The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Beta cred: Palmetto Blue


“Happy Snorkack Awareness Day, Minerva,” Luna sang happily. She took the Headmistress’s crisp nod of acknowledgment as an excellent omen for a Tuesday and sank into the empty chair between Draco and Neville. “Good morning! Oooh, Danish pastries!”


It was destined to be a glorious day – she’d already had two orgasms, banished an especially difficult blibbering humdinger on her way to the great hall, and now here was her favorite breakfast! The little pies, with their delicate folds and icing, always reminded her of pale, shaved pussies slick with desire, and she said as much to Neville.


He choked on a mouthful of pastry, coughing and spluttering loudly, just as Hermione took her usual seat on his other side. She leaned forward, face etched in mild concern. “Too dry? It’s only good if it’s moist.”


Luna gave Neville several efficient whacks on the back and handed him his water goblet. “Nev and I were just saying how much it looks like a-”




He flushed and interrupted her mid-sentence. “Pass the eggs, please!”


She hid her smile under the pretense of sucking icing from her fingers and offered, “I assume you didn’t take one with a cherry because you prefer-”


He cut her off again. “Draco, I need to head to Hogsmeade after classes today. Would you mind watering the Asphodel in Greenhouse 6 around four o’clock?”


“Sorry, Nev; I have a thing I need to do.”


I’d do it to you, Neville,” Hermione offered in a rather throaty tone. Then, realizing what she’d said she blushed and squeaked, “For you! I meant ‘for you’!”


Neville was also a deep shade of red. “That’d, uh, be great, uh, Hermione.” He gave a frenzied series of nods and stood abruptly, knocking over his chair and then tripping over it. “I’ll just be going now,” he said in an anguished voice.


Hermione slapped a hand over her face and cursed quietly.


Luna smiled triumphantly. Her plan was moving along nicely! “Venus will be ascendant this weekend,” she said to no one in particular.


Draco smiled at her and gave his pastry a lascivious lick.


*          *          *


Draco watched his lover with admiring eyes as she floated to the teacher’s table in the great hall. He barely noticed her outlandish new robes, so focused was he on her kiss-swollen lips and wildly mussed hair. She looked like a sexually sated angel. His angel. Though come to think of it, she hadn’t been much of an angel last night. More like a she-devil. He grinned at an especially devilish memory involving a Full Body-Bind and honeydew melon. His she-devil.


He looked over to where Neville was staring intently at the Danish on his plate. “They’re meant to be eaten, you know.”


Neville glanced at him briefly. “I need a favor.” He paused as Luna sank into her customary chair between them. “Morning, Lu.”


“Good morning! Ooh! Danish pastries!”


Draco selected one from the serving tray and set it on her plate, listening in delight as she proceeded to mortify Neville with a graphic comparison between a Danish and a pussy. Who would ever have guessed, back in their school days, that Luna Lovegood – his sweet Luna – could be capable of such devious humor! Oh, but she was a wicked, wicked witch . . .


Things got even more entertaining when Hermione arrived and immediately lapsed into her chronic state of Neville-induced idiocy. And since Neville was no better at hiding his infatuation with her, the two bumbled along hilariously. Luna must have seen the potential in the situation because she attempted to torture Neville further. Draco snickered as his poor friend finally fought back, interrupting Luna’s suggestive commentary.


“Draco,” Neville all but implored, “I need to head to Hogsmeade after classes today. Would you mind watering the Asphodel in Greenhouse 6 around four o’clock?”


“Sorry, Nev; I have a thing I need to do.” It was true – Luna’s convoluted plan to bring these two together required him to complete tasks at certain times over the next few days. Today he’d be helping clean her classroom and then looking for something called a tiddly piddle in the Forbidden Forest. If he was a very good boy, she’d said, he might get rough naked sex in a Quidditch hoop.


I’d do it to you, Neville.”


Draco pitched forward as quickly as he could to better catch sight of Hermione’s face when she realized what she’d just said and in what sort of tone. She’d sounded downright wanton! He smirked when, as if on cue, she turned dark red and began stammering in a high-pitched voice.


Poor Nev – to have come so close to relative victory in this conversation and then be unintentionally defeated by the woman responsible for his perpetually blue balls! Draco realized his amusement was entirely inappropriate, and yet he couldn’t help snickering as his good friend attempted to extricate himself one last time, only to fall victim to a malicious chair.


“I’ll just be going now,” Neville said in an anguished voice.


Draco gave him a sympathetic nod and turned his attention to Hermione, who looked like she was trying to sink through the floor.


“Venus will be ascendant this weekend,” Luna offered in a dreamy voice.


His lips curled up in an anticipatory grin at those words. Venus ascendant? Oh, he would be a very good boy over the next few days. He gave his pastry a lecherous lick.


*          *          *

Neville selected a Danish and set it on his plate. He passed the tray and tongs to Draco and then stared down at his breakfast. No matter how he looked at the delicately folded pastry with its glistening icing, it reminded him of nothing more than a pussy just begging to be tasted. It brought a favorite fantasy to mind, in which Hermione sprawled over his drafting table, which was set at the perfect angle to eat her out at his leisure. She’d beg for climax . . .


“They’re meant to be eaten, you know,” Draco drawled.


On any other day, the potential for joke material would have delighted him, and he would have launched into uninhibited ribaldry with his friend. Today, however, he needed to acquire a venomous Tentacula, and that might take some doing. Friday was only three days away, and Luna was right – he and Hermione belonged together! So he cut to the chase. “I need a favor.” He paused as Luna arrived and took her usual seat. “Morning, Lu.”


“Morning. Ooh! Danish pastries!” She picked one up and swiped her finger through the icing. “I’ve always thought these looked just like pale, shaved pussies, Nev. Don’t you agree? Even the icing looks like arousal fluid!”


Neville had been in the process of chewing a mouthful of said pastry, and at her words promptly choked. And, since fate had decreed back in September that he be humiliated at every opportunity, Hermione arrived at that moment. She peered at the pastry on his plate. “Too dry? It’s only good if it’s moist.”


That set off another round of coughing. Luna whacked him on the back and handed him his water goblet. “Nev and I were just saying how much it looks like a -”


Godric save him, Hermione did not need to know that! Was she a prude? Hardly. But she didn’t need to know his brain turned everything into a hypothetical sex-laden scenario involving her! His strategy of avoiding such topics had less to do with a fear of offending her than with an attempt to hide his complete degeneracy. He interrupted Luna. “Pass the eggs, please!”


“I assume you didn’t take one with a cherry because you prefer-”


“Draco,” he cut in again desperately, “I need to head to Hogsmeade after classes today. Would you mind watering the Asphodel around four o’clock?”


Draco was obviously enjoying the whole thing, the bastard. “Sorry, Nev; I have a thing I need to do.”


Neville opened his mouth to contest that half-arsed excuse, but an exquisite sound from his other side shut down his brain.


I’d do it to you, Neville.” Hermione’s tone was one of pure sex – deep and husky and laden with desire. It was the voice of his fantasies, the one she used alternatively to seduce him and beg for his touch. Neville drew his serviette more securely over the tent in his trousers. Almost immediately Hermione realized what she’d said, and she flushed prettily all the way down to the neckline of her robes. He wondered how much further the pink shade went . . . “For you!” she squeaked. “I meant ‘for you’!”


“That’d, uh, be great, uh, Hermione.” He gave a frenzied nod, cursing his inability to speak to the witch of his dreams. He needed to escape before Luna brought up pussy-pastries again! With that in mind, he sprang up from the table, somehow overturning his chair in the process. It hit the stone floor with a deafening crash, effectively drawing the attention of the rest of the faculty, several ghosts, and the entire student body.


“I’ll just be going now,” he said in an anguished voice. Then he fled.


*          *          *


Hermione arrived at breakfast somewhat successfully, having tripped only twice crossing the great hall. It was difficult to navigate uneven floors while ogling someone! Neville. Nevvvvvvville. Gaaaah. He was wearing fitted navy robes today, and his dark, close-cropped hair was tousled like he’d had a rough tumble in bed. And he hadn’t shaved. Sweet merciful Merlin, the man hadn’t shaved! That meant the lower half of his handsome face was covered in dark scruff that made Hermione wonder what it would feel like against her thighs and breasts. She’d never been with a scruffy-faced man . . . Yet. She smiled predatorily. As soon as she talked with her former associates at the Ministry and found that Animagus, Neville would be hers. She’d Floo to London tomorrow.


She stumbled going up the stairs of the dais to the teacher’s table when he happened to glance in her direction. Ron had never affected her in such a way, and he’d been her first everything; Anthony hadn’t, either. Come to think of it, neither one had so much as made her heart race . . . huh. Neville Longbottom could do that simply by sauntering through a room. But she’d been able to talk to those other men – it’s how she’d ended up in relationships with them. How was she supposed to convince him of their compatibility when she couldn’t remember how to breathe in his presence? The phenomenon she’d privately named The Neville Effect was so frustrating! But Luna had a plan, so it would all work out.


The moment of elevated confidence evaporated the closer she drew to him, unfortunately, until by the time she took her seat she was sweating and addled. And then she opened her mouth. Mother of all magic. Moist? Who used that word! She did, apparently, to describe a pastry that looked very much like a pussy. Kill me now. The next two minutes were a journey through hell, piloted by none other than Hermione herself.


He’d asked for his Asphodel to be watered in his absence and, when Draco couldn’t help, she’d offered. And oh, how she’d offered! Like a panther in heat. She’d pretty much come on to him! At the breakfast table! But she’d been so distracted by that manly scruff of his that her brain had just melted to goo.


At that point, the wizard who starred in her most depraved fantasies bolted from her presence in what looked to be horror, so offended that he’d knocked over his chair in the process. Hermione clapped a hand over her face, peering out from between her fingers at the eerily attentive student body. Yes, it happened again, she wanted to yell. The brightest witch of the age forgot how to speak to the cute boy.



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