, Madam Pomfrey."
"You're welcome, Miss Granger."
Poppy's eyes followed the girl as she walked out of the door, head determinedly upright. It gave her a sudden flash of pride.
She held on to the pole that kept up the cubicle curtains and permitted a deep, shaky breath to escape her lips. The force of her own arousal nearly doubled her up, but she forced it down with deep, measured breaths. A wand flick, and the gargoyle-shaped water tap turned its head and spewed cold water into a ready cup, which lowered its rim coyly. Floating the cup into her hand, Poppy took a few greedy swallows, luxuriating in the cold spill on her tongue. It washed away the taste of Granger's blood, but she could still smell the girl on her fingers over the antiseptic blandness of the water.
She laughed once, short and breathless, at the intensity of her own response, then pushed it to the back of her head. This was not the time for self-indulgence! Quite the opposite, it was time to put together the cocktail of potions that would see Albus through another night of traipsing through memories with young Potter.
It was not that she begrudged the boy whatever tutoring might keep him alive and ahead of You-Know-Who, of course, but, like all adolescents – like the young woman who had just marched out of the door – he was blind to the needs of others. Apart from herself, Minerva and Severus, no one even suspected that Albus' lengthy absences were a smokescreen which allowed the frail old man to battle the corroding effects of Voldemort's curse in the confines of his bed.
Poppy frowned down at the crystalline phial in her hand that held Essence of Bezoar. Albus should be resting, or preferably be treated at St Mungo's Spell Damage Ward, instead of exposing himself to the strain of ancient memories and the draining presence of a demanding student... Not behaving as if he had nothing to lose, while relying on Snape to provide him with stoppered appearances of health.
Not the time for self-indulgence indeed, and yet, in the privacy of her four-poster tonight, Poppy knew she would treat herself to the image of Granger's pliant body. These were bleak times, where pleasure was rare and had to be enjoyed wherever it could be found.
~ finis ~
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
Feedback: is, as always, which makes my day! Concrit too!
Title: Remedial Healing
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Poppy Pomfrey
Rating: between R and NC-17
Warning: I'm pretty sure menstruation does not warrant a 'bloodplay' warning, but there is potential squickiness here. Naughty teacher-student touches, underage for Australians.
Summary: Hermione has a problem – Madam Pomfrey has a solution, of sorts...
Note: Written for the Fall Femmeslash Fest. Thanks to
seventines and waterbird for an incredibly fast beta, and to fpb for the midnight input :). And hugs to cursescar for organising the Fest!"But I'm writing an Arithmancy test tomorrow!"
Poppy Pomfrey sighed and stared down at the agitated Gryffindor from her one-inch height advantage.
"Miss Granger, I've given you five doses of Draught of Murtlap in the last two months already, not to mention that I suspect the 'emergency ration' I handed to Miss Patil yesterday went down your throat as well."
Soft pink spread into the girl's white face. "You've forbidden me to use Muggle medication," she objected with a small pout. "It's never been so much of a problem before. I need to be able to study!" she finished on a near-panicked note.
Poppy sighed inwardly.
"Miss Granger, you're taking Advanced Potions this year. As long as Professor Slughorn insists on taking a leaf out of Professor Snape's book and feeds you the resulting concoctions, no matter how faulty, you're forbidden to use any more drugs, especially any of non-magical origin."
Noting Granger's wounded look, as if 'faulty' and 'potion' should never appear in the same sentence in her case, Poppy snorted delicately. She recalled only too well the girl's six-week stint in fur after playing around with Polyjuice Potion. Granger had the grace to blush.
Poppy took in the girl's pinched face, her slightly stooped posture and the way she grimaced every so often, and softened a little. Witches in puberty could suffer from very bad monthly cramps when their increasing hormonal activity reacted with all the magic they were doing. And this one handled more magic than most, not to mention that she might still feel the aftermath of that Death Eater curse from last summer, which had wreaked havoc on her intestines.
"Have you... asked your dorm mates to help you?" she inquired, as gently as possible.
The girl stared, confusion written all over her face. "But... you said they shouldn't sneak me painkilling potions!"
Poppy gave another long-suffering sigh and remembered that this girl was Muggleborn. And Muggles could sometimes be very strange about very simple things.
"There are naturalmeans of dealing with the cramps," she explained. "Massage, for example, is quite helpful..." Granger's expression vacillated between puzzled and inquisitive, without showing any sign of dawning comprehension. "So is orgasm, Miss Granger."
The girl's cheeks turned a bright red that would have been amusing if her embarrassment wasn't so painfully acute.
"Oh bugger," Poppy heard her mutter, and then her hand flew to her lips.
"Not quite, Miss Granger," Poppy drawled. "That might be too extreme, considering your age and condition."
Not to mention that despite Harry Potter's saviour complex and young Ronald Weasley's painfully obvious infatuation, neither would be prepared to help out with this.
"That's not-" Granger pressed one hand against her burning cheek and looked down at her shoes.
"Not appropriate, I know. I apologise."
Poppy recalled that the girl was not only Muggleborn, but that she also spent part of her holidays at the Weasleys'. And Molly Prewett-Weasley, as Poppy recalled from her own school days at Hogwarts, had been the worst prude of a witch ever. Just how she'd managed to produce seven children with that attitude was a mystery to rival that of the Philosopher's Stone.
"What did you mean to say, Miss Granger?"
The Gryffindor squirmed, as most Prefects would after using profanity in front of the staff.
"I... just remembered Parvati and Padma asking if I needed... 'helping out'," She bit her lip. "I didn't get it. They found it pretty funny."
Poppy studied the embarrassed face in front of her. There were so many more important things to worry about than an adolescent's period pains, and yet...
Almost against her will, Poppy offered, "Look here, Miss Granger, it's time for me to attend to Miss Bones's Splinching trauma..." She paused. "If you really want me to... 'help you out', make yourself comfortable over there-" she nodded at one of the curtained examination cubicles – "and wait until I can make time for you."
Granger stared at the curtains, and Poppy smirked to herself. This particular cubicle had to be quite familiar to her. After all, Granger had spent a month behind those curtains a few years back, recuperating from felinisation. The ears, Poppy recalled, had been rather adorable.
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked over to the potions shelf and picked up the Animans Unguent she would need. Behind her, the curtains quietly rustled shut.
The Hufflepuff girl was right on time, limping ever so slightly over to the winged armchair Poppy had Summoned from her office. Bones slumped down into it with a sigh of relief.
"No walking stick?" Poppy inquired and put the jar of unguent on the table.
Bones smiled wanly. "It feels better today."
Poppy nodded and pulled the girl's skirt up and her knee sock down, then drew her wand to prod the girl's thigh. It hardly quivered, though Bones grimaced a little. Her knee did not protest the prodding either, nor did her calf. But when Poppy tried her ankle, it delivered a spirited kick in her direction. Poppy evaded it easily and tutted at the forward limb.
"It seems much improved," she told Bones. "One or two more rub-downs and you should be as good as new." She cast a quick nonverbal "Immobilis!" on the rebellious ankle, lifted it up onto the footstool, and began to apply the sweet-smelling Unguent to Bones' leg, paying special attention to the foot.
While a Splinching injury was usually easily mended – provided they found the misplaced body parts in time – convincing limbs cast away in extreme concentration that they actually wanted to belong to the body again was trickier. Especially for a beginner who had not yet mastered the skill of reassembling herself after Apparition. Still, Bones was well along on the path to full corporeal unity again.
And yet the girl did not look much happier when the salve had soaked into her skin, even after her leg had been unspelled and her ankle seemed more docile than before.
"Are there any other ailments?" Poppy asked suspiciously.
The girl bit her lip, then buried her face in her hands. "Why did it have to happen to me," she burst out. "Mum and dad have so many other things to worry about, and I wanted to make them proud of me, for-" She broke off.
"For your aunt?" Poppy asked, suddenly understanding. When Bones just nodded miserably, Poppy put her hand under her chin to lift her head. The girl's eyes were brimming. "Look here, Miss Bones," Poppy began sternly. "Have you any idea how rare it is for students to manage any kind of movement during their first Apparition lesson? It shows that you have a gift for Apparition – as, if I remember right, had both your father and your aunt Amelia. Unless you work yourself into a state of panic over a minor slip, I'm sure your Apparating skills will be a credit to your family."
"Are you sure?" the Hufflepuff mumbled.
"Quite, Miss Bones," Poppy replied. "Now I'd like to see you again tomorrow afternoon at the same time – and I'm positive that you will be able to participate in next week's Apparition lesson without any adverse effects."
This time, the girl's smile looked a bit more sincere as she made her good-byes and walked out, her step considerably lighter than when she'd come in.
Through all of it, Granger had been as quiet as a mouse in her cubicle, if indeed she hadn't slipped out and left already. Perhaps she'd lost her nerve and decided to return to her dormitory to experiment on her own, Poppy mused, half-hopeful.
But when she rounded the corner and pulled back the heavy curtain, the girl was still there, sitting on the bed with her shoes slipped off and her knees pulled up protectively against her chest. She immediately let go to sit properly as Poppy stepped inside, but the slight hunch of her back and the pinched face told Poppy that she was still hurting.
Albus would not approve, she knew. But then Albus had more important things to worry about – himself, most of all - and wasn't likely to have ever suffered from monthly cramps either.
"Well, Miss Granger, you may start by lying back," Poppy addressed the Gryffindor matter-of-factly, and watched the girl bite her lip before she pulled up her feet again and gingerly sank back on the crisp white sheets.
Poppy remembered that strong set of front teeth, recalled shrinking them after a nasty hex a few years back, reducing their slight oversize. She'd played along then, feigning ignorance and inwardly smiling at the girl's guilty delight. Those Muggle parents of hers would have let her walk around with metal mesh in her mouth, where magic could fix the problem in a heartbeat.
Poppy shook her head and sat down on the corner of the bed, careful not to corner the Gryffindor. Granger was nervous enough as it was.
The girl had grown into a young woman over the past few months. There was the slight swell of breasts underneath the white school blouse, which had not yet been visible during the frantic scramble to save her life from the Death Eater curse a year ago. Poppy reached for the blouse where it was tucked into the loosely fastened waistband of the skirt, and tugged it free. Considering how most girls of Granger's age wore their skirts as tight as possible to create a slender silhouette, Granger was obviously in pain. That, or just plain sensible.
"Relax as much as you can," Poppy advised as she undid the three lowest buttons to bare the girl's stomach. "Close your eyes if you like. Don't think about anything – just let your body respond as it wants."
Granger's skin was pale, but very soft under Poppy's fingers. She ran her hand over that tempting skin, firmly but without pressure, more massage than caress. Granger's nervous breathing quieted into a soft murmur as Poppy rubbed her belly gently, loosening the cramped muscles that quivered under her fingertips. As soon as the girl's eyes drooped shut under the steady touches, Poppy moved to undo the hooks of her pleated skirt, leaving both ends to slither off her hips like discarded snake skin.
The brown eyes snapped open again, wide and accompanied by a nervous 'v' above the bridge of her nose.
"You are to relax, Miss Granger," Poppy repeated, as businesslike as you please. "That means as little constriction of your stomach and reproductive parts as possible." She administered a stern look. "Of course you are free to depart at any time should you feel any discomfort."
Granger's throat moved visibly as she swallowed, but she made no move and finally shook her head a little.
"Very well, then." Poppy did not suppress the twinkle in her eye, since Granger was unlikely to notice. The girl was famous for reading books, not people. In a tickle that had nothing of the soothing massage she'd applied before, she ran her index finger down the girl's exposed lower stomach, swirling it once around her navel only to see the strong teeth leaving a small dent against the pink of Granger's lower lip, before tracing the waistband of the girl's knickers. No-nonsense underwear, Poppy registered with approval. Plain white – if soft – knickers with only a little bit of lace trimming at the waist. None of the garish minimal cuts some of the Muggleborns sported on occasion, which had even the house-elves gasping in shock during washing duty.
Through the half-undone blouse, she could see that the girl's bra was a matching white with a bit of lace inlay. Poppy knew that Granger would be more comfortable if she undid the bra too, but decided it would be too much for the Gryffindor's high-strung nerves.
She traced the waistband a few times, then slipped inside to caress the ample swell of the girl's hip. Supple and healthy without being thin, her nurse mind registered. Perhaps a bit too pale from too little fresh air and too much poring over dusty tomes in Irma Pince's realm. Straying lower, Poppy felt the crisp prickle of the girl's pubic hair under her palm, as untamed as the springy brown mass of Granger's hair.
Although her spectacular appearance at the Triwizard Yule Ball had been the talk of the school, beauty was not something that came naturally to young Hermione Granger. Having been a plain girl herself who grew up into a plain woman, Poppy admired the Gryffindor's seeming disregard for her appearance; she seemed to court homeliness almost actively. Devoid of robes and most of her clothing, however, Poppy had opportunity to observe the advances that approaching adulthood had made on the girl. A strong, smooth body, the sweet curve of her breasts under the school blouse... No, not quite so plain out of floor-length robes and for once not staggering under a bulging bag of books or covered in blood and curse marks from battling Death Eaters.
"Would you turn your legs a little to the outside, please," she requested in a polite tone of voice designed to soothe the girl. Clearly embarrassed but heartened by the minimal demand, Granger finally turned her knees, exposing more pale thigh and nicely rounded calves. Both her knee socks had spiralled down around her ankles.
Smiling to herself at this display of obedience, Poppy trailed one nail a bit further along the girl's mons, leaving a distinct, if gentle line. She couldn't fail but register the instinctive flex of Granger's buttocks, or the way her knees twitched in the desire to press her legs together.
"You're not wearing a Muggle tempo, are you, Miss Granger?" Poppy asked, only to be surprised at the mischievous grin that curled around the Gryffindor's mouth. If she smiled like this more often, no wonder the youngest Weasley boy had been bouncing around her like a lovesick Crup for years.
"No, I'm not using a tampon." Then Granger stilled, and her smile wore off. "You're not... I mean, I'm... you can't touch me there." She was very flustered now, and Poppy decided on the spot that no, she would never need to know how Severus Snape - or Horace Slughorn, for that matter - got his supply of monthly blood for potion-making. Perhaps Slytherins really lived up to their reputation. He'd certainly never asked her, nor had any other female colleague ever owned up to it. Minerva would have killed him! Maybe you could buy it bottled in the apothecary's, like Armadillo bile?
"No, Miss Granger, I think there are less... sticky options," she told the flushed girl who, predictably, reddened even more. Poppy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you can't be completely unfamiliar with the concept of self-pleasuring?"
The way Granger's teeth dug into reddened lips was just too delightful for words. "Yes – but not... never at those times. It's..." She fell silent.
Dirty, Poppy finished mentally, and sighed. Muggleborns could be so forward in some respects, and so full of hang-ups in others.
"We'll make sure to preserve your modesty then." She let her hand travel between the girl's thighs, probing gently. There was the small bump of a sanitary pad, flimsy but rough under the soft inlay of the knickers. "Muggle or magical protection?"
"Magical," Granger said, eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. "Mum owled me pads though half of third year, but Ginny showed me the magical ones over the summer at the Burrow."
Poppy, who had instructed her share of Muggleborn witches in the advantages of wizarding hygiene products, nodded her approval. A handy Vanishing Charm on the surface took care of the bleeding without spills or leaving a lot of rubbish to be disposed. It was much preferable to the Muggle thing, really.
She traced the outline of the little bandage, noting the girl's twitch. No hint of scent either. The obnoxious floral compositions some of the newest pads sported gave particular offence to Poppy's potions-refined nose. A very sensible young woman, indeed!
Splaying one hand on the girl's belly to resume her careful stroking, she slipped the other one teasingly between Granger's legs, moving along the opening of her vagina on the way down, teasing the downy insides of her thighs on the way back up, every so often slipping a finger underneath the elastic to tickle that most vulnerable point where hip met thigh.
Granger's breathing did come more laboured, threatening to hitch every time Poppy skimmed down the crotch of her knickers. Poppy could distinguish the folds of labia underneath cotton and pad, peeking slightly open like a shy snapdragon. She was aware of the small nub of the girl's clitoris before she even brushed it, just from the way Granger's muscles trembled every time her thumb approached it. Poppy's other hand kept running over the soft skin of Granger's belly to soothe the aching ovaries below, alternating gentle dips underneath the waistband of the knickers to card through pubic hair with feathery brushes along the lacy rim of the girl's bra under the half-unbuttoned shirt. The Gryffindor shivered at the way the lace scraped against the sensitive undersides of her breasts.
Poppy had the thoroughly unprofessional urge to cup her hands around the soft entirety of those breasts, to brush her thumbs over the nipples in their lacy covering until they hardened into tight, aching redness. And then to peel off the bra and attend to them with lips and tongue, teeth... Which, regretfully, would be completely improper, not to mention guaranteed to spook her little patient.
Instead, she swirled her thumb with provocative pressure over the pad where it hid the girl's clitoris, as if to take her own wayward impulses out on Granger. The girl gave a strangled sound and unconsciously raised her hips, biting down on her innocent bottom lip once more. It wasquite swollen from repeated abuse now, giving Granger's face an almost pouty quality. Poppy returned to trace the outlines of the girl's flushed nether lips right down to the perineum where the pad ended and where running a nail along the fabric of Granger's knickers produced a shudder and another shifting of hips. Discarding the straightforward approach, she gave the clitoris a wide berth now, although her constant rubbing on the pad had to translate into a light but maddening friction against that most sensitive nub, until Granger squirmed in frustration.
Poppy found a gentle rhythm of stroking between the girl's legs, rubbing cloth and bespelled fabric against swollen flesh, always keeping a keen eye on the Gryffindor's face to make sure the stimulation did not cross the line between rough and painful. From the tensing muscles in thighs and calves, and the delicate flush that spread from face to neck, she had to be quite aroused. But the pad's Vanishing Spell swallowed any trace of wetness – blood and juices – without fail, which put poor Granger at an even greater disadvantage; the friction was much more acute without any fluids to soothe the rub.
Fleetingly, Poppy wondered what – or whom – the girl saw against the shuttered insides of her lids; the Weasley boy, famous Harry Potter, Weasley's pretty sister, or some vague ideal? It didn't matter, really, although the image of Ginevra Weasley's spectacular hair fanning out over Granger's pristine white underwear and pale skin was quite enticing.
The girl's mouth was half open, teeth bared in a feral grimace that a lover would feel compelled to soften with a kiss. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her hair was coming free of its ponytail, hanging in a snarled mass around her shoulders. Hands fisted restlessly in the sheets under her, crumpling the crisp fabric. Poppy could smell Granger's scent as she twisted under her fingers. A healthy whiff of iron – life's blood, so very different from the injuries she was used to treating – sweat from the creases of her thighs, and above all the earthy-sharp tang of arousal. Granger's hips moved to increase the pressure of Poppy's fingers on her clitoris, urgent and unrhythmic.
Without warning, the girl's back arched like a young cat's as she thrust her pelvis against Poppy's hand in frantic urgency, securing herself a rough, final scrape against her core. For one short moment, her whole body sang like a bowstring drawn to breaking point, her head, thrown back into the pillow, highlighting the sharp triangle of her chin. She drew air into her lungs in the near-painful mewl of a strangled kitten, then slumped back, her eyes still screwed shut.
Poppy looked down at Granger's legs, splayed artlessly on the mattress as if her bones had been Vanished. A thin line of red ran down her thigh where the pad must have slipped during her writhing. Quickly, Poppy wet her index finger and caught the trail before it could spill onto the sheets. She stuck the finger in her mouth, tasting the drop of blood with the tip of her tongue, metallic and primal, flavoured with just the slightest hint of the girl's juices.
She smiled down at the slack face, the moving eyelids, revelling in the secret taste that would mortify the Gryffindor if she knew.
Winded as she was, it took Granger less than half a minute to open her eyes, and Poppy could read an impulse to curl into a ball and roll away in the taut lines of Granger's thighs and calves.
"Don't!" Poppy admonished quickly, splaying a palm on the girl's belly. "Calm down. Breathe. Let the heat fill your belly. Feel how it chases out the pain." She smiled thinly as the girl obeyed with a shuddering breath, sinking back down on the bed, her face softening and her flight response arrested for the moment.
"Commit the sensations to memory, Miss Granger. Protective warmth and pleasure. If your body knows it, you'll be able to conjure it up again when you need it – even if there is no time to slip away and touch yourself." She smirked wickedly as Granger's eyes peered open in shock at her candour. "Quite like that wandless spellcasting that Professor Snape is trying to teach you." She looked at the sharp line that crinkled the girl's brow. "No, it's not magic – just a reminder for your body that it knows how to fight those cramps."
The fine, wild curls plastered to the girl's temple looked so inviting that it hurt almost physically not to press a kiss to them. Poppy compromised and carefully brushed the strands behind the girl's ear.
"You have done exceptionally well, Miss Granger," she said, aware – staff rumour being as virulent as it was – that the Gryffindor was highly susceptible to praise. The girl nodded mutely as she sat up and reached for the buttons of her blouse.
Experiencing an irrational moment of bitterness, Poppy took hold of her wrist, stopping the jerky movement and commanding the girl's attention. After a moment, Granger looked up at her with lost brown eyes.
"You are a witch, and a woman, Hermione," Poppy said, her voice low and intent. "That body of yours may hurt you from time to time, but it also has the means to more than make up for that." Surely Granger, whose name was bandied about in the staff room as the most gifted student at Hogwarts since Tom Riddle of ill fame, had to understand this.
"There is nothing-" she gave Granger's arm a squeeze of emphasis – "nothing about it that you should ever feel ashamed of."
She let go of the girl's wrist and slipped off the bed. Her shoes clattered audibly on the polished stone floor. She looked back at the faraway expression on the girl's face against the backdrop of rumpled sheets, and added, "It would make me quite happy if you could come to accept that."
Granger sat there with both hands resting in loose fists on the mattress. Poppy watched the near-imperceptible upward tilt of her chin, the glint of determination that crept into her eyes and crinkled their corners. As easy to read as any Gryffindor, although Poppy would gladly admit that she'd have made a worthy addition to her own Ravenclaw house.
When the girl finally rose, her movements had regained a degree of fluidity that she had not displayed before. She deftly redid her buttons, fastened her skirt over the hem of her blouse, and bent over to fastidiously pull up her knee socks - which displayed the curve of her buttocks to advantage. Finally, she rescued a wayward piece of red Muggle elastic from her disheveled hair. She wound it around the unruly mass twice, taming it into a half-knot. Her eyes met Poppy's, calm, brown and bright as a falcon's, although her breath was still coming fast and her cheeks were warm.
"I will think about it," she said, the tiniest twitch tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I should get back to the library. Thank you for your advice, Madam Pomfrey."
"You're welcome, Miss Granger."
Poppy's eyes followed the girl as she walked out of the door, head determinedly upright. It gave her a sudden flash of pride.
She held on to the pole that kept up the cubicle curtains and permitted a deep, shaky breath to escape her lips. The force of her own arousal nearly doubled her up, but she forced it down with deep, measured breaths. A wand flick, and the gargoyle-shaped water tap turned its head and spewed cold water into a ready cup, which lowered its rim coyly. Floating the cup into her hand, Poppy took a few greedy swallows, luxuriating in the cold spill on her tongue. It washed away the taste of Granger's blood, but she could still smell the girl on her fingers over the antiseptic blandness of the water.
She laughed once, short and breathless, at the intensity of her own response, then pushed it to the back of her head. This was not the time for self-indulgence! Quite the opposite, it was time to put together the cocktail of potions that would see Albus through another night of traipsing through memories with young Potter.
It was not that she begrudged the boy whatever tutoring might keep him alive and ahead of You-Know-Who, of course, but, like all adolescents – like the young woman who had just marched out of the door – he was blind to the needs of others. Apart from herself, Minerva and Severus, no one even suspected that Albus' lengthy absences were a smokescreen which allowed the frail old man to battle the corroding effects of Voldemort's curse in the confines of his bed.
Poppy frowned down at the crystalline phial in her hand that held Essence of Bezoar. Albus should be resting, or preferably be treated at St Mungo's Spell Damage Ward, instead of exposing himself to the strain of ancient memories and the draining presence of a demanding student... Not behaving as if he had nothing to lose, while relying on Snape to provide him with stoppered appearances of health.
Not the time for self-indulgence indeed, and yet, in the privacy of her four-poster tonight, Poppy knew she would treat herself to the image of Granger's pliant body. These were bleak times, where pleasure was rare and had to be enjoyed wherever it could be found.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
Feedback: is, as always, which makes my day! Concrit too!
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squickiness and female sexuality
Thanks muchly for reading, as always :).
Re: squickiness and female sexuality
Re: squickiness and female sexuality
Strangely enough, I can see exactly where you're coming from about discomfort with 'looking in the mirror', but emotionally, I feel the other way 'round. I tend to wibble much over male/male sex - getting the words right, not making things bluntly unrealistic - because I do *not* know what I'm talking about. The closer it comes to 'home', the less worried I am, well, because I'm more familiar with the mechanics ;). Which, on the other hand, makes it also less interesting to write (and read) about for me... That's why I'd like to read/write more femmeslash theoretically, but practically it's not all that exciting.
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o.0
Muggle tempo killed me dead from laughter, Hijja. The rest...I admit being leery, but you made it work. Kudos! :D
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I'm so glad it managed to work for an expert :).
(And your icon is *so* great!)
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The interlude with Susan Bones underscores the care Poppy is taking to behave properly – she is a teacher, a helper, even if she finds Hermione and her responses engaging. Neatly done.
I loved the use of language here, and the depth of detail was wonderful.
Are you going to go for longer femmeslash now? (I only read this because it was you, and I've been amply rewarded. I'm hoping you'll consider doing more.)
That notion of a wizarding sanitary pad (oh, how blissful it would be to have access to those!) removes any kind of squick I might have felt about this (only physical distaste, after all). I also enjoyed the logic of not using either Muggle or even magical medications if one is being regularly dosed with the products of one's Potions class, too!
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Are you going to go for longer femmeslash now?
Not too likely... I like writing it, but femmeslash bunnies come rarely, and then they're weird like this one :). I wouldn't mind, though - there's far too little long femmeslash (as I've wailed before...).
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That was delightful: it actually works too, to ,erm, do that when you're on your painters.
Really brightened up my dull evening!
Axx
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I really enjoyed this. I love Poppy's internal commentary, her desire, and the no nonsense way she speaks even when she's bringing a student to orgasm. Brilliantly written stuff.
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I'm so happy it worked for you. Poppy always struck me as a very no-nonsense person, and I'm glad I managed to capture that somewhat.
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*huggles*